"Yes, Jeanne, but it doesn't happen overnight, and from the way you speak of James and from what you tell me of him, it sounds like you will have happiness together."

"Oh, I'm so glad you said that!" she exclaimed. "For I value your opinion more than anyone's, even more than Mother's, and certainly more than Toby's."

"I wish you would speak to your mother first," I said. "I don't want to be the one who convinces you of doing something. You have to convince yourself."

In the back of my mind, I could see Gladys Tate hating me for giving intimate advice to her daughter.

"Don't worry, silly," she said. "I am convinced. I just needed to be sure. You were once just as insecure, weren't you?"

"Yes," I confessed.

"You never talk about your life in New Orleans. Did you have many boyfriends there or when you went to private school?"

"No, not many," I said, and looked away quickly. She was alert enough to catch the shifting of my gaze.

"But there was one?"

"There was . . . no one, really," I said, turning back with a smile. "You know how those rich Creole boys can be. . . . They make you promises just to tempt you to go to bed with them and then they rush off for another conquest."

"Did you?" she asked quickly.

"Did I what?"

"Go to bed with any of them?"

"Jeanne!"

"I'm sorry. I thought I could ask. I thought we could be sisters, better sisters than you and your twin were."

"That wouldn't be hard to do," I said, laughing. I stared at her a moment. "No," I said. "I didn't." I knew if I told her the truth, I would burst into tears myself and this whole wonderful world Paul had created for Pearl and me would come crumbling down around us.

She looked relieved. "Then I'm right to wait until we're married?"

"If it feels right, it's right," I told her. She seemed satisfied for the moment. I was troubled giving advice to anyone when it came to romance and marriage. Who was I to do so?

The next—day, Jeanne came over to announce her engagement to James Pitot. They had set a date. Once Paul heard that, he declared the wedding would be at Cypress Woods if she liked. She gazed at me with the expression of a coconspirator and cried her delight.

"Ruby will help me plan the wedding, won't you, Ruby?"

"Of course," I said.

"Oh, Paul," she said, "you did more than marry the woman you always loved and give us a beautiful little niece. You gave me a wonderful new sister."

We hugged and kissed and I hoped I had said the right things and Jeanne was destined for a good and happy marriage. In any case, we had a great family event to plan. It seemed Paul was right: Our lives would be full of excitement and never dull.

That evening Paul knocked on the adjoining door and came into my bedroom as I was sitting in front of my vanity mirror brushing out my hair. I was already in my nightgown. He was in his light blue silk pajamas, one of the birthday presents I had bought for him.

"I just got off the phone with Dad. He says his home now resembles an army command post. They have already drawn up long lists of guests and started to plan the preliminaries. He swears it's like preparing for battle."

I laughed.

"I wish we could have had a grand wedding," he said. "You deserved nothing less than to be treated like some Cajun princess."

"I am treated that way, Paul."

"Yes, but . . ." His eyes fixed on mine in the mirror. "How has it been for you? I mean . . . are you really happy, Ruby?"

"Yes, Paul. I am."

He nodded and then shifted from a deep, pensive look to a soft, gentle smile. "Anyway, thank you for taking my sisters to your heart so quickly and making them your family, too. They adore you, and Mother. . . Mother has learned to do more than simply accept. I know she respects you now."

I wondered how he could make such a statement. Was he blind to the cold, gray look in his mother's eyes whenever she set them on me or was he so determined to be happy that he ignored it and lived in an illusion himself?

"I hope so, Paul," I said, but not with much conviction.

"She does," he insisted. "Well, good night." He stepped up to me and kissed me softly on the neck. He hadn't kissed me like that since we had married. The warmth of his lips radiated in waves over my shoulders and down to my breasts. I closed my eyes and when I opened them again, I saw him still there, his lips inches from my face.

"Good night," I said in a broken whisper.

"Good night." He turned quickly and left my room.

For a moment I just stared after him. I took a deep breath and got ready for bed.

That night I tossed and turned for hours before finally falling into an exhaustion and sleep.

Three days later the happy bubble that had settled over Cypress Woods was shattered with the arrival of Gisselle. She and two of her boyfriends from her ritzy prep school came speeding up our driveway, the horn of their Cadillac convertible blaring. It brought all the servants and myself to the front window. We thought it was some emergency. James looked at me with surprise.

"It's only my twin sister," I said. "Don't bother yourself, James. I‟ll greet her and show her in."

“Very good, madame," he said, and happily retreated. I went out to the gallery to face them.

It had been some time since Gisselle and I had last set eyes on each other. The two boys she was with were handsome, slim young men, one with dark brown hair and the other quite blond with blue eyes and a very fair complexion. He was the driver. They both wore navy blue blazers with their fraternity emblems embossed in gold on their breast pockets. The dark-haired young man stepped out first and held the door for Gisselle, sweeping himself into a European bow as if she were royalty emerging. The laughter on the lips suggested they had been doing some drinking or maybe smoking pot. I had no reason to expect Gisselle had changed or grown up any since we last saw each other, but I had hoped for some miraculous metamorphosis.

"There she is," she cried as soon as she set her eyes on me. "My dear, darling twin, the mistress of Cypress Woods. I have to admit, sister dear," she said, nodding as she looked around, "you ain't done bad for a Cajun."

The two men laughed, the driver getting out to join them.

"Well, can't you say hello?" Gisselle demanded, her hands on her hips. "We haven't seen each other for a long time. You'd think you'd at least pretend to be pleased."

"Hello, Gisselle," I said dryly.

"What, no sisterly kiss and hug?" She stepped up to me. I shook my head and embraced her. "That's more like it. You should be impressed. We drove all the way up here to visit you and it's a terribly boring ride. Nothing to look at but those shacks on sticks and old shrimp boats rotting along the canals and poor dirty children playing with rusty old tools on their mangy front yards. Right, Darby?" she said, turning to the dark-haired young man. He nodded, his eyes on me.

"Why don't you introduce everyone properly, Gisselle," I said.

She smirked. "Of course, just the way we were taught to do it at Greenwood, huh?" She turned and imitated our etiquette teacher at Greenwood, speaking with nasality. "This is Darby Hennessey, of the filthy rich Hennesseys from the Bank of New Orleans." Darby laughed and bowed. "And this shy, fair-haired young man on my left is Henry Howard. His father is one of Louisiana's most famous and important architects. Either one of these young men wouldn't hesitate to spend his inheritance on me, would you, gentlemen?"

"I'd save a little to keep myself in champagne," Darby quipped, and they all laughed.

"This house . . . I must confess, Ruby," Gisselle said, stepping back, "I had no idea. You are rich even before you inherit your share of our trust. Can you imagine how wealthy my twin sister is going to be, Henry?"

He nodded, gazing around.

"Wealthy," he admitted.

"Brilliant. Henry's working on his doctorate in brain surgery," she said, and Darby laughed. "Well, are you going to show us around or do we have to stand out here all day in the swamp heat?" she demanded.

"Of course, I'll show you around."

"Is it all right to leave the car right here?" Henry asked me.

"Why isn't it?" Gisselle snapped before I had a chance. "What do you think she has, valet parking?" She laughed and threaded her arm through Darby's. "The tour, madame," she said.

"You haven't changed one iota, Gisselle," I said, shaking my head.

"Why should I? I was always perfect. Right, Darby?" "Right," he said obediently.

I opened the door and led them into the house.

"Daphne would bust a gut if she saw how well you've done for yourself, dear sister," Gisselle said as she gazed at the grand entryway, my paintings and small statues, the long marble floors and grand stairway. She whistled at the elegant furnishings in the living room and den, but her sarcastic attitude dwindled to a quiet look of awe as I took them through the rest of the downstairs and they saw the large pictures, the expensive lamps and chandeliers, the enormous kitchen and dining room with a table that could seat twenty comfortably.

"This beats anything I've seen in the Garden District," Henry confessed.

"You haven't seen everything in the Garden District," Gisselle spit, and he was silent. "How about the bedrooms?" she inquired.

"Right this way."

I showed them the guest rooms first and then Paul's and my bedrooms, skipping the nursery because Pearl was taking her nap.

"Separate but adjoining bedrooms," Gisselle re-marked, and smiled licentiously. "How often do we use that doorway?" she whispered. Although I blanched, I didn't reply. She laughed and gazed about. "You don't have an art studio anymore," she said with delight.

"Oh, that's in the attic," I replied nonchalantly.

"The attic?"

"Let me show you," I said, and took them upstairs.

"This is incredible," Darby said, now genuinely impressed. "The place is a palace. Look at the view from this window," he declared, turning to Gisselle. She sulked behind us.

"It's only a view of the swamps," she said.

"Yeah, but . . . it's beautiful. That's a big pool, and those flowers."

"All right," Gisselle said, bursting with frustration. "You have anything to drink? I'm parched."

"Of course. Let's go down to the patio and Molly will bring us some lemonades."

"Lemonades," she ridiculed. "Don't you have anything with a little kick to it?" she asked sharply.

"Whatever you want, Gisselle. Just tell my maid." "Her maid. Do you hear how my Cajun sister talks?

Just tell my maid."

We started out, the young men behind us. Gisselle seized my arm.

"Where's Beau's baby?" she demanded.

"Pearl's asleep and no one knows her as Beau's baby here," I said.

"Of course." She smiled with satisfaction. "And our brother, your husband?" she whispered.

"He's at work in the oil fields right now." My heart began to pound. "If you've come here to make trouble for us . . ."

"Why should I do that? I don't care what you've done, although I know you did it just to spite Beau."

"That's not true, Gisselle."

"Don't you want to hear about him?" she teased. I didn't reply. "He broke up with his fiancée in Europe, so you see, if you hadn't rushed into this sinful arrangement, you might have still won him," she said with great self-satisfaction. I felt the blood rush into my face so quickly, it felt as if it had drained completely out of my legs and I might tumble down the stairs. Then she laughed and put her arm through mine. "But let's not talk of old romances. Let's catch up on other news first. I do have a lot to tell you, a lot you will enjoy and a lot . . . you won't," she suggested with an impish grin.

She paraded me downstairs with her obedient escorts behind us ready at her beck and call.

"Daphne's wedding," Gisselle began once she had her mint julep in hand, "was an affair to remember. She and Bruce spared no expense. There were hundreds of guests. The church was bursting at the seams. Most people came because they were curious and just wanted to be part of the highlight of the social season. You know she really never had any friends. She just has business acquaintances, but she never cared and still doesn't."

"Are they happy together?"

"Happy? Hardly," she said, and laughed.

"What do you mean?"

"Bruce is still her little gofer. Remember how I used to tease him—Bruce, go for this, Bruce, go for that? Do you know what I discovered listening in on their business conversations one night? She made him sign a prenuptial agreement. He inherits nothing if anything happens to her. Nothing. And he can't divorce her and sue her for any property."