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"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Anabelle agreed. Her eyes drifted momentarily to
Luke's. Abruptly, her cheeks dimpled and her lips curved. "Why, as a
matter of fact, darling, there is something you could do for me. Oh-" She
paused and shook her head. "But it's so much trouble."
"I don't mind," Gwen interrupted, falling into a childhood trap.
"Well, if it really isn't a bother," Anabelle continued, beaming again. "I
especially wanted some embroidery thread, very unusual shades,
difficult to find, I'm afraid. There's a little shop in the French Market that
carries them."
"In New Orleans?" Gwen's eyes widened.
"Oh, it is a bother, isn't it?" Anabelle sighed. "It's not important, dear.
Not important at all," she added.
"It's not a bother, Mama," Gwen corrected, smiling at the old ruse.
"Besides, I'd like to get into New Orleans while I'm home. I can be a
tourist now."
"What a marvelous idea!" Anabelle enthused. "Wouldn't it be fun?
Roaming through the Vieux Carre, wandering through the shops,
listening to the music in Bourbon Street. Oh, and dinner at some lovely
gallery restaurant. Yes." She clapped her hands together and glowed,
"It's just the thing."
"It sounds perfect." Anabelle's childlike enthusiasm caused Gwen to
smile. Shopping, she remembered, had always been Anabelle's favorite
pastime. "I can't think of a better way to spend the day."
"Good. It's settled, then." She turned to Luke with a pleased smile.
"You'll go with Gwen, won't you, dear? It wouldn't do for her to go all
alone."
"Alone?" Gwen cut in, confused. "But, Mama, aren't you-?"
"It's such a long drive, too," Anabelle bubbled on. "I'm sure Gwen would
love the company."
"No, Mama, I-"
"I'd love to." Luke easily overruled Gwen's objections. He gave Gwen
an ironic smile. "I can't think of a better way to spend the day."
"Gwen, dear, I'm so glad you thought of it." The praise was given with a
sigh as Anabelle moved over to pat Gwen's cheek.
Looking up into the ingenuous eyes, Gwen felt the familiar sensations of
affection and frustration. "I'm very clever," she murmured, moving her
lips into a semblance of a smile.
"Yes, of course you are," Anabelle agreed, and gave her a quick, loving
hug. "I would change, though, darling. It wouldn't do to go into the city
in those faded old jeans. Didn't I throw those out when you were fifteen?
Yes, I'm sure I did. Well, run along and have fun," she ordered as she
began to drift from the room. "I've just so much to do, I can't think of it
all."
"Mama." Gwen called after her. Anabelle turned at the door, lifting her
brows in acknowledgement. "The thread?"
"Thread?" Anabelle repeated blankly. "Oh, yes, of course. I'll write
down the colors and the name of the shop." She shook her head with a
self-deprecating smile. "My, my, I'm quite the scatter-brain. I'll go in
right now and tell Tillie you won't be here for dinner. She gets so
annoyed with me when I forget things. Do change those pants, Gwen,"
she added as she started down the hall.
"I'd hide them," Luke suggested confidentially. "She's liable to throw
them out again."
Rising with what she hoped was dignity, Gwen answered, "If you'll
excuse me?"
"Sure." Before she could move away, Luke took her hand in a light but
possessive grip. "I'll meet you out front in twenty minutes. We'll take my
car."
A dozen retorts trembled on Gwen's tongue and were dismissed.
"Certainly. I'll try not to keep you waiting." She walked regally from the
room.
The weather was perfect for a drive-sunny and cloudless, with a light
breeze. Gwen had replaced her jeans with a snowy crepe de chine dress.
It had a high, lacy neck and pleated bodice, its skirt flowing from a trim,
tucked waist. She wore no jewelry. Her hair lay free on her shoulders.
Hands primly folded in her lap, she answered Luke's easy conversation
with polite, distant monosyllables. I'll get Mama's thread, she
determined, have a token tour of the city and drive back as quickly as
possible. I will be perfectly polite the entire time.
An hour later, Gwen found that maintaining her aloof sophistication was
a difficult task. She had forgotten how much she loved the Vieux Carre.
It was not just the exquisite iron grillwork balconies, the profusion of
flowering plants, the charm of long wooden shutters and buildings that
had stood for centuries. It was the subtle magic of the place. The air was
soft and seemed freshly washed, its many scents ranging from flowery to
spicy to the rich smell of the river.
"Fabulous, isn't it?" Luke asked as they stood on the curb of a street too
narrow for anything but pedestrian traffic. "It's the most stable city I
know."
"Stable?" Gwen repeated, intrigued enough to turn and face him directly.
"It doesn't change," he explained with a gesture of his hand. "It just
continues on." Before she realized his intent, he laced his fingers with
hers and began to walk. She tugged and was ignored.
"There's no reason to hold my hand," Gwen told him primly.
"Sure there is," he corrected, giving her a friendly smile. "I like to."
Gwen subsided into silence. Luke's palm was hard, the palm of a man
used to doing manual labor. She remembered suddenly the feel of it
caressing her throat. He sighed, turned and pulled her hard against him,
covering her mouth in an unexpected and dizzying kiss. Gwen had no
time to protest or respond before she was drawn away again. Along the
crowded street, several people applauded.
Gwen and Luke walked past the many street artists in Jackson Square.
They paused briefly to admire the chalk portraits of tourists, the oils of
city scenes and the mysterious studies of the bayous. Gwen was torn
between her desire to share her pleasure at returning to the city of her
childhood and the feeling that she should ignore the dominating man by
her side. She was not here to have a good time, she reminded herself
sternly. She was here to do an errand. It was on the tip of her tongue to
remind Luke of the purpose of their trip when she saw the magician. He
was dressed in black, with spangles and a rakish beret and a flowing
moustache.
"Oh, look!" Gwen pointed. "Isn't he wonderful?" She moved closer,
unconsciously pulling Luke along by tightening her grip on his hand.
They watched brilliantly colored scarves appear from nowhere, huge
bouquets of paper flowers grow from the magician's palm and coins
sprout from the ears of onlookers. Two young clowns in whiteface
entertained the stragglers by twisting balloons into giraffe and poodle
shapes. Some distance away, guitarists sold their songs to passing
tourists. Gwen could just hear their close-knit harmony.
Forgetting all her stern resolutions, she turned to grin at Luke. He
dropped a bill into the cardboard box that served as the portable cash
register for the magician. Reaching out, he pinched her chin between his [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]