Note : eventually, after weeks of mysteries, here is Rhett's proposal !
Thank you, all readers, for your interest, your kindness and smart comments :-)
Wednesday, June 16, 1876, at "The Boutique Robillard
I can't concentrate on the numbers! For once, the accounting journal was no longer a source of satisfaction, let alone a diversion.
Yet there was much to be pleased about. Her first saleswoman, Emma Whising, was proving to be successful in running the store in the owner's absence. I'll have to give her a raise!
Scarlett had already seen its effectiveness when she went to Charleston at the end of May. So much the better if the store is well run in my absence! I'll have more free time for myself, in peace...
And she was going to need freedom of movement. If only to travel to the capital of South Carolina once again the following week.
She had received, in this morning's mail, a document from Mr. Johnson, the manufacturer of the "Johnson Ready-to-Wear" clothes. He confirmed to her what had already been mentioned in the previous letter: the presentation of the new line manufactured for the Autumn-Winter season would take place in a dozen days, on Tuesday, June 29. Only the Company's retail customers would have the privilege of discovering it first. This would be the opportunity to place an order, so that the articles could be delivered at the beginning of September.
So I'll have to go to Charleston again. Which should please a certain Duncan...
Scarlett began to daydream. This was certainly not the first time since her return from Tara! What a whirlwind of emotions!
On leaving Tara on Monday morning, Scarlett and her guest had behaved amicably, without mentioning, by word or gesture, the intimate exchanges they had not restrained the day before. But the young woman had felt, throughout the return journey, two charcoal-blue fires watching her every move. Even when she turned her head away, Duncan's burning eyes kept her warm.
Perhaps he thought the train was too fast, because he could not convince her to set a day for her visit to Charleston. He invited her to a dinner at the Magnolias' House and promised to show her the Soft South plantation. He even told her about the outstanding performance of a ballet troupe that month at the Opera House. She relished hearing him lose himself in his argument for her to come to South Carolina as soon as possible. His confusion was touching.
But Scarlett was evasive about this new opportunity to meet Duncan Vayton in her former husband's hometown.
For the tenth time in the last two days, Scarlett wondered about what had happened between the two of them, and more importantly, how she felt about the handsome designer.
One thing was certain: she had never allowed a man such liberality outside of marriage - not even to Rhett, who had only been entitled, until their official union, to a few hand kisses, a few light ones stolen from the corner of the lips, and, above all, two real kisses. But what kisses... The fiery one on the road to Rough and Ready, and the equally passionate one sealing his proposal of marriage. As for her physical contacts with her pre-war beaux, they were so chaste as to be non-existent.
Of course, there had been the two kisses exchanged with Ashley... If he had shown the slightest desire to go further, I think I would have given in, sacrificing Ellen's strict upbringing precepts. I was even prepared to run away with him. I would have brushed aside the indignant wrath of the Old Guard, and the more terrifying fear of the wrath of hell that would have been sure to descend upon me, with Mammy's complicity. But Ashley was wiser than me. Or more cowardly...
Scarlett brushed aside the image of her romantic obsession with a wave of her hand. It was no longer a mirage today, but a real shared physical attraction to a man who was not her husband.
I'm not sixteen anymore, not twenty. I've had three husbands, three children, a divorce. The trials have made me stronger than ever. But I have kept the conviction to ban all sexual relations outside of marriage. It wasn't hard until Rhett introduced me to what pleasure really was, right down to ecstasy...
Like every time she mentioned that famous night, she felt a chill run through her. But Rhett was the past. Now, he was only after the new blood of a young Charlestonian woman. And Scarlett's body was crying out for more. I'm too young to give up pleasure. So am I ready to give in to the temptation of the flesh with the most beautiful man I've ever met?
Scarlett smiled naughtily as she purposely used that bigoted and sultry expression.
A shadow darkened her vision. She looked up, and her mutinous face froze. Her cheeks turned scarlet.
Rhett!
She was as embarrassed as when Ellen had caught her stealing a chocolate liqueur from the living room locked in a tin box.
With shame, she was aware that she looked like a ripe tomato, her cheeks and neck turning crimson. She could have sworn that her former husband, as usual, had the supernatural power to read her mind at this very moment. And what scandalous ideas had just crossed her mind...
Like a feline on the prowl, he had already ferreted out the elusive attitude of his prey. He took the pretext to bend and kiss the back of her hand to better spear her with his inquisitive gaze. He was trying to determine the cause of her trouble. And he would not release his grip until he had pierced this mystery.
"Scarlett, have I interrupted a delightful intimate meditation?"
His drawl accentuated his sarcastic air.
She released her hand from his grip, took a deep breath, straightened up and hunched her shoulders to look at him with contempt. At least, she hoped so.
With a discreet glance, she detailed his outfit. Not refined like Duncan's. How to characterize him? A male. That's the only word I can think of. Pfeuh! Scarlett grumbled to herself.
"My dreams are none of your business. Besides, speaking of business, do you ever work instead of disrupting my clientele?"
In response, he turned ostentatiously to the exhibition hall, which for once was empty of visitors.
Then he stared at her innocently, "Indeed, you are so overworked that I caught you in the act of guilty idleness."
The gall escaped his lips as he added, "Unless you are indulging in more guilty fantasms the country air put you in a bucolic mood?"
A shiver of fear ran through her. He had guessed. Of course, he'd had to read the name "Duncan," written in large letters on her forehead. He's a wizard, or rather, the devil himself...
For a few moments she was disconcerted enough to mechanically fidget with the pencil in her hand, digging her nails into the soft wood.
"Nervous?"
It had been uttered suavely with such perfidy that she recovered her senses. Of course he had known about her visit to Tara, for he had spent the afternoon with the children. Ella had excitedly told her how much fun the three of them had had. Even Wade had seemed to have finally buried the hatchet... Scarlett could hardly believe her ears. Rhett, giving his precious time to her children three years after abandoning them...
What had surprised her even more - no, intrigued her - was the presence of a rose in the soliflore, parading alone in the middle of the living room. Gorgeous. With tempting satiny petals that compelled her to inhale its dizzying scent. Rhett... Why a red rose? She immediately resented the convoluted speculations about the color of a flower and its presupposed meaning. It simply meant that the arrogant Rhett Butler only bought the best and most luxurious. Who knows? Perhaps he had chosen it along with a bouquet for his beloved whore? Just imagining it, she had to make an effort not to tear off the petals one by one.
She lifted her chin, and, in a dry tone, nodded, "Indeed, this day in Tara has done me the world of good."
She felt he was hesitant to ask another question. He shook his head in denial. Then he resumed, "What's the news about Mammy?"
She was happy to change the subject: "Her rheumatism is hurting her. I have made sure with my sister that she does not have to work any more. The supervision of the Benteen children has been trying enough, for my nieces are hard to bear, I must confess."
Carried away by the joy of talking about Mammy with someone who really appreciated her, she added spontaneously: "But I can assure you that her vivacity is intact. I witnessed it again on Sunday. Always on the lookout to watch my every move, as if she were still the guardian of my virtue!"
The second Mammy's former "lamb" let this remark slip, she realized her blunder and repressed her embarrassment by pressing her fingers to her mouth. A childish reflex, worthy of those she reserved for her nanny when she had just been caught in the act of foolishness.
Too late. She had said too much.
Instantly, with the dexterity of a hunter who has found the perfect bait to harpoon his game, he repeated in a sweet voice, "The guardian of your virtue... I am curious to know what-or who-that could have threatened it in Tara, when you were all alone with your family. Unless..."
He paused for a moment. Scarlett took advantage of this to deflect the course of Rhett's suppositions, which were getting dangerously close to the truth.
"Fiddle-de-dee! Stop quibbling. You are wasting my time. Would it be too indiscreet to know what earns me the honor of your presence here?"
She almost laughed when she saw the disappointment on his face at having to change the subject, like a cat that has been deprived of the pleasure of poking the mouse it was licking.
He pretended to inspect the display of hair accessories and stopped his attention on a pocket mirror whose carved ivory cover was a masterpiece of chiseling.
"Hm... This is an attractive article. I'd like to study this engraving more closely." He pretended to want to open the glass panel.
A flush of exasperation made her exclaim, "Aren't there enough pocket mirrors in Charleston that you have to bring one from Atlanta?" She did not hide the acidity of her question. She was annoyed that one of the items she had imported from France was benefiting a young, scatterbrained blonde who was waiting patiently for him in his hometown, while he was flailing around uselessly in Atlanta.
Rhett's eyebrows drew together. For once, he seemed genuinely taken aback by his former wife's aggressiveness. He stepped away from the display counter.
"I knew you were more eager to make a sale. You definitely fascinate me. After three years, you finally gave up the very generous annuity I was offering you. Now you disdain my dollars to increase the profits of your business. Has the venal Scarlett decided to detach herself from this mercantile world?" He had risen in tone, not hiding his irritation.
That's what's bothering him. He's upset that I threw his precious money in his face. Well, that's good.
Before she had time to make a strong point, he added, so perfidiously that she was stunned, "Or perhaps you have discovered another magical source, the promise of hard cash?"
Her green eyes looked like a frozen lake, as icy as her voice, "I would ask you to seek another playmate who will be amused by your sly spikes. If you have nothing else to say to me, I thank you for leaving me. I have work to be done."
To her surprise, she saw him make a rare gesture, for a man so impeccably nonchalant - running his fingers through his hair nervously to the point of tousling it - an indication to him of great embarrassment.
He cleared his throat. "Impetuous Scarlett! Smooth your dazzling ruffled feathers. What do you say we smoke the peace pipe? We haven't had a chance to talk peacefully since... since we met in Charleston. Sunday afternoon, I'm coming play with Ella and Wade. Then...will you do a lonely man the honor of accepting his invitation to dinner Sunday night?"
Scarlett's first reaction was to send him to hell. To talk peacefully since our reunion... Rather since the day he had shamefully extorted her agreement to the divorce! But, seeing him fiddle with his hair until it was shaggy, signaled an uneasiness she found touching. Stupidly touching.
Standing tall in defiance, she replied, "Yes. On one condition. That you let me test all the desserts in the pastry sled, and that you choose the most expensive bottle of wine in their cellar!"
The spark of amusement that she saw shining on him caused an incomprehensible tingling in the region of her heart.
Sunday, June 20, 1876, Atlanta, Peachtree Street
She couldn't believe her eyes. Rhett and Wade had been in deep discussion for over an hour about the exact orientation of the strings of a single puppet. All to perform one precise action. And my daughter listens to them as avidly as if someone was reading her a fairytale. Those dolls must have had them bewitched!
Scarlett was relegated to the drawing room, where she was engaged in delicate needlepoint work on a set of six tea towels. These would be added to the many doilies and ornamental cushion covers on the Christmas stand of the Benevolent Society, chaired this year by Mrs Esling. The fruit of the sale would be a meagre contribution to the exponential needs of the War Orphans' Association and other needy people.
Despite her business activities, Scarlett remained faithful to the strategy of rehabilitating her image, begun in 1874, with the Old Guard. It was worth a few short hours a week of needlework. Even if this housewife distraction bored her to death.
From her vantage point, she didn't mind letting an eavesdropping ear linger on the conversations coming from the hall. It was strange to hear his deep voice echoing in this house that had once been the Butler's. His laughter, by some mysterious reflective phenomenon, was echoed off the walls, amplified by the memory of other joyful sounds from the time their daughter chirped in concert with her father. The echo reverberated off her skin to make her shiver with each variation.
From time to time, more often than she would have needed, she would go into the kitchen, give an order to Prissy, or move a file in her office. Everything was an excuse to cross the hall and pass in front of the puppet theatre. Each time she entered the hallway, her body felt the warmth of his dark eyes on her at the slightest of her steps. When she looked up, he turned ostensibly to the children.
The difficulty was to spy, as discreetly as possible, on the strange dialogue that had taken place between her former husband and his stepchildren - her former stepchildren, Scarlett mentally clarified with a touch of possessiveness.
Rhett's stature towered, behind the theater screen. He had grabbed Ella's hand to help her hold the wooden control tool. The challenge was to operate the strings connected to the puppet's legs in such a way as to articulate them as naturally as possible. Her brother had managed to move his puppet with varying degrees of ease, but as soon as it began to contort itself miserably, the boy complained that the other two puppeteers were taking up too much space on the stage and interfering with his manipulation. A debate then began between stepson and stepfather to calculate the progress time of each character, to be placed in a precise place, in a desired time.
Puzzled by the eccentricity of this exchange, Scarlett mocked: "Rhett, you look like General Lee, giving orders to his Aide-de-Camp to position his troops before the battle."
The three papier-mâché doll handlers looked at her as if she had dared to interrupt a discussion of fine strategists. Scarlett laughed at their incensed faces.
Ella defended her two team leaders: "Mother, the scene we have to perform needs to be rehearsed step by step, minute by minute, because it is so complicated. I can't tell you more, because it's a secret. But when we are ready..." She paused, "When can we perform the show, Uncle Rhett?"
He took a learned tone: "Oh, not for several weeks, I'm afraid, Ella. He took her in his arms. "In the meantime, I'll have the pleasure of playing with two talented puppeteers!"
Wade could hardly suppress the pride he felt at being complimented in this way. Ella clapped, and placed a kiss on her stepfather's cheek, "These Sundays the three of us spend together are the most wonderful of my life." Then, ever eager for fairness, the little girl added, "Because of your presence too, Mother."
Scarlett met Rhett's teasing smile, "Indeed, these family afternoons are divinely enjoyable."
Without understanding why, these last words irritated her.
She decided to leave the field of operations, but she added: "Wade and Ella, in fifteen minutes, it will be time for a snack. Then, Wade, I'd like you to pack your suitcase with Prissy's help, so that everything is ready for your return to boarding school. It seems that you forgot to put on a change of socks last Sunday. As for me, I'm going to rest in my room for a while before I get dressed for tonight."
She turned back to Rhett who had been staring at her all along, "What time are you picking me up?"
"The table is reserved for 7:30. Pork will drive me back to the hotel. That'll give me time to be elegant enough to invite the prettiest young lady in Atlanta."
This praise had been delivered in a dragging Charlestonian accent. She deduced that he was doing it knowingly because he didn't mean a word of it.
"All right. See you later."
Without adding anything, she walked up the stairs to her room. "Which dress shall I wear? The black one? The green one? Maybe the one with the silver threads. He doesn't like it. Certainly not the one with the wide neckline!"
Wednesday, June 16, 1876, 7:30 p.m., Maggy's Restaurant
He ran his hand down her back to guide her to their table.
He had previously chosen the location with the maitre d'. From this spot, Scarlett could enjoy the festive bustle of this new trendy restaurant, but he would not be hindered by the proximity of other customers for the crucial conversation.
Tonight, it was his life he was playing for.
He was so aware of this that he had had great difficulty in buttoning his white damask shirt. How stupid of the tailor to have sewn on pearl buttons! His hands were shaking with frustration as he put on his cufflinks, which were as elegant as they were stupidly difficult to fasten. Closing his sleeveless grey-white satin waistcoat was no easy task. Finally he breathed when he placed his bow tie, the same shade as the waistcoat.
His new black suit refined his figure. He inspected his attire in the mirror, without concession. The dashing Captain Butler of 1861 was no more. But the elegant line of his tuxedo jacket, cinched at the waist by a single button, and which highlighted his broad shoulders, reassured him. Scarlett had loved curling up in it on nightmare nights. Perhaps one day soon...
Wearing his black silk top hat, with his favorite cigar on his lips, he finally felt ready to go into battle. He was going to play his last card. Otherwise... he would lose the fight of his life.
When she had come down the stairs, gripping the banister tightly- oh, how he understood the reason for that- he had been breathless. So much so that he remained silent for a few moments.
He recognized it instantly.
That dress was so deep red that it appeared black at first glance. But, with the slightest movement, the myriad of glass beads sparkled, giving it purple, then blood red reflections, accentuating the sinuous curve of her hips, her astonishingly fine waist, or the generous curve of her breasts.
Its seams had undergone some modifications. The collar and armholes had been stripped of the red ostrich feathers, and replaced by a delicate black lace trimmed with tiny pearls. The red tulle veil covering her shoulders had been abandoned in favor of a black organdy stole, so thin and translucent that it was diaphanous.
Yes, it was the dress, the one he had forced the unfaithful woman to wear, like Heracles, to condemn her to the stake and to be lacerated in public by the merciless fangs of the Old Guard.
The symbolism of this choice was clear: dressed in her scarlet armor, Scarlett O'Hara was ready to go to war. But what a beautiful armor all in sensuality!
To the defiant attitude she flung at him, with her chin raised, he responded by gazing at her admiringly, from head to foot, so insistently that she finally said, "Do you feel a sense of 'déjà vu', Mr. Butler?"
Yes, tonight's onslaught was going to be perilous.
As they crossed the central aisle to their table, preceded by the Maître d'Hôtel, he caught the attention of the men as Scarlett passed. They were trying to be discreet, sitting quietly beside their wives, but some of them were having a hard time hiding their lust in the wake of such a beautiful, blossoming woman.
By instinct, he accentuated the pressure of his hand on the lower loins of his former wife. Tonight, at least for two hours, she was his. Only his.
Rhett pretended to be immersed in the scrupulous reading of the wines, the provenance of the vintages, the best years of harvest, etc... He could thus enjoy the presence of his belle in silence, before approaching the subject he dreaded.
As he had expected, Scarlett was salivating just by reading the names of the dishes on the menu. He had always loved her pantagruelian appetite, which at first sight was not very feminine. Tenderly, he realized that she would always be the starving young girl who struggled to keep her family alive during the war.
How he loved to spoil her when they were married, to make sure she savored the tastiest food, the smoothest wines, to eradicate forever that fear of starvation.
But she had never needed him. She had been independent for centuries. He continued to watch the conquering businesswoman with the same admiration as the first day he had seen her in the Kennedy store. My brave Scarlett...
Now another man had the same ambition as him. And he had every chance of succeeding. Above all, his charm had already worked. To what extent? That was one of the questions that tormented him the most.
Rhett winced. Anxiety twisted his stomach.
As soon as he'd entered her shop, catching her in deep meditation, he'd guessed she was dreaming about the man she'd just spent two days with in Tara. And one night. Especially one night.
Annoyed, he tapped the end of his cigar in the ashtray.
He had turned the words over in his head a thousand times before he walked through the door of "The Boutique Robillard". He had promised himself to keep a low profile. He didn't want to make any more taunting remarks - even though they had always been thrown in to prevent any injury she had - or might have - inflicted on him, knowingly or even without her being aware of it.
Willing to express his contentment to the shop owner for having so well stocked the shelves of her store with precious and elegant articles, he was pleased to play the customer in order to make a small sale - From experience, he knew that for the owner of Kennedy's Hardware Store, any inflow of money was never negligible. He had especially in mind to surprise her, some day, with the ivory pocket mirror, where she could admire herself at leisure in her room - which, long ago, had been their room.
Instead, she indulged in one of her irrational tantrums, and affronted him by contemptuously disdaining his dollars. In frustration, he burst out in resentment and alluded, with all the venom he could muster, to her greed for money - a specificity she claimed, by the way - but more importantly to "a magical source" that had fallen from the sky – actually, more precisely, from "La Mode Duncan" headquarters.
In one sentence, the painful jealousy, that had consumed him since last Sunday, had flared up again. He immediately regretted it and panicked. This outburst condemned to failure his invitation to dinner, and, by the same token, any possibility for him to open the door on his last hope.
Fortunately, he took advantage of Scarlett's good nature, which was not resentful, and she accepted.
Now the hardest part was to be done...
"Show me the wine list, please, so I can select the one with the most outrageous price."
They exchanged a knowing laugh.
The food was tasty, and, fortunately for his guest's hearty appetite, the portions were generous.
Scarlett was enjoying herself and expressing her contentment. Rhett, on the other hand, was savoring every second spent alone with her. He cursed the fragrant, succulent sole meunière because it deprived him of smelling the perfume of the bewitching young woman sitting inches away from him. The special red vintage of Château Haut-Brion, which Rhett had had the opportunity to discover during a visit to the Bordeaux area, had only a poor exhilarating power. There was no comparison with the intoxicating plunge into the enticing indentation uncovering the alabaster skin of the birth of her breasts.
It was then the long-awaited moment of the dessert platter. As a provocation, she asked to try the ten or so pastries, creams and mousses, presented by the waiter, delighted that such a pretty customer was honoring the pastry chef's talent.
"You're cheating, Scarlett! I see that you have opted for ridiculously small portions. You're going to lose your bet!"
After licking her lips of a surplus of chocolate mousse, she replied with confidence: "Feedle-de-dee! I had not specified the quantity at all. Besides, eating all those sweets would make my bodice explode!"
Rhett could finally, without hiding, leer outrageously towards the tempting breasts, passing his tongue on his lower lip. He had the immense satisfaction of seeing her suddenly blush at this sensual evocation.
A band was helping to warm up the happy mood of the guests. Rhett was briefly tempted to ask her to dance, but this was not the time. Now he had to take the plunge - and hope he didn't drown.
Scarlett's cheeks were rosy from the pleasures of the table and the drink, as the sommelier served them the liquors. She was glowing with the joy of life.
With a twinge of regret, he told himself that he could not hesitate any longer.
"Um..." He took a nervous drag on his cigar. "Scarlett, I want to thank you for accepting my invitation. Will you believe me if I tell you that this is the most enjoyable evening I've had in years?"
She showed her surprise. He could easily read what she was thinking at the moment: she was wary, expecting another meanness.
He clutched his half-full glass to give himself an excuse to contract his fingers hard. His voice was low. He sought her eyes, never to leave them. "Thirty months. It's been thirty months since I regretted what happened that sad day in November."
His throat was knotted. He saw Scarlett's eyes glaze over. The pallor was gradually chasing the rosy cheeks.
For a moment he lowered his head. He was so ashamed to remember his cruelty. He told her. Finally. "Scarlett, I am ashamed of my conduct that day. I have no excuse for my abject behavior, and for the heinous blackmail I resorted to, in order to extort your agreement to the divorce."
She cut him off curtly: "For once, I agree with you. Your attitude was ignominious. As for your blackmail...do you have any idea how much it broke me? I know you're making fun of my mothering skills. I want you to know that, on that day, you ripped my heart out by threatening to take my children away from me, the flesh of my flesh. Why do you think I struggled all those years, all those hours picking cotton, and then straining my eyes with the books? Why did I fight with the lumber and hardware suppliers who saw me as nothing but a partridge to be plucked? Why did I hire convicts to get every cent I could, until I was rewarded with Ashley's scorn? Why did I dare to break the status of recluse pregnant woman to keep the sawmill going, no matter what the cost, against every rule of caution, resulting in poor Frank's death? All this was to feed my family. I didn't care about the criticisms of the whole of Atlanta, including yours - the latter being the cruelest, by the way, but you excel at that. I always had one goal, that my children would have food, a safe home and warm clothes."
She paused to catch her breath. She had managed to control the loudness of her words, being aware that they were in public. But the violence that came out of her, was stronger than if she had been screaming at the top of her lungs the tragic summary of her life.
Rhett's hands were shaking so much that he gave up holding the glass, preferring to hide them under the table.
This time, it was she who forced him to confront her head on: "So, yes, I'll never forget November 15, 1873. That was the day you smashed my heart."
She stopped short. Her chest was rising and falling angrily, too oppressed by the corset that clamped her, and the rage that had inflamed her.
He could no longer bear to be confronted with these emeralds whose brilliance had never been so intense.
He was lost. Never mind the curious eyes that were likely to spy on an arguing couple. He lowered his head, elbows on the table, buried his hands in his hair and pulled them back to hurt himself. If he'd been alone in his room right now, he'd probably have grabbed a knife to mutilate himself and watch his blood flow, knowing that his body would never release as much hemoglobin as Scarlett had shed tears for her children, because of him.
He finally had the courage to face the one who was accusing him. His vision was so blurred by the tears he was fighting, that he felt as if he were looking at stars. The shine of the glass beads reflecting the light of the restaurant's chandeliers - the sparkle of the gold flakes in the eyes he so cherished. With a sob-crammed line in his voice, so faint that he feared she wouldn't hear it, "I am sorry. I beg your pardon, Scarlett. Please, pardon me."
She nervously banged her ring on the tablecloth, inhaled brightly, and then, in a more measured voice, said, "That's all in the past. That pain is behind me. Your apology is a little late, but I accept it. Just know that I will never forget. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about, tonight?"
He tensed his muscles. "Yes. I'd like us to be friends again, Scarlett, just like before."
"Like before?" She had wanted to burst out laughing, but the last note was broken.
He grew more confident as he knew what he wanted to say to her, "Yes, before we were married. I was your only friend. You were my friend. We used to spend hours talking. I miss our togetherness."
She braced her back against the back of her chair, "It's true. We should never have married. Our friendship would still be intact, today."
It was a cry of the heart when he corrected her, "In that case, we wouldn't have had Bonnie."
In the depths of his sorrow, he felt her palm rest on his hand, "You're right. Our little angel has brightened our lives. And she will forever bind us."
She forced the lightness of her tone: "So you want us to be friends. Does that mean we can tell each other everything again? Will I be able to tell you my most unmentionable secrets?"
In the same spirit, he assured, "Certainly. I can guarantee you that I will take them to the grave with me."
She chuckled, "I'm afraid they'll end up in hell, in that case. Fear not, I will test the level of your endurance."
The poignancy was over. He had two more points to make.
"Scarlett, I would like to talk to you about a subject which is very close to my heart. I began to think of it early in the year 1874, when I travelled to France, and then to Egypt. This is not the place to explain the project in detail. But, in a word, I am going to create two museums, in Charleston and in Atlanta. They will be the alliance between the timelessness of Egyptian antiquities and the modernism of a new trend in painting."
He had managed to capture her interest. She practicality immediately targeted the problem: "But how will you get supplies?"
"I have found the ideal solution. The two American museums will work in osmosis with the Louvre Museum and the association of French impressionist painters. The cities of Charleston and Atlanta will in turn lend works by American artists to the French museum. In this way, the collections will be renewed each year.
Disclosing the first lines of the realization of a dream, that had helped him out of his despair during those three years, gave him back the vigor of his thirty years.
"I have been working closely with the French and American governments for two years. This is a complex issue because there are problems of international law, industrial property law, maritime law and insurance law. But we are now ready to sign contracts on both sides. As for the painters called "impressionists", they are enthusiastic to make their art known in America.
"But, Rhett, where are you going to get all that money? I know you're rich. But, unless you want to go broke and sleep on the Battery docks, I doubt you have enough cash to provide those two showrooms. And I'll fall off my chair if you tell me you've decided to become a philanthropist."
He laughed rapturously "Ah, Scarlett, how well we know each other... It is such a pleasure to be able to chat with you again... Rest assured, you will not have to shelter a poor homeless man in your stable with the horses for charity. My fortune will only contribute to this in a secondary way. Of course, my program requires a very important financing. I'll tell you about it in a moment. What does my partner in crime think?"
She wavered for a second between rebelling against the title of 'partner in crime' and giving her opinion on the idea that only a man like Rhett could have imagined. "It's a pharaonic - the term is appropriate - and unreasonable undertaking.." - Her lips formed a grimace of spite as she added - "But worthy of your stature."
Rhett would cherish this criticism for a long time. Scarlett admitted, however reluctantly, that she considered him a man apart.
He gestured to the waiter and ordered coffees, a glass of brandy and another of cognac. The clerk, sensing that the tip would be generous, hastened to pour them again.
"I am very glad you find my plan unreasonable. It will stimulate me." He showed her his white teeth, seeking to regain the happiness she had displayed throughout the meal. "Your opinion is all the more important as you are closely concerned."
As she raised her eyebrows in incomprehension, he grabbed her left hand, the one that had long worn her engagement ring and wedding band: "When I began to imagine this symbol of immortality and beauty, I thought of Bonnie. The two museums will be called the "Bonnie Blue Butler Arts Museum. That is, of course, if you agree with the name. Unless you make another suggestion."
It had been a long time since they had exchanged such an intense look. Without adding anything, because she was unable to formulate a word, she slipped her fingers into his to unite them.
They said nothing for a minute. Then she broke free.
Rhett felt the physical lack of contact with her skin. But he had to keep arguing, because his hope for rebuilding a close bond with the woman he loved so much was held:
"I had thought..." He cleared his throat. Decidedly, he should cut down on his cigar consumption. His palate was dry. "I am convinced that you could be the centerpiece of the realization of this action, which will mark the world of Arts and Culture in the United States."
She was speechless. "Me, who's having trouble finishing a full reading of a book? Have you lost your mind, Rhett Butler?"
He burst into a liberating laugh. Finally, she was back, his impulsive, direct and transgressive Scarlett... "Don't worry, my dear. I will not force you to read pensums on the representation of gods and goddesses in Ancient Egypt. I propose to you to emphasize what you excel in: the figures! In order to raise the necessary funds, of an impressive amount, you could become the ambassador of the two museums. You would be appointed President of the Management Fund - with a flock of accountants, under you, of course."
He read in her eyes a curiosity that was growing by the second. Now was the time to make his proposal to her. If she accepted, he would regain hope and be able to fight the dangerous Duncan Vayton. But if she refused...
"We are identifying patrons who want to make their mark on American cultural innovation. Knowing many of them, I will select the "targets" likely to be favorable to us. You would be our symbol of seduction to make them understand, in quantified statements, how their great generosity could be monetized in real benefit to their business, thanks to their new reputation as benefactors of the Arts."
Scarlett nodded, perhaps beginning to develop strategies. She asked the crucial question, "So these sponsors, according to your account, are likely to be located not only in New York, but in other American cities. How do we get in touch with them?"
He held his breath: "Of course, all the meetings will be prepared in advance by myself. Then we'll go and meet them, you and I, all over the United States. What do you think, Scarlett?"
He could only make out two green expanses in front of him, which were gradually turning cold: "Rhett, you want to renew our old friendship, based on honesty. So let us speak honestly. Allowing our daughter to have her name perpetuated for eternity in the world of beauty is a moving and wonderful idea. Exchanging works of art between our country and France is exciting. To finance the needs by patrons who will gain notoriety is judicious. Suggesting that I head the fund is an honor. But... Rhett, traveling together as if we were still a couple... it's not... Since you want us to resume our frank discussions, I don't need to tell you that my personal life is in a state of flux. Perhaps soon I won't be so free to move around as I used to be."
Could she hear his heart racing? The blood was pounding furiously under his temples. The knuckles of his fists were whitened as his fingers dug into his flesh with violence.
He managed to formulate a sentence, although he could no longer control his intonation: "I'm afraid I don't understand. What do you mean?"
She pinched the edge of her lower lip in embarrassment. "I'm leaving on June 27 for Charleston. I have an appointment with a supplier. And with Duncan Vayton."
Disclaimers : I do not own the characters and the story of Gone with the wind, which belong to Margaret Mitchell. I created the "world" of Duncan Vayton and of Blanche Bonsart.