A Moment in Time

by Judith Gould

  "Could have fooled me," he said. "You had a coming-out and all that, but your parents didn't pay your way through school?"

  "No," she said. "My mother insisted on my going to a finishing school in Switzerland or maybe doing literature or French at one of the Seven Sisters. But I wouldn't do it. I wanted to be a veterinarian. So she said I'd have to pay for it myself."

  "You're kidding," he said.

  "Nope," she said, shaking her head. "But I don't think she actually thought I'd go off on my own like that, and I think she was just waiting for me to come running home."

  He smiled. "Well, good for you," he said. "That shows a lot of spunk."

  She shrugged. "I just knew what I wanted," she said, "and I was going to get it come hell or high water."

  "What do your parents think about it now?" he asked.

  "My father died before I went to college," she replied. "My mother . . . well, she still doesn't like it. She has this Old World idea that I should be married to someone from the same background and living the life of leisure. You know, like one of the ladies who lunch in New York. The charity circuit and all that. The way she lived until my father died."

  "You'd wither up and die in that atmosphere," he said unhesitatingly.

  She nodded. "I know," she said, "but try telling my mother that."

  "It seems to me she ought to be really proud of you," he said. "I would be. I am."

  Valerie laughed. "For what?" she asked.

  "I've watched you in action," he said, "and I think you're a top-notch vet. And person."

  Valerie felt herself blush again. "Thanks," she said. "I appreciate that."

  "Now," he said, "tell me about whoever it is that's lucky enough to be engaged to you."

  "Wha—?" She stared at him dumbstruck, unable to finish her sentence.

  Slowly, somewhat reluctantly, the shadowy figure lowered the binoculars and let them hang loose on their neck strap. Fingers quickly rubbed tired eyes.

  Watching them had been almost mesmerizing, as if observing some sort of forbidden ritual or an especially tantalizing pornographic video, not that there had been anything in the least bit lewd or lurid in their behavior. No, they had behaved in an exemplary fashion.

  It's the invasion of privacy. That's why it feels so strange. Invading their privacy, watching them on their own turf, without their knowing anything about it. It's a real kick, though. A real sick kick.

  Watching even the most mundane of activities could be fascinating if observed in this way, the interloper supposed, but that was not what this was about. No, this had a purpose, and an important one at that. In fact, seeing them together had driven home the fact that the situation held a lot more potential for danger than previously thought.

  The way they'd chatted during dinner, all cozy and relaxed and laughing, with some serious-looking moments thrown in for good measure. The way he'd held her chair for her to sit down, then the way he'd slid it back for her to get up. The way he'd put a hand over one of hers during dinner, then the way he'd put an arm around her waist when they went inside together.

  Now they sat together on the couch, their bare feet propped up on the coffee table like they were sweethearts, their bodies close together, nearly touching while they chatted on and on into the night.

  Imagine their talk! Earnestly telling one another all about their lives, their histories, past and present, getting to know one another—all the ridiculous flotsam and jetsam about where they came from and who they were—before they made that inevitable leap into the old sack and onto each other's bodies.

  It was enough to make you puke.

  Spitting on the ground as if to expel a bad taste, then looking at the glow-in-the-dark watch, the figure in the shadows saw that it was a little after eleven. It was getting late, and there was work to do. It was getting to be time to do it.

  "Who-who told you about that?" she finally stuttered, her mind spinning with a million questions at once.

  "Nobody," he said, looking at her with a superior expression.

  "What do you mean nobody?" she asked. "How could you possibly know about that?"

  "It's simple," he said, breaking into a laugh.

  Damn him, she thought. He's playing with me and enjoying it. "Tell me," she said. "What's so simple?"

  "Remember the first time you came out here?" he asked.

  She nodded. "Of course, I do," she replied. "Storm Warning had colic. Why?"

  "I saw you that night," he said, suddenly somewhat sheepish. "I was watching you out in the stable. In the dark, so you couldn't see me."

  "I see," she said with a nod, remembering the eerie sensation she'd had that night of being watched.

  "I couldn't help but notice that you were wearing a real humdinger of a ring," he went on. "It practically lit up the stall when the lantern light hit it. And it sure did look like an engagement ring, at least to me, Doc."

  She swallowed. It was true, she thought. That was the night that she had accepted the ring from Teddy, and she'd been wearing it when she came over to see about the horse. It was so new that she'd forgotten she was wearing it when she'd ministered to Storm Warning. Otherwise, she'd have taken it off to keep from getting it dirty.

  She gazed over at him and nodded. "Guilty as charged," she said, smiling tightly.

  "So you are engaged," he said, the look on his face undeniably one of disappointment.

  "You . . . might say that," she replied.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked. "Maybe you are, maybe you aren't?"

  Was she imagining it, or did she detect a hint of hope in his voice? "Well ..." She looked up at the ceiling and shrugged. "Where do I begin?"

  "The beginning's a good place, so they say," he replied, reaching over and taking her hand.

  She looked down at his hand in hers and realized that it felt natural, comfortable . . . and wonderful. She looked back up at him. "I've been going with the same guy for a long time," she said. "Since college. Everybody's always expected us to get married sooner or later. Including me." She sighed heavily, then continued. "Anyhow, to make a long story short, he gave me the ring that night. The night I came over to see about Storm Warning."

  His eyes were glued to hers. "But I haven't seen you wear it since then," he said.

  "You're . . . you're awfully observant," she said with a short laugh.

  "I'm awfully interested," he said, smiling.

  She was silent for a moment, and he prodded her with another question.

  "So are you still engaged or what?" he asked. "You don't seem like an engaged woman to me."

  She shrugged again, then said, "I guess you could say that officially we're still engaged."

  "Officially," he repeated.

  She nodded.

  "In other words," he said, "you haven't. . ." His words trailed off into silence.

  "In other words," she said, supplying words for him, "I haven't told him that I don't want to marry him."

  "Aha," he said softly, a smile on his lips. "This is getting very interesting." He paused, then said, "So when are you going to tell him that it's a no-go situation?"

  "I don't know," Valerie groaned. "It's . . . it's so difficult to do, and I'm such a chicken that I keep putting it off. But I know that I've got to do it sooner or later."

  "Do it sooner," he said.

  She looked at him with widened eyes. "What-what are you saying?"

  "You heard me," he said. "And I think you know exactly what I mean."

  "You . . ." She couldn't bring herself to express what she thought he might mean.

  "I want you free," he said. "For me."

  Valerie's body jerked, as if she'd been shocked by a bolt of electricity. She felt her heart begin to pump violently, and a pulse beat hard against her eardrum. She couldn't quite catch her breath, and she didn't trust herself to speak. It was a moment of truth.

  He's in love with me, she realized, and I am in love with him.

  Before she could respond, he reac
hed toward her and pulled her to him. She acquiesced, easing into the warmth of his arms happily, as if she were going home to a place she belonged. He kissed her, and she felt a thrill rush through her body, even as her hands felt the soft naturalness of his dark hair and the alien scratchiness of the gauze bandages that were wrapped around part of it.

  To think that anyone could ever be afraid of this man, she thought. To think that he has sparked dark rumors as no one else around here ever has. And to think that he loves me.

  She kissed him passionately, forgetting all else, giving herself up to this moment. It was an unforgettable moment in time, occupying some unique and magical realm all its own.

  When he finally drew back, he smiled at her and his eyes searched hers for any indication of what she was thinking and feeling. She returned his smile unhesitatingly, then whispered to him, "It'll definitely be sooner than later."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Valerie rolled over in bed and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Six-thirty! What the hell? she wondered. The telephone had been ringing relentlessly, and she'd tried to no avail to block out its awful early morning cacophony in her tender ears. Then suddenly she remembered she was on call at the clinic, and she quickly reached over, grabbing the receiver.

  "Hello?" she said, trying to clear the sleep from her voice.

  "Valerie?" The cultured voice was clipped, imperious, and demanding all at once, immediately putting her on alert.

  "Mother?" she asked. "What-what is it? Is something wrong?"

  "Wrong?" Marguerite de la Rochelle repeated. "Certainly not. Not with me at least."

  "Oh," Valerie said. "It's just so early ... I thought maybe . . . well, I didn't know. You don't usually call this early on a weekend morning."

  "I want you to come to breakfast," Marguerite said. It was an order, not a request.

  "Breakfast?" Valerie said. "But. . . I-I've really got a lot to do around the house, and—"

  "Breakfast will be served promptly at nine o'clock," Marguerite interjected, "and I want you here. There are some things we need to discuss. Your cousin Jamie is here, as you know, and you've made no effort to see him."

  "I haven't been avoiding Jamie at all," she said in self-defense. "I was planning on having him over or coming out there to see him. You know I've been busy at the clinic, Mother, and I just haven't got around to it yet."

  "No, indeed, you have not," Marguerite said. "You have no time for family, do you, Valerie? So this morning is ideal, isn't it? This is the weekend, and you're not working, so we can have a lovely breakfast."

  "I'm on call at the clinic," Valerie said, "so I—"

  "Damn that clinic!" Marguerite exclaimed angrily. "I think you can spare the time for breakfast with your mother and your cousin. Some sick dog will simply have to wait. Nine o'clock!"

  Before Valerie could respond, there was a loud and resounding bang in her ear as her mother hung up on her. She looked at the receiver in her hand for a moment, then put it down. She sighed, wondering what on earth had brought this on. Then suddenly she began to laugh aloud.

  Elvis, who was spread out on the floor at the foot of the bed, began to wag his tail furiously, excited by the sound of her laughter. She looked down at him, the laughter still rising in her throat, shaking her body and lifting her spirits. "Oh, Elvis," she said when she could finally speak, "she is not going to make me upset today. Nothing could upset me today." She hugged herself with her arms, thrilled with the memory of last night. Of Wyn Conrad.

  Elvis looked up at her with what she was certain was a bright smile on his face, his tail still thumping against the floor.

  She slid her legs over the side of the bed and rose to her feet, stretching her arms and back and shoulders, lifting herself up on her toes, reaching toward the ceiling. "No, siree, Elvis," she said. "Marguerite de la Rochelle is not going to get my goat today, no matter what."

  She dashed into the bathroom, performed her morning ablutions, and padded into the kitchen on bare feet, still in the huge T-shirt she had worn in place of pajamas, Elvis trailing along behind her. She quickly filled his water bowl and fed him his breakfast—the usual dry food with a little of the tuna fish he loved mixed in—then she ground beans and got the coffeemaker going. She let Elvis out when he was finished, then rushed back into the bathroom and quickly showered. Afterward, wrapped in a bathrobe, she poured herself a mug of coffee and wandered out onto the screened-in porch to drink it.

  The morning promised to be a beautiful one, and she regretted that she wouldn't be spending it out in the garden, puttering around, prettifying here and there.

  She sipped her coffee, wishing that Colette would come tiptoeing into the garden with Hayden so that they could have a good gossip. She could hardly wait to tell her what had happened last night, but she would have to put it off until later in the day. It was too early to call Colette now. She finished her coffee and went back inside. She peered at the kitchen clock. Nearly eight o'clock already. She'd better start getting ready to face breakfast with Jamie and her mother.

  She went back into the bathroom and put on a touch of mascara and eyeliner, then daubed lightly at her cheeks with the merest hint of blusher. Next, she carefully applied a little lipstick, a gingery color that she liked with her strawberry blond hair and green eyes. Finally, she brushed at her hair vigorously and then let it fall naturally into place. She stood back and examined herself in the mirror.

  Not half bad, she thought, even though she knew that no matter what she did it wouldn't be enough to satisfy her mother. No, she thought, Mother will manage to find fault somehow or other, and she'll let me know about it. She smiled at her reflection.

  Well, this morning, Marguerite, your criticism will fall on deaf ears, she told herself. Because nothing, absolutely nothing, is going to take the shine off my day. Then she remembered perfume and quickly spritzed herself with some of the Femme on the vanity.

  Rushing back into her bedroom, she shrugged out of her bathrobe, slipped on her bra and panties, and rummaged in her closet. Where the devil is my green silk tee? she wondered. She liked it because it was a close match to her eyes. She opened and closed several dresser drawers, thinking that she'd folded it and put it in one of them. No luck.

  She went back to the closet and rummaged some more. Still no luck. Oh, well, she thought, just find something and put it on. She grabbed a navy blue short-sleeved tee, silk like the green one, and quickly put it on, then donned a pair of cream clam-diggers almost identical to the ones she'd worn last night. She slipped into her cream thong sandals and went back out to the kitchen, where she grabbed her shoulder bag. Ready, she thought. All except for Elvis.

  She went out to the screened-in porch and called to him, and he came prancing toward her from somewhere down near the pond. She opened the door and let him in. "Elvis," she said, "I'm going out to see Mother so I'm leaving you here." She leaned down and gave him several strokes. "I'm sorry to do this to you, but you and Mother both will like it a lot better this way."

  She locked the porch door and left the kitchen one open for him. That way he could enjoy the porch or stay in the house, whichever he wanted. She glanced out toward the garden longingly, then turned and headed to the front door. I really don't want to do this, but nothing can wipe the smile off my face today.

  Twenty minutes later, she pulled into the parking area behind her mother's house, and her face immediately fell.

  Teddy's silver Jaguar.

  Oh, no, she thought. Why didn't she tell me? And what is he doing here this morning anyway? But it didn't take an Einstein to figure out exactly why Teddy was here. Marguerite had asked him, of course, and most likely she'd arranged this breakfast after Teddy and her mother had had a little talk last night about her unwillingness to cancel her plans to be with him.

  It would be just like Teddy to have called Mother, she thought. Trying to get her help to keep me in line. Well, it's not going to work, folks.

  She stepped into the scre
ened-in porch, where she noticed the table had been set for breakfast, then went on into the kitchen. Effie was bent over the oven door, sliding out a pan of croissants. When she heard Valerie, she turned around and smiled widely.

  "I'm so glad to see you," she said, putting the pan down on the center island.

  Valerie gave her a kiss and a hug. "You look great, Effie."

  "You don't have to flatter me," the old woman replied, "but I'm glad you do." She stared at Valerie for a moment, then her eyes narrowed into slits. "You!" she said, pointing a finger at her. "You're the one who looks great, Val. You're glowing from head to toe."

  Valerie smiled. "Do you really think so?"

  "You know you are," Effie said. She looked at Valerie with an expression of curiosity. "Tell Effie what you've been up to," she said. "Because I know that look, and it means something awful good's going on."

  "Oh, Effie," Valerie replied, "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Come on," the old woman said, cajoling her. "You can tell me, young lady."

  Valerie leaned down and kissed her cheek again. "I'll tell you all about it later on," she said. "When you and I can have some privacy."

  "Promise?" Effie said, looking at her with widened eyes.

  "Promise," Valerie answered.

  Effie beamed. "I knew it!" she said. "I just knew it!"

  "Where's Mother?" Valerie asked.

  "She and the boys are out at the old swimming pool," she said. "I'm surprised you didn't see them."

  "The swimming pool?" Valerie said. "What in the world are they doing out there?"

  Effie shrugged. "Who knows?" she replied. "Since that cousin of yours has been here, he and your mother've been whispering around like a couple of conspirators. Like they were planning a murder. And they don't tell me anything."

  Valerie frowned, then relaxed her features. "Well, it's probably nothing, Effie," she said. "They're probably just talking about old family secrets or something. Skeletons in the ancestral closet, that sort of thing."