The Robillard Boutique

by BlancheScarlett

Three years after their divorce, Scarlett is the head of "The Boutique Robillard" and becomes the muse of the young and handsome fashion king Duncan Vayton, Charlestonian citizen like Rhett. Our dear Rhett will have a hard time winning back Scarlett's love from this perfect Prince Charming. A plunge into the History of 1876, from the South, to Paris, and even Brazil!

38. Chapter 38 White as a sheet

Notes on Chapter 38:

I sincerely thank you for your many comments on Chapter 37. Please know that I sometimes follow some of your leads for the sequel!

Originally, this chapter was supposed to be brief - dialogue peppered with information to advance the plot, devoid of architectural descriptions and historical research - a single location, the dining room of an unspecified house, a simple meal to put the psychology of three characters into perspective. But it turned out to be quite the opposite! I went so deep into the knowledge of the secondary characters in order to give thickness to the story that I could write another novel in parallel.

Once again, luck helped me with my research and inspiration: I wanted to find a Charleston house that wasn't in the same style as the three already described (Duncan's two and the Gentlemen's Club). It was while watching a video of a guidebook touring the city that I noticed 60 Montagu Street, simply because the real estate agent indicated that it had just been restored. Bingo! Afterwards, I found a lot of pictures of the interior, and, a nugget of historical information that I was going to use. Another chance: I was looking for the name of a white wine from the 19thecentury. By chance, I chose Nuits Saint-Georges, and discovered an incredible story, the action of which begins... seven years before that famous dinner. The hazards of research followed: the island with the destroyed lighthouse, etc.. I have an angel watching over me...

So there you have it, you know the "behind the scenes" of n°38.

Another clarification (my notes are as long as a chapter today ): it's never easy to dive into a character's head to explain his psychology and what he sees. Here, I went from one character to... six others.

The first few lines will probably seem confusing because you won't know who is speaking. It's written that way on purpose! A little guessing game...

I wanted to build the story of that evening in two chapters. I opted to combine them into one, because I couldn't break the progression of the plot. Since you're enjoying reading me, you've understood that each paragraph contributes to advance, step by step, towards the final climax, the last sentence of the chapter. N°38 is, without context, the longest of this novel: more than 27 pages in Word! Consider it my modest Christmas present as I will be devoting myself until the end of the year, in addition to my work, to a project in tribute to my father. So, to get Scarlett's answer - and for me to have time to imagine it - you'll have to wait until early next year

NB: even though we are on this site to entertain ourselves, my thoughts today are with the disaster in Kentucky and its many dead and homeless.

ooooOOOoooo

---

Chapter 38. White as a Sheet

Tuesday, June 29, 1876, evening, Charleston, 60 Montagu Street

Why had she accepted? She was going to bite her fingers off. As soon as she had said "yes" with her lips, she had regretted it. Too weak... She was too weak. But he had insisted so much...

oooo000oooo

He was happy. At last he had reached his goal! It had been no easy task to get her to agree. He had had to use the finest strategy to make her trust him. To make her understand that he would not infringe on her independence. That he wouldn't monitor her dating. He knew it was a lie because he couldn't help himself...

oooo000oooo

He had found it difficult to conceal his enthusiasm when he received the invitation. At some point in the evening, he would find the opportunity to be alone with her. What was he going to tell her? He would tell her that he had never forgotten her. That every night he dreamed of lying next to her, breathing in her perfume, caressing her...

oooo000oooo

"I accept!" Then she had added: "I will become your wife. On two conditions. I need time. Time for my children to get to know and appreciate you before I tell them they're getting a new stepfather. Time to get used to committing myself for a fourth time, and to think about what my new life with you will be like. That is why, until our situation is clarified, I will ask you to keep our commitment secret. To everyone, both in Charleston and in Atlanta. Do you feel inclined to wait?" He had agreed without hesitation. Too happy that she had said "yes". He would wait.

oooo000oooo

Why had she said yes? Because he was loving, thoughtful, attractive. Because he was rich, famous and admired by all. Because he was powerful and ambitious. Because he inspired tenderness in her - or desire? maybe love? Because she was tired of not being able to lean on a male shoulder at nightfall. Because her young body was longing for caresses. Because the experienced lover that Duncan surely was would be able to guide her to the climax of pleasure as Rhett had done. Because all Rhett wanted was her friendship. Because she had to forget about him.

oooo000oooo

When she'd offered to join them, he'd eagerly accepted, thinking it too good an opportunity to disrupt the one-on-one he'd been dreading, the one where the other would take advantage of it to advance his pawns. But that was before. Before he caught them kissing last night. Before his heart had stopped. Long hours of getting drunk, of forgetting. And then he'd shaken himself. It was a kiss. Only a kiss. One kiss... He gritted his teeth. His Scarlett would not allow any more inappropriate behaviour without a ring on her finger. He wanted to believe it. He had to believe it. He knew what he had to do tonight.

oooo000oooo

She was trembling with excitement.

Since early morning, the staff had been busy. The crystal chandelier had been dusted, the silver cutlery rubbed, and the crystal glasses inspected for any trace that would disturb their brilliance.

The wine list had been carefully selected. Two of tonight's guests deserved their titles of oenologist; another of gourmet taster; the fourth of heavy drinker. The women did not count.

Like the drinks, the menu had been pampered. It had been fun trying to remember each other's favorite dishes. Only she could enjoy the final effect, since she was the sole holder of the "keys" to this licentious arbitration: scrolling through the range of her former lovers' favorite table pleasures.

Aloud, she rejoiced: "Let the party begin!"

---

ooooOOOoooo

The door was ajar. Without a sound, he entered the room and stood behind her.

She was standing with her back to her dressing table, hanging her necklace around her neck.

Her ivory damask dress, with a royal blue pattern embedded in the satin, was his favorite. It looked like her. Classic in appearance, the slightest movement brought out its brilliance, with a lively, violent note hidden beneath the weave.

"Let me help you."

With authority, he placed his hands over hers and snapped the gold clasp. A curl of golden hair was wrapped around the ring. He twirled it around his finger for a moment, planted a kiss on it, and then tucked it neatly inside her bun.

"Why do you keep wearing his jewelry?"

With a pirouette, she turned around.

Patting the precious necklace, she replied detachedly, "Just because we managed to get rid of him doesn't mean I am going to strip myself of a river of sapphires."

Then she stepped aside from her brother, "Let's go downstairs, our guests are coming."

ooooOOOoooo

---

Gladys

Gladys and Petyr Matisson had walked to number 60 Montagu Street, since their home was only a hundred yards away.

Despite her reluctance to accept John's invitation, Gladys was curious about Rebecca Paxton's home.

"Getting to know a building was the right word for Petyr's wife. She was passionate about architecture, and devoured any literature that would enrich her about the evolution of styles applied to the successive immigrations that founded America.

While doing some research, the young scholar learned that the building had been built in 1800 by a rich rice and indigo planter, Theodore Gaillard. (*1) In keeping with the federal style, its dimensions were impressive because the builder's plan had adjoined two wings in the shape of a "T". The choice of this layout, uncommon in Charleston, allowed each room to be exposed to the south to catch the ocean breezes.

The last owner before the Mansfields, Washington Bennett (*2), sacrificed to the fashion of the Gothic Revival to add the porches on the east and west sides, in the same style as the doors leading to the outbuildings, which themselves had Gothic vaults.

Gladys was curious to see how such opposing stylistic influences could be blended together harmoniously. She had had many opportunities to pass through this street to see it for herself. But, knowing who lived at 60 Montigu Street, she had, until now, conscientiously avoided the place.

The young woman's interest in the history of Charleston's buildings was heightened by the fact that her romantic mind liked to imagine the lives of the occupants of a place who had succeeded one another. What could be more deliciously indiscreet than to discover, by chance of cross-checking information, or simply by gossip, the little human stories that each building hid, the idylls, the dramas, or the cheatings...

And dear Rebecca's house was full of cheatings. Gladys had been the first witness of them.

At her side, her husband was pressing the pace, not even pretending, in public, to take his wife's arm to walk in unison. He is so eager to kiss our hostess...

Gladys had decided to remain impassive tonight in the face of the mediocre play she would have to attend, performed by bad actors.

To comfort herself, she thought she would enjoy John's presence for a few hours. When he had asked her to be here tonight, she had instinctively refused. To put up with seeing her husband's mistress simpering... very little for her!

"Glad! You can't stand me up! I need to be surrounded by my two best friends to celebrate my move in. Without you, how can I be totally happy?"

His plea, embellished by the complicit nickname that had provoked their good humor since childhood, finally made her flinch, especially since he graced her with the familiar light pinch on her bouncy cheek.

They had arrived. On the left side of the huge mansion, she admired the cast iron balcony. The balustrade was surmounted by three Gothic arches supported by three slender legs that extended to the ground floor. The carved pattern was so discreet that it looked like lace from a distance.

Then they were in front of the main entrance.

What a look! The amateur architect admired the successful cohesion between the strict federal lines of the original building and the later addition of the Palladian portico. These six Corinthian columns, raised on two floors above the imposing double entrance staircase, completed the marriage between opulence and elegance.

Nothing is too good for Rebecca Paxton," her childhood friend concluded bitterly.

She felt her husband's impatient hand under her elbow to force her to speed up the ascent of the stairs.

oooo000oooo

---

Petyr

How slow that woman is! Petyr Matisson was getting impatient. Usually, he was indifferent to his wife's presence by his side. She was only a shadow. Useful for taking care of material contingencies, ensuring the proper management of a home and its staff. She had enough good manners that he deigned to show her off to his side in public when his professional interests could benefit from it. Fortunately, she was mute, most of the time in his presence, dispensing him from her pointless chatter.

A shadow, yes, but one he could not shake off. For Gladys was rich. Well, potentially rich, when she was finally the sole heiress to the Pfeiffer fortune. Her parents were Huguenot immigrants from Germany. Their cotton plantation was located next to the Vaytons'. But Hans Pfeiffer had had the good sense to invest in a gold mine claim in the Far West. The vein had been so prolific that his family could now live happily ever after without a care in the world.

When Petyr met the shy Gladys, he was ten years older than she was, with a meagre fortune and a huge ambition. But he was so shrewd that he managed to convince the Protestant patriarch that he would be the ideal party to manage his daughter's estate and their heirs.

For her marriage, the father endowed his only daughter with substantial property and cash, which his son-in-law quickly absorbed. He became financially well off and became an expert in acquiring businesses and property, shamelessly using coercion and lies to buy cheap and sell at high prices.

But he still hadn't gotten his hands on the Pfeiffer fortune. When Hans died... he would become master of the empire. Then to hell with the fallible Gladys. He would divorce his wife and finally marry the beautiful Rebecca.

Rebecca... On his wedding day with Gladys, at the reception that followed, Petyr was attracted like a magnet to this pulpy blonde with grey eyes who was already married. Their affair began soon after. When the dreadful Mansfield died, he had plenty of time to come and console the grieving widow at her home at 60 Montagu Street. The first two years were idyllic. These weekly encounters, because they were clandestine, had all the more flavor. Their bodies were made to get along. Only she knew how to satisfy him. And he rewarded her with wild embraces that made her scream with pleasure. Unfortunately, for many months, she was refusing him.

He had his doubts. He'd heard a few hints over drinks in the club he frequented. Butler. The one that had been kicked out of Charleston in his youth. Was he the one who'd replaced him? That loud-mouthed, pretentious man? He couldn't believe it. But when he didn't hear from her, his jealousy flared up.

He was all the more irascible because John Paxton's moving into his sister's house would disturb his plans for reconciliation with his mistress. How were they to meet in privacy now? What an idea that inconsistent Paxton had had! It was high time for him to take a wife and install her in the pretentious "castle" he owned. He had always found Rebecca's brother unpleasant to him. And he himself showed him his dislike.

This evening was to be an opportunity for him to speak with his lover. He would find an excuse, the discreet moment when he could show her his still burning passion. She had to understand that she was his. Only his.

ooooOOOoooo

---

John

John was exultant. This was the big day he had secretly dreamed of since that horrible Mansfield died. Almost five years.

The day after the funeral, he had suggested that she could not live in that big house by herself. He offered to buy half of his late brother-in-law's former property.

"I'll move to the other part of the building. The entrances and living rooms are separate. The mansion is so huge that we'll have to go out into the garden to pass each other. But when you are lonely, little sister, I will be there to remind you of all the wild things we did when we were young. And we will be able to revel in retrospect in having so successfully deceived the vigilance of our dear parents."

She had pushed him away with a wave of her hand.

"You're not serious, I hope! You've acquired one of the finest colonial homes in Charleston. Why leave it? Besides, in your brilliant presentation, you forgot to mention that there are connecting doors between the two wings of the building... Me, I value my independence. Alone at last! Six years of putting up with that despicable, torturing man, who was named my husband, is enough. I don't need to remind you how he cloistered me and isolated me from all my friends-even from you, especially from you, by the way. His jealousy would continue to get worse as I got older, and I couldn't have survived if..." - She paused, lowered her tone to the point of a whisper, and dipped her eyes into his. Grey eyes against grey eyes - "if he hadn't been so fragile of heart. Do you remember the day his doctor warned both of us that his arteries were so tired that he should be spared violent emotions that would kill him?"

John did not suppress an ironic chuckle. He leaned towards her and placed a kiss on her shoulder. "Blessed be! If it weren't for the wise counsel of this learned man, Mansfield would have continued to torture you and keep us apart. Thank goodness we were able to..."

With a finger on her brother's mouth, she silenced him. She prolonged the troubling complicity for a moment, then stepped aside: "Since then, I can finally enjoy life. In all discretion. And that's why I want to live alone. If you lived here, you couldn't help but keep an eye on my company. I know you..."

Despite her repeated pleas, it was a "no". Until a fortnight ago, when, after he had asked her the same question like a ritual, she agreed. That afternoon he asked his lawer to put his house up for sale. The affair was carried out smoothly because his property had long been coveted by an investor. With alacrity, all his furniture and possessions were moved to the left wing of the building at 60 Montagu Street.

Well... almost all of it.

John opened the door at the first knock.

"Glad! I'm so glad you came!" And they both laughed because of their private joke.

He kissed her affectionately on the cheek. The handshake with Petyr was a little too firm to hide their respective aggressiveness.

Rebecca joined them, her leeps feigning a kiss on her friend's cheek, and accepted her husband's supportive kiss with good grace.

"Shall we wait in the living room until all our guests have arrived? It's this way."

Gladys shrieked with admiration as she entered the room. She marveled at the stucco moldings on the ceiling. Neoclassical friezes lined the top of the walls and ran up four rows. It was a debauchery of favorite Adamesque motifs such as acanthus leaves, oves and strings of ivory-colored beads, whose relief effect was accentuated by the marriage of gray and pink hues. In the center of the ceiling, a rounded cartouche was decorated with delicate feathers.

Petyr didn't say anything. He had had many opportunities to stare impatiently at that ceiling, waiting for his mistress to deign to receive him.

John was watching him. He noted the latter's surprise at the sight of the seats furnishing the room. Gladys' husband obviously couldn't make the slightest comment, as he was supposed to have never been here, just like his wife. He merely gave a twisted grim.

It was an intimate satisfaction for Rebecca's brother to have succeeded in convincing the inhabitant to get rid of the valuable but stuffy gothic chairs with high backs and crude carving that her late husband had had the bad taste to buy. John took a malicious pleasure, before movers came to clear it away, in damaging Henry Mansfield's favourite chair even more, the very one in which he had enjoyed spying on his wife, mocking and humiliating her.

He replaced these disturbing relics with a luxurious English set which he had acquired on a whim a few years ago. Only two armchairs took the place of his personal office in his new half of the house.

The four deep-seated armchairs, flanked by a long bench, were upholstered in tobacco-coloured leather. The straight backs and armrests with brass tacks give them a masculine look. The cut-out walnut veneer belt, supported by claw feet, added a touch of refinement that pleased Rebecca.

She commented, "Hmm... No sooner do he arrive than my neighbor invades my living room and turns it into a male den."

Realizing that her remark had pleased her brother, she warned him, "Don't plan to do the same with the other rooms. In any case, I deliberately changed all the furniture four years ago. Thus, you have relieved me of the last memories of the Mansfields."

Rebecca had just seated her guest next to her on the couch when another person announced himself. Preceding the butler once again, John went to greet the new arrival.

"Rhett Butler! Welcome to our humble abode!" The two men greeted each other cordially with a pat on the back.

ooooOOOoooo

---

Rhett

As soon as he entered the living room, he looked for her figure. Neither she nor Duncan Vayton had arrived yet. He mentally clutched his flamboyantly charming mask. He'd stick with it for the rest of the evening.

Whatever the stolen images that had been harassing him since last night, those of a couple embracing in the piazza, to the sound of maudlin music. Whatever the reality he was about to be confronted with right here. That of "his" wife standing next to another man, in front of him.

His toothy grin made their hostess melt. When he bowed to her, his sparkling eyes caused the desired stir. He was going to play the seduction card, the trump card he mastered with dexterity.

Oh, sure, he'd use any weapon to monopolize Scarlett's attention. And to hell with that otentatious mundain tailor! But, unlike the beaten-dog attitude he had been unable to conceal in his old living room, confronted by Ashley Wilkes, and, worse, his dejection at the fashion show, he would show no frailty. For Scarlett abhorred weak men. And his Clayton County belle was a hunter at heart. So be it. They were no longer married. So, there was the kiss. So be it. Her suitor was admired by all, and would be again tonight. But Rhett had decided to shine with the ladies at the dinner. His goal was to make her realize that he still appealed to women, so she would have the possessive reflex to bring him back into her fold.

"It's a pleasure to see you here again, Rhett!" With this compliment, Rebecca was revealing to the others that he had already been invited to her home. Was this done on purpose? He was amused.

"Let me introduce you to Gladys and Petyr Matisson. Gladys is our dear childhood friend." Then, addressing her directly, "This is Captain Butler. Famous for his many blockade-breaking exploits. Perhaps he will do us the honour of telling us some of them."

The admiration of the two young women did not escape him, nor did Matisson's icy composure towards him.

He did not bother to ask why. The bronze knocker on the door sounded.

His heartbeat quickened. He inhaled deeply and exhaled. Impenetrable! He had to remain nonchalant...

He moved discreetly around the room so as to see the arrivals before they noticed his presence. A few seconds later, John ushered the latecomers into the living room.

Duncan Vayton had put his hand under Scarlett's arm. He displayed the blissful smugness of a young rooster.

Smiling, she thanked the new tenant: "I'm touched to be here to celebrate your move in. What a wonderful..." Her sentence remained unfinished.

The two newcomers froze.

Rhett barely gloated at the decomposed look on his neighbor's face. She was prostrate, mouth agape.

So adorably refreshing in her spontaneity that he gave a discreet chuckle as he bowed ceremoniously to her, hand on heart. Then he greeted her in a bantering tone: "Miss Scarlett O'Hara, my respects..."

ooooOOOoooo

---

Scarlett

And he dares to make fun of me! "Miss"… How dare he use this title ? Aware that she was being scrutinized, she squared her shoulders - which he did not fail to notice with a conspiratorial pout - and then she dug her dimples.

Scorning her boorish former husband's apostrophe, Scarlett left her escort's arm and warmly congratulated their hostess: "Dear Rebecca! Your mansion is exceptional! The exterior appearance and those double staircases are breathtaking." Glancing around briefly, "And those ceiling moldings are so sophisticated! I would dream of having the same in my home in Atlanta."

While she congratulated the owner of the building, she watched Rhett from the corner of her eye. He puckered his lips at that moment. She interpreted it as a mocking pout after her reference to Peachtree Street. Probably he thinks my 'house monstrosity' doesn't deserve such refinement.

She let Rebecca guide her to be introduced to the Matisson couple, but her mind was floating. And her rage grew. The moment came when she could no longer avoid greeting him.

As usual, he's wearing his smug look. Since my arrival on Duncan's arm didn't make him hot or cold, I might as well let him know my new situation right away. He'll be the only one to know about our secret engagement. It will be all the more delightful.

"Scarlett..." One word spoken, and it was enough to send a flush of warmth through her. He pretended to lean in and kiss her, but instead of turning her cheek, she pulled away slightly and offered her hand.

She saw his eyebrows draw together in surprise. Without comment, he elegantly brought his hand to his lips. His whiskers brushed against her skin, taking their time, until they were in contact with the ring.

He raised his head imperceptibly to examine the stone. His body froze.

Scarlett's heart was racing with excitement, fear, defiance... She didn't know anymore.

he knew all of her rings because he had been the donor. So he would understand...

He ran a finger over the cameo, as if to analyze every detail of the engraving. As if to read its subliminal message.

Had his fingers stiffened on hers?

When he straightened up, she was caught by two black eyes. Cloudy, as if a veil of frost had covered them. But he had no reaction.

What did she expect, anyway? A public outburst? On what grounds, and why would he take offence? He had probably already bought the jewel he intended for Roselyne Tucker. Unless she had been wearing it victoriously on her ring finger.

Very straight, she lifted her chin. Her irises flashed, but all they met was a fixed, empty gaze. The little flame she had been used to warming herself by for so many years was gone.

She tried a mock victorious face, but had to give up because the corners of her lips were trembling. And why this stinging that made her eyelids flutter?

ooooOOOoooo

---

Duncan

The shock. Duncan felt a cold fluid run down his spine. Yet the last few hours had been idyllic.

What idea had Rebecca had to invite this stranger into their circle? She knew he was Scarlett's former husband. Was she trying to get back at him for breaking up their short affair ? He still had a soft spot for his childhood sweetheart and their relationship of sweet romance as teenagers. But he knew her perfectly well. She loved marivaudage, especially in troubled waters. She'd probably found it exciting to bring two of her former lovers together. Duncan hadn't had any doubts about their affair when he'd interpreted their body language at the fashion show. The beautiful Rebecca loved sensations. She'd provoked them, no doubt, by choosing the guests for her reception. It wasn't in the best of taste, and frankly, Duncan could have done without his former lover's little role-playing games.

Which meant he'd have to be on the lookout for the next few hours. Duncan had watched his opponent as Scarlett spoke to Rebecca, then Gladys and Petyr. Butler's eyes stayed locked on her.

His look of feigned nonchalance did not fool the new fiancé. He did not give up. He has shown the lowest form of vexation towards his former wife. In spite of this, he has the pretense, the bugger, to get her back. Too late, Mr. Rhett Butler! She's mine now...

With assurance, he interrupted the hand kiss that had gone on too long for his liking.

"What a surprise to see you with us, Rhett!"

When the latter turned towards him, he stood up straight. To accentuate his dominance in height? It was obvious that his neighbor was also thicker than he was," Duncan said with nasty delight. The overweight was threatening. He conceded, though, with regret, that his build showed impressive power. The tailor's eye could see the muscles in the garment, in the fold of the arm, in the way his waistcoat closed. A legacy of his adventurous life in the great outdoors, no doubt. In that, Duncan could not compete. But in all other respects...

And now he held the trump card: Scarlett's agreement to become Mrs. Vayton. Definitely not! It wouldn't be a bunch of muscles that could impress him.

They shook hands. Or rather, they clutched each other's. For a moment, Duncan thought Rhett was going to crush his fingers. But he reacted immediately and applied the same relentless pressure.

Did Scarlett notice their clenched jaws, frozen in a mock smile? What did she think of their duel whose only weapons, their exchanged glances, were as fierce as sharpened blades?

Whatever the case, she discreetly stepped in their direction.

Duncan complied and let go of his opponent's hand.

A voice brought them back to civility. "My dear friends, since we are all here together, why don't we go to the dining room?"

ooooOOOoooo

---

Gladys

Gladys had never seen him so happy. Or it must have been a long time ago at the plantation.

John took her familiarly by the shoulder, "Glad, how do you like my new home? Your opinion matters to me, you know that."

For once, she concealed her true thoughts. She didn't understand why he had given up his beautiful house to share one with his sister. And if he decided to marry one day, how could the three live together? At this hypothesis alone, Madame Matisson's heart sank.

And if Rebecca were to take a new husband, he might want to establish himself as the new master of 60 Montagu Street. This could only cause confusion and tension in the future.

Certainly, she knew how fond John was of his sister. When they were children, the older brother, two years her senior, used to take her everywhere with him. Sometimes she would sit quietly, playing with her doll, while the three of them made plans to go on great adventures, catching fish in the stream where they liked to splash around. But often she would whine in a high-pitched voice, "I'm bored! So John would leave his friends in the middle of a game to entertain the little girl. As they grew older, the bond between them had not been loosened.

And yet... How could a pest like Rebecca be the sister of a man as kind and gentle as John? How many times had she made this reflection to herself? And then, she had learned by chance of her friend's affair with her husband. Cross-checking, furtive gestures, a "friend" informing Gladys that her husband certainly had a new client in Montagu Street since she often passed him...

The young woman took the soft voice she reserved for her childhood friend: "I am impressed by the originality of your new home. The successive owners have each added their own personal touches to create a unique mansion worthy of the most beautiful residences in Charleston. And now inhabited by the nicest gentleman in our fine city!"

She concluded with a soft laugh. Discreet like her. The smile he returned, tender and affectionate, was a balm to her heart that would help her bear the tension she would have to hide at the table.

Rebecca organized her the seating plan. "Rhett! Come sit on my right, please. Duncan, you'll do me a great honor to sit on my left. Scarlett next to you. Gladys, my dear, you are fortunate to be next to Captain Butler. As for you, Petyr, I have no heart to separate you from your wife. John, as the new host, you are naturally entitled to your place at the other end of the table. Thus you will have the pleasure of being near our dear Scarlett." Then, addressing the latter, "I must confess that he insisted on being your table neighbor."

John smiled broadly in contentment at his sister and then at Scarlett.

Gladys had the bitter compensation of thinking that Petyr's positioning must not be to his liking. You would have liked to strut at the right hand of your mistress, but tonight you are a poor match for these two flamboyant men. The coquettish Rebecca, surrounded by her court... Though it's not her Duncan's blue eyes will turn to...

Scarlett O'Hara. The mysterious "Thunder of Georgia" in front of her. At the famous reception, she had been captivated mainly by the dress of lights. But, at this moment, she could scrutinize at leisure the one who had worn the masterpiece of the Prince of Fashion like a queen. The one who had delighted the heart of her childhood friend. And those eyes... Those eyes...

ooooOOOoooo

---

Rebecca

The butler came to bring the drinks on a silent wheeled cart, its bronze galleries gleaming.

"You may leave us, Rupert. Thank you. I'll do the serving." And John proceeded to uncork one of the two bottles of wine placed in an ice bucket.

He's parading around like the new master of the house..." his sister remarked fondly.

It was up to Rebecca to have fun now:

"In order to honor this venerable building, which has been home to some of the most illustrious figures in our beloved Old South, and which is now the home of another Charleston celebrity," - she turned in her brother's direction to emphasize her hint - "I wanted each meal on our menu to be an ode to South Carolina food. However, since I have the pleasure of being surrounded by fine oenologists" - she aimed her two table neighbours in turn - it was wiser for me to entrust my brother with the task of opting for the prestigious wines of France. Your ships, dear Rhett - and yours too, John - have carried them in their holds to delight the palates of the Americans."

John answered: "Wise decision, little sister. To celebrate this happy day, you will have the pleasure of travelling, through the tasting of this excellent white wine, to the Moon!" He was pleased with his effect, for everyone exclaimed - except Rhett, who, reading the label of the vintage, had taken the hint.

"One of my clients, a wine wholesaler, asked me to take his cargo on board one of our company's ships. I was able to buy two crates. This French wine from Burgundy, called "Nuits" or Nighs, was celebrated by the great French writer Jules Verne. Seven years ago, when he published his novel "Around the Moon", his three heroes, embarked in their inventive rocket, decided to celebrate "the union of the Earth and its satellite" by tasting a bottle of Nuits." (*3)

As he spoke, he had metamorphosed into a zealous sommelier and filled the glasses of the guests. "This pretty fable is all the more opportune on this day of moving in. Evil tongues might scoff, in this instance, at the reunion under one roof of the sun and its satellite-of course, dear sister, you would embody the sun!" He laughed heartily, noting how sensitive Rebecca always was to flattery. "I confess that this comparison is somewhat outrageous. So let's simplify it, and celebrate the consolidation of a team of backgammon lovers. After all these years of her vainly trying to beat me at this game, I'll have time on our long winter evenings to reveal to my sister my best tricks for winning-without cheating, of course."

Duncan and Gladys chuckled at the last words and gave the younger woman a teasing look, for it was common knowledge - at least among their small circle of childhood friends - that Rebecca had a slight tendency to bend the rules of the game to her advantage.

This little speech ended in hilarity among the four companions, imitated by Rhett and Scarlett, won by this good mood. Only Petyr didn't like the fact that they had the impudence to scratch one of his hidden love's character traits.

Pleased with his successful outburst and the knowing look his co-owner returned, John said as he raised his glass, "So, let's toast to friendship, love, and life!"

Twelve hands applauded this lyrical flight.

ooooOOOoooo

---

Rhett

After smelling and rolling the alcohol on his tongue, Rhett congratulated him with a knowing wink: "Bravo, John! Let's hope then that this nectar, in addition to its deep golden robe and heady bouquet, will propel us towards skies conducive to our most ethereal fantasies!"

He purposely accentuated his drawl at the end of the sentence, which was common to all but the Georgian woman at this dinner.

While the others approved of this poetic repartee - with the notable exception of Scarlett - Rhett figured he was closer to sinking into the limbo of hell since she had flaunted her engagement ring in front of him, with the mischievous cruelty she had accustomed him to.

Scarlett... The other man had placed his left hand flat on the table less than two centimeters from the fingers of his neighbor. Without embarrassment, he stretched his little finger until it brushed against the one on his left. She did not take offense, did not move her hand a millimeter away. I've known other times when she wouldn't have allowed such familiarities in public.

But why should they bother? They are engaged. Soon she will marry him. Mrs. Scarlett Vayton. Scarlett Vayton. Never again Scarlett Butler. Because I am the one who took my name from hers. I dug my own grave. Too late. Too late to tell her I still love her like crazy. She's marrying him... and just threw that in my face as a final blow. Signaling the end of the game...

It was useless to mortify himself: their little maneuver, the furtive brushing of their fingers, seemed more obscene than any frank embrace.

They have such a need to touch each other that it doesn't matter if the other guests are wondering, and to hell with her ex-husband's presence! Besides, when will they make this "happy" news official? Tonight? He lowered his head for a moment, a fist locked on his knee. Sick with jealousy, trying to temporarily cauterize the pain that forced him to clench his jaws.

No! Admitting defeat was not the right strategy. As long as their marriage wasn't official, he was going to use every trick in the book to get her back to him.

When he had arrived here early in the evening, he had reassured himself that he would make a big announcement in public, and so she could not refuse. That was before he knew that she was committed to marrying another. Perhaps he would still make an attempt-but, before he did, he had to catch her in her own trap-jealousy. Nothing excited Grandfather Robillard's grand-daughter more than the thirst for conquest of what was not hers. For twelve years, he had been the helpless witness of her mad obstinacy. Now he too would dally with another in front of her. With the mad hope that she would have the instinct to try to recapture him in her nets...

Rupert announced himself followed by the cook, placing two large silver trays on the sideboard. The butler lifted the protective bells and began to set the plates.

The cheerful voice of their hostess brought him out of his tormented cogitations. "Rhett, this entrée is in honor of the prestigious Captain Butler. I know you're particularly fond of those frugal-looking, but oh-so-meaty and juicy oysters roast (*4), as you like to remind me every time my cook prepares them for you."

Rhett couldn't believe his ears. So the lady of the house had decided to allude knowingly, in front of his former wife, to the relationship they had maintained, or at least to show their complicity. And the term "fleshy" in this instance was perhaps too much... He watched Scarlett's reaction out of the corner of his eye. She'd abruptly moved her right hand away from Duncan's and was crumpling the embroidered napkin. His heart raced. If she was affected by Rebecca's insinuations, maybe that meant she felt a touch of jealousy. Rhett closed his eyelids for a moment to quell the meager spark of hope that was just waiting to ignite.

ooooOOOoooo

---

Scarlett

No modesty! Neither one nor the other! So it's true! What I suspected when they danced together is real. They are lovers! Besides, in which young Charlestonian bed did this coarse character not wallow? How dare she make such salacious allusions in front of everyone? And he, parading contentedly in my presence, so imbued with himself... Even his moustaches are twitching!

She clung to a positive image-or else she would explode with rage-that of that goose Roselyne Tucker already cheated on before she had the ring on her finger. Oh, how she congratulated herself on having explicitly stuck her ring in front of his eyes, a sign of her future union with a wonderful gentleman who would undoubtedly be faithful to her!

She was angry at herself for listening to what he was saying, but, to her chagrin, Captain Butler's warm intonation had never ceased to vibrate inexplicably within her.

"I'm flattered by the attention, Rebecca. It is true that I have a marked inclination for this local specialty, which has always been welcomed like a feast by my crew. When we anchored in a particularly fishy cove, the challenge was to locate the oyster reefs. During these austere crossings where rations were counted, or between two dangerous infiltrations through the blockade, where our boat risked being spotted and sunk at any moment by the Yankees, I can guarantee you that the harvesting of these shells was acclaimed. It was a ritual for me and my men. Those who were not on watch surrounded me around a fire that was set up under cover so as not to attract attention. For the most amazing thing was that I was intruding on the position of head cook. And yet my talents in this function are infinitesimal." - He sought Scarlett's assent to confirm these poor contributions to cooking any dish. But she refused to give him any complicit sign.

It was Gladys Matisson who was piqued with curiosity by his statement. "You, Captain Butler, were cooking for your men?" Exasperated, Scarlett realized that Rhett's right-hand neighbor was admiring him, dumbfounded. Pfeu! Another one who's going to get caught up in his game...

Her former husband's laughter was so spontaneous and thunderous that its waves precipitated a little the beating of her heart. "I must confess that I consented to style this part only for the oysters roast, and for my own selfish pleasure."

Upon hearing these last words, Scarlett's lips could not suppress a very slight murmur that might have sounded like ironic onomatopoeia. She was sure that Rhett, so attentive, noticed that she was mocking his 'selfish pleasure'.

Rebecca triggered the future Madame Vayton's wrath even more when she whispered, resting her hand lightly on her neighbor's sleeve, "Tell me again how you were turning that poor fisherman's menu into pure wild and exotic delight in this hostile climate."

"Every gesture was part of the ceremony. Over the coals of a makeshift wood fire, I placed the oysters in a keetle covered with a burlap sack until they were cooked to perfection. While we waited, the more daring among us sang sea chanteys and our war hymns. One of my men was in charge of opening the shells, which I garnished, with the vigilance of a great chef, with a marinade made from the spices brought on board. Would I confess to you that these rustic meals surpassed, in my gustatory memory, the most refined European recipes?"

Scarlett's bitterness was growing. Rhett had never told her about those episodes while he had obviously told them to one of his mistresses. I was so unimportant in his life that he didn't want to share the memory of those simple pleasures with me.

John joined in the discussion, "Would you be willing to tell us your most secret hiding places so that we too can go shellfishing?"

"This will not surprise you: the richest oyster reef is very near us. It is, in all fairness to a native South Carolinian, the one on Hunting Island (*5) whose name you are familiar with. I have no doubt that this thick-forested barrier island is probably one of your best hunting grounds for birds of all species or deer and other wild game." John and Petyr nodded in agreement. Duncan seemed absent-minded. "This heavenly den was one of my bivouacs. At night, its lighthouse guided me through the early days of the blockade as we skirted the coast. Until the Confederates blew it up to slow down the Yankee advance. (*5) But, even without that light signal, I sometimes, between two dangerous trips to supply our Southern States, came back to Hunting Island and tasted those famous oyster roasts."

He was amused that he had so easily captured Rebecca's attention, but also that of Gladys Matisson. If it would upset his Clayton County belle...

To conclude his tale, instead of peeling the delicate mollusc off with his fork, he brought the shell to his lips. Scarlett couldn't help but spy on him discreetly. He tore the foot off fiercely with his white teeth, then greedily gobbled up the oyster flesh, while imprisoning his former wife's eyes.

With shame, she felt a wave of heat covering her chest. The redness spread to her neck, up to her cheeks, and finally on her ears. She lowered her head, concentrating intently on her own plate. I hope Duncan didn't notice my stupid embarrassment.

ooooOOOoooo

---

Duncan

The hostess could congratulate herself on her choice of starter. The oyster roasts were a great success, washed down with enthusiasm by two bottles of "Nuits". He almost regretted having the same gastronomic preferences as his neighbour of the Battery.

He had no right to react, or the agreement to keep their engagement secret would be broken. But it took all the will in the world not to bring his fist down on Rhett Butler's white teeth. How impudent was this man to taunt his former wife with vulgar glances, while wriggling before his mistress! Rebecca hardly concealed it. He knew her personality by heart, and was able to pick up on her minutia and masked allusions. It didn't matter to him, anyway! Their brief affair had only been a pleasant interlude in the midst of the bonds of friendship that he did not want to break. But when would this depraved man stop considering Scarlett as his property?

He felt Rebecca's hand rest briefly on his to get his attention, then she immediately withdrew it.

"Duncan! I hope you didn't think I was neglecting you during this meal. John, Gladys and I, your three childhood friends, are so proud of your meteoric success in America! In less than a year, you have revolutionized fashion in your native land, after having brought the European princesses to your feet. New York critics have named you the "Prince of Fashion". I think it's more appropriate to crown you King. Only the pinnacles of perfection are qualified to stand beside Duncan Vayton. Besides,I'm surprised you're still willing to leave your Olympus to hang out with us."

She was mocking, but gently, he knew. The hilarity spread to the old gang of four. He said, "Rebecca, one of the traits I've always appreciated, among your many qualities, is your sense of balance. I am pleased to find an illustration of this in your modest compliment."

The laughter started again.

Careful that Scarlett should not feel excluded from their good humor, he explained the reason: "To put together in one assertion the words 'Rebecca' and 'balance' is a daring gamble, for our dear hostess is rather of an ebullient temperament." Then, kissing her hand, he said, loudly enough for Rhett to hear through the hubbub, "You, my dear, are the embodiment of passion."

He was gratified by a blink of his fiancée's eye.

Rebecca had caught her breath, "You always knew how to break through to me!" She paused for a moment. Rupert was placing a plate of thin slices of meat artfully arranged in the middle of their garnish, drizzled with sauce, in front of each banquet participant.

"To reward you, this main course was concocted especially for you. Seeing how you salivate at my surprise, I'm happy with my choice."

Scarlett teased him, "That's another character trait you didn't tell me about. So you are greedy! It's charming..."

Duncan replied in the same tone, "You wanted to find out my achilles heel? It's so modest that if you were to divulge it, my reputation as a sophisticated socialite would be destroyed with my New York clients. He again elicited a knowing laugh from his three friends and Scarlett, Rhett settling for a polite chuckle. "Voilà, my 'sin mignon', as they say in France, the collard greens. I hope your Georgian patriotism won't take offense, but the best way to cook it is born in our South Carolina."

Rebecca spoke again and addressed him: "You know how rigorous my cook is in setting this vegetable to your taste. Her talent is to eliminate, by a technique she refuses to reveal to me, the bitterness that may prove unpleasant. She took it upon herself early this morning to cook them at length in a broth with diced smoked ham."

A fragrant aroma tickled the nostrils. Everyone was eager to taste the famous collards and was waiting for the hostess' signal.

"I have requested, for the solid appetite of the men assembled this evening, that this barbecue of pork shoulder, cooked and smoked over hickory wood fire, be added. Finally, to top off this tribute to the gastronomy of our beloved South Carolina, you may flavor this succulent meat with the golden sauce of the Midlands."

Scarlett asked, "Dilcey, my cook tried to use Caroline's famous sauce with some of the recipes. But she probably didn't use all the ingredients. What does it consist of?"

With good grace, Rebecca listed: "Cider vinegar, yellow mustard, spices, honey, brown sugar. The secret lies, as always, in the right proportion of ingredients. I hope you enjoy it, for it is a delight." She paused for a moment and then spoke to Gladys' husband with a light touch, "Petyr, I asked that we be generous with the amount of sauce as I understand you are fond of it. Isn't that right?"

Duncan wondered why the austere Matisson suddenly blushed. Matisson's voice was hoarse: "Indeed, I would die for her. I am touched by this delightful attention. And that you haven't forgotten my secret addiction.

Duncan couldn't believe his ears. Accustomed to deciphering the subtleties of phrasing and the hidden meaning of the most innocuous words, he had no doubt: this flowery vocabulary was not aimed at the culinary specialty. It was more like a declaration of love. Rebecca and Petyr! The young woman would always surprise him. Poor Glad was frozen on the chair.

John, inducted as Master Sommelier, suggested that this rich dish be accompanied by a Pommard de Bourgogne. To finish pleasing the French red wine lovers, he said, happy with his erudition: "The French writer Victor Hugo sings the merits of the ruby-purple colour of Pommard, to the point that he declaimed: "it is the fight of day and night! (*6) Well, my friends, here is a fight that I am delighted to share with you! Bon appétit and to our health!"

ooooOOOoooo

---

Rhett

For a few minutes, all that could be heard was the clattering of cutlery on the plate and the crystalline sound of glasses landing on the tablecloth.

The meal was a great success. Rebecca knew how to entertain. He remembered that since he had been a pampered and particularly spoiled guest.

He forced himself to focus on the food, the quality of the wines, all the trivia to escape the immodest spectacle that Scarlett and her fiancé were indulging in front of him. Of course, he knew his reaction was ridiculous. There was nothing shocking about the behavior of the new "couple," - as they have to be called now - , just a few exchanged glances, hand brushes, soft intonations... And Rhett Butler was in no position to play parangon of virtue. It would be like a joke. But he was in so much pain... How had he endured Frank's presence by her side? Because he had no chance of arousing the slightest feeling in his wife, because he was not handsome, young, wealthy, intelligent... Because he would never be likely to give her pleasure... Everything that the man in front of him embodied.

He turned his attention to the woman on his right. Poor girl! The whole table had heard the tirade of this Matisson to their hostess, so full of concupiscent innuendo to the point of obscenity. Rebecca did not always choose her lovers well...

For several minutes, he had been watching the surreptitiously blundering wife. Between two spoonfuls brought to her mouth, the gaze of this effete woman seemed to be drawn to Scarlett's face opposite. He deciphered a kind of perplexity in the crease between her eyebrows. For some reason, the stranger intrigued the Charlestonian.

When Scarlett perceived this little maneuver, Gladys dared to speak to her, under Duncan's watchful eye. "I am going to sound horribly vain, but I am in awe of the blouse on your dress. Such fine embroidery! And the shimmer of that green silk that sets off the color of your eyes even more..."

That sycophant Duncan took the opportunity to back up the compliment: "No amount of clothing, no matter how luxurious, can do justice to Scarlett's incomparable beauty." With that sweet statement, he fervently kissed the knuckles of his tablemate's hand. Rhett hid his clenched fist under the tablecloth.

Scarlett, always eager for flattery, graced her new admirer with the condescending smile Rhett had seen her bestow on girls less beautiful than herself - that is, all women - he mentally clarified.

Gladys was finally able to get her thoughts out, "May I confess that I envy you? Brown eyes like mine are so flat. No amount of blush can hide their banality. Whereas your green eyes hypnotize magically... They are like emeralds. Only once have I come across such beautiful ones. You make me think of..."

Rhett saw that she hesitated. She turned to Duncan to help him remember the memory. "Don't you think she looks like...? The eyes, the hair..." She sought his support.

Only silence was her answer.

Astonished, Rhett assisted to the liquefaction of his rival. Livid. Pale as a sheet. Appearing so frozen on the spot that he did not take care to hide his dazed look. His pupils flitted from right to left. He didn't even realize that they were directed at his fiancé's former husband. No, he was staring into space. Distraught.

Frightened by what? Or rather by whom? Who, according to Gladys, looked like Scarlett? Who, above all, by the mere mention of her, had succeeded in making the unshakeable, powerful heir of the Vayton Empire capsize, like a tornado ravaging everything in its path?

He saw him close his eyes, grab his glass to break it, then straighten up. Rhett was so attentive that he heard him inhale powerfully. Finally, in a blank voice, without answering his childhood friend's question directly, he declared, "Gladys is an incorrigible dreamer." Then he turned deliberately to the new resident, "John, I think I heard that there were some historical events in this building while I was living in Paris. Can you confirm this?" His voice had returned to normal, cheerful and firm.

But Rhett, like the feline on the lookout for his prey, had just detected a flaw in his enemy. Finally! True, it's a tight, invisible thread, but I'm going to pull it apart until the core - or rather Duncan Vayton - is exposed. And until I succeed in tearing him to pieces.

ooooOOOoooo

---

John

"I will tell you this story with joy! At the place where we are standing, the ghost of a huge character is watching us benevolently..."

John's riddle was interrupted by his sister, "Allow me to cut you off for a moment. But it's time to enjoy dessert, the choice of which is true to my original theme."

Her guests' eyes were on her, wondering what would conclude this delicious celebration of South Carolina food.

"I have a surprise for you, Big Brother! Your favorite pastry, the famous South Carolina Peach Cobbler. I can see from your blooming smile that your passions have not changed since childhood. You've always been willing to die to be the first to dip a spoon into the pan coming out of the oven, at the risk of burning your taste buds."

As a token of complicit assent, he stuck out his tongue at her. A decidedly unmannerly reaction, but approved by his hilarious friends.

Pleased with her effect, Rebecca's grey eyes did not let go of her brother's as she clarified, "And, to celebrate your move to my house in style, exceptionally - for you know my baking skills are limited - I spent ages this morning making it for you!"

As everyone else applauded the party planner, a flush of joy made him blush. John felt bad about this childish reaction, but Rebecca had always had the power to blow hot and cold inside him. In this case, the fact that she had devoted this time to him, preparing his surprise in secret, moved him.

"Since it was prepared with your own hands, this delight will be supreme..."

The two Paxtons confronted each other for a few more moments, then Rebecca ordered, "Before everyone gets too absorbed in devouring this greedy sin, please tell our guests what happened at 60 Montagu Street."

"This mansion unquestionably deserves its historic label. The successive owners, while all belonging to the family of the great cotton, rice and indigo planters of South Carolina, have been closely connected with politics and our glorious Army. General Jacob Read, the hero of the Revolutionary War, was the second purchaser. He was succeeded by the first British Consul in Charleston. In 1851, Washington Jefferson Bennett, son of the Governor, acquired it, until he sold it to your husband, Rebecca, at the end of 1870. (*2) A few months before our beloved Henry Mansfield died, by the way." He cleared his throat. The affectionate term he'd used specifically for the latter was so crude he was going to choke...

"I have saved the momentous information for last. Almost all of us in this assembly witnessed the event, except you, my best friend: our late General Robert Lee did his landlord the honor of staying under this roof for three nights." (*7)

All applauded, Duncan showing the most enthusiasm at this revelation. "Are you referring to his visit to our city in 1870? I was in Paris at the time. When I read the news in my paper, later confirmed by my parents, I was so sorry I wasn't in Charleston! It was in April, if my memory serves me right - when he was returning from Virginia after visiting his father, General Harry Lee in Georgia, the great hero of the Revolution, the famous Light-Horse."

"West Point and its historical teaching have shaped you perfectly. Yes. On April 27, over 3,000 Charlestonians welcomed our hero at a ball given in his honor. In fact, my parents, your parents, and the four of us were there. Do you remember that, Rebecca? You were resplendent in your midnight blue and gold silk dress."

She nodded her head in response. How could my little sister forget, when I had to defend her tooth and nail so that her tyrant husband, who was ill that day, finally allowed her to participate, on condition that I act as her chaperone... Poor fool! He thought he was forcing us by this means...

He said, "I remember it like it was yesterday. He addressed the Charlestonian from Atlanta, "Were you present in Charleston that day, Rhett?"

John was surprised by his suddenly melancholy expression, "No, at this particular moment, I am unlikely to be wrong in telling you that I was probably playing with my little Bonnie," his voice had broken. Ah yes, of course, he was thinking of that poor child. Captain Butler looked at Scarlett, "Our beloved daughter." The latter blinked, then lowered her head to hide her grief.

John pretended not to understand, and continued to recall, especially for Duncan, the memories of those three unforgettable days: "I was in the crowd, waiting on the street in front of this house. Then General Lee appeared on the second level of the portico, accompanied by Washington Bennett. He spoke to us. It was one of his last public addresses." (*7)

Staring at his comrade in arms, the former Confederate soldier added sadly, "He died six months later."

Rebecca's brother had managed to infuse the large dining room with a solemn atmosphere. "Bennett was fortunate enough to be given a copy of his speech in appreciation of his hospitality. When he sold the house to Rebecca's husband, he insisted that this document be kept symbolically within these walls, in memory of this unprecedented meeting sealed for the posterity of the occupants of the premises. Besides..." He questioned Henry Mansfield's former wife, "You left it in the display cabinet where I had protected it, didn't you?"

As she nodded, he excused himself to abandon them for a few moments in the direction of the library. He returned, to cheers, with the handwritten record of the Old South hero's visit to the home of Rebecca and John Paxton.

ooooOOOoooo

---

Scarlett

The pain is still so strong. As soon as someone says the name of my Precious iin front of me, I feel like it's going to start all over again, this pain, this lack... And Rhett... He can look like a smug winner, but as soon as he hears the slightest mention of Bonnie, he breaks down. His grief tears at my heart...

As usual, however, she pushed her sorrow temporarily into a corner of her brain.

It's a wonder Duncan gets as excited as a child about a load of cabbage or a small piece of paper. We don't share the same pleasures," Scarlett thought with amusement. We'll have to find some other topics to get along.

It was refreshing to watch him, so natural surrounded by his friends. She would have enjoyed the good mood better if it weren't for Rhett's dark eyes almost in front of her, lit up with flames from the flickering light of the candlestick right in front of him; if, without taking notice, her lowered eyes did not stop on Rhett's hands - racy hands holding the crystal glass leg, rough hands wielding the knife to slice the meat, soft hands when they lay flat, pausing, wandering hands... Oh, how she hated those fickle hands when they brushed against those of his neighbor. It didn't matter to her if it was Rebecca who had instigated the contact! It was indecent, rude and vulgar...

She had to calm down. There was no need to worry about Rhett Butler's hands, or his head for that matter. Only Duncan and his long, artist's fingers were important to her now.

ooooOOOoooo

---

Rhett

He was pensive. The meal was coming to an end. They would soon part and go their separate ways, Scarlett with Duncan, he alone...

He hadn't even dared to broach the subject with her, taking advantage of being in public so that she couldn't refuse. Because everything had changed. He was paralyzed by this future marriage that they were perhaps going to announce now that coffee and strong alcohol were served.

She looked happy in the midst of these Charlestonians, fluttering among them as if she were part of their long-standing circle.

Speaking to Duncan, Rebecca, Gladys and John, she congratulated them: "It's a pleasure to see how tightly knit the four of you are. There's a generous amount of togetherness among you. You remind me of my own group of friends at Tara, before the war."

With a small sardonic grin, Rhett thought that his group of friends had only been made up of young, rutting males, as far as he could tell from the barbecue.

"Unfortunately, most of them died in the war," she admitted. You, despite all these years, the four of you are still together. It seems that nothing can alter your friendship. I'm dying to know if, as children, you never quarreled over trifles. If not, you were too perfect, and to my shame I would be jealous, for to quarrel over trifles was our daily lot in our circle."

Rhett silently rejoiced to hear her banter so lightly as she recalled her pampered childhood, adored by all. How young she still was... How old he was getting... The seventeen years that separated them had never weighed so heavily.

It was Rebecca who cracked the idyllic picture of a solid friendship against all odds: "Don't worry, Scarlett, we kept fighting. Since I'm two years younger than my three companions, they were abandoning me and I had to rebel."

Her retrospective complaint was met with mocking laughter. "Poor little sister who has been deprived of attention!" And he laughed harder, so much, Rhett was sure, had she been brooded over.

Abandoning the role of the poor neglected one in which she had no credibility, she continued: "Now that I think about it, it seems to me that there was a long falling out between my brother and Duncan. What year was that? Ah, I remember, 1858, because you celebrated your eighteenth birthday in style, John. For what reason was that again?"

Rhett, who'd been watching Duncan's every move since they arrived, saw him stiffen. Just like earlier, after Gladys' words. What did that mean? He's nervous...

John undertook to play down their disagreement posteriorly. "Oh, it was hardly anything. Just a little competition between us that lasted for a summer."

Scarlett had the condescension of the winners: "Fiddle-dee-dee! A love competition? That happened to me every week! Cathleen Calvert or some other of my girlmates were unjustly jealous, claiming with shameless nerve that if one of their beaux had preferred to make me dance rather than them, it was my fault. Pfeu! I didn't even have to lift a finger..." she finally admitted, her dimples deepened to accentuate her mutinous air.

Everyone at the table laughed, even Petyr Matisson, because Scarlett O'Hara was so honest and charming. Rhett wanted to kiss her with passion. This was the Scarlett who had broken his heart in the first minute. Seductive and cruel.

Duncan hadn't said anything. His rival noticed the hand he'd placed next to the coffee saucer, still holding his teaspoon: it was twisted in half...

The poker king's sure instincts were now on the alert. Duncan Vayton was hiding something, something that was upsetting him.

The kindly Gladys questioned Scarlett. "Duncan told me earlier that you spent the day at Soft South. You must be exhausted! The property is so extensive! I haven't been back there in ages. Before Duncan came back from France, in fact. How about you, Rebecca?"

She pouted, "Me neither. But, since Duncan has been living in Charleston ever since, we've taken full advantage of his presence here."

"How did you find the plantation?"

So he had taken her on the sly to his estate all day. All the better to dazzle her with the riches of the Vayton empire. His plantation! Rhett recognized that this was smart on the part of the shrewd businessman: after he'd had the honors of Tara, he'd spoken to the landed fiber of the cotton plantation mistress that Scarlett would always remain intimate. With success. So it was in this remote corner that he had put a ring on her finger. And that she had accepted.

Scarlett replied exultantly, "This is the most beautiful plantation I have ever visited. Of course, my dear Tara is in my heart, and the neighboring estate, Twelve Oaks, was breathtakingly charming..." She paused for just a moment to catch her breath, enough for Rhett to decipher the phrase "breathtakingly charming" and apply it to its former heir in sad armor.

She put her hand on Duncan's arm. Naturally. He was eating her with his eyes. Calm but passionate. Rhett would have almost forgotten the episode with the butchered spoon, if the object of the crime wasn't still lying on the tablecloth.

"This day will remain engraved in my heart, my dear Duncan, like a breath of oxygen. Every step was a treat: the indigo fields, and those cotton plants as far as the eye can see... My dream, I admit... And then, as a final touch, you showed me your little paradise on earth. Your winter garden."

Gladys agreed, "Beautiful, isn't it? It was Mr. Vayton's estate, but the six of us spent so many pleasant moments there. I confess to being nostalgic for those hours playing amateur botanist."

Rebecca added her little comment: "Your sister Melina was particularly smart in this area. I'm ashamed to say that, despite our age difference, she beat me every time. But I found more pleasant distractions..."

Rhett didn't miss the tone and the hostess' teasing eyes in the direction of the Soft South Master.

"Indeed, Duncan shared with me his memories of happiness in your company under this enchanting canopy. And in the midst of this luxuriant nature, the little museum under the dome is exquisitely romantic. The camellia fountain, the stained glass dome, the bust of De Fleurette... Everything is refinement."

Only Scarlett's voice sounded. There was silence around her. Everyone was listening to her.

Gladys responded: "Really? I don't remember a fountain and a stained glass window."

Duncan replied mechanically, "That's normal, Glad. I imported them with me from France."

His childhood friend nodded. "Oh well, then I hope you'll allow us to see them sometime, with Melina, or maybe with Scarlett? I don't recall seeing a bust there either. My memory is failing me, I'm afraid. On the other hand, the name of the artist..."

"I want to share with you some great news for Duncan Fashion." Duncan's voice, imperious and proud, rose, "I'm going to hold a retrospective of my most beautiful models from my early years in Paris. The exhibition will be held in Atlanta, in Scarlett's beloved city, and in Charleston. Then it will be shown for several weeks in New York. What do you think of it?"

He was congratulated from all sides.

Rhett was dreamy.

An idea came to him:

"Gladys - may I take the liberty of calling you by your first name? - with your husband's consent, of course." This last part of the sentence was only a perfunctory circumlocution, for Petyr Matisson showed no sign of interest. "In the course of the conversation, you mentioned your passion for architecture. My sister Rosemary is president of an educational association. Thus, she has undertaken to invite learned lecturers so that they may impart their science to the cultured ladies of Charleston." He had her full attention. It was the right time to ask: "It would be a chance for these art lovers to benefit from your erudition in architecture. Would you agree to participate?"

He took great care to modulate his intonation to be as persuasive as possible.

Successfully. Because Gladys' cheeks had turned pink. "It would be a great joy for me to pass on my research and to be able to make new emulators with a passion for art history."

Perfect... "That's excellent news, Gladys. I'm sure you'll receive my sister's invitation in the couple of days. You can come to the Battery house to discuss the programme of sessions. My mother will be delighted to invite you to tea. It is likely that she too will become one of your most attentive listeners. I will of course be there to introduce them to you. I am already looking forward to it."

Gladys thanked him and congratulated him on his happy suggestion.

With that, Rhett took a deep breath and faced Scarlett.

He got the look on her face of bad days, and the flame of emeralds ready to burn him on the spot. Surprised, he didn't bother to find the reason, so focused was he on what he was going to say.

He had to progress in stages.

"Duncan, I'm pleased to have confirmation that your fashion retrospective will be opening soon. The latter was forced to focus on him. "My friend Harry Bennett has been very involved. You know that it will be held in the museum that the City of Atlanta and our foundation, Scarlett and I, have put together. I am looking forward to it, as the display of your masterpieces will add the finishing touch to our artistic endeavor. We are working, with dear Harry, on a schedule of exhibitions, taking into account the gradual acceptance of the loans of the works by the Louvre Museum and their temporary transfer to America."

His statement was interrupted by the rapturous congratulations of Gladys, John and Rebecca. Rebecca spoke for her friends: "What? You're a partner in the Louvre Museum, Rhett? This news is incredible. I've known you to be an art expert for a long time, and your philanthropic involvement in Charleston in this field is recognized and praised. But I'm even more impressed by the brilliance you're going to bring to American cultural activity. Would you mind revealing a few features of it?"

Rhett was delighted with the turn of the discussion. The interest that Vayton had aroused with his announcement had turned away from him and it was Rhett who was now under the ecstatic spotlight of the guests. Except for Scarlett, who was mute.

"It would take too long to explain here the background of a gigantic operation that will accelerate the consolidation of cultural cooperation between two great countries, our America and France. But you should know that its ambition is revolutionary since we are going to establish a bridge between eternity - the greatness of the Egyptian Antiquities - and the avant-gardism of young French painters. The young America will thus be able to immerse itself in more than 2000 years of human history, and to satisfy a new pictorial current that has just been born, the Impressionists. These artists have become my friends, and I have decided to support them by bringing their work to the United States. They will seduce - I can swear it - all art lovers. I will convince wealthy collectors to invest in these paintings with the guarantee that their prices will rise quickly."

Gladys was elated. "Rhett, I have only one word to tell you my wonder: You are a great man!"

He put on a modest face to thank her, while watching his former wife's reaction. She had lowered her head slightly but he discerned one of her favorite mimics, when she felt like discreetly mocking after having caught something scandalously shocking: her eyebrows stretched, her forehead wrinkled and a pout on her lips that he could have sworn was about to trivially pronounce one of her favorite "whoopsydaisy"!

As for Duncan, he remained impassive. Would the Prince of Fashion take umbrage with the tributes of his best friends for my benefit? Rhett struggled to conceal a sardonic sneer.

It was John who asked the question he had been waiting for: "If I dared to make a pun, I would say that your project is pharaonic. But, Rhett, you're a brilliant businessman. And you, Duncan, Petyr and I, - not forgetting you, Scarlett, such a brilliant businesswoman - we know the value of a penny in a business. Philanthropy is a noble cause, but it doesn't provide for our lifestyle. No offense, but this museum is likely to be a money pit..."

Purposely slowing down his speech to better weigh each word, he replied confidently, "Don't worry. Everything has been carefully thought out. The commercial part, the one concerning the sale of contemporary paintings where I intervene as a negotiator, will largely pay me in the short or medium term. As for the astronomical costs of lending the works to the Louvre Museum, they will be, for a modest part, the object of an exchange of good practices with the painting and sculpture collection of the New York museum. Most of these costs, as well as those of their meticulous removal by private vessels, will be covered by private investment. I have been working on the financing plan for three years. Several generous patrons are supporting me. It is not an easy task. But from now on, I will have the great good fortune - not to be assisted, but rather to be placed under the direction of the person who will guarantee, with a master's hand, the sound financial administration. I have the honour to introduce the President of the Bonnie Blue Butler Arts Museums Foundation Management Fund" - he turned to her and drowned in two jade-coloured lakes - "I have named Scarlett O'Hara".

He loved seeing her blush with confusion. He was so proud of her... Of course, it was an honorary title to get her close to him. But she'd be perfect in that role, leading an army of accountants, making sure every penny was funded and spent to the hilt.

Duncan was livid. Again. He had a tendency to lose his nerve tonight, which was a small victory for Rhett. He'd settle for that for now.

The four witnesses found it difficult to hide their amazement. Rebecca and Gladys even had the reflex to put their hands to their mouths to prevent themselves from exclaiming. Then came a cascade of congratulations for Scarlett.

Recovering from his shock, Duncan took the opportunity to compliment her, making eye contact, and then lingered a little too long to kiss her hand, causing Rhett to become annoyed.

His former wife turned and stared at him, waiting for something... which he unfortunately could not decipher.

Gladys' soft voice was heard, "Would it be indiscreet to ask you why your foundation is called Bonnie Blue Butler Arts Museums?"

He instantly abandoned the mask of self-confidence he had forced himself to wear for the past few hours. He saw only Scarlett. Their complicity was intense in that moment, bound by the same intimate pain.

His voice was low, almost detached, floating above the diners, "If the work Scarlett and I are about to build will allow thousands of Americans to discover on their soil the mysterious beauties of ancient Egypt, I imagined it above all so that the name of our beloved daughter, Bonnie Blue Butler, will live on after my death."

He felt bad for not controlling his broken voice.

Gladys was extremely embarrassed, not having heard of the drama. The others sympathized sincerely.

Duncan put his hand on his fiancée's shoulder.

Rhett felt relentlessly rejected, as if the other man was ripping Scarlett from their cocoon of grief, and with it a precious part of his Bonnie.

He clenched his fist mechanically to concentrate the tension, and launched himself: "Scarlett, I have excellent news to announce to you: the federal administration has confirmed its agreement for a substantial part of the financing. To formalize the contract, they require my presence, but also that of their interlocutor, you, the President of the Management Fund, in Washington. One week from next Wednesday."

As if on cue, he read a prism of feelings on 'his' wife's beautiful face: amazement, joy, panic and indecision, followed by questioning when she looked at Duncan. The latter was white as a sheet again...

ooooooooOOOoooooooo

---

Notes on Chapter 38:

(*1) 60, Montagu Street, Gaillard-Bennett house : many pictures are available, notably on

/media/gaillard-bennett-house-60-montague-street-charleston-charleston-county-sc-34

or

research/collection/gaillard-bennett-house-60-montagu-street/E2C68098-8FC0-4021-A12A-235152555546

the video:

sections/tv-shows/projects/27-federal-style-home/episodes/325-selecting-the-site/videos/1136659553001-tour-of-charleston-sc : Tour of Charleston, SC

Interior of the house: - /60-montagu-sc/

(*2) Washington Jefferson Bennett died in 1874. Exceptionally, I have "cheated" on the historical truth. He died in 1874, and it is likely that he remained the owner of the house until that date. But, for my story, it was necessary for Rebecca's husband to acquire it in 1870.

(*3) White wine " Nuits " or " Nuits-Saint-Georges " : source .fr/nuits-saint-georges-objectif-terre-lune/

On July 31, 1971, Apollo 15 landed on the Moon. The two pilots descended from their LEM (lunar module) and boarded their modulo-jeep. After driving a few kilometers, they stopped at the edge of a crater 2 km in diameter that they named Saint-Georges: James Irwin put a page of the Bible there, and David Scott a label of the famous Terre-Lune de Nuits-Saint-Georges wine! A few years earlier in France, David Scott had come to Saint-Georges because a famous astronomer, Félix Tisserand, had been born there (he had published Les tables de la Lune. His treatise on celestial mechanics served as the basis for the modern conquest of space. ). The astronomer met the mayor of the village of Nuits Saint-Georges and the great-grandson of Jules Verne and they agreed to create a special wine for space. This is how the story began.

(*4) Specialties of South Carolina cuisine:

10 Most Popular South Carolinian foods - Source: Tasteatlas

most-popular-food-in-south-carolina

and Discover South Carolina, The secrets to South Carolina's most famous dishes:

(*5) Hunting Island : source : explore Beaufort SC - History of Hunting Island: Treasure by the sea

/history-of-hunting-island-treasure-by-the-sea/

(*6 ) Pommard wine: Source: Burgundy wines

/nos-vins-nos-terroirs/la-bourgogne-et-ses-appellations/pommard,2377, ?&args=Y29tcF9pZD0yMjA1JmFjdGlvbj12aWV3RmljaGUmaWQ9MzY5Jnw

(*7 ) General Robert Lee at 60 Montagu Street: Source: archive/075FA4D0-0D41-407C-9B6F-428945669615

And Charlestonraconteur .