All That Glitters (Landry 3)

Ever since my confrontation with Bruce in the studio, I was hesitant about returning and starting a painting. Keeping my talent a secret stifled the creative impulse, but I didn't want to hover around Mrs. Ferrier all day and give her the impression I didn't trust her with Pearl. So I would spend hours sitting in the studio, staring at an empty canvas, waiting for the inspiration that appeared to be clouded by my darker thoughts.

One morning after breakfast, just before I was preparing to go into the studio, the doorbell rang and Aubrey came to tell me I had a gentleman visitor.

"A Monsieur Turnbull," he said, handing me the man's card. For a few seconds the name didn't register.

Then I looked at the card and saw it read "Louis Turnbull."

"Louis," I said aloud, a wave of ecstatic joy coming over me. It was Louis, Mrs. Clairborne's grandson, the blind young man I had met and become friends with at the Greenwood School for girls, the private school in Baton Rouge to which Daphne had sent Gisselle and me.

The school's chief benefactor was a widow, Mrs. Clairborne, who lived in a mansion on the school grounds with her grandson Louis. Louis, a man in his twenties, had become blind when he was still a young boy after he had suffered the traumatic experience of seeing his father kill his mother, smother her to death with a pillow. His blindness lingered and handicapped him even after dozens and dozens of sessions with a psychiatrist.

However, he was a talented pianist and composer who put all of his feelings into his music. I met him accidentally when I had attended a tea at the mansion with the other new students from our dormitory. Drawn by the sound of his music, I wandered into the study, and Louis and I became close friends. Louis claimed my friendship helped him start to regain his sight. He came to my rescue when I was nearly expelled from Greenwood because of something Gisselle had done. His testimony provided an alibi for me and ended the incident.

Louis had gone to Europe to get further treatment for his condition and study at the musical conservatory. We had lost contact, and now, seemingly out of the blue, here he was on my doorstep.

"Show him in," I told Aubrey, and waited anxiously for our meeting when suddenly it occurred to me: I couldn't greet him as Ruby. I was Gisselle! It stopped me cold in my tracks.

Aubrey brought him to the study. Louis had grown a bit heavier since I had last seen him, but his face had matured, his cheeks and chin somewhat leaner. He wore his dark brown hair longer and swept back on the sides. He was still quite a handsome man with a strong, sensuous mouth and a perfectly straight Roman nose. The only real change was, he wore a pair of glasses with the thickest lenses I'd ever seen.

"Thank you for seeing me, Madame Andreas," he said. I approached him and gave him my hand in greeting. "I don't know if you remember me or not. I was very friendly with your sister, Ruby," he said, and I realized he had heard the news and thought I was Gisselle.

"Yes, I know. Please, have a seat, Mr. Turnbull."

"Just call me Louis," he said, and went to the settee across from my chair. I sat and gazed at him for a moment, wondering if I could just blurt out the truth. I felt my stomach churn with frustration. It was as if hundreds of soap bubbles were popping inside.

"I have just returned from Europe," he explained, "where I studied music and performed."

"Performed?"

"Yes, in some of the finest concert halls," he said. "As soon as I arrived in New Orleans, I made some inquiries and was told the dreadful story about your sister. The fact is, I'm going to perform here in New Orleans this coming Saturday at the Theater of the Performing Arts in Louis Armstrong Park on St. Ann Street. I had been hoping your sister would be in the audience." He paused.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I know how much she would have wanted to be there."

"Do you?" He studied me a moment and then added, "I brought along a couple of tickets for you and Monsieur Andreas, should you wish to attend." He took them out and laid them on the table.

"Thank you."

"Now," he said, his face turning glum, "please be so kind as to tell me about your sister. What dreadful thing has happened?"

"She was infected with a virus that causes a severe form of encephalitis," I said. "She is in a hospital in a coma, and I'm afraid the outlook is bleak."

He nodded. I had confirmed what he knew and feared.

"I see your eyesight has been completely restored. My sister told me about you," I added quickly.

"My vision is now as good as it would have been had I suffered no problems, but as you can tell from these glasses, I wasn't born to have the best eyesight anyway. As long as

I can see the pages and write my notes, I'm fine," he added, and smiled. "That's what I'm doing here Saturday night, you know, playing original compositions. I think you might be very interested in one. I wrote it for your sister. It's Ruby's Symphony."

"Yes," I said. A lump came to choke my throat and a tiny tear trickled from my right eye and then one from my left. I wondered if his eyes permitted him to see something as small. He fixed his gaze on me for a moment without speaking.

"Pardon, madame, I mean no disrespect, but Monsieur Andreas," he said, "was he not your sister's boyfriend?"

"Once," I said softly.

"I knew she was quite in love with him. You see, I was in love with her and she made sure to let me know her heart already belonged to another and nothing I could do or say would ever change that. Such a strong love is rare, I thought, but I understand she married someone else?"

"Yes." My eyes skipped guiltily away. Like a raging river against a dam, my story longed to gush forward.