Sabrina's Man (16 page)

“Well, come on. We're going to go out to one more place.”

“One more place for what?”

“There's one more place that makes stylish dresses. Just one of a kind. Come on. I want something absolutely different.”

The two left the hotel and walked down the streets of New Orleans. It was the city that Sabrina loved, for it was so different from any other town or city that she had ever seen. They passed down a street where there were organ grinders and a fair where they were selling all kinds of things that nobody in the world had a need for but bought anyway. They went by the square where Sabrina glanced at a cathedral. It seemed to be doing not nearly so much business as the shops.

Dulcie followed her as Sabrina went into one of the stores, looking around. “They ought to have something here for me.”

“I reckon they do,” Dulcie grumbled, “and it's gonna cost you an arm and a leg.”

Sabrina had long ago given up looking for bargains. Now she simply bought what she wanted. She noticed that there were, strangely enough, couples there, men with women. The women were Creoles, beautiful women, and she suspected they were the mistresses rather than the wives of the men they accompanied.

She was interrupted when a man who had come up to stand beside her said, “Well, I don't believe we've met.”

Sabrina turned and studied the man quickly. She had become quite a student of males for she had been pursued since she was in her midteens. She was wise enough to know that some of the pursuers were simply after her father's money, and she had quickly learned to identify that species instantly. “No, we haven't met, and I don't think we will.”

She was studying the man, who was tall and darkly handsome with black hair and eyes a deep brown. He had a trim mustache and a clean-cut jaw, and his clothes were absolutely everything except cheap. The quality and cut of his suit, the perfect-fitting shoulders, the smooth, flat lapels—all were impeccable. He was dressed in a pure white soft silk shirt and a wide, flowering cravat tied meticulously, and his jacket was a fine wool. The price of his boots would have fed a poor family for a month.

He was a handsome man with a face full of humor and undisciplined imagination. “I take it you are a visitor in New Orleans.”

“Yes sir, I am.”

“Well, we are happy to welcome you. My name is William Blakely.” He hesitated for a moment then said, “At this point it's customary for a lady to give her name.”

Sabrina ordinarily would do no such thing, but she knew she would not be seeing this man again, so she said, “I am Sabrina Warren from Memphis.”

“Fine. Now we are acquainted, and I think we should have lunch.”

“Don't you have work to do?”

“No, not a bit.”

“Well, what do you do for a living?”

“Nothing.”

His honesty and mischievous look attracted Sabrina.

“My father made a pile of money, so all I do is flit around going to social events.”

He was a charming, witty man, obviously with plenty of money. Most women would have been flattered with his attention, but Sabrina was merely amused. “Doesn't it embarrass you to come right out and tell people you're a parasite?”

“Not a bit,” Blakely said. “Dad knows when he goes up the flue I'll have to take over the business. Then I'll become a boring businessman like all the rest.”

“Are you married?”

“No. And I hope you're not either. . .”

“I'm also unmarried.”

His smile widened. “Great. I'll tell you what. I think it would be suitable if you and I would go to lunch as a welcome to our fair city.”

Men did not often amuse Sabrina. He was obviously a scoundrel and a wastrel but a wealthy one and a witty one. She turned and said, “Dulcie, you go back to the hotel. Can you find it?”

Dulcie gave her a disgusted look. “You think I get lost in this place? Of course I can find it.”

“Well, you go on back and wait for me there.”

After Dulcie left, Blakely said, “Come on. I'm going to take you to the finest restaurant in New Orleans, and I'm an honored guest. They'll give us the best they've got.”

They moved outside, and several minutes later he led her into the Boudreaux Café. The tables were covered with snowy white tablecloths, the silver glowed with a richness and a warmth almost alive, and the lights illuminated the richness of the décor.

A man dressed in a fine black suit came forward. “Well, Mr. Blakely, we haven't seen you lately.”

“Hello, Franklin. This is Miss Sabrina Warren. She's a visitor in our city, and I brought her to the best restaurant in New Orleans.”

“Kind of you to say so.” Franklin beamed. “Come. I'll give you your usual table.”

A few minutes after they were seated, Franklin extended a menu, but Blakely said, “Just bring us the best you have. It'll be good.” He leaned forward and said, “I've never gotten a bad meal yet.”

“Thank you,” Franklin said. “Your food will be out very quickly.” He turned and left their table.

“Well, now. Tell me about yourself, Mr. Blakely,” Sabrina said. “If you don't work, what do you do?”

Blakely turned his head to one side and seemed to think. “Well, I suppose my chief occupation at the present time is looking for a bride. As a matter of fact, I've got a list of prospects for the job. My mother and father made it out. The usual things for a rich wastrel like myself. She must be not hideous, have lots of money, come from a good family, and be respectable. As I say, my parents made it out. I'd like to add you to the list.”

“It would never work, Mr. Blakely.”

“Just call me William. Now, why wouldn't it work?”

“Because we're both used to getting everything we want.”

“Well, that doesn't matter. We've got money enough between us to take care of that.”

“We'd fight constantly.”

“I'd rather like that. Every couple needs a good fiery argument at least once a week. Then they can have fun making up. What about you, Sabrina? Has your family tried to marry you off to a suitable candidate?”

Ordinarily Sabrina would not have spoken to a stranger about her life, but something about William Blakely made her open up. She said honestly, “My family feels like yours, except they're looking for a suitable husband.”

“Well, this is going to work out fine.” Blakely smiled. He leaned forward and whispered, “After we eat we'll go to my house. You can apply to my parents for the position of my wife. I think they'll give you a high rating. I'm afraid,” he said sadly, “they're trying to marry me off to Emma Gibbons.”

“What's the matter with her?”

“Well, she's rather homely, to be truthful. Stacks of money. Comes from an old-money family, and lots of poor men without money are after her. Oh, I think you can beat Emma out.”

Sabrina laughed and said, “That's very tempting, but we're too much alike. Both spoiled to the bone.”

“Well, I like being spoiled, and I expect you do, too, right?”

“Pretty much.”

“Any brothers or sisters to inherit the money?”

“I have one sister, but she's younger than I am. As a matter of fact, she's very romantic, which I am not.”

“Oh, Ithinkyoumightbeifyouhadtheproper. . .encouragement.”

“No, I've had the proper encouragement. I'm very practical. My sister is expecting a white knight to come riding in and carry her off. She's being courted by a handsome one right now. My parents are afraid of him.” She went ahead to explain the situation, and finally she shrugged. “My parents are worried sick, but I can handle it.”

“What will you do, shoot the poor man?”

“Oh, there are ways of getting rid of fellows like that. I've had quite a bit of experience.”

Blakely smiled and stroked his mustache. “Well, it occurs to me maybe I could go back with you for a double purpose. I could shoot the fellow, maybe not kill him, just wound him and persuade him to leave. Then I can persuade your parents that I'm just the sort of son-in-law they need.”

“I don't think that would work out. My mother's not very astute, but my father's sharp. He got rich by knowing men. He'd see you, William, in a minute as a poor choice for a son-in-law.”

“That breaks my heart, Sabrina, but let's at least enjoy the lunch. Then tonight we'll go out together, and I'll have another chance with you.”

Sabrina enjoyed the lunch and enjoyed the chatter, but immediately following the meal she said, “Good-bye. It's been nice talking to you. You're a charming fellow, but I'm looking for a man with a little bit more backbone.”

“I don't have much of that, I'm afraid.” Blakely shrugged. “If you change your mind”—he reached into his pocket and gave her a card—“here's my name and address. Just write me, and I'll come on that white horse to carry you off.”

Sabrina took his hand. He offered to accompany her, but she said, “No. This is good-bye forever, William.”

When she got back to the hotel, Dulcie was waiting for her. “Well, did you get rid of that triflin' man?”

“Why, he's rich, handsome, and charming.”

Dulcie said sourly, “He's a trashy man. You don't need no trashy man, Miss Sabrina. You needs a good man.”

“Well, I'm trying hard. I seem to have run through the available list in Memphis.”

“But there's plenty of good men out there, and one of them would be a good man for you, but you is too picky.”

“Well, let's look at these dresses now.” She threw herself into the task of trying on dresses again, knowing full well she would send some of them back.

The following day, Sabrina was awakened early by Dulcie, who said, “There's done been a telegram come for you.”

“A telegram?” Sabrina sat up in bed and blinked her eyes, trying to come awake. “Where is it?”

“It's right here.” Dulcie handed her a single slip of paper.

She peered at the signature. “It's from Father.”

“What does he say?”

Sabrina scanned the telegram. “It says: ‘Sabrina, Marianne insists on marrying Gerald Robbins. It's a tragedy. Please come home at once and help us change her mind.' ”

Sabrina threw off the bedcovers and got up. “Help me get dressed, Dulcie,” she said. “We've got to leave today.”

“I told you so! Didn't I tell you? You didn't have no business leavin'. Now you got to go home, and I don't think you can do nothin' about Miss Marianne.”

“Yes, I can. Now help me get packed.”

“Gonna take an extra railroad car to get all this junk back,” Dulcie muttered, but she began stuffing dresses into suitcases and trunks.

As the carriage drew up to the front door of her home, Sabrina got out. The footman was there to help her. She turned and said, “Dulcie, you take my things. See that it's all hung up.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Dulcie said.

Sabrina was met by her mother, who threw herself at her daughter. Sabrina held on to her, patting her back and saying, “Now don't cry, Mother. It's going to be all right.”

“No, it's not going to be all right. It's going to be awful. She won't even listen to her father and certainly not me. You've got to change her mind and tell her about this man.”

“Well, I haven't even met him.”

“He's not a man for her. You'll find that out.”

“Where is she?”

“She's up in her room. We had an awful fight. She went off and told me she didn't want to see anybody.”

“Well, she'll see me,” Sabrina said grimly. She released herself from her mother's embrace and headed up the stairs. As she did, she tried to make up a speech.
I've got to be firm. She's too young to get married. She's not mature enough to marry anybody. Not this knight in white armor she's been looking for
. She had already formed a poor opinion of Gerald Robbins without having met him. She had heard him described well by her parents and ecstatically by Marianne, and none of it pleased her. She reached the top of the stairs, went to the door of Marianne's room, and knocked. “Marianne, I need to see you.”