She thought about that now as she wore her pleasant little smile and feigned being a good listener while Uncle Gaston argued with Ernest Mallory, the Minister of Citizenship and Immigration over existing, 'stupid' immigration laws. She thought about their love-making, and her own inability to respond fully because of her constant pressure of mind over Igat. In effect, the unfulfilled results, time and again, had left her as flustered as Antoine, for invariably, once he had emptied his loins into her, he would blame himself over her lack of climactic achievement, often-times with tears and swearing that next time it would be different… but as yet, it was not. Sometimes, she felt that he, too, was carrying some heavy inner burden… a business pressure probably, but she didn't pry; when it was time, if he wanted her to know, he would tell her. Nevertheless, their sexual fiascos had added to her growing feeling of frustration, until she had reached this point of even being jealous over the likes of Ginny Novak. Lord, she had to get hold of herself. She was a woman of position now…
"What is your opinion, Cheri?" Uncle Gaston interrupted her train of thought, speaking in English for the benefit of the Minister from Ottawa.
Madeleine caught herself; she never liked to appear the fool. "I think my opinions are better left unsaid, Uncle," she replied smiling somewhat shyly, entirely unaware of the nature of their conversation.
"What's more, Madame Poirier is a diplomat, M'sieu'," Mallory returned, smiling broadly. "As if being beautiful is not enough."
"You flatter me, M'sieu' Mallory," said Madeleine into his pale, hawkish face. He was a tall man, lean and impressive of stature, with fine eyes and an unruly shock of white hair. "I fear if you gentlemen don't stop you'll turn my head."
"In my direction, I hope," the Minister teased.
Madeleine made an habitual gesture of tossing her head to right her shoulder-length, raven-black hair even as she continued to smile. The little movement caused her firm rounded breasts to quiver in the thin, invisible bra behind the low-cut, white mini-gown she wore and Uncle Gaston imagined that he heard male eyes click as they locked upon the voluptuous spectacle. He squeezed her hand and let his tongue wet his dry lips. It was time, he thought. Why the hell should he wait any longer? He'd been waiting all day. He stole a glance at Antoine and saw that Ginny was keeping him occupied… per instructions.
"You will pardon us, M'sieu' Mallory," Gaston Larreau excused them, "but we must argue with the other guests too."
"Of course," said Mallory. "Perhaps we can get back into the subject later, M'sieu' Larreau. There are some other ramifications I believe you're overlooking…"
"Later," the little czar replied bluntly. "Come, ma chere." He held to her hand and led her across the room toward the archway into the central hall, then addressed her in French: "There's something I want to discuss with you, my pet."
"Oh…?" said Madeleine, surprised. "What is it, Uncle?"
He retained her hand within his own and escorted her to his large, paneled study. There, he let free of her, closed the double doors, flicking the locking catch on the knob, then walked toward his private bar to make them a drink. As yet, he had not answered her and Madeleine watched his broad expensively covered back move away from her; she glanced behind her at the closed, locked door, then back at the squat, powerful man who now mixed casually behind the bar. Occasionally, his colorless little eyes raised from what he was doing and dwelled upon her face, then, openly raked the length of her curvaceous body with an almost lecherous gleam lighting them. He smiled, his gold teeth flashing in the indirect lumination of the room. She felt a little catch in her breathing and a certain clamminess moved along her spine as he continued to smile… almost leer while his eyes all but stripped her naked.
Whatever it was all about, Madeleine had no idea. She had never seen him like this, and he coldly frightened her.
"Are you happy with Antoine, dear?" he questioned in their native tongue, his vicious small eyes never ceasing their lewd undressing of her person.
"O-Of course… why do you ask, Uncle?"
"I'm concerned. After all, besides Annette, I have no one else… with the exception of you, now… and I regard you of the greatest importance, Madeleine." His near-twisted smile seemed affixed to his round face as he came from behind the bar carrying two drinks. His eyes held her own exotic dark ones levelly, almost hypnotically, as he moved toward her, one hand bearing the glass, extended. "I wouldn't want you unhappy, my pet."
Automatically, Madeleine's graceful hand accepted the glass, but her eyes remained adjoined to his. Additional ripples of chill trickled up her back. She knew of his reputation, his ruthless brutality, had even guessed that such tales might be… could be true, but she had never dreamed that she, herself, would ever witness any indication enlightening that part of his character. Dear God, she thought she was previewing it now… but why? Had she done something! Where was Antoine…?
From the moment he handed her the glass he never stopped moving closer to her. They were nearly of equal height. She felt his great middle pressing ever stronger against her, his round, scarred face closing in on her own. The meaning of the gesture was beyond her and Madeleine stood her ground, iced fear stiffening her being. But, then, within that scope of inches, she saw the blurred visage of his puckering lips swooping in upon her own, and she realized the affront.
"Uncle Gaston! My God! What're you trying to do…?"
Her hands, one still holding a glass, came up between them, rigid at arm's-bent length against his chest. She backed several feet toward the locked door behind her and gaped at him.
"I was going to kiss you," he hissed, the wild satyrism she had read in his eyes even more pronounced now. "I'm sure you're familiar with the act."
"Uncle Gaston…! I-I just don't… I don't understand…! Please… please, let's go join the others…"
"Shut up, slut! Shut your fucking mouth!" he spat at her.
Madeleine stared in utter disbelieving, mounting horror at the squat despot of crime before her… this man who not only controlled the vile and vicious underworld, but whose company the wealthy and famous competed for, while the lewd word he had blurted at her ricocheted like a giant, depraved, evil omen in her brain.
"Un-Uncle Gaston… Wh-What is it…?"
"Bitch! You stand there, cunt-slut that you are and tell me you don't understand?" Suddenly, he threw back his vicious head and laughed, loud and not caring, his teeth glistening in the light. He stared at her, his evil smile never lessening, then, he moved closer to her once more. "You've got a kid! You've hid it out in the home of one Rafael Girarde here in Montreal. A bastard brat you'd like to forget… and you dare to marry my Antoine and pretend? Cunt-slut! That's what you are! Come into my house… Me, Gaston Larreau, and put on airs! You pig! What do you think Antoine would say if he knew? Eh? And you wonder how I know, don't you, bitch? Well I'll tell you. Your Dr. Carey does little things for me… takes a shady bullet out now and then… whatever I have for him. But suddenly, he read the papers… thought he might have a hot banana, one he could use to raise hush money, so he dared come to me and spit out the truth."