A/N: Either it's already June or my social life has gone down the drain …
I wonder which is the more likely option.
This first person to find the line inspired by Bridget's Jones' Diary is the best, and wins my eternal respect (or whatever)
Thank you to all my reviewers, I honestly think I have the best reviewers ever, you all always have very interesting comments and raise excellent points, and I love replying to them.
And to MalaikaNina who left a review, but did not sign in so I couldn't reply, no I don't think all French people are "arrogant and think they are "charming"", unless, I count myself among them (being half French, currently living in France etc. …). Actually, the only reason I allowed myself to write Renard that way (an over pompous arrogant snob who happens to be French) is because of my cultural heritage.
Scarlett gazed up from behind the desk and look around her, it felt good to be back at the store, she sighed.
Melanie was nearly back to her usual self, running after everyone, worrying about their wellbeing before her own.
Her transformation happened overnight. One evening Scarlett had left the Wilkes' home with Melly helplessly sobbing into her pillow, and the next morning when she had returned, Melanie had been as fresh as a primrose, her kind self, asking Scarlett how she was feeling.
Scarlett was sure that at any moment, her friend would have another breakdown and start weeping furiously again, but she didn't, she stayed strong and instead she sent Scarlett away.
When Melanie had told her she was feeling well and did not need her constant presence from dawn to dusk anymore, that she should take some time for herself; she had barely been able to contain the feeling of extreme joy and relief that burst in her chest.
She loved Melly, but staying in the house knitting and drinking tea had never been her sort of thing. She knew Melanie was still mourning the loss of her husband, you could still see the sadness and nostalgia in her eyes, especially when she looked at Beau, and that she needed someone she could rely on, but Scarlett also knew, that Melanie needed time to heal on her own, and that being constantly mollycoddled would not help her move on with her life.
Even though now she was more than visibly pregnant, Scarlett could not help herself from running off to her store as soon as the opportunity had presented itself, and as she looked around the room she used as an office, she smiled, her heart swelling with pride, this place was her baby.
True, it had been Frank who had first opened it, but it was she, Scarlett O'Hara, who had brought the place to its full potential.
If she had left it solely up to Frank, he would have run the place into the ground, by granting limitless credit to anyone who asked for it. By demanding that people pay their bills, and not being a pushover, she had created a prosper business, which brought in a fair amount of profit every year. This commerce would eventually be handed over to Ella, and Scarlett was more than proud to say that whatever should happen, she had ensured that her daughter would have something comfortable to lean on if times were ever hard.
As for Wade, as soon as he was of age, he would become the owner of half of Aunt Pitty's House, inherited from his father, and the lumber mills. He was going to be a well off young man, a very interesting party for all the young girls looking to marry, she smiled to herself.
No matter what anyone said about her and her mothering skills, she had always made sure her children would never be in dire straight, or in need. Nobody could take that away from her. She may not love her children in the same conventional way all the other women loved hers, but she loved them, in the best way she knew how. Making sure there was enough money to clothe them, and enough food in the cupboards to feed them, was, according to her, far more important than making sure than showering them with hugs and kisses and reading them fairy tales before they went to sleep.
She had no worries concerning Bonnie, and this new child she was carrying, they would never lack of anything, Rhett would always take care of them. She was sure he would always provide for Wade and Ella if need be, he was like that. But nevertheless, she felt that it was her responsibility to make sure they were taken care of.
She leaned back against her chair and rested her hands across her belly. God, she hated being pregnant. It made her feel awkward and out of place, constantly uncomfortable, hot and bothered. And then there was the labour. True, Mammy had said that her labours had been shamefully quick, but the pain had been unbearable. She thought back to the day Melly had given birth to Beau, and she winced at the memory of the atrocious pain she had witnessed her friend suffer through and almost die. She thought it was substantially unfair that women had to go through all this pain and suffering in their lives, yet they were still regarded as inferior by men, she'd like to see one of them go through labour, that would teach them a lesson.
She heard someone knock softly her on office door, "Miss Scarlett, there's some gentleman her to see you."
"Who is it?" she asked.
"I have no idea, Miss Scarlett, he says it's mighty important though," Willy's voiced echoed from the other side of the door.
"Very well Willy, bring him in," she said.
She picked herself up from her chair and went around the desk to greet her visitor, she found herself face to face with a man that she had never met before.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Butler," he said as he extended his hand to shake hers. "Allow me to present myself, I'm Victor Renard."
"And how may I be of assistance to you sir?"
"I am looking into Mr Ashley Wilkes death, and I would really appreciate if you would answer some questions to help me in my investigation," he said politely. His accent seemed oddly familiar; she had heard it somewhere before, she thought, in Savannah, it was the same accent as her grand-père Robillard's.
"You don't look like a policeman," Scarlett stated.
"That would be because I am not a policeman," he smiled. "I'm a private investigator."
His almost playful tone spiked Scarlett's interest, and she looked up at him with great curiosity. He was, undeniably, an extremely good looking man, tall with board shoulders, a light tan and a handsome face, in fact, in some aspects, he was not totally unlike Rhett, the same -a bit too full of himself, kind of man. "Who on earth did Ashley know and who is rich enough to hire a private investigator, and who cared enough about him to have his death looked into," she wondered internally.
"If it helps put Ashley's murderer behind bars, I'll answer your questions," she complied.
"How long have you known Mr Wilkes?"
"All my life, we practically grew up together," she replied.
"And what was your relationship with him?"
"We were old friends," she said.
"Just friends?" he asked, barely concealing the hidden meaning of his question.
"What exactly are you trying to imply, Mr Renard? You are aware of the fact that I am married," she said slight offended.
"Several times, or so I've heard," Renard said slyly. Scarlett eyed him up and down with fury in her gaze, he must have been talking about me to one of those peahens, she thought.
"That's none of your business," she said flatly.
"You didn't answer my question, Mrs Butler," he insisted.
"And I have no intention of dignifying it with an answer," she said adamantly.
"Should I take that as a 'yes' then?"
Scarlett looked up into his dark green eyes with venom, "No, you should absolutely not. He was a friend nothing more. If you're here to insult me, I will have to ask you to leave."
"Scarlett? What's wrong?" Rhett demanded as he suddenly appeared in the doorway. "I was just coming to see if you were ready to go home yet, who are you yelling at?"
It was then he noticed the stranger in his wife's office, and gave him a stern glance, "Is this man bothering you Scarlett?"
"I beg your forgiveness, Madam, if I offended you …" Renard began.
"Did this man say or do something to offend you," Rhett asked as he placed himself between his wife and the foreigner, before addressing Renard directly, "Did you do something to offend my wife, sir?"
"Rhett, it's nothing, he was just doing his job," she played down. She did not want Rhett to find out that the subject of her argument was her now non-existing romantic feelings for Ashley Wilkes. If Rhett was to find out, his reaction would only spike the private investigator's interest even further, and she did not feel like airing her dirty laundry in public today.
"And what might his job be exactly?" Rhett asked, directing his question at Scarlett and totally ignoring the man's presence in the room.
"I'm a private investigator," Renard said. "I am investigating the murder of Mr Ashley Wilkes." The way every single muscle in Rhett Butler's body tensed up as he had pronounced Mr Wilkes' name did not go unnoticed by the French man. "Was he a good friend or yours, sir?"
"I've known him for a long time," Rhett said dryly. "His passing was a great loss for his family and the community."
For a brief moment, which lasted no longer than a second, Rhett's discomfort was clearly visible on his face, fortunately for Victor Renard, this happened exactly as he was eying the other man up and down. He could not prevent a smile from forming at the corner of his lips; this interview was turning out to be even more interesting than planned.
"What interest could a French man possibly have in investigating the death of an honourable southern gentleman?" Rhett quizzed him nonchalantly.
"Does one have to have an interest when one is employed to do something?" he replied.
"And whom, may I ask, are you working for?"
"I am afraid, I am not at liberty to discuss the identity of my employer," Renard said enigmatically. "Would you be willing to answer some of my questions, Mr Butler?"
"I do not see how anything I could tell you could be of any assistance in finding out that killed Mr Wilkes," Rhett sighed as he pulled out a cigar.
"You have no idea, Mr Butler, how often the most insignificant details can help unveil the identity of a murderer."
Rhett cleared his throat, "Why don't we make an appointment at a later date, come and see me during working hours at the bank, where I have an office, I came here today to take my wife home, it is late already. And as you may or may not have noticed she's in a delicate condition, and needs her rest." Scarlett almost let out a snigger, when had she ever been in a delicate condition, but she remained silent, she was more than eager for Mr Renard to leave.
"Yes, of course, how inconsiderate of me. Mrs Butler, I beg for your forgiveness, once again. I will come back at a more appropriate time, and we can resume our conversation," he accompanied his words with an almost exaggerated tip of the hat. "Mr Butler, I will be sure to come and see you at the bank, I'm sure your answers will be extremely helpful in my enquiry."
Renard then slipped out of the room and the shop as swiftly as he had come in, leaving the Butlers alone.
"What did he ask you?" Rhett asked.
"Oh, you know, trivialities about Ashley. How long I have known him ..." she trailed off.
"How well you knew Ashley?" Rhett said, his voice full of accusation.
Scarlett shot him a look of disgust, "You just can't help yourself, can you? You always have to bring that up. You need to put the past behind us, he is dead, yet you still feel threatened by him.
"Do you blame me?"
Scarlett chose to ignore this last question, and turned away from him, "Will you take me home now please, I am tired."
He did not utter a word as he led her out to the carriage.
During the trip home, Scarlett wondered just what the private investigator meant when he had said he was sure Rhett's answers would help greatly in his investigation, surely he didn't think Rhett could know anything about Ashley's murder … Surely he couldn't possibly think that Rhett had anything to do with it, could he?