Madeleine Poirier watched her handsome young executive husband from across the room. Uncle Gaston's so-called secretary, Ginny Novak, continued to cling to his arm. It irked the beautiful, raven-haired girl, but there was little to be done about it; Uncle Gaston's Friday night cocktail-dinner parties were a social must on their calendar; they had no choice but to attend, it seemed, their wealthy and powerful benefactor having chosen her to act as hostess and remain at his side. It was a distinct honor, Antoine insisted, especially now that Annette was down from Quebec where she attended Lavel Universite. Madeleine tried, as she had for the past eight weeks, to enjoy the distinction, attempting to put her own inner burden temporarily from mind as she assumed a false, worldly attitude, while the squat mighty overlord clung to her small soft hand inside his own fat, sweaty one; but invariably she felt uneasy… hardly equal to the task, and the manner in which the glamorous twenty-nine year old blonde from the States hung possessively to her Antoine was annoying her to no end.

Ginny Novak was never a secretary; in fact, Madeleine wondered if she could write her own name correctly. She was Uncle Gaston's mistress and nothing more. There had been a great number of them over the last dozen years according to Antoine, ever since Aunt Yolande had been put away in some institution or other… a mental case the family said; no one ever went to see her. Antoine, himself, could hardly remember her; he was fifteen at the time of her commitment, and he doubted if Annette remembered her at all. She had been only nine, and he remembered no mother-daughter relationship. A calloused, if, strikingly attractive girl, Madeleine had opined from their very first meeting, and constantly at odds with Uncle Gaston, seemingly taking pleasure in defying him. Now, she looked about the room, but the nineteen year old lovely was nowhere to be seen.