Chapter Four:
The Invitation
The year after Adrienne arrived at DuPont’s, she received a letter from her brother. It contained an invitation to his wedding.
It was May, and the magnolias were in full bloom. The rotten city air was mildly sweet, and they had just turned on the air conditioning. The wedding was set for June.
Adrienne hadn’t spoken to her brother much, since leaving home. She’d gone away when she was fourteen. She knew that Alphonse was a lawyer, and that he had three houses: one in New Orleans, one on the ocean in Mexico, and one in the heart of Paris. He’d written to inquire after her several times, but she filled her return letters with lies, claiming that she was married to a rich man, and that she was utterly happy. Alphonse didn’t ask many questions, and his last letter had been more than four years ago.
He’d sent the wedding invitation to Beulah Landon’s address, which was where Adrienne had lived, the last time they’d corresponded. But Beulah’s daughter had taken pity on her, and had rescued the letter from the fireplace. She’d heard of the notoriety of Adrienne Tellier (née Rivet) of Frenchmen Street; and she delivered the letter in person.
It was a rainy day, when Penny Landon came. But she’d always been a kind sort of girl – she was the one exception in Beulah’s brood of otherwise horrible offspring – and she didn’t offer even a single judgmental remark. She just smiled uncomfortably, when Adrienne opened the door; handed the letter over quickly; and then ran away.
Raphaelle had followed Adrienne to the door, and they stood together, staring out into the downpour. Penny Landon quickly faded from their sight, like a desert mirage that may or may not have ever existed. Only the feel of the letter in Adrienne’s hand reminded her that it was real.
“What’s that?” Raphaelle asked curiously.
“I don’t know,” Adrienne answered. “Something that came for me at Beulah’s, I suppose.”
Raphaelle knew about Beulah. Of all the people in the house – including Frederick – she knew the most about Adrienne.
“Who’s it from?” she inquired.
Adrienne examined the return address, and replied, “It’s from my brother Alphonse.”
She took the letter up to her room, feeling slightly shaken. She wondered why her brother would be writing to her. It seemed even more ominous that the letter had recently lain on the nest of vipers that was Beulah Landon’s post-table. Beulah had been the kind of person you either loved or hated – and it seemed like more people had hated her than otherwise. The little table in the front entryway was usually covered with angry letters from old friends who didn’t feel like she paid enough attention to them; or, even more likely, from relatives who felt that they deserved a portion of her dead husband’s money.
Adrienne supposed, now that Beulah was gone, Simone was the new recipient of these nasty letters.
It served her right.
These thoughts distracted Adrienne from her anxiety, and she spent a few moments thinking about Beulah. She wasn’t an infrequent memory, but still, Adrienne hadn’t thought of her in weeks. She’d been thoroughly preoccupied with the business, and had actually been grateful to think about something other than the past.
Yet it seemed that the past had come back to her, anyway. She looked down at the envelope again, and finally opened it to take out the letter it contained. A very short letter. It didn’t say much. It merely asked after Adrienne’s health; the health, likewise, of her imaginary husband; and then Alphonse went on to say that he was rather happy, because he was going to be married. “See the enclosed invitation,” he wrote, “for particular details concerning time and venue.”
The wedding would take place at Alphonse’s Mexican villa. On the beach.
“Please R.S.V.P. immediately. Wouldn’t want to miss out on seeing you, dear sister – but will understand if other obligations prevent your attendance.”
Adrienne stared at these words for a long moment, feeling cold. She remembered the last time she’d seen sixteen-year-old Alphonse, in their father’s little clapboard shack, which was set on the mudbank of a water hole filled with alligators. That was why they’d never been allowed to have a dog. They’d had a hamster – but the alligators had gotten it, anyway.
Her brother had been a long, lean youth, dark-haired and handsome, with a strong jaw already shadowed with stubble. Clear blue eyes that had never seemed to lie to her. He’d often held her hand in the living room, after their mother had beaten her.
But all that had gone away after she left. They forgot anything particular about each other, and only remembered to ask whether everyone was still alive. He informed her, several years after she went away, that their parents were dead. Their mother drank herself to death, and their father shot himself. It wasn’t that surprising, but it was a strong blow, just the same. Especially Daniel.
He’d never gotten over the loss of his family fortune. His grandmother’s fortune, really. Passed down to her from a wealthy ancestor beheaded during the Reign of Terror, she’d hoarded it until she died, and then passed it down to her son – Daniel’s father. But he preferred Daniel’s brother, and left the money to him. He didn’t even offer to divide it.
It may have been that Nicole married Daniel in hopes of sharing the fortune. In any case, there was no fortune to be shared; and the couple’s end was a tragic one.
It’s a shame when there’s no romance in tragedy. At least, when there’s romance, it makes the tragedy seem almost worthwhile. But without it – there’s only blood and sadness.