The Other Brother

Chapter 4

A Day Out of the Office

Intending to rendezvous with the enticing Miss French, Jefferson has been distracted by his brother who has maneuvered Jefferson into sitting down - crushing some glass champagne glasses into his posterior. Rum, with dark intent, meets up with the surprised Miss French who rejects his offer of money (to cease her pursuit of Jefferson) but not his offers of champagne and a dance. Relaxed, Miss French also accepts a kiss from the enigmatic man and is distressed at how pleasurable it is. The next morning, Rum promises Jefferson he will "take care of" the delightful Miss French while he recovers. Miss Alice arrives to entertain a prescription drug-addled, disgruntled Jefferson

Rum had left the engaged couple to head up to his own bedroom while pondering the depths of the psychopathy of the men in his family. They all seemed able to lie convincingly and at the drop of a pin.

Of course, he had to admit, the females they associated with weren't any better. Milah had certainly been capable of lying straight-faced. She could even muster a few tears when the occasion called for such. And Cora . . . he shuddered . . . Cora was even more coldly manipulative than any of the men in his family; he thought of her as a living heart donor.

He opened his closet door and found his father inside smoking a cigar.

He blinked and told him, "Papa, I don't mind you smoking in my room, but not in my clothes closet."

"It's good for the moths. I was hiding from that fiery upstairs maid, Babette. She gives me hell for smoking. Complains that she can't get the odor out, that I burn holes in the carpet and the furniture." His father sat down at the desk. "Now then, Rum, what about that girl over the garage?"

"Jefferson wants to run off with her."

"With the chauffeur's daughter? We can't have that."

"I don't care if he runs off with the gardener's grandmother. But I don't want him running off with this desalinization merger."

"I've got a simple solution. We could fire French," his father told him.

"Not after twenty-eight years, Papa," Rum gently admonished him.

"All right then. We can keep this simple. We write her a nice little check and tell her to forget about Jefferson."

"Been there, tried that. She doesn't want the money. She wants love," Rum filled his father in.

"Really? I thought they discontinued that model."

Rum nodded, "She's the last of the romantics. L'amour, toujours l'amour."

"But why? Why did she have to pick on Jefferson? Why can't she be in love with someone else?"

"Well, we'll do our best," Rum told him.

It took Papa only a moment, "Oh, is that the plan, then?"

"Yep," Rum answered him.

"You've got someone in mind for her?"

"Yep."

"Who?"

Rum gestured with his hands, presenting himself.

"No, seriously, who are you thinking of for her?" his father asked.

"Me, I'm serious."

"Oh no," his father was shaking his head. "You'll never do."

"Whatsa matter with me?" Rum's sensitivities were wounded and he held his hand to his chest as if it were a shield.

"Not you," his father reiterated, shaking his head. "You've never had any talent with women. Money – yes – you're a bloody genius. But you've got nothing to offer a woman."

Rum waved his father's concerns off. "Hey, you think this is going to be any fun for me? I've got a whole desk full of work I was planning to do and I'm supposed to be going to Texas to work on that sulphur deal. Not to mention the desalinization project gets put on hold until this is resolved. But am I working on any of this stuff? Nooo. I'm going off on a boat to make an arse out of myself with a woman of what? twenty-one, twenty-two?"

"Well, I'm going to enjoy watching this," his father told him. "I only hope it works. You think you can remember what to do with a girl."

"I think I do. It's like riding a bicycle, right?"

Thursday Afternoon - On the Boat

"This is glorious," Belle was allowing the wind to blow through her hair, the fresh air heightening her color. "Tell me again why you're not at work today?" she asked him suspiciously.

"I promised my brother I would look after you." An honest answer.

"Oh dear. Aren't I being a terrible inconvenience?" she was concerned. "I mean, don't you have just tons of important work you've got to get done – deals to make, planes to catch, businesses to take over, governments to over-throw?"

"I make my iron-clad deals on Mondays, do all my hostile take-overs on Tuesdays and over-throw governments on Wednesdays, so I'm able to take a little break on Thursdays. Miss Gorim will manage anything that comes in," he told her. He winced telling her this – Miss Gorim had not been pleased to cancel the three meetings and the out of state private plane flight he'd had on his calendar for today, especially when he was vague about when they could all be rescheduled. He'd also had instructed her not to forward phone calls or texts and knew she'd be dealing with some irate business contacts. He needed to put a bonus in her paycheck or he would have to deal with ink pens that leaked ink, necessary office devices that were suddenly waiting on repair and back-to-back meetings with no food or bathroom breaks.

Belle seemed dubious but accepted his explanation. "What is this thing called now?" she asked picking up one of the little boxes he had brought with him.

"An eight-track," he told her. "They were popular before cassettes," he explained.

"Before what?" she asked him.

"Before CD's."

"Okay, I've heard of them. Cute song. Why is she covered in whipped cream?" She was asking about one of the eight-tracks.

"It was the album cover."

"Like picture album?" She wasn't sure what he was talking about.

"Record album," he answered, the age difference crashing in on him. "They used the same cover on the eight-track," he tried explaining helplessly and without success.

As they floated along on the smooth waters of Lake Lure, Belle closed her eyes listening to the light-hearted Herb Alpert songs. "How is Jefferson?"

"Well, he's been flat on his stomach for a while but he's now flat on his back. . . in a special hammock," Rum explained to her.

"I miss him," Belle told him and looked at him in slight alarm. "Not that I'm not having a good time," she hastily added. She put in another of the eight tracks and a soft tune began.

"You see this guy, this guy's in love with you. Yes, I'm in love. Who looks at you the way I do?"

"Miss French. . . "Rum began.

"How can I show you? I'm glad I got to know you."

"Miss French," he began again.

"I've heard some talk. They say you think I'm fine."

"Do you mind if we. . . if we turned this one off?"

"Why?"

"This guy's in love and what I'd do to make you mine."

"Because," he answered shortly.

"Tell me now, is it so? Don't let me be the last to know."

"Don't you like it?"

"My hands are shakin'. Don't let my heart keep breakin'."

"I used to like it."

"I need your love. I want your love."

Belle reached over and turned it off. "Certain songs bring back certain memories to me too." There was a pause. "Did you love her?

"I'd rather not talk about it," he said, gazing off over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

He looked back at her. "It's all right. It was a long time ago."

She regarded him closely. "It's so strange to think of you being touched by a woman. I've always thought you walked alone."

"No man walks alone from choice," he said quietly. "I'm a difficult man to love, Miss French. I . . .I met this other woman before Milah. Milah was . . . rebound," he told her.

Belle looked at him for a while, her gaze steady and anxious. "As a child, I used to watch you from the window over the garage. Coming and going, always dressed in those expensive three piece suits, carrying your briefcase and your cane. I thought you could never truly belong to anyone, never really care for anyone." She didn't mention that he was still very obviously wound too tight. He clearly wasn't used to doing 'casual.' He had put on dress pants and a dress shirt for the boating expedition – apparently forgoing a tie was how the man embraced spontaneity.

He closed his eyes. "Oh yes, the cold-hearted businessman, way up in his executive suite. No emotion, just ice water in his veins. And yet one day, that same cold businessman, high up in his building, opens the window in his office and steps out of a ledge, stands there for three hours wondering if he should jump."

"Was it because of her? The one that got away?" Belle asked, her eyes wide and her voice soft.

"Oh, it was . . . it was my whole life. The decisions I'd made. The direction I was going. Always choosing power and money over love and friendship. Miss French, do you find it hard to believe that someone might want to blot out everything because it just hurts so much?" He wondered if she was buying this claptrap? Standing on a ledge – hah. No man walks alone by choice – that had just the right touch of angst.

"Not at all. You know what I almost did because I was hurting so much. It took me going to Paris to rethink my life. Maybe, maybe you should go to Paris," she added brightly.

"Paris? Me?" There it was. He could convince her to take his sorry arse to Paris. Yes, there was the beginnings of a plan.

"It helped me a lot. Have you ever been there?" she asked.

"Yeah. Once for thirty-five minutes."

"Thirty-five minutes?" She had to stop herself from laughing.

"I was changing planes. I was on my way to Saudi Arabia for an oil deal."

She shook her head, smiling at him. "Paris isn't for changing planes. It's . . . uh . . . it's for changing your outlook. For throwing open windows and letting in . . . letting in la vie en rose."

He shook his head also, "Paris is for lovers. Maybe that's why I stayed only thirty-five minutes." He took a deep breath and shared something he'd never shared with anyone else, "I have . . . seriously . . . thought about retiring to our mountain cabin and . . . ."

"And what?" she asked him.

"Well, it's probably a silly idea. The cabin isn't Paris or anything, but I've always fancied if I pulled away from everything, moved away, I could do well writing – non-fiction mind you. Strategies for making your business successful, pitfalls to avoid, the best ways to get financing. Dull stuff, you know."

"A writer in a mountain cabin. It sounds wonderful," she told him. "A quiet life in a beautiful setting."

He shook his head, "But it would be so lonely."

"Any more lonely than your life is now?" she asked perceptively.

Thursday Evening - The Garage

It was late when they got home.

Rum drove into the garage and let Belle out. He'd taken her to dinner at the Tree Tops Dining Room where they'd both had pistachio encrusted rainbow trout before leaving Lake Lure. Somewhere mid-meal they graduated from Mr. Stiltskin and Miss French to Rum and Belle. Somehow he preferred her calling him by his first name rather than his nom de negotium.

"I had a lovely day. Thank you so much," she told him turning to face him as they stood by the car.

"It was . . very nice." It had been nice – he hadn't been expecting it to be nice, but he really had enjoyed himself. Belle was not only beautiful on the outside but lovely in manners and attitude. And he was beginning to feel dangerously attracted to her. "Tomorrow, I do have to go into work." Rum hesitated, "I know my father mentioned the 'library' that we have in the building. It's actually a room where a lot of books and magazines have just been dumped . . . ." He seemed hesitant, "Would you like to come in with me, look it over and see if you want to take on the job of organizing it all? There'd be a paycheck in it for you."

"I'd love to do that. Pick me up seven thirty?" she asked.

"I will," he promised and then added, "And I'd like to take you out for dinner tomorrow . . . if . . . if that's all right?"

"That sounds lovely."

He hesitated, standing very, very closely. She was able to look deep into his eyes, his warm, soft eyes, brown eyes, with pretty golden flecks around the edges. Why had she never noticed how beautiful his eyes were before? Finally, he just nodded and turned to go back into the main house. She watched him until he disappeared from view before going up the stairs to the apartment.

Belle's father was busy polishing his shoes when she came into their kitchen. Jeff the cat had settled in next to her father contentedly.

"Hello Father," she greeted him, stopping to pat the big tabby.

"We didn't wait dinner on you," he told her. "We figured he'd take you somewhere for a bite to eat."

"He did, Daddy. It was lovely." Belle sighed. "It's funny, Daddy, I used to be so afraid of him."

"How was it?" he asked.

"Daddy, you've driven Rum into work for so many years. What do you know about him?"

"A chauffeur's supposed to keep his eyes on the road, Belle. I would just get a glimpse of him from time to time in the rear view mirror."

"If you looked a little longer Daddy, you'd find he was actually quite nice. And quite human."

At her father's dubious look, Belle continued, "Oh I know there are plenty of people that think of him as some kind of monster, this ravening beasts that gobbles up small businesses and terrorizes his employees, but underneath it all, there's a real, genuine person."

Late Thursday Evening

Rum walked in to check on his brother. Jefferson was channel surfing.

"Do you know there is nothing on daytime television?" Jefferson asked him without looking over.

"I didn't know, but then I rarely have the opportunity to watch daytime television," Rum admitted.

"There seems to be a mix of games shows, replays of old shows, or shows where people interview somebody else. There are a couple of soap operas and some movie channels."

"Uh hum," Gold responded neutrally. "How long did Alice stick around?"

"Oh she was great. She hung around here all day and took care of me. She brought me stuff to eat and drink and gave me my medicine. Oh yeah, we played cards together."

"I remember. I remember, you were about to play a little poker when I left out."

Jefferson looked serious a moment. "You know I'm a pretty good poker player, right?"

"I do. I understand you underwrote a good part of your surplus college funds with poker."

"Hey, modesty aside, I'm damn good, even drugged up, I'm good."

"So it was no contest."

Jefferson pulled a face. "Not exactly!"

"Really?"

"She said that she didn't really know how to play. So I get to teach her, right? We're making little bets and she's losing. She's sooo bad. She calls them 'red' cards and 'black' cards. She can't bluff. She draws to inside straights. No card sense, right? Well, after a while we decide to up the bets. She's still losing most of the hands. We get to one bet here. I bet her that she'll have to get me takeout meals from restaurants that I name for a week and she bets me that I will have to follow all doctor's orders in regards to getting well."

Rum poured himself a drink. "So what happened?"

"I lay down my full house and she frowns – like I've got it all over her. Then she lays down a pair of aces and tells me," Jefferson imitated a female voice, "'All I got is a pair of ones. . . and another pair of ones.' And then she lays down the other two aces." Jefferson chuckled. "It was at that point I realized I was being hustled."

"Four of a kind. Nice," Rum sat down next to his brother. Alice was so right for his brother.

"How was your day?" Jefferson asked him.

"What you would expect. Belle's a delight. I can certainly see what you see in her. Refreshing, genuine." Sweet, kind, soft, gorgeous. Blue eyes he could lose himself in. Caring, genuine caring coming off of her like a warm blanket on a cold night. Not to mention a compact lush little figure that'd made his manly parts rise to attention. He'd been uncomfortable more than half the day around the little beauty.

If only she wasn't a major stumbling block to the biggest deal of his life . . . well that, and if he thought for even a moment that she might ever really care for him . . . he could really start to like her . . . a lot.

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate you babysitting her. Have plans for tomorrow?"

"I have to go into work. She's coming with me to work in the company's library. Then I'll take her out to eat tomorrow night."

"Oh, I was going to take her to one of the French restaurants but figured that wouldn't be the best idea."

"I had the same train of thought. I thought . . . uh . . . something like Chai Pani?"

"Indian food. Excellent. Thanks so much for this."

"Yeah, I'm a sweetheart," Rum told him. No I'm not. I'm a terrible, terrible person. I'm becoming attracted to my brother's girl. And I'm trying to break her heart.

Friday

Rum had his plan all ready. He had talked first thing with the very competent Miss Gorim. There was a Paris apartment to be obtained, a bank account to be set up, stocks transferred . . . and plane tickets to buy. His plan was simple enough. He needed to remove Belle. He would allow Belle to talk him into taking a vacation in Paris, then shyly (slyly) invite her to come with him. Then . . .

Two tickets – there had to be two tickets. He would contact her right before the plane took off and let her know that he had gotten held up and would join her later.

And later there would be a car waiting to take her to her new apartment and there would be roses in the apartment. And he would let her know that he might have some problems getting away and it might be a week . . . or more . . . before he could get there. And then something else would come up. And then something else.

Yes, this would work. This would absolutely work. She had friends in Paris and he'd be sure she had plenty of money – this would work. She'd land on her feet. She was brave and strong.

He settled back into some of the work on his desk. Miss Gorim had tri-aged the materials from his missed work day yesterday into the drop dead urgent stack, the immediately urgent stack and the urgent stack. He worked on the drop dead stack diving into it completely and totally, losing track of time – a typical day on the job.

He was stunned when Belle stepped into his office telling him he needed to take a break for lunch. As he remembered from the morning, she was dressed simply - in black leggings and an oversized gold-yellow tunic top. She'd since put her hair up into what was now a messy bun. As far as he could tell she wasn't wearing any makeup. She was stunning.

"How did you get by Miss Gorim?" he asked astonished to see her in his office. Miss Gorim was an impenetrable barrier, a bulwark that Forces of Nature threw themselves against with no effect, an impassable wall that no one no one passed through. In the past she'd held off foreign ambassadors, Home Land Security officers, and an irate ex-wife who had probably been packing.

"She's such a dear," Belle remarked. "We chatted. I told her you and I had gone out on friendly date. Do you know she comes from a large family, seven sisters? She's the oldest. Mom kept their things separate by color coding everything. Miss Gorim was assigned blue, and she still wears blue a lot. And also her birthday's in September so her birthstone is sapphire."

He stood open-mouthed as Belle chattered on. "She wears blue a lot? No, I've never noticed . . . I didn't know any of that. Really?" he shrugged and followed Belle as she began to set up for lunch. It was at this point that Rum decided that Miss French must be some kind of magical creature, maybe a fairy . . . or a sorceress . . . or a witch.

Belle had spread a picnic cloth on the floor actually one of the sheets used in the building's infirmary and laid out vending machine sandwiches and vending machine fruit. She'd found some sparkling water in one of the bottled water vendors and he was able to supply some ice from the micro-kitchen off his office. Then he found two nice white ceramic cups in which to pour the water.

"I know you don't have a lot of time to spare, so I thought a quick picnic in your office would be just the thing," she told him brightly.

Rum gingerly lowered himself to the floor, his bum knee giving him some problems. It was not exactly comfortable sitting on the floor and the food was bland, although the company was enchanting. It was worth it when Miss Gorim came in and saw him sitting criss-cross on the floor with Belle. The sight of him sitting on the floor of his office next to the young woman seemed to fluster his unflappable administrative assistant and she backed out of the room, saying her business could wait. Her reaction made his difficulties with his knee totally worth the trouble.

Miss Gorim was dressed in blue. He'd never noticed this before. He hadn't known anything about the woman's background. He wasn't sure he liked knowing a lot about her – it made her . . . more human. He preferred it when he could think of her as an efficient machine that kept his office going.

"How goes the 'library'?" he asked Belle, re-focusing on his lunch companion.

"Well, you were horribly right. A combination of random piles, mostly dust piles with the occasional magazine. I've been sorting stuff and sneezing. What have you been up to?" she asked.

"Just working out a deal to close down a school so the children can work for a dime a day in one of my overseas factories," he told her blandly.

She dropped the ceramic cup and it hit the marble on his office floor.

"That was a joke," he told her concerned about the look of horror on her face.

"Of course," she immediately relaxed, even looking a little embarrassed that she had to all appearances believed what he had said. She retrieved the cup. "Oh darn. I've chipped it. I'm ever so sorry."

"Should be, it was my favorite," he told her.

"Really?" again she was looking all concerned.

He had to smile while he shook his head. "Belle, it's just a cup," he told her taking her hand and taking the cup from her. "You know, I actually do a lot to support education in these developing countries - for both boys and girls."

"I know that, I guess," she told him, then confessed, "I think I'm still kind of nervous around you." She looked down at his hand that was still holding hers.

"Please, please, there's no need for you to feel that way. I want you to feel . . . to feel comfortable around me," he told her, his voice strong and slow. He was very satisfied to see her blush before he let her hand go.

It was a nice lunch, a very nice lunch, unexpectedly so.

Friday – Early Evening

At the end of a long day, Rum ventured into the 'library' to pick up Belle for their supper date. He'd been making up delaying tactics all day long with his investors, not to mention the government agencies he was dealing with, all to postpone his desalinization project. Once in the 'library,' he saw that Belle had indeed sorted things into piles; the room, previously a shambles, had been well and truly tidied up. Belle greeted him with a beaming smile and asked for a moment to get ready to go out with him. She ducked into a Ladies Room. When she came out, she'd taken her hair down, added a belt around her waist and now had something sparkling hanging from her ears. Maybe there was a touch of makeup. She looked totally ready for a night on the town.

"How did you do that?" he asked her.

"Do what?"

"It was like magic. A moment ago, you were dressed in leggings and a . . . uh . . . big, loose top and . . . your hair was up. And now, you're . . . well, you look different."

"Just a couple of accessories," she told him. She laughed, "And some very nice arm candy helps." She patted his arm while she locked her arm around his.

It took him a moment. She was talking about him. She was talking about him. That was a surprise. He knew he was not as handsome as his brother nor as charming.

He took her up to Chai Pani, a local Indian restaurant that specialized in street food. They shared a meal of chaats or appetizers, including dahi sev papdi, samosas, chicken pakoras and masala fries. Both got Lime Rickys to drink.

He watched Belle who'd gained experience with Indian food in Paris. She regaled him with some of the antics of her former French roommates, her former classmates as well as her former instructors. She also talked about the Baron du Reve and all the help the older man had been to her. He found himself laughing at her imitations of French mannerisms.

"You really liked it there?" he asked.

"I loved it there," she told him. "I think I would go back to Paris tomorrow . . ." then she stopped. "if . . . if it wasn't for Jefferson," she finished lamely, the light abruptly dimming in her eyes. "I . . . I don't think he would like living in Paris."

"I've heard Asheville is sometimes called the Paris of the South," he told her.

"Yes, there are so many things that remind me of Paris, the arty atmosphere, the free thinking, the narrow little streets and all the restaurants and little shops. It does have an element of Paris in it."

He had reached for hand while she talked and was holding it as she finished up.

"You've never really been to Paris. Have you thought any more about going?" she asked.

"A little," he answered honestly. "And I've thought more about the family cabin thing. If there is anywhere I might like to go . . . to stay . . . it is that place we have up near Mt. Mitchell. It's quiet and calm and very beautiful. It's perfect to get away from everything."

"Where you could do some writing," she said softly.

She'd remembered, remembered what he'd said, one of few honest things he had said to her. God, when he had talked with her about retiring to the mountains and writing, he had revealed something about himself that he'd told no one else. Talking with her, he had almost believed it could happen. He had plenty of money and this was something he wanted to do, something he thought he would be good at doing. No more tense business meetings, no more impossible government guidelines to work around, no more complex, convoluted contracts to draw up and sign.

Yeah, he really did want this.

The two sat quietly with him holding her hand for a while.

"Hey," he began. "Tomorrow is Saturday. What would you think about us driving up to Mt. Mitchell and the cabin tomorrow? I might like to show you around. We could do the observation tower at Mitchell and then drive back down to the cabin and have a picnic lunch."

Where was this coming from? He hadn't planned this but suddenly found that he really wanted to show her the cabin, the mountains, the whole peaceful venue.

"That sounds wonderful," she told him eagerly. "Maybe we could do the climb at Craggy Dome?"

A hike? Up a mountain? "I could give it a try," he told her, wondering if his knee would allow him to make the hike.

"It's a terrific view and not very long," she told him. "I used to do it a lot when I was younger."

"I can try," he repeated, very unsure of his ability to walk up the dome.

They drove home and again, after they had pulled into the garage, Rum met her on the other side of the vehicle.

"I had a very nice time," he told her. She looked up at him.

"I did too," she told him too. They were standing very close together. "I look forward to going out with you tomorrow. Sounds like I may want to pack some food tomorrow morning?"

Standing very close together indeed.

"The cabin is kept stocked. But bringing our own food certainly won't hurt. We could do another picnic." He found he was talking more and more slowly, more and more softly.

They were standing close enough that each could feel the heat coming from the other's body. It was dark in the garage. His hand was on her arm. She looked up at him. They were very close indeed. His eyes glinted in the dim light. Her eyes were shining.

"Belle," she heard him whisper her name and then he was kissing her. It wasn't slow and steady like The Tennis Court Kiss. This was hot and messy and frantic, his mouth nudging hers open so that he could thoroughly ravage her mouth. Her arms had gone around him, holding him, clasping him, and she knew she was kissing him back. She felt dizzy and hot and completely turned on. He was sturdy and comforting but . . . as if they both suddenly realized what they were doing, they pulled back.

They stood a moment awkwardly. "I. . . I . . . I guess . . . I need to go upstairs," she whispered.

"Yes, I guess you do," he was whispering also. And he watched while she fled upstairs.

Rum went back in the house, checked in on his brother who again regaled him with Alice's slightly off-color text messages that she had sent him throughout the day. He shared what he could about his day with Belle, as well as his plans for her for Saturday.

In his own bedroom, he stood in front of the mirror, looking at himself.

Could he loath himself any more than he did at this moment?

NEXT: Belle and Rum begin to acknowledge that they have feelings (deep feelings) for each other.

Thanks so much for kind reviews from Wondermorena, Grace5231973, lovepeacebubble121x, orthankg1, BloodyTink, Melstrife, Erik'sTrueAngel (Guest), MyraValhallah, Robin4, jewel415, and deweymay. I am having trouble with the mechanics of the reviews (some are delayed in getting posted to the site, although I get the email notification, and I'm not able to reply directly to the reviews - have to go through the private message to get back with people). Don't know if this is a problem with the site or with my account. -twyla