Page 57 of The Unforgiven
“Ms. Allenby, there’s a Jason Womack here for you.”
“Thank you. Please tell him I’ll be right down.”
Quinn pulled on her clothes, twisted her still-damp hair into a bun, and threw her mobile into her bag. She’d have to callPhoebe tomorrow, since it would be too late to call by the time she returned to the hotel. Perhaps she was just being paranoid and homesick.
Quinn came downstairs to find a burly, curly-haired man in a baseball cap waiting for her.
He smiled and came toward her, hand outstretched. “Dr. Allenby. A pleasure. I’m all yours until the end of next week, so if you’ll just give me an outline of what you’d like to cover, we can get started.”
Quinn shook Jason’s hand. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and had a disheveled look, but the warmth in his eyes and the lift at the corner of his mouth when he smiled put Quinn at ease. She had no worries about going off with him, especially since Rhys had recommended him so highly.
“I’d like to start with filming the River Road and the plantation itself,” she said, “and then move on to the slave quarters and fields. I can add a voiceover later. Let’s just get as much footage as we can, so Rhys can pick and choose what he’d like to use.”
“May I suggest taking a boat into the bayou?” Jason said as he picked up his bag. “Perhaps we can do that tomorrow.”
“I have no reason to believe that anything pertaining to this episode happened in the bayou,” Quinn replied, although it was a good idea. She still didn’t know exactly what had happened to Madeline, and the bayou was synonymous with Louisiana. It couldn’t hurt to have the footage should a need for it arise. “But, yes, let’s do that.”
“May I make another suggestion?” Jason asked as they stepped into the balmy morning and walked toward his SUV.
“Of course.”
“Let’s not ask the museum staff for permission to film.”
“Why ever not? I’ve already mentioned it to one of the guides.”
Quinn glanced at her watch. She’d left a message for Dina Aptekar Hill last night to make an appointment but never heard back from her. The plantation had already opened to visitors this morning, so if Jason wanted to shoot when the place was empty, they’d have to do it on a different day. She explained this to Jason, who shook his head.
“They will most likely refuse, since this footage will be used for commercial purposes. We will need a permit, and that could take weeks to obtain. Are you familiar with the expression ‘slow as molasses’?” he asked, chuckling at the disbelief on Quinn’s face. “File the paperwork and have them send the permit directly to Rhys Morgan, with the understanding that you will return to film the plantation. Rhys will have it on file should any issues arise once production starts. And in the meantime, we simply act as tourists. I have a small handheld video camera. I can shoot discreetly inside the house without anyone thinking it’s anything more than a vacation video of a historically minded couple on their honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon?” Quinn asked in surprise.
“People love honeymooners. Everyone needs that assurance that love and romance are alive and well. They’ll be less likely to harass us. Besides, you are engaged, are you not?” he asked, cutting his gaze to Quinn’s ring. “Who’s to say I’m not the lucky man?”
“You’ve really put some thought into this, haven’t you?”
Jason smiled and put on an exaggerated Southern accent. “My granny always said you should be prepared for any eventuality if you hope to succeed in life.”
“What else did your granny say?”
“She said it’s easier to apologize after the fact than to ask for permission, get denied, and then do it anyway and get caught red-handed.”
“You make it sound like we’re going to rob a bank.”
“Some people take their history very seriously and believe it belongs only to them. Hey, Rhys said this is the story of your family. Is that so?”
“Yes. I’ve just recently discovered that my roots come from Louisiana.”
“And you with that posh British accent.” He chuckled. “Well, that’s even better. Who can deny a lovely young lady a tour of her family’s ancestral home?”
Quinn followed Jason and got into his truck. She wondered if he’d ever moonlighted as a paparazzo. He seemed like the kind of man who’d hide in the bushes or use a zoom lens to get a prize shot, indifferent to the rights of the people he was photographing and intent only on getting what he needed. Perhaps that was necessary in his line of work, but she didn’t feel overly comfortable with his methods. She’d mention it to Rhys later. In the meantime, she hoped Dina wouldn’t be at the plantation this morning to foil Jason’s plan.
THIRTY-ONE
SEPTEMBER 1858
Arabella Plantation, Louisiana
Madeline slept late the morning after the dinner party. She’d thought the mint juleps and the soothing rocking of the carriage would make it easier to fall asleep once she undressed and climbed into bed, but her mind had refused to settle, picking over the details of the gathering and trying to make sense of the undercurrents that had shaped the conversation. She might have slept longer, but Cissy roused her when she came in and threw open the curtains with an air of defiance. Cissy had chores to attend to and didn’t take kindly to her schedule being disrupted. She helped Madeline dress and arranged her hair into a simple style, which took hardly any time since Cissy clearly had no patience for anything more elaborate.
