by Judith Gould
"Oh, Val, for Christ's sake," he said, disgruntled. "Sometimes I think you actually forget who you are. You're a de la Rochelle. You're descended from French aristocracy. Even your very name, Valerie, is on the list of names approved by the French court, and don't you ever forget it."
She looked at him in disbelief. He was sounding increasingly like her snobbish mother.
"You shouldn't even be thinking about mundane things like that," he went on. "You know I'd pay off your crummy student loans for you. And when we get married, you could sell that little house you bought. That'd take care of the mortgage. Hell, Val, you could sell the house now. Move in here." He glared at her for an intense moment. "You didn't have to buy it to begin with, you know."
"Oh, yes, I did," she countered. "We talked about that, and I told you that I wanted to try living on my own for a while." She sighed audibly. "Don't you see? I want to be able to stand on my own two feet, Teddy. And I don't feel like I'm ready to get married until I can do that. I want to wait a little while longer and—"
"You told me Christmas," he said emphatically. There was a smile on his lips, but there was no missing the edge in his voice.
Valerie's face burned with the truth of his words. "I think I said probably, didn't I?" she said, in a futile attempt at levity.
He didn't laugh but continued staring at her with the expression of a petulant child.
Christmas, she remembered, had seemed so far away at the beginning of the year when she'd told him she thought she'd be ready to settle down by next Christmas. Now, of course, summer would soon be over, and she'd accepted his engagement ring.
"You're right," she said, "I did say that, and I meant it at the time. But—"
"But what, Val?" he said angrily. "You're not putting me off again, are you? What's the big deal about getting married anyway?" He held a hand out and starting counting off points on his fingers. "You spend nearly every weekend with me." One finger down. "All of our holidays." Two fingers down. "We see each other, maybe get to eat lunch or dinner together, practically every day if I'm up here during the week."
Three fingers down. "We're like a married couple now, for Christ's sake." Four fingers down.
If we are indeed like a married couple now, and if this is what marriage is like, she thought, then I don't want any part of it—ever.
She said: "You're right again, Teddy. It's just... I don't know ..."
Teddy realized he was pushing too hard. He reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. "Oh, God, Val. I'm sorry," he said contritely. His familiar harsh stare had become that familiar puppy's beseeching plea. "I ... I guess I just love you so much that waiting is . . . well, it's really such hell."
"I'm sorry, too, Teddy," she said softly but firmly. "You know that I really have feelings for you. Right now I just feel as if I'm being pushed from all directions."
Teddy quickly nodded in agreement. "You're right, Val. Don't worry about it."Now, let's eat," he said, digging into his lobster salad with renewed gusto.
Valerie picked up her fork and began eating again. The salad was delicious, but she'd almost completely lost her appetite.
"Did you have a busy morning?" Teddy asked after taking a large sip of wine.
Valerie nodded. "Yes. A very busy morning. All the usual, and Colette, too."
"Colette!" he exclaimed. "Oh, God, what's her problem?"
"She has a pet African pygmy hedgehog that's having trouble," Valerie said. "So we're going to fix him up."
"I can't figure her out," Teddy said. "She's smart as a whip, sophisticated, all that, and loaded to the gills with money. But"—he thumped a hand on the table— "she won't let me handle her portfolio."
"You asked her?" Val said, surprised to hear this news.
"More than once," Teddy said. "But she won't give an inch. Says she's quite happy with her present money managers. I can't figure it," he said. "She's known my family forever, but she just refuses to see reason and switch."
"I didn't know," Valerie replied. "She hasn't mentioned anything to me at all."
"If she does," he said, "let me know, will you?"
"Sure," Valerie said, thinking that she probably wouldn't.
"You have a busy afternoon coming up?" he asked.
"The usual late-afternoon office appointments, plus I've got to go out to Stonelair."
"Stonelair?" he said with alarm. "Again?"
"He's got four Irish wolfhounds," she said, "and they all need the Lyme vaccine plus heartworm medication and checkups. And there's a cat."
"So why are you going out there?" he asked. "Why doesn't he bring them into the clinic?"
"Teddy!" she exclaimed. "It would take a horse trailer to bring them in. They're Irish wolfhounds. You know, practically ponies."
"Well, I hope you know what you're doing," Teddy said ominously. "Getting mixed up with weirdos like that."
"There was nothing weird the night I saw the horse," Valerie said defensively. "I think all this talk is just that. Talk."
"There's usually a reason for it," Teddy said. "And from what I've heard, things are really strange out there."
"You sound like my mother," she said.
"Maybe so," Teddy said, "but your mother's got very good instincts, I think. And she smells a rat." He sat looking at her for a moment. "By the way," he asked, "did she give old Dock Wainwright a call?"
"I don't have any idea," Valerie said, looking at him curiously. "Why?" she asked, although she thought she already knew the answer to that question.
Teddy shrugged nonchalantly. "Just wondered," he replied, swirling the remains of his wine around in the glass. "She talked about it at dinner that night. Remember?" He looked over at her. "Old Dock's twiddling his thumbs. Just letting her account sit there gathering dust. He probably nods off reading financial reports."
"So now you want to get your hands on my mother's money," Valerie said teasingly.
He gazed at her seriously, ignoring her joking tone. "Well," he began, "I don't see why not, Val. Your mother certainly seemed interested in my handling it. She knows what the market's like, and she knows Dock's not doing anything for her. The way he invests money, it probably doesn't even keep up with the rate of inflation."
For a long time now, she'd wondered when Teddy would approach her mother about handling her money. For some reason she couldn't put her finger on—perhaps, it was simply an instinct—she didn't like the idea of Teddy becoming involved in her mother's finances. She couldn't shake the feeling that it would be a mistake, even though she realized that she was probably being irrational.
I guess I'm being silly, she thought. After all, Teddy was supposed to be a great moneymaker, wasn't he? And he certainly did live like one. The lavish bachelor pad in New York City, the meticulously restored show-place up here, the new Jaguar for himself and a truck for the farm every year. A gazillion-dollar wardrobe. Those expensive weekends in the Hamptons.
Suddenly she realized that Teddy had asked her a question.
"What?" she asked.
"You're not listening to me," Teddy said. "You're already thinking about all those poor dogs you've got to neuter."
"Oh, stop with the dumb vet jokes," she said with good humor.
"I was just asking if you had any idea how much money she's got invested with Dock," he said.
"I don't know anything about that," Valerie replied, surprised that he'd asked something that personal. Teddy was aggressive, but usually a lot more subtle than this. "That's strictly her business," she added, "and she doesn't talk to me about it." She looked down at her wristwatch. "Anyway, I'd better get going," she said.
"Don't you want dessert?" Teddy asked. "It's just some fruit, but—"
"Too many donuts at the office this morning," Valerie glibly fibbed, already getting to her feet.
Teddy followed suit and walked around the table to her. He slid an arm around her waist and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad you came," he said. "I've missed you the last few w
eekends."
Valerie smiled and nodded. "I. . . I'd better hurry and go get Elvis," she said.
"I'll go with you," he said.
They strolled up to the house in silence, but when they reached the door, Teddy turned and stared into her eyes.
She looked at him with an expectant smile.
"You're not wearing your engagement ring," he said softly. "Why, Val?"
She felt a blush rise to her face. "Teddy," she said, "think about it for a minute. I don't think it's a good idea to wear it to work. At least not my work. I mean, it's not the kind of thing you wear to help give birth to a foal, is it? Or set a llama's broken leg? I don't think you want to see it covered up with blood, do you?"
"Well . . . no," he said, "but you could've had it handy for lunch."
"I'm not about to carry around a ring like that and take it on and off," Valerie replied. "I'd lose it in no time. Or have it stolen."
"You're probably right," he agreed.
"I know I am," Valerie said. "Besides, it's so big, I'd never be able to fit my surgical gloves over it."
Teddy laughed. "You may have a point there, too," he conceded as he opened the door. "You going to be able to come over tonight?" he asked as she headed into the conservatory. "I'm going back to New York tomorrow, you know."
Valerie kept walking toward the kitchen. "I really shouldn't, Teddy," she said. "I've got a lot to do when I get home tonight."
"But—" Teddy-began, then he immediately thought better of trying to persuade her to spend the night. Pressure, he remembered. Lay off, Teddy, old boy. You don't want to chase her away now.
"But what?" she asked.
"Nothing," he replied. "I was thinking out loud. About all the work Lydia's got lined up for me in the office."
"See?" she said. "You've got a lot to do, too, so I don't have to feel guilty."
In the kitchen, Elvis happily greeted them, reluctantly leaving Hattie to prance proudly alongside Valerie back out to the car. Teddy watched as she opened the door for Elvis, then started to get in herself.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked.
Valerie turned and looked at him.
He held his arms out, and she went into them, letting him embrace her. He gave her a quick kiss and let her go. "I know you're in a rush to get back," he said. "I'll give you a call tonight, okay?"
"Sure," Valerie replied. "Talk to you tonight." She got in the Jeep, Teddy closing the door after her. She started the engine and backed out of the parking area, turning around to head down the drive. She waved as she left, and Teddy stood in the driveway waving back until she was out of sight.
Oh, Lord, she thought. Why is it becoming more and more of a trial to see Teddy? And why, oh why, don't I feel like a woman who's supposed to be getting married to the perfect man at Christmastime? Why don't I have the courage to do what I know I must eventually do?
Lydia had gone out to lunch, and in the privacy of his office, Teddy picked up the telephone and punched out the number. The machine picked up after the fourth ring.
"Hi, this is Tiffani," her disembodied voice answered. "I'm not here right now, so leave your number and a message. Oh, and wait for the beep. Thanks." Her voice sounded perky and sexy, he thought. Just like her.
After the beep, he said, "Hey, babe, it's Teddy. I got hot just listening to your voice. What about me coming over there after you get off work? We could have a real good time. I've got a little candy for you, babe. Give me a call when you get in."
He replaced the receiver in its cradle and smiled, thinking about Tiffani, that voluptuous body of hers, the things they could do. He knew she'd call back. She's really into me, he thought. Really gets off on it. Besides, she wasn't about to turn down the chance to snort a little nose candy.
Chapter Ten
Valerie drove the Jeep toward the big iron gates at Stonelair, stopping at the post in the middle of the drive to push the intercom button.
"Who is it?" a voice asked. The not so jolly bald giant, she thought.
"Dr. Rochelle," she answered.
"When you get to the split in the drive, veer to the right," the voice said. "To the house."
"Okay," she said, noting once again that video cameras, mounted on the stone piers to which the gates were attached, swiveled toward the Jeep. Must be motion sensitive, she thought. She had the urge to wave at them and stick her tongue out, but decided that would look pretty silly on the monitors. Not very professional, either.
The gates swung open, and she drove through, anxious to see Stonelair in the daylight for the first time. On her last visit in the darkness and driving rain, she'd seen virtually nothing but the stable compound. The mile-long drive was beautifully landscaped, bordered on both sides by giant old conifers, with ancient maples and oaks behind them. Rhododendrons, mountain laurel, and azaleas were massed along the edge of the drive and banked around the bases of the big trees. They were long past their blooming stage, but it must be spectacular in the spring, she thought. The place was like a beautifully kept park.
She came to the split in the road and veered to the right, following Ducci's instructions. When she finally came within sight of the house itself, her first glimpse was of massive chimneys and a slate roof reaching to the sky above the treetops. As she rounded a bend in the road, the house itself came into full view. She slowed down and looked at it with awe.
My God, she thought, it's a small chateau! Built of limestone, it loomed in the near-distance like a great fortress, albeit an elegant one. She'd heard about it all of her life and seen very old photographs of it, but nothing had conveyed the monumental reality of the house.
She knew that it had been built by one of the great robber barons before the turn of the century, a railroad tycoon, as she remembered. Then it had descended to one family member after another, none of them staying there for more than a month or two a year. Sometime back in the early sixties the family had boarded it up, their fortune largely squandered over the course of the last century, until finally they'd sold it to Conrad.
The drive led into a courtyard in the center of which was a large fountain, its bronze horses spouting sprays of water. She drove up to the wide stone terrace that led to the front door. Killing the engine, she got out, grabbing her large carryall, then went around to the back of the Jeep, where she retrieved her medical bag from the cargo compartment.
Valerie looked over as one of the massive wooden doors across the terrace opened. Santo Ducci, giant that he was, didn't quite fill it. He quickly strode across the terrace toward her, his entire body seeming to ripple as he approached.
"Here," he said as he reached her, "let me take that for you."
"No need to," Valerie said, looking up at him with a smile. "I'm used to it."
"Have it your way," he said, shrugging.
He led her across the terrace and into the entrance hall, where their shoes echoed loudly on the stone floors. Valerie glimpsed a limestone fireplace and neoclassical boiseries on the walls. Over the ornately carved boiseries hung old oil paintings, their picture lamps casting little pools of light in the dimness. She caught only a fleeting glace at them before Ducci gestured her to the left and down a long gallery, its lefthand wall hung with more paintings and the right punctuated with French doors, which led out onto another stone terrace that gave onto acres of manicured lawn.
They finally arrived at a set of double doors, and Ducci stopped, gesturing for her to enter. "The dogs are in here," he said, "and probably the cat." He smiled.
"The cat may be on the prowl, huh?" she said.
"You never know," he replied, "but she hangs out with the dogs a lot."
Valerie stepped just inside the doors and found herself looking into a library, a cavernous double-height room with a balcony running partway around it. Bookshelves lined the walls both beneath and above the balcony, and a spiral staircase led up to the balcony's walkway. On one wall was a huge fireplace similar to the one in the entrance hall, and another wall was
set with French doors that gave onto the stone terrace she'd seen from the gallery. Two matching Dutch baroque brass chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling, and the fireplace wall was hung with oil paintings, hunt scenes and horses galore and several dog portraits. Bronzes, primarily of horses, stood atop bookcases and on the shelves, and needlepoint carpets covered the floor. Despite its grandeur, the room had an air of being truly lived in.
She stepped on into the room and was surprised— and delighted—to see that amid this incredible luxury four giant Irish wolfhounds lounged in various positions, two on the rug looking out toward the lawn and two spread out on old leather couches in front of the fireplace. That explained some of the room's lived-in feeling, she surmised.
The moment they became aware of her, all four sprang to their feet, bounding over to greet her. She immediately set down her bags and began stroking their somewhat wiry coats, talking to the giant beasts all the while, her face beaming with joy at their sheer size and friendliness.
"Oh, they're beautiful," she exclaimed.
"Thanks," Santo said. "They're a handful sometimes."
"I bet you are," she said to the dogs, trying to divide her attention equally among the four.
"What are their names?" she asked Santo.
"Paddy, Katy, Sheila, and Seamus," Santo replied.
Valerie couldn't help laughing. "So they're Irish through and through," she said.
He nodded. "Yeah," he said. "We got them when they were pups. From a breeder in Castleknock, outside Dublin. Flew them over here."
"I can see why," she said. "They're such great beauties. Which is which?" she asked.
"Paddy and Katy are the grays," Santo replied, "Shelia's the brown, and Seamus is the brindle."
