by Janet Dailey
Luz gave the sorrel one last pat and moved away to saunter closer to Rob. She thrust her hands in the side pockets of her slacks, assuming a casual stance. “I suppose right now you’re wishing we had accepted your Uncle Mike’s invitation to spend the midterm break at their chalet in Gstaad. You could be skiing in Switzerland instead.”
“No, I’m not,” he denied in a voice flattened of feeling. He made one last swipe over a sleek flank before folding the chamois in half.
“Why not? If we’d gone, you wouldn’t have played in the tournament, and you would have missed feeling as miserable and rotten as you do now. Why would you want to go through all this when you could be having a good time on the slopes?” Luz reasoned.
“Because I wanted to play!” Rob flashed her an impatient look at what he saw as a lack of understanding on her part.
Luz smiled faintly. “Remember that. Regardless of the outcome, you wanted to play.”
His head came back sharply as a deep furrow pulled his light brows together. “Yeah,” he realized. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
“I’m glad.” Her smile deepened in compassion. “Although I know it doesn’t make you feel any better.”
“No.” He admitted that, too, as he glumly tipped his head down.
A horse cantered toward them. Luz recognized the fat pinto on which both Rob and Trisha had learned to ride. It was now a family pet relegated to the easy life of stable pony. Trisha reined it to a halt beside them and slid off its bare back. Her glance skimmed Rob before it swung to Luz.
“I see you had the same success I did, Luz, trying to cheer up laughing boy,” Trisha remarked dryly.
“It hurts to lose something you want very much.” Luz was tactfully appealing for a little display of understanding.
Trisha cocked her head to the side, frowning curiously. “What have you ever lost, Luz?”
Her mind went blank. “Nothing that seems very important now.” In truth she couldn’t think of anything. She’d always had whatever she wanted. She couldn’t very well include deaths in the family. And she hadn’t known any heartbreaks or unrequited love.
The answer gave Trisha nothing to pursue, and she shrugged aside the topic to move on to something else. “I met Raul Buchanan. He had his own opinion on why you lost the game, Rob.”
“What was that?” His interest in the answer was wary and skeptical.
“He claimed you spared your ponies the minute they showed signs of tiring, and said you should have switched to a fresh mount if your horse couldn’t go the distance.”
“He’s probably right,” Rob admitted grudgingly. “I thought about it a few times, but I was afraid I’d find myself going into the last chukkar without a fully rested horse.”
“At least you’ve learned something, Rob,” Luz said.
“Yeah, I’ll know better next time.”
“Maybe Raul can give you some more pointers,” Trisha suggested. “I’ve invited him to the party Saturday night.” Belatedly, she turned to Luz. “I didn’t think you’d mind if I asked him.”
First Drew had extended an invitation without her knowledge, now Trisha. She felt a stir of irritation. “What about you, Rob? Have you asked someone that I don’t know about, too?”
“No.” He appeared taken aback by her tautness.
Luz sighed heavily. “It doesn’t matter. You know you’re both welcome to invite people to the house anytime.” She made a determined effort to put aside her annoyance. “Do you need any help with the horses?”
“No,” Trisha answered. “Jimmy Ray is at the trailer looking after them.”
“He is?” Rob stiffened, tension knotting the pit of his stomach.
“Yes.” Suspicion gleamed in the narrowed look Trisha gave him. “I thought you said he was going to be out of town this weekend.”
“He was,” Rob said. “I guess he got back early.”
“I don’t like him,” Trisha announced flatly.
“Trisha.” Their mother’s voice was reproving. “Jimmy Ray Turnbull is the best handler and groom we’ve ever had. I don’t think you could find anyone more knowledgeable or conscientious in the care of the horses.”
“I don’t care. There’s something about him I don’t like,” Trisha insisted while Rob carefully kept silent. “Every time I see him, he’s wearing those same khaki workclothes. And I’ll bet he wears that slouch hat all the time because he doesn’t have any hair on the top of his head. What really gets me is the way he goes around all the time with that weak smile and that pipe drooping out of the corner of his mouth. He never lights it.”
“I’d fire him if he did,” Luz stated. “Smoking around the stable is dangerous.” She shook her head in a gesture of mild confusion. “I don’t see how you could dislike such a kind, gentle man.”
“I don’t know. He’s just too quiet.” Trisha placed condemning stress on the final word.
“Maybe people like you have talked him to death,” Rob suggested, some of his apprehension fading.
“I guess he reminds me of Ashley Wilkes,” Trisha decided. “I always thought he was such an insipid character.”
“You have made your opinion of the man very clear, Trisha, so I suggest you drop the subject,” Luz warned. “Now, since Jimmy Ray is here to take care of the horses, why don’t you two shower and change and have dinner with the rest of the family at the restaurant?”
“Count me out,” Trisha said. “A bunch of us are thinking of trying out that new health-food restaurant.”
“A bunch of us. A bunch of what? Bananas?” Luz demanded icily.
“The usual crowd—Jenny Fields, Carol Wentworth, and the rest.” She was irritated at being questioned, and she didn’t try to hide it.
“And where are you going afterward?”
“I don’t know.” A smile unexpectedly widened her lips, the kind Rob never trusted. “I was thinking it might be fun to crash Chet Martin’s party tonight, but don’t worry, Luz. I wouldn’t want the Martins to acquire a reputation for giving fun parties. We’ll probably come back to the club and dance or play tennis.”
“What time will you be home?”
“Ten or eleven.” Trisha shrugged.
“You be home by eleven o’clock,” Luz ordered, then turned to him. “What about you, Rob? Shall we expect you for dinner?”
“I’d rather not. I couldn’t stand the thought of people coming up to me all evening to say how sorry they are that we lost the game.”
She contained her disappointment that neither would be joining the family for dinner. “All right. See you two later.”
“Come on.” Rob urged his sister into action as their mother walked away. “Let’s get the rest of the horses and this equipment back to the trailer.”
“I’ll bring the horses.” Trisha looped the reins over the neck of the spotted horse and moved to its side. “Give me a leg up, Rob.”
Stirred by agitation, Rob crossed to the horse and cupped a hand for her foot to step in, then boosted her onto the animal’s wide back. After she had settled into position, she looked down at him with troubled eyes. “Be honest, Rob. Do you like Jimmy Ray?”
He couldn’t hold her look. “As long as he does the job he’s paid to do, it isn’t essential that I like him.”
“I suppose not.” But she didn’t appear satisfied, and Rob wondered if she had any concrete reasons for her dislike.
CHAPTER III
Outside the roomy stall, the winter sky darkened early. All was quiet in the stable. The only sounds were the odd stamp of a horse and the rustle of hay. Rob stood at the head of the steel-gray horse, tied by two lead ropes fastened to opposite sides of the lighted stall. His hand absently rubbed its forelock while he watched the tan figure crouched beside the horse’s front legs. The faded brown hat blocked the man’s face from his view, so Rob couldn’t watch his expression while he conducted the tactile examination of the swelling in the pony’s leg.
After interminable minutes had passed, Rob could stand the waiti
ng no longer. “Does it look serious?”
The man rocked back on his heels. “No.” Teeth clenched to hold the pipestem muffled the answer. Unhurried, Jimmy Ray pushed himself upright and took the dead pipe out of his mouth to offer a more complete answer. “The legs are filled up some from running on the hard ground. I’ve got a paste I can smear on them. Stony’ll be fine.” His voice had a low and soothing pitch to it, almost hypnotic in its softness. The loose-fitting clothes gave the impression of a tall, spare man, but Jimmy Ray Turnbull was shorter than Rob and wider in the shoulders.
“Good.” Rob concentrated on the dark, gunmetal-gray forehead with its wide set eyes and tried to ignore the fine tension that wired his nerves when the handler glanced at him. He knew what was in those soft, knowing eyes.
“You’re feelin’ bad about losin’ that game, aren’t ya?” Jimmy Ray held the pipe close to his mouth, ready to clamp it between his teeth the minute he finished talking. “It’s got you down pretty low, hasn’t it?”
Something snapped inside. “I don’t want anything!” Rob lashed out, and the gray horse reacted to the sudden anger and fear in the atmosphere, snorting and pulling back on the ropes.
“Never said you did,” Jimmy Ray replied calmly and laid a soothing hand on the horse’s neck, transferring his attention to the animal to settle it down.
Rob swung away from the horse and leaned on the manger, tightly gripping the board. He struggled with his own weaknesses, the rawness of want and the conflict with his conscience. Yet he’d known all along this would happen, expected it … wanted it. He scraped a hand through his hair and turned slowly back to the man.
“How much?” The starkness in his voice matched his expression.
“How much you want?” Jimmy Ray placidly chewed on his pipestem.
Agitated, Rob dropped his glance to the straw-covered stable floor. “Just one. That’s all.”
Jimmy Ray gave the horse one last pat on its sleek neck. “You just wait here. I’ll be back with somethin’ to fix you up.” The lazily drawled words seemed to be directed to both the gray Thoroughbred and Rob.
At a pace neither hurried nor slow, Jimmy Ray left the stall and turned in the direction of the equipment room. More on edge than before, Rob waited, listening for returning footsteps and resisting the urge to pace. He wished a thousand times he hadn’t asked for the stuff, but when he heard Jimmy Ray coming back, he turned eagerly.
As he entered the stall, the overhead bulb threw its light on the container filled with some pasty substance he carried in one hand. Rob’s glance immediately darted to the other one.
“Here.” The hand lifted, and Rob quickly reached to take the sealed packet of white powder.
“How much?” He fingered the plastic-wrapped cocaine, reminding himself that he didn’t have to have the drug. It wasn’t a habit with him. In his whole life, he’d taken it only maybe a half-dozen times. He wasn’t like some of the guys at school who were tooting the stuff nearly all the time.
“On the house.” Jimmy Ray crouched down beside the horse and dipped his long fingers into the white goo in the metal container.
“I’ll pay.” Rob wasn’t sure whether he insisted out of pride or a need to assert his independence.
“Suit yourself,” he said through teeth biting down on the pipe’s mouthpiece. “Be twenty.”
Rob dug into his pocket and pulled out a bill, then let the folded money fall to the floor. Jimmy Ray never physically took the cash. Rob paused uncertainly, waiting for the handler to pick it up, but he ignored it. Clutching the packet more tightly in his hand, Rob hesitated, then bolted from the stall.
On either side of the road, separate driveways led to ranch-style estates ranging from five to twenty acres in size, most of them complete with barns, paddocks, swimming pools, and tennis courts to complement the mansion-sized homes. Here in the exclusive community of West Palm Beach, located a comfortable distance north of Miami and Fort Lauderdale on the Atlantic, such spacious and luxurious estates were standard for the international set.
As Drew turned the car onto the cobblestoned lane, the Mercedes’s headlamps swept the long circular drive, illuminating the lush tropical plantings around it. The foliage of palms, tamarind, and flowering shrubs partially concealed the white-stuccoed walls and red-tiled roofs of the two-story Spanish-style home. Beyond were the stables, pasture, and a stick-and-ball practice field on the fifteen-acre tract. Drew stopped the car in front of the two long steps that led to the impressively carved entrance door.
“I’ll put the car in the garage and join you inside,” he said to Luz. When she stepped out of the brown car he drove away.
The outside light for the recessed entry came on as Luz approached the door, passing the tall clay urns that flanked the low steps. Emma Sanderson opened the door to admit her. The plump fifty-year-old woman managed the Thomas home, supervising the household help and the groundskeepers, and serving as a social secretary for Luz as well. With her ready smile and pleasant ways, she was hardly a martinet, but neither did she tolerate any nonsense. Widowed, she lived in the house, occupying the maid’s quarters at the end of the broad galleria on the main floor.
“Good evening, Emma.” Luz paused inside the entrance hall, which was dominated by the heavy oak stairs leading to the second floor. The upstairs was devoted entirely to the master suite. The other three family bedrooms were located at either end of the first-floor galleria. “Have Rob and Trisha come home yet?” She glanced in the direction of their rooms.
“Rob is here, but Trisha isn’t in yet.”
Her watch showed her daughter still had an hour before her appointed curfew. “Thanks, Emma.” She moved toward the stairs. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
The master suite included two bedrooms, connected by a common sitting room with French doors that opened onto a private deck. Luz went directly to her capacious room, done in cream and muted greens and furnished in French Provincial. An artfully designed window of antique stained glass adorned the wall above the large bed, but the black night outside obscured its brilliant color. As she entered the dressing room to change into a lounging robe, Luz heard Drew coming up the stairs. Absently, she listened to his footsteps while she waited for the sound of Trisha’s car pulling into the driveway. She was conscious that Drew entered his own room.
They had slept separately for years now, their sleeping habits incompatible. Drew was a light sleeper and Luz was a restless, fitful one, often up at the crack of dawn. During the early years of their marriage, they had put up with the disharmony, but gradually the need for rest took precedence over sex, or more precisely, the quick availability of it. After more than twenty years, it was to be expected that urgent passion would fade, but that didn’t signal the end of love, as far as Luz was concerned. So now, they each had their own bedroom with separate bath and dressing room tailored to their own individual wants; Drew’s contained exercise equipment and sauna, while her delicate ivory-and-amber bath had Sherle Wagner fixtures and a spa tub.
Luz tied the belt on her red satin Givenchy kimono trimmed in black piping and a zigzag pattern of black lace insets around the full sleeves. Then she sat down at the vanity in the dressing room, its mirror outlined with bare light bulbs. After she had pulled her hair back, she secured it with a clip and began creaming the makeup from her face.
From the sitting room, Drew’s voice called, “What about a drink?”
“Please,” she answered somewhat absently, not bothering to request a brandy, since that was what she usually had if she drank this late in the evening. The methodical action of wiping the cream from her face seemed to encourage a pensive mood.
Drew walked into the room as she removed the last of the cleanser. “What are you thinking about?” He set a snifter of brandy on the table beside her and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. “You look far away.”
“The children.” She smiled ruefully. “Although I guess it isn’t fair to call them children
anymore. They are almost adults.”
“That’s true.” He sipped at his Scotch, one hand tucked in the pocket of his blue smoking jacket. “Where are they, by the way?”
“Rob’s home, in his room, I expect. Trisha’s still out—who knows where.” Luz shrugged and idly picked up the brandy glass, gently swirling it in her hands. “Do you remember when they were always running into our rooms, so anxious to tell us everything they’d done they couldn’t wait? When did they stop doing that?”
“About the time they started doing things they didn’t think we should know about,” he answered wryly.
“They don’t really need us anymore, Drew,” Luz realized. “They have their own friends, their own lives that have nothing to do with us. I’m beginning to feel superfluous. Like today, when neither of them wanted to have dinner with the family because they had made their own plans. Or Trisha. She informed me that she invited someone to the party on Saturday. She didn’t even have the courtesy to ask if it was all right.”
“I’m afraid I was guilty of that, too,” Drew reminded her. “I intended to mention to you that I’d taken one of the party invitations from your desk so I could give it to Miss Baines, but it slipped my mind until she said something about it this afternoon. I thought it would be a good way for her to get acquainted socially with some friends who are also clients. Thanks for not letting on that you didn’t know about the invitation. I hope you didn’t mind.”
“Not at all.” She didn’t fully understand his reasoning, since the young woman had just recently joined his staff and therefore occupied a very junior position. She couldn’t recall Drew’s doing this with others, but she accepted his judgment.
“What did you think of her?”
“She is a young and beautiful woman.” Luz felt oddly reluctant to voice her impression, and searched for the right noncommittal words. “She seemed friendly and warm. Obviously she’s intelligent or she would never have passed the bar.”
“Poor Phil certainly hasn’t gotten anywhere with her,” Drew chuckled, looking pleased. “And it isn’t for the lack of trying.”
