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I walked out of the studio and started down the stairs, fleeing from my own temptations. Beau finally came after me. I waited for him at the bottom of the stairs,

"Ruby," he said again, in a quiet, reasonable tone of voice, "if--"

"There you are," we heard, and saw Paul and Gisselle coming from the patio.

"I was just showing Beau my studio," I said quickly.

"Oh," Paul said, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at Beau. He kissed me on the cheek. "Did you see her new series?" he asked, his eyes shifting to me and turning dark.

"It's fantastic," Beau said. "I've already offered to buy the entire thing, but she cleverly said it's too soon to set a price," he added with a laugh.

"You paid too much for the ones you have," Gisselle reprimanded. "It's not like she's a famous artist or anything."

"Oh, but she will be," Paul assured her. "And you're going to be very proud of her, as proud of her as I am," he added, looking at me.

"Let's get down to some business," Gisselle said impatiently. "I don't need another tour of the swamps."

"Ah, but you've never really had a tour of the swamps, Gisselle," Paul said. "Please permit me to take you in the motorboat and show you the beauty of the canals."

"What? You mean go into that?" she said, nodding toward the swamp. "I'll be eaten alive."

"We have something to put on your face and arms that will keep all bugs away," Paul promised. "You must be a tourist, just for a short while. I insist on impressing you."

"I would really like to do it," Beau said.

"Then it's settled. Right after lunch, we all go for a spin through the canals. In the meantime let's go to my office and begin to unravel the legal work."

"Fine," Beau said. He moved forward and took Gisselle's arm in his. Pleased, she started for the house, and Paul gazed at me.

"You all right?" he asked softly.

"Yes. Everything's fine," I said.

"Good." He took my hand and we followed.

Gisselle began our meeting by declaring that she thought everything in New Orleans should go to her. "Beau and I are willing to trade other properties and assets that are of. . . what was the word, Beau?"

"Comparable value," he offered.

"Yes, comparable value."

"Ruby?" Paul said.

"I have no problem with that. I have no interest in owning anything in New Orleans right now."

"Daddy, or I should say, Daphne, had bought apartment buildings in other places. We're big landlords, right, Beau?"

"Rather impressive portfolio," he said, presenting the first pages of the documents. "All of the properties are listed here with their appraised values. This land on Lake Pontchartrain is like gold."

Paul leaned over and studied the list. Soon it became a conversation between the two of them. Gisselle took out an emery board and began doing her nails as we talked. I had no interest in being a landlord and was more than willing to sell commercial holdings.

"What about Bruce?" I asked after a while.

"We haven't heard a word from him or his lawyer since his lawyer spoke with ours. I think he realizes that he would only be throwing away in wasted legal fees whatever money he's been able to get."

"Is he still in New Orleans?"

"Yes. He has an apartment building of his own and a few other holdings, but nothing like the fortune he might have inherited had Daphne not foreseen the possibilities and blocked them with her lawyers."