The Accidental Mistress

chapter Five

Four years later -

Sainte Marie, Martinique Island

The indigenous Caribbean islanders referred to Martinique as Madinina (Island of Flowers). Colonized by the French, Martinique is a mix of European settlers and African slaves. Zuri knew all about the painful history of slavery and the ensuing cast system of her people. She grew up between those worlds with her Haitian father and mulatto Matinican mother. However, home for her was never about what family she was born into and the privilege of being a Baptiste. It had been about community. Zuri believed the warm milk of life flowed from the long family bonds forged on these island shores. She knew the strength to be found in a sense of family amongst all Martinican’s. So, returning home was always part of her plan, someday. That was until it was decided for her.

Zuri could barely wait for the family car to slow to a stop. Fran?ois called out a warning, but she threw the door open and hit the pavement running. Hurrying up the inclined cobblestone drive, shadowed by tall beach palms, Zuri had only her father on her mind. Her legs felt shaky. So were her hands from the constant twisting of them on the plane. She covered her red puffy eyes now swollen near shut behind dark sunglasses. Contrary to popular belief, crying doesn't make one feel better. Yes, the flow of tears is a release, but the pain is there all the same. She could cry an ocean and nothing would ease her suffering.

Zuri walked fast through her family home with her chest and lungs so tight she struggled to breathe. Staff she hadn't seen since Christmas called out her name. She ignored them.

Joi had phoned her before the long flight. Her sister said she would be there by noon. She was driving in from Fort de France. It didn't matter. She didn't need debriefing. What she needed most was père.

The stairs were made of the same mosaic decorative tiles as the open foyer. Her heels clicked as she climbed the stairs nearly two at a time in a yellow long hemmed cotton sundress. The panic didn't really settle in until they arrived at the Baptiste plantation. Her mind was now a jumble of awful truths that she was certain she'd find. Her mothers' call in the middle of the night had been the beginning of it. She and Joi had waited an entire week before sharing the news. She would never forgive them for this. Never!

"Zuri?"

Nanette stepped out of the room at the end of the hall. She wore all white, a long linen skirt and a loose fitted linen shirt. "Ma chérie."

"Mère!" Zuri rushed into her arms.

They embraced, and instantly Zuri felt some relief.

"How's père? I got here as soon as I could."

"Ma petite, he's resting. Calm down, chérie. I told you on the phone that he's well. The doctors said tis' only partial paralysis to his left side. "

"I have to see him." Zuri pushed past her mother into the room. An old woman in all white with a matching white wrap on her head (his nurse possibly) was at the side of the bed, checking vials of medicine.

"Père!"

Zuri's father's right eye opened. His left remained half closed, slack, as did the corner of his mouth. To see Claude Baptiste in such a state was jarring. He was never sick, never.

Zuri shook her head in disbelief. "Père, are you okay?"

"Zuri," he managed. "All?, ma belle."

She was at his side, his hands in hers. Zuri felt a surge of strength to see him try to smile. "I'm so sorry, père. So sorry I wasn't here."

"Zuri, chérie, this is not your fault," her mother said. The words grated her nerves. She wanted to scream at her mother, accuse her of punishing her by delaying the news. But she didn't. Guilt, like a stone, lodged to the center of her throat. How could she not blame herself? Her father wanted her to return home, to work the business with her sister. But she wanted law school. So the new resort was opened and managed between him and Joi. She knew the last year had been tough. Hurricane Manuel had all but demolished the island with mudslides and floods. Joi told her père was stressing. Still she had been selfish, determined to remain in Chicago. "Je suis désolée. I'm so very, very sorry."

"Zuri, no, no, see, fine," Claude slurred; he touched his chest with the right hand he could control. She held his left to her breast. She leaned in and kissed his forehead. It felt clammy under her lips. "Okay, that's right. You're going to be fine," she said.

"Zuri, he has to rest. You can't upset him, chérie." Her mother coaxed her away, but she fought the advice. She wanted to stay, remain in his arms and let him tell her how she was his special girl. She longed to see him entertaining friends and become full of wine then bellow: La vie est trop courte pour boire du mauvais vin! Life is too good to drink bad wine. Zuri felt a smile forming as she was gently led from his bedside.

"Come, let's talk. I'll tell you what's going on."

"Père, I'll be back. Okay? You get some rest. Promise me. Okay?"

He waved his hand feebly and closed his eyes. It broke her heart. She followed her mother out.

***

"Drink this."

Zuri looked up at the small porcelain cup of tea with a slice of cinnamon dusted mango on the saucer. The way she liked it as a kid. "Merci."

"I knew you had that test, the big one. What is it called?"

"The Bar."

"Oui, the bar. I wanted to wait until we knew for sure. "

"How did it happen, mère?"

Nanette Baptiste pulled out a chair. She sat down like a lady, folding her skirt beneath her. She waved her hand and the cooks under her employ all left the kitchen. Her mother’s eyes, like hers, once mirrors of her inner strength, were heavy lidded, and puffy with dark rings shadowed beneath. Even her expertly applied make-up could not conceal it. She looked as if she hadn't slept. "I found him in the parlor on the floor. The doctors said he had an Ischemic stroke. A clot formed and blocked the flow of blood to his brain. They got to him in time. They don't know if the paralysis will be permanent."

Zuri sighed. "How bad are things? I talked to Joi last night."

When her mother didn't answer, Zuri glanced up. "Mère? What is it?"

“He got news three weeks ago. A company called 'Montague' has moved in to acquire the debt for the resort in Fort de France. The owner is coming here to meet with Joi. Claude has mortgaged the plantation, but we may still be unable to stop the banks for collecting on his debt. We will lose this place, and the others.”

"I won't let that happen."

"Zuri, chérie, this is not your burden. Have you seen the island? Many are struggling to rebuild. The republic is assisting but it is a slow recovery. But it will happen." Her mother reached and covered her hand with hers to soothe away Zuri's doubts.

"I should have come home to help manage things."

"Look at me."

Zuri’s eyes lifted. Tears dropped into her tea.

"Your father is a good business man, but even he can't defeat the hand of God. That hurricane ravaged Martinique. We are all suffering loses. But there is good news, Zuri. Claude will get better. We are still a family. And his investments will at the very least protect our home."

"He won't get better if he loses everything, mère! We have to save what is ours, not give up."

"It is out of our hands."

"No! I spoke to Joi. The sale isn't for another few weeks. Our lawyers are involved. I can help."


"Zuri, you are to go back. You must take your bar test. The law firm that hired you depends on you. I'm so proud of you."

"No!" Zuri snapped. She never raised her voice to her mother, but she wasn't about to let this go. "I'm home now. I'll fix this. Joi and I will find a way. Okay?"

Nanette, looked too tired to battle her daughters wishes. Zuri rose and went around the table to her mother. "I love you, mère. We will fix this. I swear it."

***

"Whoa!! Look at you!" Christophe said, placing the phone back on the receiver. Elliot popped his collar as he approached Christophe's desk. He wore a white blazer and dark jeans. His shirt was unbuttoned to the center of his chest. He looked like he was ready for a day of yachting, not the board meeting in twenty minutes. "I take it you're skipping the meeting?"

"Meeting? We need to be ready for the trip."

"What trip?" Christophe frowned.

"Martinique. I told you about this. Your mother knows—"

"Mum doesn't run this company. I do. And I haven't signed off on this acquisition. It's her wish that we take over the hospitality business in the West Indies, not mine.

"We know you want to be some big top American conglomerate, but Montague is our French Empire, sonny boy. And Martinique is just like home."

Christophe waved it off.

"Cousin, your disdain for all things French is just to piss the old girl off. I get it. But this here is a legitimate business deal. The resorts on the island have suffered considerable damage; those locals have little means to recover after a rebuild. No clue where to begin. And the republic is moving at a snail's pace. They need us."

"Or you need them." Christophe’s eyes peeped over the rim of his glasses.

"Come again?"

"I know about mother's ultimatum. She's thinking of cutting off your funds. Now you want me to set you up in Martinique for days of fun in the sun while I struggle to keep the investment from costing us. Been here before with you, haven't I?"

"No, not true. Well not entirely true. This owner is being forced to sell by the bank. I just got off the phone with my contact down there and they have had even more misfortune. The man had a stroke. They are near bankrupt. Besides, I think I can run this one on my own. Prove myself to you and the old girl that I'm truly a Montague. I want to stop being the trust fund nephew, and be my own man. Just need you to okay it."

Christophe chuckled, "You just want to f*ck some island girls."

Elliot nodded. "And that's a bad thing?"

"It is when it comes to my business," Christophe snapped.

Elliot dropped in the chair. "F*ck, man! Things were supposed to be different under you, four years and you're like your mother's clone."

"Leave, Elliot."

"We talked about this in college. When you took over and she stepped down, you would run the place differently. We would make Montague different. My mum is dead. No pressure there. But you got it even better. Tante's handed you the company. What is there left to prove? Christophe. Christophe? When was the last time you got laid? Been on a date? Sniffed p-ssy? Did Gabriella f*ck you up that bad that you forgot you liked women? You act more and more like your father."

Christophe glared at his cousin, and he felt his chest tighten at the reference.

"He drove himself mad trying to please your mum until it broke him. Hell, you look like him now."

"Are you done?" Christophe asked, his jaw clenched. The urge to smack Elliot burned in his palm. He had fought hard for his mother's respect. He'd given up his own dreams to attain it. And in the past four years, he'd quadrupled the profits of Montague in a fledging economy. Contrary to popular belief, when America got a cold the rest of the world caught the flu. He'd been aggressive, ruthless, and smart. To do so required commitment, and sacrifice, which took the ladies off the menu. But his cousin would never understand the trade-off. He certainly wouldn't consider Elliot’s erection as an investment lead.

"Okay, I give. Fact is the island is filled with hot ass women. Beautiful Carnivale brown beauties and tits and ass for days."

"Are we done?" Christophe sighed, signing off on the new business concept documents before him.

"It's also filled with promise. Your mother agrees. She wouldn't have given me a thumbs up on the proposal."

"She doesn't run this company. I do. And I give it the finger."

Elliot chuckled. "You and I know she runs the board. Christophe, listen to me. The Oasis—"

"Oasis?"

"The hotel in Martinique. It can be rebuilt into something lucrative. The banks are foreclosing on this one; they will take next to nothing for it. We can set the deal however we choose. All I need—"

"Need?" Christophe sat back. "Did you commit Montague in this deal?"

Elliot shifted in his chair. "I did, but wait! Here me out!"

"Damn it, Elliot! I've told you—"

"Thirty days. We have a thirty-day loophole with the bank to back out of the sell. The family has two weeks to counter our offer and cover their debts. We can go down there and make sure they don't, see the investment for our selves. And no matter what you think, you do need this vacation."

Christophe rocked back in his chair. His vision blurred with fatigue. He had little than ten hours worth of sleep all week.

"After the board meeting, we take the jet and head to Fort de France. They don't expect us until the end of the week. We can get there early and catch them off guard. They're desperate for us to come. The place will close either way."

The door to Christophe's office opened behind Elliot. Stephanie Montague stepped into the room. The stern countenance of his mother's scowl deepened when her critical gaze shifted to Elliot. Elliot's attire was totally inappropriate on a board-meeting day. Stephanie believed in corporate attire always. The women in the office had to wear pantyhose no matter the season and always with blouses buttoned up. If she was in the building, even the security guards wore ties.

“Boys.” His mother said in his usual nasal pious tone.

Elliot cut his eyes to the ceiling then forced a smile to his face. He turned in his chair. "Tante, Stephanie. Didn't know you were here."

“Evidently. I take it you have an appropriate blazer and tie for today's board meeting?”

“Oui, madame. I was about to change into it now. Pardon moi,” Elliot said. He rose and hurried out the door, stopped before the threshold and addressed Christophe. “Jet leaves tomorrow evening. I assume you will be on it.”

Stephanie's thinly arched brow winged up curiously. "What is that about? You taking a trip?"

"You gave Elliot the green light to invest in the Caribbean?"

Stephanie shrugged it off. "You should have focused more attention in the West Indies. We already own resorts in Guadeloupe and Dominica. Why not Martinique?"

“I'll take it under advisement. How are things mum? Your flight in?”

“Exhausting. I hate the states. You know this. I wish you would relocate the office to Paris.”

Christophe tried to swallow his amusement. "Montague has an office in Paris. You could easily conference in."

Stephanie ignored her son, taking a seat. "I hear the profit reports are really impressive, thanks to you. Your work so far is admirable."

Christophe felt nothing. His mother's praise was as hollow as the tone she delivered it in. It was the criticism that stung like a bitch. He braced for what was to come next.


“Of course, there are area's of improvement. I'm told that you authorized company bonuses this year. That is surprising.”

"I did," Christophe sighed.

"Is that wise, considering the layoffs in the American offices?"

"Those were requested by the board, by you. I saw no need to reduce staff." Christophe stood. He preferred to stand and look his mother in her eye when he spoke. "Especially after I proved the profits didn't require it. Those layoffs impacted morale. My bonuses will restore it. But if you have an issue with my methods you are welcome to put it to a vote before the board."

Stephanie gave a soft chuckle. "I don't want to undermine you, son. I am just making sure your decisions are based on business and not emotion. I stand corrected."

There it was. The backhanded smack to his pride, and obvious dig at Gabriella. Elliot was right. He was becoming his father, hen pecked. Setting all emotions aside had not gained his mother's respect, just more criticism. Why did she wish her poor lonely existence on him? Her life was now shared with her temperamental poodle and butler, Sanford.

His mother turned for the door. "By the way, I heard that Gabriella has returned to the states. She's to marry above her station. Thankfully you dodged that bullet. Were you aware?"

"Why would I be? I haven't seen her in over three years."

"True, chère, true. Au revoir."

His mother left. Christophe rocked back in the chair. An email popped up on his screen. He frowned at the sender's name: Joi Baptiste.

Mr. Montague,

Please accept my personal invite to the lovely island of Martinique. The Blue Oasis awaits your arrival. My family would like to discuss the details of the possible merger. Hope to meet you soon.

Joi Baptiste

Elliot was right. He needed a vacation.