Blood Is Thicker...
By
Christine
Part Two
Chapter 11
Pik kept her busy over the next two days. He hired a car and driver for her, and authorized her to use Fouchon's accounts at the finest shops in New Orleans for clothes and anything else she thought she might need. She questioned Pik on the excess, but he assured it was what Fouchon would have wanted for her once he found out who she was. "Be sure to get a swimming suit. And some things to wear just for me," he had instructed with a smile. Madeleine enjoyed the shopping and it gave Pik time to catch up on his dealings with Randal Poe and other details related to plying their odious trade.
They spent the night before Fouchon returned together in the cottage. She took the ring box out from under her mattress and he slid the ring onto her finger again. Knowing it was their last night of freedom together, they spent the hours until dawn memorizing every last bit of each other's bodies, making love desperately, feverishly, not knowing when they could be together again. He was so skilled a lover, so skilled a teacher, and she a willing student, and he reveled in all she had learned from him. She dozed off, and heard him moving about her bedroom.
He laid out a light blue dress and matching shoes and jewelry. "I think you should wear this for him today. It'll show off the blue of your eyes," and he kissed each eyelid. "I'll call you an hour before you need to come to the main house. Wait in the parlour. Until then, get some rest." She sat up and he hugged her tightly then kissed her reluctantly goodbye, knowing their lives were about to change forever.
***
Fouchon was frenetic, as close to being pleased about something as he could come. He had made many business contacts in several different midwestern cities, some legitimate, some not. Some would be coming south for a hunt. He unpacked, made phone calls, asked after Pik's progress, and it was nearly twelve-thirty in the afternoon before Pik was finally able to call Madeleine on his cell phone. "Okay," was all she said, nervous, knowing just enough about Fouchon to be wary. Pik would stay with her while they talked, overtly to verify her claim, covertly to lend Madeleine moral support.
An hour later, Fouchon had calmed some and he and Pik had just finished lunch. Pik suggested they go into the parlour, and followed him in. Madeleine sat on the divan, dressed as Pik indicated and neatly coifed. As different as she looked, Fouchon recognized her as part of the maid service, and frowned. "What the hell is this about, Pik?" he asked, losing patience.
Pik placed himself about four feet away from Madeleine, and they faced Fouchon together. She stood and cleared her throat, wringing her hands again.
"My name is Madeleine Rourke," she said, feeling inadequate under his glare.
"And what interest," Fouchon snided, "could I possibly have for the name of a cleaning wench?" He turned to Pik, "Pik, I don't have time for this…."
Madeleine lifted her chin angrily and glared at him. Then she spoke to him again. "It should interest you, sir," she stated confidently, "because before I became Madeleine Rourke, my name was Madeleine Elise Fouchon."
The name from the past stabbed at Fouchon. He turned to face her, and remembered Pik's presence. "Pik, do you have anything to do with this?" He poured himself three fingers of bourbon and swallowed it down.
Pik set Madeleine's envelope on the bar to the right of Fouchon. "I have verified that all the documents in here are legitimate. Birth certificate, your marriage certificate…" but Fouchon was staring suspiciously at Madeleine and waved his hand dismissively at Pik.
Pik fell silent as Fouchon spoke again. "I of course trust your conclusions, Pik. But still, anyone could have come across those papers."
"Please, listen to me, I didn't make this up," Madeleine begged of Fouchon.
"Young lady," Fouchon said icily, "I am about to call your bluff." He advanced toward her menacingly, but she stood her ground. He continued, "My daughter carries a scar from a burn that healed rather strangely." She looked him in the eye as he continued. "Sort of a crescent moon.
It's on her back-side." Madeleine and Pik glanced at each other, then quickly away.
Fouchon went on, "I know, because it's my fault…a carelessly dropped cigarette…"
Madeleine audibly sighed in relief, "I have that scar! I never knew where it came from, but I have it!"
"Do you expect me to take your word for it?" he growled, sneering. He still thought this was a ruse. He had given up on finding his wife and daughter ages ago, and it infuriated him that this chit was making this claim, prying into his personal life.
"Hey! I don't deserve this. I AM who I say I am, and I went through a lot of trouble to hunt you down."
Her reference amused Fouchon and he smirked at Pik. He looked back over to Madeleine, incredulity still filling his eyes.
She glared at him. "You wanna take a look?" Fed up, she was no longer afraid. She had the proof he wanted, and was prepared to give it to him. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure right now than to bare my arse and stick it right in your face!" She began to hike up her dress.
"Maddie! Maddie, please." Pik placed himself between glaring father and seething daughter. Madeleine stopped what she was doing. "If you will allow me, I will verify the scar," Pik said to Fouchon, attempting to bring civility back into the conversation. "After all, I believe her claim, and I think you'd be…uncomfortable…once your are satisfied of who she is, if you have seen her…ah…" Fouchon cleared his throat and nodded quickly, his eyes still on the girl.
"Okay, Mr. Van Cleaf," Madeleine said haughtily. She walked coolly around the bar, eyes glaring at Fouchon, and leaned slightly over one of the barstools. Pik cleared his throat, and looking a bit uncomfortable, shrugged at Fouchon and took a position behind her.
He delicately lifted her skirt up, and it was torture to appear unaffected when he saw the ivory skin he knew so well showing between the top of her stockings and the bottom of her panties. He slid the top of her panties down on the left side with his index finger until the scar was revealed.
"It's here," he said flatly.
Fouchon still hadn't looked, still seemed disinterested. "Be sure it's not fake."
Pik sighed, licked his thumb for Fouchon to see, and rubbed it roughly against the mark. "It's real."
Fouchon leaned over, saw the mark, and quickly looked away. Pik exhaled loudly, straightened her clothing, and stepped back.
Fouchon stood silently for a full minute, then said, "Leave us alone for a bit, won't you Pik?"
Pik glanced at Madeleine who nodded slightly, and so he left them alone.
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