All That Glitters Read Online Free

repeatedly. I unfolded the letter and skipped down to those passages. "You might be interested to know," she wrote, knowing how much I wanted to know . . . that Beau is getting more serious with this girl in Europe. His parents told Daphne that Beau and his French debutante are only inches away from announcing a formal engagement. All they do is rave about her, how beautiful she is, how wealthy she is, and how cultured she is. They said the best thing they could have done for him was to send him to Europe and keep him there.
Now let me tell you about the boys here at Galen . .
I balled the letter in my fist and shoved it back into my pocket. Memories of Beau seemed stronger now that I was thinking about marrying Paul and choosing a safe, secure life. But it promised to be a life without passion, and whenever I thought about that, I thought about Beau. His soft smile appeared before me and I recalled the morning when Gisselle and I were leaving for Greenwood, the private school in Baton Rouge. He had arrived just in time and we had only a few minutes to say our good-byes, but he surprised me by giving me the locket I still wore hidden under my blouse.
I pulled it out and opened it to look at his face and mine. Oh, Beau, I thought, surely I will never love another man as passionately as I loved you, and if I can't have you, then perhaps a happy, secure life with Paul is the right choice. The feel of warm tears on my cheeks surprised me. I wiped them away quickly and sat back just as a familiar big automobile pulled into the yard. It was Paul's father, Octavious. I closed the locket and quickly dropped it back under my blouse where it rested between my breasts.
A tall, distinguished-looking man who was always well dressed and well groomed, Mr. Tate stepped out of his car. His shoulders dipped like a weary old man's and his eyes looked tired. Paul got most of his good looks from his father, who had a strong mouth and jaw with a straight nose, not too long or too narrow. I hadn't seen Mr. Tate for some time and I was a bit surprised at how much he had aged in the interim.
"Afternoon, Ruby," he said when he reached the steps. "I was wondering if I could talk to you sort of privately."
My heart was pounding. I couldn't remember passing more than a half dozen words between us, mostly hellos and good-byes at church over the years.
"Of course," I said, standing. "Come inside. Would you like a glass of lemonade? I just made a fresh pitcher."
"I would. Thanks," he said, and followed me into the house.
"Please, sit down," I said, nodding toward my one good piece of furniture: the rocker.
I poured his glass of lemonade and returned to the living room.
"Thank you," he said, taking the glass, and I sat across from him on the worn, faded brown settee, the threads so thin on the ends of the arms, the stuffing of Spanish moss showed through. He took a sip of the lemonade. "Very good," he said. Then he looked about nervously for a moment and smiled. "You haven't got much here, Ruby, but you keep it real nice."
"Not as nice as Grandmere Catherine used to keep it," I said.
"Your grandmere was quite a woman. I must confess I never took much stock in faith healing and the herbal medicines she concocted, but I know many people who swore by her. And if anyone could stand up to your grandpere, it was her," he added.
"I miss her a great deal," I admitted. He nodded and sipped some more lemonade. Then he took a deep breath. "I guess. . . I guess I'm a little nervous. The past has a way of coming back at you and punching you in the stomach when you least expect it sometimes," he added, and leaned forward, his sharp, penetrating gaze fixing on me.
"You're Catherine Landry's granddaughter and you've been through a helluva lot yourself. I can see in your face that you're much older and wiser than the pretty little girl I used to see march up to the church beside her grandmere."
"The past has punched us both in the stomach," I said. His eyes brightened with