Chapter 1

The young woman walked swiftly and confidently up the long walk to the large southern mansion. The magnolias were in bloom and the air filled with the fresh warm quality of springtime in the South.

She paused briefly to gaze at the stately columns, large windows and impressive double front doors. The house was well kept and freshly painted. The grounds were neatly manicured, the front lawn a rich deep green. Flowering trees and plants lined both walk and driveway.

Quite a contrast, she thought, to many of the old southern homes which had fallen into decay and ruin. But then finding a house like this so close to the bayou was unusual in itself.

She smiled and rang the doorbell.

"I'll get it," Claire Walker called up the stairs to her husband in a soft southern accent. "It's probably the woman here for the interview."

At forty three, Claire was not an unattractive woman. Never a spectacular beauty, her face nonetheless held soft rounded features which were pleasant and middle age had been kind. She now worked out religiously in aerobics and her body was probably in better shape than at any time since she was in college. Her husband told her often how wonderful she looked and she enjoyed dressing in feminine attire which complimented her figure.

"I'll be right down," came the reply from upstairs.

"Hello, I'm Shanti Lubois," said the strikingly attractive, dark haired young woman. "I'm here for the job interview."

"Yes, do come in," said Claire opening the door and leading the other woman through the front hallway and into the sitting room where they seated themselves. "I'm Claire Walker. My husband will join us shortly. Did you have a pleasant drive out from town?"

"I don't live in town Mrs. Walker. My family has lived in the bayou for three generations."

The young woman's eyes caught and held those of the housewife. Large, brown and deeply expressive, they seemed to convey much more than words ever could, as if to say, you can never know me, as if to say, but you'd like to, wouldn't you?

"Then you're Cajun?" asked the older woman, noticing the slight but decided accent.

"Creole actually. This is a lovely old home," she said, changing the subject, "has it been in your family a long time?"

"Since around the turn of the century," came a masculine voice from the doorway. Drummond Walker strode into the room with a warm smile as the two women looked up.

"Shawn-tay Do-bwa," introduced Claire, pronouncing the name as the girl had done, since she thought from its spelling on the application form it might be pronounced differently, "my husband Drummond."

"Charmed," he said, looking into eyes that laughed while a slight smile crossed her face. Claire did not notice Shanti's eyes roam over the body of her husband and return to capture his stare.

In the moment before he could break the reverie and turn away, her eyes sent a subtle but clear message, woman to man, which gave Drummond Walker pause to collect himself and his thoughts.

"Uh... you asked about the house," he said, breaking away from the eyes which whispered, which promised, which lured. "Actually it was built in the nineteenth century by some old crazy Frenchman who apparently came into a sudden inheritance. He built the house way out here... God knows why... then proceeded to drink and spend himself right back into poverty. The place was about to be taken by the county for back taxes and was in pretty bad shape when my great grandfather bought it for a song and fixed it up. There's been a Drummond living here ever since."