Rafael Girarde was a handsome man by any measure of standard. He was tall, broad shouldered and lean hipped, wore his well-cut, tailored clothes with a flair, smiled broadly with an open, warm expression, his discerning blue eyes sparkling sincerely, his deep masculine, resonant voice inspiring confidence. Madeleine was particularly taken with his heavy shock of waved, greying hair, the one single tell-tale of his fifty odd years.
She was surprised at his simple, lackluster office, knowing his successful business capacity as an importer and owner of night clubs throughout the city, as well as holding a post as Ministre Of Gouvernment, say nothing of his luxurious home in Mont Royale that she had only seen, of course, from the street. But in all, she was most impressed by the way he made her feel, even after she had told him who she was and why she was there…
"Please, my dear, won't you sit down and be comfortable?" he had offered coming from behind his cluttered desk to place his hand on a chair in a gestured invitation.
Madeleine went to it and seated herself while M. Girarde returned to his place behind the desk. She felt extremely tense and had already begun to question whether she had done the right thing by exposing herself this way… but she'd not rushed into it blindly, without considering Antoine's position. Earlier, she had desperately tried to lead into the subject with her husband, prepared to cleanse her conscience once and for all and beg him to help her recover her child, but his indifferent and preoccupied attitude had finally caused her to give up the idea. Instead, she had struggled through coffee with him, kissing him at the door as she handed him his briefcase, then hurriedly dressed, knowing exactly what she was going to do. Whether Antoine had suspected something was amiss she wasn't certain, nor hardly cared any longer, but certainly their conversation had been strained and he'd acted terrible edgy…
"Well now…" M. Girarde was saying with a pleasant smile, "… you have already brightened my day to no end, Madame Poirier… for at last, I understand why Igat is such a beautiful child… her mother is a ravishing beauty."
Madeleine blushed immediately; she dropped her eyes in sincere, if, gentle embarrassment. "You're most kind, M'sieu', but I must admit that I don't feel very ravishing… coming to you with my sordid story this way…"
"Ah, ma chere, but you mustn't degrade yourself over an unfortunate affaire d'amour," said M. Girarde suavely. "How is it they say…? It is better to have loved and lost than never to…"
"That was not the situation at all, M'sieu'," Madeleine interrupted quickly. "I assure you, it was not…"
Rafael Girarde shrugged his broad shoulders. "So… what difference," he said, his warm smile always prevalent. He leaned back in his chair, joining his hands at fingertips. "How can I help you, ma chere?"
Madeleine bit nervously at her lower lip, the ridiculousness of her proposed request suddenly dawning on her. To entertain even the remotest idea that these people would give up her baby after all this time had been insane… unreasonable… for weren't they more parents to her than she had ever been? In fact, they were the only parents Igat had ever known…! Yet, she hadn't thought of it that way at all… and now, faced with her own irrational decision, she hardly knew what to do next.
"Well, Madame…?" Girarde prodded gently.
"I-I don't know what to say, M'sieu'," she stammered. Suddenly, she reached into her purse and found a small hanky to dab at her nose as her dark eyes began to glisten behind her tears. "It's… it's my baby… I miss her so… want her so… Oh God, M'sieu' Girarde, what can I do…? I-I think I'll lose my mind if I don't get her back…"
Rafael Girarde barely moved; he studied this voluptuous girl who had given birth to the child both he and his wife had come to think of as their very own, the child they had purchased from a drunken doctor without benefit of legal documents because his barren wife's past narcotic history was a matter of record, and enough to destroy any possibility of proper adoption. It'd had been little Igat's entry into their family that had made the Madame's recovery from her addiction possible, not that he really cared a tinker's damn for the Madame, but he did have a certain position to maintain as a Ministre Of Gouvernment, along with his other enterprises, and having a dope fiend for a wife did little toward enhancing that position. Now, as his keen eyes absorbed the breathtaking loveliness of the desirable young woman seated before him, his brain subconsciously registered the threat of her presence, even as another section of his mind began to plot lecherously.
"Can you believe, ma chere, that I can understand and sympathize with you?" Rafael Girarde said in gentle tones. "They say there is no bond stronger in this world than mother-love… but then, being a mother is more than just giving birth, is it not…?"
"Please," Madeleine interrupted. "I-I realize I have no right coming to you like this, M'sieu'… but… but my God… she is my baby, don't you see…?"
At that moment, she broke down completely and Girarde made no motion toward consoling her. The interlude gave him time to think as well as an opportunity to ogle her sensuously inspiring curvaceous body, while simultaneously he sensed a carnal stirring at his loins. He smiled to himself, a barely perceptible little gesture, while she wiped at her nose in an effort to regain her composure. Finally, he stood and went to a small cabinet to bring out glasses and a half-filled bottle of cognac. He poured lightly and approached her, a glass in either hand.
"Drink this, ma chere, I believe it will help."
Hesitantly Madeleine accepted it and sipped.
God knows, she needed some sort of bracer at the moment. She'd been a fool for coming here this way… completely stripping herself of pride… and worst of all, now she had exposed herself… to say nothing of what it might do to Antoine if he were to find out of her past through someone else… Dear God, she'd had to do something… anything rather than keep her tentative clandestine meeting with Uncle Gaston… And then, the thought of him pawing her with his fat, sweaty hands as he had the night before, his wicked fingers inserted right up inside her vaginal passage between her legs, almost nauseated her. Today, it would be worse… today, it would be everything, all the way; he'd have no mercy…
"Of course, Madame Poirier, you must understand that we… Madame Girarde and myself, regard Igat as our very own," he said, never losing his gentleness of voice. "I'm certain you do appreciate this…?"
"Yes… yes, I do appreciate it, M'sieu' and I know all that you've done for her," Madeleine acknowledged. "Oh… I know I have no right to even hope… but she's my baby… if… if I could just see her once in awhile, perhaps for a very little time each week…?"
Girarde pursed his lips, his brow furrowing, as if he were not too pleased with the idea. He said. "I'm not certain that Madame Girarde would approve of you seeing her at all, ma chere…"
"Could she be that cruel?" Madeleine put to him sharply.
"Ah oui, she could and undoubtedly would," replied Girarde, finishing his cognac. "My wife is not what you would call a considerate woman, however…" He sat his glass on his desk and approached her with outstretched hands.
Madeleine sensed a quickening of her pulse at the expressive movement and as she fixed her eyes on his still beckoning hands, she set down her glass and slowly arose, feeling that he was bringing the interview to an end. He caught her hands in his and held to them warmly as she raised her eyes to lock with his own, both surprise and mild trepidation rippling over her.
"You… you said, however…?" Madeleine repeated.
Girarde nodded, smiling handsomely. "I was going to say that something might be arranged… between you and me… excluding Madame Girarde… perhaps some private little tete-a-tetes once a week… quiet and ah… shall we say, intimate, ma chere?"
Madeleine stared up into his face, her eyes widening in shocked disbelief as the full impact of his meaning struck her immediately. "M'sieu', my God… what are you saying…?"
"Ah, come now, Cheri," he said softly, continuing to smile as he moved closer to her, his hands gently slipping to her narrow waist. "Certainly nothing wrong with us enjoying a… say, a dinner one evening, eh? Where we might discuss arrangements more in detail…?"
"A-Arrangements…?" Madeleine repeated, her face flushing as the rage began to mount inside her. "M'sieu'… you will please remove your hands from me at once. Wh-What do you take me for, anyway?"
Rafael Girarde chuckled lewdly and Madeleine detected the lascivious gleam in his eyes. "Let's not play cat and mouse, ma chere, I believe you've already established the answer to what you are… my only concern is the extent of your price, eh?"
The brunt of his words was like a blow across her cheek; she actually staggered backward from it, even as he clutched at her waist.
"Damn you!" she hissed. "Goddamn you! You dare speak to me this way? Put your hands on me…? My husband will kill you for this insult! I swear…!"
Girarde continued to chuckle, as if she hadn't spoken a word. Finally, and calmly, he said: "Madame, I have a strange feeling that your husband would be more apt to kill you… if he knew the truth… if he knew the truth… eh? Now, isn't that just a little bit closer to the facts? The so-called nephew of our country's infamous crime czar has no idea that his pretty little wife is the mother of an illegitimate child… or wouldn't you care to answer that?"
Madeleine could do nothing, it seemed, but stare blankly at him. She had totally misjudged him, and by so doing, had compromised herself dangerously. For one brief moment, her legs nearly wilted beneath her… and then came the resurgence of anger and rage that caused her to flail out at him wildly with clawing hands as the tears gushed down her cheeks.
"You bastard!" she screamed, "You dirty rotten bastard!"
The sudden ferocity of her attack sent the handsome Ministre floundering backward and sputtering obscenities of his own, his retreat giving Madeleine the necessary time to break for the door, and before he could stop her, she was beyond it, racing through his office in a state of sobbing, emotional frenzy, to which M. Girarde's matronly secretary leaped to her feet to stare after her, then slowly turned to her employer with gaping, questioning eyes.
"Mon Dieu, M'sieu'! What is wrong with her… she was almost hysterical…?"
"Ohhh… shut up and… get back to work, eh?" M. Girarde spat at her, going back into his office and slamming the door behind him.