«Isn't it true Tristar would dig a navigation canal that would contribute to the demise of the swamp?» she asked.
Burke snorted and shook his head. «You'd put a few acres of worthless mud and snakes ahead of the lives of the people around here?»
«The swamp isn't worthless to everyone,» she said quietly, thinking of the look in Lucky's eyes as he'd shown her his special place that morning. «It's an ecosystem that deserves respect.»
Shelby laughed without humor. «My, you're the last person I would have expected to hear that from, Serena. Why, you've hated the swamp as long as I can remember. You moved all the way to Charleston to get away from it.»
Serena regarded her sister with a look that barely disguised anger and hurt. «Be that as it may,» she said, «we are getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we? The fact remains Gifford has strong feelings about heritage and tradition. He would prefer to see Chanson du Terre continue on as it always has.»
«How can it?' Shelby asked, tearing a biscuit into bite-size pieces. She looked askance at her twin. «Are you going to come back from Charleston and farm it, Serena?»
«Of course not.»
«Then what do you suggest? Masons future lies elsewhere. Who else is left to run it?»
«Shelby's right,» Mason said. «Even if Gifford doesn't sell now, he'll only be delaying the inevitable. He's going to have to retire in the not too distant future. He'll be forced to sell in the end. Taking Tristar's offer now is the only practical thing to do. It's a very generous offer, certainly more than Chanson du Terre is worth as a going concern.»
«The place is falling down around Gifford's ears,» Shelby remarked. «You can't help but have noticed. The house is in need of major restoration. Why, just look at the ceiling in this room for example.»
All eyes traveled upward and widened at the sight of the heavy brass chandelier hanging down from the center of a sagging, water-stained, peeling spot of plaster. It looked as if one good tug could bring the whole expanse crashing down on their heads.
«There are other alternatives to selling,» Serena said, bringing them back to the matter at hand. «The land could be leased to another grower. The house must qualify for historical status; there's the possibility of grant money being available to restore it.»
«But to what end?» Mason questioned. «When Gifford passes on, I trust he will leave the place to you and Shelby equally and Shelby has already stated she no longer wants it. Are you prepared to buy her out, Serena?»
«If you are, perhaps you'll just run along and get your checkbook, darlin,'» Shelby suggested archly. «I have a life to lead and I'd sooner get on with it than wait.»
Serena's mouth tightened as she looked at her sister. «What happened to your dedication to the preservation of southern antiquities, sister?» she queried bitingly through a chilling smile. «Did that committee meeting conflict with your facial appointments?»
Shelby slammed her fork down on the table and straightened in her chair, her mouth tightening into a furious knot. «Don't you talk to me about dedication, Serena. You're the one who lives eight hundred miles away. You're the one-«
«Now, ladies,» Mason interrupted with the borrowed wisdom of Solomon shining in his eyes behind his glasses. «Let's not regress to pointing fingers. The fact is neither of you will take over the running of the plantation. What we must concentrate on is how to deal with Mr. Burkes offer and how to deal with Gifford. Might you have any suggestions in that area, Lamar? Lamar?»
Canfield had dozed off over his mashed potatoes. Shelby rolled her eyes. Burke huffed in impatient disgust. Odille, making the rounds with a fresh gravy boat, gave the old attorney a bony elbow to the shoulder. He jerked awake, confusion swimming in his eyes as his gaze searched the table and settled on Serena.
«A lovely meal, Shelby,» he said with a smile. «Thank you so much for asking me out.»
Serena groaned inwardly. If there had been any hope of finding a valuable ally in Gifford's attorney, it had just faded away.
«There's no place for sentiment in business,» Burke announced, helping himself to another mountain of sliced ham. «The place will be sold in the end. Y'all might as well face the facts and take the money.»
«It's not our decision to make, Mr. Burke,» Serena said tightly.
He gave her a long look. «Isn't it?»
«What are you saying?»
He lifted his shoulders and looked away from her toward Mason and Shelby. «Just that Tristar's offer is firm. We want this piece of property. If you want to collect on that, I suggest you strengthen your powers of persuasion where your granddaddy is concerned- one way or another.»
The addendum had all the nasty connotations of a threat. Serena sat back in her chair, her gaze on Burke as he shoveled food into his mouth. Gifford had been right; a simple no was not going to deter the Tristar rep. She wondered as she caught her sister looking her way just what it was going to take to put an end to this business once and for all, and whether there would be anything left of her family when it was over.
CHAPTER 12
SERENA CHANGED INTO HER NIGHTGOWN FEELING as if she hadn't slept in a month. Dinner had been an exhausting ordeal, not to mention depressing. And with no progress for the trouble. Burke was still set on acquiring Chanson du Terre; Shelby and Mason were still bent on selling it to him. She was still caught in the middle.
She had been glad to escape to the quiet and comfort of her bedroom. The room hadn't been changed at all in the time she had lived away from Chanson du Terre. Like the rest of the house, it seemed to possess a stubborn agelessness that defied change. The walls were papered in a delicate vine and flower pattern over a background of rich ivory. The rug that covered the floor had been trod upon by generations of Sheridan feet. The cherry bed and its hand-tied net canopy had offered rest to the weary a century before. Serena found the idea comforting. The sense of constancy appealed to her, especially now, when she was feeling tired and uncertain about so many things. She could at least look around her room in the soft light of the bedside lamp and feel welcomed.
Belting her white silk robe around her, she went to stand in the open doorway leading onto the gallery, leaning against the frame as if she hadn't the strength left to support herself. The night beyond was dark and starless, the air heavy with the promise of rain and the scents of wisteria and honeysuckle. How many other Sheridan women had stood in this exact spot and looked out into the night, pondering their futures? How many would do so in years to come? None, if Len Burke got his way. And if Burke didn't get his way…?
A soft knock on the door roused Serena from her tormented musings. She turned as Shelby stuck her head into the room.
«May I come in?»
A shrug was the only answer Serena could muster. She was exhausted. The prospect of yet another conversational wrestling match with her sister was not inviting.
Shelby came in and closed the door behind her, leaning back against it, an uncertain look in her dark eyes. She had shed her pumps and let her hair down, making her look young and sweet in her feminine dress. She still wore an array of expensive rings on her dainty hands and demonstrated her hesitancy by twisting her topaz around her finger.
«I'm only trying to be practical, Serena,» she said with a suddenness that made it seem as if she had launched into the middle of the conversation instead of the beginning. «I should think you, of all people, would appreciate that. You've always been practical.»
«Practicality isn't the issue,» Serena said, coming away from the gallery door, sliding her hands into the deep pockets of her robe.