CHAPTER 13

SARAH ST. IVES SAT at one end of the long, black oak table and looked down at the other end where her grandfather sat in his wheelchair. To her left she could see Blue Boy and several other horses grazing in the pasture on the other side of the whitewashed fence she had helped put up when she was a little girl. In the other room she could hear Cora, her grandfather’s maid, rattling cutlery as she put it in the drawer. The French doors were open, allowing a pleasant breeze to waft through. Sarah remembered how her grandfather detested air-conditioning. She smelled something like watermelon and realized it was cut grass. She thought about the times as a child when she rode on the wagon when the hands made hay. There was another smell that was making her mouth water that she couldn’t identify at first, and then it came to her. It was one of her favorites, bread pudding. Lucy must be making it in the kitchen, she thought. She made a mental note to visit the old cook, who was one of her childhood nannies, and beg her for a bowl. Pour milk over it till the bowl overflowed. Fresh milk, not that pasteurized stuff you get in the stores. Milk from their own registered Guernseys, dottedh flecks of cream.

She’d told her grandfather everything.

“That bastard!”

“Calm down, Grandfather. I didn’t tell you this to make you have a another stroke. I know what to do. I want to know if you’ll help.”

Sarah St. Ives was sitting in what her grandfather called “the drawing room,” sipping a sherry and discussing the state of her marriage. Her grandfather asked Cora to bring them the bottle of sherry and to close the doors behind her. She glanced around at the room, remembering the times as a little girl when her grandfather excused himself from whatever gathering they were having to come in this room with men in expensive suits. Many state senators and even a U.S. senator had been in this room. The governor, often. Captains of industry. Oil men and men who made the wheels of commerce turn the way they wanted. They always closed the doors and she remembered wondering what they talked about. Something important. Something to do with money.

Now it was she who was sitting in the drawing room with the doors closed.

“I’m going to divorce him, Grandfather. My problem is how to get him out of the bank. Without anything. I don’t want him to have a dime. Can we do it?”

Titus Fuller Derbigny was in a wheelchair, but his back was straight and strong, his white hair neatly cut and combed. The suit he was wearing came directly from Bond Street and not a wrinkle in it. The Sulka tie, perfectly knotted, was the same chocolate color as his eyes. Although his legs were useless, he still had full use of a razor-sharp mind that was legendary in Louisiana financial and political circles. Strings he pulled affected events as far away as New York and Washington and extended to the Mid-East and Europe.

“I can’t believe that cur!” he thundered. “Fouling his own nest! A decent man would never have a mistress that worked for him. Especially when his own wife owns the bank he and his chippy earn their living from! It’s all because of that damned Edwards.” He was speaking of the governor of the state, a man who openly kept mistresses, both in Baton Rouge and New Orleans. Not only was Edwards’s own wife aware of his peccadilloes, but the entire state was as well.

He was livid. His granddaughter meant more to him than anyone else, more than his own children. The fact that his son-in-law kept a mistress was barely worth notice. Most men in his position in New Orleans enjoyed a girlfriend or two, but there was an unspoken law that a gentleman kept his affairs separate from his home and family. And since this was his wife’s bank, it was the same as her home.

“Of course I’ll help you, sugar girl.”

“Well, Grandfather...” Sarah took a sip of her sherry. “It might not be that easy. Who knows what a judge might do, the way circumstances are today?”

“The circumstances are fine, darlin’. This is still Louisiana. My state.”

“Well, Grandfather, that’s worse. Did you forget about that old Napoleonic Code? The man is king. The husband can get everything in a divorce even if he doesn’t deserve a penny.”

Titus Derbigny stared without expression at his granddaughter. “Hand me that phone, little girl. Quit worryin’. I want you to dial this number for me. My fingers...shake a bit nowadays. I’m calling William. I want you to tell him you want to sell me your shares back for a dollar. Don’t worry--” He saw the look of consternation that crossed her face.

“It’s only temporary, sugar girl. Until we get the divorce behind us. That won’t take long. When I get finished talking to William, I want you to dial Judge Foster’s number for me. It’s in that book over on the sideboard. I want to make sure he gets your case on his docket. You rest easy, Sarah. It’ll all be taken care of. There’s something else we’ve got.”

“What’s that, Grandfather?”

“His Cajun background.” He looked at her sharply to see how she received that.

“How’d you...why...I didn’t...”

“How’d I know about that? Sugar, it’s my business to know everything that affects this family. I knew about Mr. St. Ives after your second date with him. Want me to tell you where he took you, what you wore?”

“Well, then, how come...”

“Why didn’t I say anything? Sugar, your happiness means everything to me. If you wanted this man and that’s all there was bad about him, I wasn’t going to stand in your way. How do you think he ended up with such a good biography--a complete work of fiction if I do say so--for his Who’s Who entry if it wasn’t for me? Do you think what you two sent in would have been accepted if I didn’t know about it? Handle it myself? No, darlin’ girl, your grandfather has always watched over you and I will again. You can count on it. Now.” He patted her knee. “Let’s you and I make some phone calls, take care of this contemptible coonass. He needs to know who’s in control. Who’s always been in control. I’ll tell you some other things about your husband you didn’t know.”

She went over, bent down and put her arms around her grandfather.

“I knew you’d take care of everything, Grandfather.”

“Now, you’re going to learn how the Derbignys operate, sugar girl. How we got to where we are. It’s none too soon to learn, especially since you’ll be taking over the bank. That’s something you need to do immediately. No use in wasting any more time. Strike before the enemy knows what hits him. That’s the secret of success in any war. And don’t kid yourself, darlin’--this is a war. This is what you have to do. I want you to do this exactly like I tell you.”

She listened, fascinated, as he made a series of calls. One, she wasn’t allowed to hear.

“This one,” he said, apology in his voice. “Is better that you don’t know about. I’ll make this call, and then you go home. Once you kick that no-good husband out, you come back here to be with your family for a few days. We’ll take good care of you.” She left the room dutifully, and only heard her grandfather’s greeting as she closed the doors behind her.

“Buenos dias, senòr. We’ve got a...”

Up till then, Sarah had felt like an equal with her grandfather. When she left the room to let him make his phone call she felt exactly like she had when she was a little girl.