Page 21 of One Last Regret

His face falls. “Yes. I’m so sorry for Audrey.”

“It’s a tragedy. I feel terribly for her loss.”

He shakes his head. “I feel even worse for her future. I’m afraid she has a fight ahead.”

“Oh?”

He sighs. “Between you and me, there is a great deal of tension between Josephine and Audrey. It’s not appropriate of me to tell you this, but you’ll be in the middle of it soon enough, so I suppose there’s no harm.”

I’m encouraged by this. If he’s comfortable speaking this openly with me, then maybe I can risk probing a little myself. I’ll let him share first, though. As I said before, one learns more with one’s ears than with one’s mouth.

"There's a great deal of rivalry between the musical families in this city," he says, taking a seat behind the desk. "It's unfortunate that something as universal as music can lead to such bitterness between people, but it's the truth. The Durands are one of the most longstanding musical giants in New Orleans. Their patriarch, Pierre Durand, arrived in 1729. They founded the first musical theater in the city the following year, andfor two hundred years, they were the premier… shall we say, emperors of the music scene in the city. If you wanted to succeed in any of the musical styles that were popular between 1730 and 1930, and you were from New Orleans, you worked with a Durand.

"Then the Great Depression hit. The Durands had much of their money invested in ventures that collapsed when the stock market crashed. They were able to survive the Depression, but to do so, they had to sell a great deal of their properties. By the end of the Second World War, the city no longer had a musical czar."

His eyes brightened. “Until Marcel.”

“I hear he was a prodigy.”

"The word doesn't do him justice. He was brilliant in ways that only a few in history can match. If jazz enjoyed one-hundredth of the popularity of rock or pop music, he would be considered one of the greatest to ever live. When Claude Durand met him, he thought him the salvation of his family."

My eyes widen. “Claude gave Marcel his start?”

“Claude gave Marcel everything. When he heard about the young Marcel’s performance at the Musee Musique, he immediately endowed Marcel’s musical education.”

“I thought Marcel’s father did that.”

“Marcel’s father purchased the piano. Claude purchased the finest music teachers on Earth and ensured Marcel had access to them at all times. He was only a few years older than Marcel, but he was a shrewd businessman.”

The brightness fades from his eyes. “Not shrewd enough, unfortunately. Marcel had a natural talent for business as well as music. When he began to grow famous for his talents, he went behind Claude’s back and signed deals that not only freed him from Claude’s grasp but also gave him control of much of New Orleans’ music scene.”

“Oh my!” I exclaim. “Claude must have been furious!”

“For a time, yes, but eventually, he forgave Marcel. At least, he seemed to. The belief among those in the know is that when Claude went bankrupt, he had no choice but to accept Marcel’s offer to manage the Midnight Melody. Some consider it an ignominious and humiliating end to the Durand family legacy.”

“Including Audrey?”

“Oh yes. She never forgave Marcel for what he did to her husband. I don’t know if she loved Claude, but she saw in him a chance to be at the pinnacle of high society. To end up instead the wife of a second-rate failure? That’s not something a woman like Audrey can handle.”

He falls silent, and I sit there, stunned. After a minute, he smiles. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ve been somewhat wistful lately, I’m afraid. What is it you wanted to see me about?”

I hesitate a second, then pull the sheet music out. His eyes widen when he sees it. I hand it to him and ask, “Can you confirm that this is the piece Marcel played when he passed?”

“Well, I can confirm that this is a Marcel Lacroix composition. I can’t say for sure that it’s the one he played when he passed away. The truth of that evening is, unfortunately, obfuscated by conjecture. But this is definitely his piece.”

“And Jacques Poitier? Is it true he placed a curse on this piece?”

Louis frowns and looks sharply at me. “Who told you about that?”

The change in demeanor knocks me off balance. “I… I heard rumors,” is all I manage to stutter out.

“Rumors are better ignored,” he replies, gently but firmly. “Especially when they concern one’s employers.” He stands and says, “I apologize again for telling you so much that is none of my business or yours. Let’s make a pact that we will speak no further of this. To anyone.”

“Yes. Of course. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”

“No need to apologize. It was I who stepped out of line.”

He escorts me to the door and leaves me with an admonition. “Care deeply for those children, Miss Wilcox. They will need you. And by the end, I’m sure you will need them as well.”

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