Nan Ryan (18 page)

“I’m so miserable, Mother,” Kathleen fanned herself and sighed.

“I know, dear, this heat is terrible. I think it’s the hottest August I ever remember and your condition makes it worse. I can’t understand why you’re so large. You can’t be more than seven months, but you look like you are going to have the baby any day,” Abigail said.

Kathleen coughed nervously and said, “Maybe it’s twins, I don’t know. But if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go up and lie down for a while before Hunter and Father come home for dinner.”

“Yes, Kathleen, I think you should, you look so tired. Is there anything I can get you?”

“Thanks, no, Mother. I’m all right, I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Fine, dear.”

“Hunter, why don’t you go up and tell Kathleen it’s time for dinner,” Abigail said to him that evening. “She’s been lying down all afternoon, she should be rested.”

“That’s good. I’ll go get her.” Hunter rose and went up the stairs. He knocked softly at her door and she immediately said, “Come in.”

She was on the bed and her face looked white and drawn. Concern leapt into Hunter’s eyes when he saw her and he rushed to the bed. “Kathleen, are you alright?”

“Hunter, I … oh, Hunter. I don’t feel good, I’m having pains and I …” she clutched her stomach in obvious pain.

“Sweetheart, I’m going for Doctor Jennings right away. I’ll send Hannah up to you and I’ll be back with the doctor as soon as I can.”

“No, Hunter, don’t … I’m all right, really. I just don’t feel like coming down for dinner. I’ll probably feel better in the morning.”

“Kathleen,” he sat on the bed beside her, “how long have you been having these pains?”

“All afternoon,” she admitted.

“Have they started coming regularly?”

“Yes, yes,” she said and bit her lip.

“Darling, you’re going into labor, I’m getting the doctor. I’ll be back as quickly as possible.”

Hunter hurried back down the stairs and summoned Hannah. Louis and Abigail heard the commotion and came into the hall. “What is it, Hunter? Is Kathleen ill?” Louis Beau-regard asked him.

“No, she’s fine, but she’s going into labor. I’m going for the doctor.”

“But, Hunter, she can’t be. It’s only been seven months. Oh, no,” Abigail looked at him, frightened.

“Please don’t worry, Mrs. Beauregard. She’ll be fine. Now I must go,” and Hunter left Sans Souci in a rush.

The worried parents hurried up the stairs to their daughter’s room. “Oh, darling, how are you?” her father asked.

“I’m fine, please don’t worry,” she tried to smile at them.

“Now, Mistah Beauregard, you gots to get out of here,” Hannah told them. “Doctor Hunter tol’ me to get her ready, she gonna have this baby soon.”

“No, she can’t, it’s too early, she … oh, Kathleen …” Abigail looked at her daughter.

“Come, dear,” Louis led his wife from the room. “There, there, everything is going to be fine.” He led her carefully back downstairs.

“Hannah, I’m so frightened,” Kathleen started crying after they left. “And the whole world will know this baby came too soon. I just can’t have it yet.”

“Honey, babies comes early sometimes. Now don’t you go thinkin’ ’bout that now.”

“I want Dawson. Oh, Dawson, Dawson.” Kathleen buried her face in her hands and cried.

“Now Miz Kathleen, you stop that. You has a good husband and Doctor Hunter gonna be the father of this chile. Mister Dawson is gone, honey, and you gots to forget him.”

“But, Hannah, it’s Dawson’s baby. It’s Dawson’s and no one else’s.”

“Honey, I know and I’m sorry. But nobody else gonna know. Now lift yo’ arms and I’ll get you undressed.”

Hunter came back an hour later and he was alone. “I’m sorry,” he said to Louis and Abigail, “Doctor Jennings is sick in bed, he can’t come.”

“No!” Louis shouted, “what shall we do?”

“I’ll deliver the baby,” Hunter said calmly and climbed the stairs to Kathleen’s room.

“Where’s Doctor Jennings?” Kathleen looked at Hunter, frightened.

“Darling, I’m sorry, he’s sick.”

“He can’t be sick. Hunter, the pains are coming closer together,” she shrieked, “You must do something!”

“I will, Kathleen, I’ll deliver our baby myself.”

“You will not,” she shouted hysterically, “Get out of here, I want Doctor Jennings. I’m not having my baby without him.”

Hunter calmly walked to the bed and sat down beside his crying wife. “Get away from me,” she screamed and started pounding on his chest.

He pinned her arms to her sides and whispered softly, “Doctor Jennings is not coming. I am going to stay and I’m going to deliver our baby. Now I want you to calm down. You may not want me, but you need me and I need your help as well. Together we are going to have this baby and I want no further hysterics from you. I will not put up with it, do you understand?” He released her arms and laid her back on the bed. She lay completely still and looked up at him. “Now that’s better,” he smiled and started taking off his jacket and giving orders to Hannah. From then on, Kathleen did exactly as Hunter commanded and four hours later, when he held up the baby for her to see, saying, “Look, Kathleen, our baby. A perfect little boy,” she smiled through her tears and said meekly, “Thank you, Hunter.”

A lump came to Hunter’s throat and he said, “No,… thank you, darling.” He then turned to hand the baby to Hannah, knowing that what he had suspected for several months was true. The eight-pound baby was much too large and healthy to have been fathered by him.

Fourteen

“I really don’t want to go without you,” Dawson said when he walked into the baroness’ bedroom dressed in his evening clothes. He came to the bed and sat down beside her, taking her hand in his.

“I know, Dawson, but one of us has to show up. You’re so sweet to go, I appreciate it. The Gaynors are such dear friends, I hate to disappoint them,” Susan Le Poyferre smiled at him.

“Are you miserable, my poor darling?” Dawson said and raised her hand to his lips. “I feel so responsible, I’m sorry.” He placed tender kisses in the softness of her palm.

“Don’t blame yourself, Dawson. If I haven’t the intelligence to get in out of the Mediterranean sun, I deserve this misery.” Then she smiled at him and said, “Besides, I’m not so sure it wasn’t worth it.”

Dawson placed her hand back on the bed, leaned over and took her shoulders, barely touching them, and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “You’re quite a lady, Susan Le Poyferre. I shall return as soon as I can graciously get away. When I get home, I’ll rub a nice cooling cream into your tortured body. How does that sound?”

“Darling,” she said, raising an index finger up to his full mouth, “It sounds so delicious that I insist you leave immediately so you can get back to me all the sooner.”

The lips under her hand smiled and kissed her fingers as Dawson rose from the bed. “My dear, I shall be back very early, I promise. And when I return, I will make everything up to you.” He winked and left the room while the sunburned baroness smiled at his disappearing back.

The ride down the cliffs to the Gaynors’ villa took almost an hour. The mansion was situated north of the baroness’ on one of the few expanses of beach in Monte Carlo. While the baroness had a breathtaking view of the little city and the sea, the Gaynors had an equally pleasing view of all the twinkling lights on the cliffs above them.

Jim Gaynor was a wealthy French banker, semi-retired, and he and his colorful wife, Jordan, spent as much time as possible at their seaside retreat. When Dawson’s carriage pulled up in front of the big estate, every candle in the big house was ablaze and he could hear music floating out over the lawn. The sun was just setting behind the house and it turned the water below almost as pink as the pink stucco building he was headed for.

Dawson knocked and Jim Gaynor flung the door open wide, a broad smile lighting his granite-featured face, his thick gray hair glinting in the setting sun. “Dawson,” he said in broken English, “so glad you finally arrived. Where is the baroness?” He looked all around like he thought she might be hiding behind Dawson’s big frame.

“She sends her regrets,” Dawson said, shaking hands with the shorter man. “The baroness is not feeling well. She said to tell you she’s heartbroken she couldn’t be here and hopes you’ll forgive her.”

“That is too bad. Nothing serious, I hope,” he raised his silver eyebrows.

“No, an upset stomach. I’m sure she’ll be fine by morning,” Dawson smiled.

“Good, good, come on in and have a drink before dinner.”

Jordan Gaynor joined the two men as soon as they entered the drawing room. “Dawson darling,” she said and held out a bejeweled hand for him to kiss. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head and a band of diamonds holding it in place sparkled when she tossed her head. She wore a white gown that billowed out around her broadening hips and its daringly low neck dipped to a V in front, showing off her deep tan. She took Dawson’s arm and said to her husband, “Do be a dear and get Dawson some champagne, I’ve so many people dying to meet him.” She swept him around the room introducing him to their guests. “So sorry Susan couldn’t make it, Dawson, but we will try to keep you from being lonely,” she laughed gaily and squeezed his arm.

At dinner, Dawson was seated next to a house guest of the Gaynors. Gigi Lafitte was cheerful and attractive, but spoke not one word of English. Dawson spoke no French, so sign language and smiles were as close as they came to communicating. On Dawson’s other side, a gregarious Englishman, down on holiday, told Dawson he owned and operated a large cotton agency in London. Dawson listened, interested, but made no mention of the fact that he was in the cotton business in Natchez. The Englishman, Richard Craddock, found the tall, dark American a pleasant table companion and hated to see the meal come to an end. Gigi Lafitte felt the same way and for the first time in her life wished she spoke English.

After dinner, the dancing began in the big ballroom at the back of the house. Wide, tall doors opening onto the veranda that spanned the length of the room drew in the welcome sea breezes from the beach just below the mansion. Dawson stood with a drink in his hand, watching the dancers with little interest, when Richard Craddock approached him.

“There you are, Dawson. I’ve been looking for you.”

“You have found me,” Dawson smiled and continued looking at the dancers.

“See here, old chap, Jim Gaynor just told me you’re in the cotton business in America.”

“Yes,” Dawson said evenly, “I have a small plantation in Mississippi.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me at dinner? I had no idea.”

Dawson shrugged his massive shoulders, “I don’t know. I’ve been away for eight or nine months. I haven’t really thought a great deal about cotton lately. I’m having too good a time, I suppose,” he smiled warmly at the Englishman’s intense face.

“Well, Dawson, it so happens you are just the man I’ve been looking for.”

“I don’t understand.”

“As I told you, I’m a cotton agent. My business is good, but it could be even better. If you worked for me, or better still, if you became my partner, you could get some of those big accounts in the South, couldn’t you?”

“Perhaps, but I …”

“I knew it, you would be invaluable to me, Dawson. Why not come back to London with me next week, we could talk …”

“Hold on, Mister Craddock. I’m flattered by your offer, but I have no interest in becoming a cotton agent.”

“But, son, think of the money we could make.”

“I don’t want to think about money, Craddock.”

“Don’t say no yet, think about it, I need you and I …”

“Mister Craddock, I appreciate your offer as I said, and I don’t want to appear rude, but I’m really not interested. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“Just a minute.” Craddock caught Dawson’s arm. He reached inside his pocket and brought out a white card and presented it to Dawson. “Please take this card and if you should ever change your mind, contact me. It’s a lucrative business, Dawson, and you’d be good at it.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that,” Dawson smiled and started to walk away.

“No, you put that in your wallet right now. I don’t want you losing it. Here, I’ll hold your drink.”

“Yes, I will,” Dawson pulled out a thin, black leather wallet and tucked the card inside. “There. It’s done. I’ll keep the card.”

“Good. I’ll be hoping to hear from you.” Richard Craddock handed Dawson his glass and patted him on the back.

“Now, excuse me,” Dawson said and turned to leave. She was standing not ten feet away from him in a small circle of people. They were all talking and laughing, but she was paying no attention. She was looking directly at Dawson. She was very young and fair. Her long blond hair was flowing around her white shoulders. She was small and delicate and wore a light blue dress with ruffles. Her eyes were the color of the dress and they were enormous. She was beautiful and her perfect little mouth was smiling at Dawson Blakely.

Dawson realized he was staring and abruptly turned and went in the opposite direction without returning her smile. He set his empty glass down and hurried out the open doors onto the veranda. The cool breeze was welcome and he was glad the long porch was deserted. He walked to the pink wrought iron railing and gripped it firmly while the knees supporting him felt weak and wobbly. He looked down to the sea below and breathed deeply of the sweet salt air. When he felt a small hand on his shoulder, he knew without turning who it was.

“It’s nicer out here, isn’t it?” she said softly and he turned to look at her.

“Yes, it is,” he answered, not smiling.

“I’m Amy Wentworth, Mister Blakely,” she said in a familiar drawl. “I understand we’re practically neighbors. Our hostess tells me you are from Natchez, Mississippi. I’m from Atlanta, Georgia. Isn’t that a coincidence?”

“Yes, it is. What are you doing in Monte Carlo?”

“My parents own a villa here and we spend our summers in it. It’s so dreadfully hot in Georgia at this time of year,” she smiled. “You know what I’d like to do. I’d like to go down to the beach and take a nice walk in the moonlight. Doesn’t that sound romantic?”

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get sand in your dancing slippers?”