Fat Tuesday(4)

His post-trial bashes were as much anticipated as the trials themselves and were well documented in the media. Sometimes Remy suspected jurors of voting for an acquittal just so they could experience firsthand one of Pinkie Duvall's famous fetes.

"Is there anything I can do?" Of course there wasn't, and she knew that before asking.

"Just show up looking as gorgeous as always," he told her, sliding his hands down her back and giving her another kiss. After releasing her, he wiped at the smear of dirt on her forehead."What are you doing out here, anyway? You know I don't like a lot of traffic in here."

"There hasn't been a lot of traffic. Only me. I brought a fern from the house because it didn't look healthy and I thought it could use some TLC. Don't worry, I didn't touch anything I shouldn't."

The greenhouse was Pinkie's domain. Horticulture was his hobby, but he took it seriously and was as much a stickler for neatness and precision in the greenhouse as in his law practice and in every other area of his life.

He took a moment now to survey proudly the rows of plants he had cultivated. Few of his friends, and even fewer of his enemies, knew that among Pinkie Duvall's other passions were his orchids, in which he specialized.

Extreme measures were taken to maintain the delicate balance of the environment inside the greenhouse. There was even a special enclosure within the greenhouse to house the equipment that monitored and controlled the climate. He'd done an exhaustive study of the topic and attended the World Orchid Congress every three years. He knew the precise light, humidity, and temperature conditions in which each particular group flourished. Cattleyas, laelias, cymbidiums, oncidiums Pinkie nurtured them with the attention of a neonatal I.C.U nurse, providing each with proper potting, drainage, and aeration.

In return, he expected his plants to be exemplary and extraordinary.

As though they didn't want to disappoint their master, they were.

Ordinarily. But now he frowned as he moved toward a grouping of plants labeled Oncidium varicosum. The stalks were heavy with blossoms, although they weren't as profuse as some of their neighbors'."I've been pampering these nonas for weeks. What's the matter with them?

This is a very poor showing."

"Maybe they haven't had time to " "They've had plenty of time."

"Sometimes when " "They're inferior plants. That's all there is to it." Pinkie calmly picked up one of the pots and dropped it to the floor. It broke upon impact with the stone tiles, creating a mess of fern root, shattered crockery, and bent pedicels. Another soon joined the first. "Pinkie, don't!" ' Remy crouched down and cradled one of the tender plants in her hand.

"Leave it alone," he said with detachment, even as he sent another of the plants to its doom. He didn't spare a single one. Soon the entire group lay in shambles on the tiles. He stepped on one of the stalks and ground the blossoms beneath his heel."They were ruining the appearance of the greenhouse."

Remy, upset over the waste, began scooping up the plants. Pinkie said, "Don't bother with that. I'll send one of the gardeners in to clean up."

He left with her promise that she would leave soon and start getting dressed for the party, but she didn't leave immediately. Instead, she stayed to sweep up the debris herself, being careful to put away everything she had used and leaving the greenhouse in pristine condition.

The pavestone path leading to the house meandered through the lawn.

Carefully tended flower beds were sheltered by a canopy of moss-draped live oaks. The trees had been there for centuries before the house was built, the original building dated back to the early nineteenth century.

Remy entered through one of the back doors and took the rear stairs, avoiding the kitchen, butler's pantry, and dining room, where she could hear the caterer issuing terse orders to her corps of assistants.

By the time Pinkie and his guests began arriving, everything would be ready, and the food and beverage service would be seam less.

Remy barely had allowed herself enough time to dress, but preparations had been made to speed up the process. A maid had already drawn her bath and was there awaiting further instructions. Together they discussed what Remy would wear and, after having laid everything out, the maid left her alone to bathe, which she did quickly, knowing that she would need extra time with her hair and makeup. Pinkie expected her to look her best for his parties.

Fifty minutes later, she was putting on the finishing touches at her vanity table when she heard him enter the master suite."Is that you?"

"It sure as hell better not be anyone else."

Leaving her dressing room, she joined him in the bedroom and thanked him when he whistled appreciatively."Can I fix you a "Please." He began removing his clothes.

By the time she'd poured him a scotch, he was down to his skin. At fifty-five, Pinkie was impressively fit. He kept his body hard and compact with rigorous daily workouts and deep muscle massages by a masseur he kept on retainer. He was proud of the physique he'd maintained despite his fondness for exceptional wines and New Orleans' notable cuisine, including its famous desserts like bread pudding with whiskey sauce and creamy pralines chock-full of pecans.

Kissing Remy's cheek, he took the highball glass she offered and sipped the expensive scotch."I brought you a present, and you've exercised enormous restraint by not mentioning it, although I know you saw it."