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even bringing in a doctor from France and housing him in one of the outbuildings.”
    “In short, he did everything he could for the man,” Paul said.
    Marjo nodded. “In the end, it wasn’t enough. Charles died a year later, a long, slow, agonizing death. From what we’ve pieced together from the sketchy medical records left by the doctor, we think it might have been stomach cancer.”
    Paul shuddered. “Not a good way to go. He must have suffered.”
    “After Charles died, Alexandre told Charles’s family they could stay in the house, and he would continue to pay them Charles’s salary, even though his friend and the man he considered his true father was gone.”
    “A man who thought with his heart,” Paul said, finding the meaning in her words, “not his wallet.”
    “Exactly.” Marjo held up a finger, telling Paul the story was far from done. “But here’s where it gets interesting.”
    Paul had his spoon halfway up to his mouth, then he paused. “There’s more?”
    “After her husband died, Charles’s wife never spent another day in that house. She took the kids, whatever money was left, went to France and neverreturned.” Marjo quirked a grin. “Oh, and she took one other person with her.”
    Paul leaned forward. “Who?”
    “The French doctor. Apparently they’d grown very close over her husband’s sickbed.”
    “Quite the grieving widow.” He shook his head. “Makes me feel bad for Charles.”
    “It worked out okay. One of the maids who worked for Alexandre turned out to be Charles’s mistress, and the child she’d had three years earlier was his. As loyal as Charles was, he apparently made excellent use of his time off.”
    Paul laughed. “This is all true?”
    “Yeah. We pieced it together from birth records and letters. It was quite the scandal in those days, particularly when Charles’s widow left with the doctor. But until the day he died, Alexandre stuck by Charles and defended his name. He paid for Charles’s illegitimate child to be educated. The maid and the boy moved into the cottage and lived quite well.”
    “That puts the little bed-and-breakfast into a whole new light.”
    “That’s why I told you that story instead of the one about the opera house. I want you to see the opera house first, like you did La Petite Maison, then hear its story.”
    “I have seen it.”
    “But not the way you saw La Petite Maison today. You told me you were so wrapped up in capturingthat building on film that you forgot the time, forgot our meeting, forgot everything.” She paused and took a sip of water, deciding this was as good a time as any to make her case, to finally get to the reason she’d invited Paul here. “Do me a favor. Spend more than a few minutes with the Indigo Opera House. I think you’ll see it in a whole new light, too. And then you’ll realize you can’t possibly let it go.”
    “Don’t you think a new owner would be more supportive of your plans? More involved?”
    “Maybe. And maybe not. Besides, all you have to do is remain the owner. I’m sure the town can give you a break on the taxes. And the restoration committee will handle everything else. The same thing happened with Shadows-on-the-Teche, when the original owner’s grandson decided to sponsor a revival of the buildings.”
    “It’s not just about the tax bill. I don’t want to own an opera house. To me, that wreck of a building is a tie. And I don’t like ties.”
    “But you can’t sell it,” Marjo protested. “Not now. If you put it on the market, we’ll be forced to stop the restoration. We’re having enough problems getting funding since hurricanes Katrina and Rita. Tourism dried up for a long time, and people are afraid to invest in an area that has already suffered so much. The committee, and the town itself, won’t support something that might end up being sold to some developer who will tear it down and put up a discount store in its place.”
    “Here? In the middle of