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“Well, I—
She waved me off. “The missus don’t like unannounced visits,” she said. “Leave your card and I’ll make sure she gets it.”
She started to close the door in my face but I held it open. “She’ll want to see me,” I said firmly. “It’s a private matter.”
“Ain’t it always private?”
“It’s about William White.”
“We don’t know no William,” she snapped.
“I believe you do,” I said, reading her every move. “He’s a frequent visitor here. I happen to be his son.”
Her face went slack. “Wait here.”
She returned a few minutes later and beckoned me inside. I stepped inside a dimly-lit corridor and was led to an elegantly designed sitting room which contained the finest touches of the highest order. I sat down on a hand-carved sofa with floral sculpting and red, velvet upholstery. The sofa reminded me of my mother’s as did the matching chair which had elaborately flared and turned legs.
The minutes passed as I waited. Time seemed to stand still and I thought I would die from the anticipation of it all. I watched as the maid brought in fresh coffee and beignets on a delicate, silver tray and set them on a gold-trimmed mahogany table in the corner of the room. And then she appeared, graceful and poised as ever. Indeed. There was no mistaking those sea green eyes and stunning looks.
Marie Leveraux’s full, red lips widened into a smile when she saw me. “So, we finally meet,” she said as she studied me. “What a handsome young man you are. You’re going to make a young lady very happy one day.”
Her voice was low, soft and seductive. A feeling of weakness overcame me and I found it hard to breathe. Her moves were deliberate as she sat opposite of me in the velvet chair.
“Do you take cream or sugar?”
“Both, Ma’am.”
“Please...call me Marie.”
She moved gracefully as the prepared our cups of coffee. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she said. “Your father talks about you all the time. He’s very proud of you.”
I was taken aback by how casual she seemed about their liaison. “How long have you known each other?” I asked, deciding to be direct.
“We met at a ball a few years ago,” she said. “He was the most charming man there. I fell in love instantly...with his storytelling, that is.”
“Is that all you fell in love with?” I decided to match her boldness despite her hospitality.
She smiled a seductive smile. “Men like your father are rare. When you’ve lived more you’ll understand.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have the privilege of knowing him in the same way you do.”
Her laugh was like the tinkle of a bell. “Yes, indeed, I guess you wouldn’t.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Miss Levereaux,” I said, “but had you considered what your relationship with my father could do to our family?”
Her wide smile faded a bit. “Just like your father, direct and to the point. Although I think he’s more skilled in the art of communication than you are.”
“This isn’t a competition.”
She sipped at her tea. “You have much to learn when it comes to matters of the heart.”
“My question was quite simple, really.”
“Nothing in life is simple. Philosophers have fooled us into believing that.”
“It can be,” I said stubbornly. “People are the ones who make things complicated.”
Her response came quickly. “How old are you?” she demanded, still smiling. “Sixteen? Seventeen?”
