French Silk(46)

Claire took the sad straw hat from her mother's head and smoothed the damp hair away from her cheeks. "Maybe you got the days mixed up, Mama."

"No, I don't believe so. I'm certain I got the day right. He said he was coming for me today. I was supposed to be packed and ready. I was supposed to meet him here." Obviously flustered and disoriented, she raised one of her gloved hands and pressed it against her chest. "I'm not feeling well."

Claire glanced up at Cassidy. "Could you get her a glass of water, please?"

Thoroughly baffled, he was staring down at the two women while his trench coat dripped water onto the floor. At Claire's request, he asked the hovering night clerk for a glass of water.

"Mama." Claire gently placed her hand on Mary Catherine's knee. "I don't think he's coming today. Maybe tomorrow. Why don't you come home with me and wait for him there, hmm? Here. Mr. Cassidy has brought you a glass of cool water."

She folded Mary Catherine's fingers around the glass. Mary Catherine raised it to her lips and sipped. Then she looked up at Cassidy and smiled. "You've been very kind, Mr. Cassidy. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She noticed his wet coat. "Is it raining out?"

He glanced over his shoulder toward the entrance, where the doorman was exercising admirable sensitivity in trying to appear inconspicuous. It was still raining torrentially. Cassidy replied, "Yes, I believe it is."

"Can you imagine that? It was so hot when I came in. Maybe I'd best go home now." She extended her hand up to him. He took it and helped her from her chair, then helplessly looked to Claire for further instructions.

"If you want to go on," she told him, "I can call a cab for Mama and me."

"I'll drive you."

She nodded and returned the glass of water to the night clerk. "You have my gratitude. I appreciate your understanding."

"It's no bother, Ms. Laurent. She never causes any trouble. It's just so sad."

"Yes, it is." Placing an arm around her mother's shoulders, Claire guided her toward the door, which the doorman was holding open for them. "Don't forget her suitcase, Ms. Laurent," he reminded her kindly.

"I'll get it," Cassidy said.

Mary Catherine was impervious to the peels of thunder and flashes of lightning as they waited beneath the canopy for Cassidy to stow the suitcase in the car trunk. Knowing that her mother was in another realm and virtually helpless, Claire assisted her into the backseat and buckled her in.

During the return trip, only Mary Catherine spoke. She said, "I was sure we were supposed to meet today. The Ponchartrain Hotel."

Claire bowed her head slightly and pinched her eyes shut, keenly aware of Cassidy and his rapacious interest in what was taking place. When they arrived at French Silk, he carried the suitcase while Claire ushered Mary Catherine inside and up to the third floor. In the elevator, Claire accidentally made eye contact with him. She looked away quickly, refusing to acknowledge the unasked questions in his intense, gray eyes.

Once inside the apartment, she steered Mary Catherine toward her bedroom. "I'll be back shortly if you want to wait," she said to him over her shoulder.

"I'll wait."

She helped Mary Catherine undress and carefully replaced the outdated clothes in the closet. After seeing that she took her medication, she tucked her in. "Night-night, Mama. Sleep well."

"I must have the days confused. He'll come for me tomorrow," she whispered. Smiling prettily, peacefully, she closed her eyes.

Claire leaned down and kissed her mother's cool, unlined cheek. "Yes, Mama. Tomorrow." She switched out the lamp and left the room, softly closing the door.

She was exhausted. Her shoulders ached with tension. It seemed a long way from her mother's bedroom door to the large, open living area. Like a firing squad, Cassidy was waiting for her there, armed and ready. She had no choice but to face him. Steeling herself, she moved down the hallway.

She didn't immediately see him when she entered the room. Thinking that perhaps he'd changed his mind and left, she experienced an instant of relief—and several heartbeats of disappointment.

Despite her denials to Yasmine, and to herself, she found Cassidy attractive. Physically, certainly. But there was something else … his dedication, tenacity, determination? She was attracted to the same qualities as those which repelled her. She feared him, yet he had demonstrated unusual kindness and sympathy toward her mother. As her eyes sought him through the darkness, all she knew for certain about her feelings for Cassidy was that they were ambiguous.

Through the shadows, she spotted him at the sideboard, in his shirtsleeves. In an oddly intimate way, his trench coat was hanging on the coat tree along with her raincoat and hat. When he turned around, Claire saw that his hair was still wet and that he was holding two snifters of Remy Martin. He joined her in the center of the room and extended one of them to her.

"Thank you, Mr. Cassidy."

"It's your liquor."

"Thank you anyway."

Claire was glad that he hadn't turned on any lights. There was light enough coming through the wall of windows. Occasionally the swollen clouds were illuminated by a flash of lightning that made the entire sky look like the negative of a photograph. But for the most part the storm's temper was spent, leaving in its wake a heavy but nonthreatening ram. Silver streams of it ran down the windows, squiggly rivulets that cast wavering shadows across her as she moved toward the windows. The river was discernible only as a wide dark band lined by lights on both levees. An empty barge was chugging upstream.