by Janet Dailey
All three men politely stood when Luz approached the table. She moved to Drew’s side to be introduced to his two clients, Jacques Aubert and Guillaume Poirier. Each took her hand in turn, bowing slightly over it.
“Enchanté, madame.” Jacques Aubert, the tall and slender one with a decidedly Gallic eye for the ladies, smiled his most charming smile at her. “It is our pleasure to have you with us this evening.”
“Non, monsieur. Le plaisir est le mien.” She graciously returned the compliment in his language.
“You speak French?” His look was skeptical and curious, uncertain whether she actually knew the language or only a smattering of phrases.
“Oui.” Luz inclined her head in an affirmative manner. “But it has been a while, so I may be rusty.”
“My wife is modest,” Drew inserted. “She speaks French fluently. She should. She manages two or three trips a year to the Continent or England.”
The second man, sharply dressed despite his stoutness, his dark hair thinning at the crown, started to speak. Luz had the feeling he had intended to speak in French before he glanced at Claudia and changed his mind. “This is rare, madame. Few Americans know any language but their own.”
“That is unfortunately true, Monsieur Poirier,” Luz agreed. “However, as large as this country is, few people travel outside its boundaries. Even if a second language were compulsory in our public schools, most would eventually lose their facility in it from lack of use. That isn’t true in Europe, where daily business can be conducted in all languages—French, German, Italian.” The list went on, but she stopped there.
“Still, those of us who aren’t well enough versed in another language to use it in conversation envy those who possess the ability Mrs. Thomas has,” Claudia stated, drawing the attention back to her.
“Ah, but I am certain, Mademoiselle Baines, that you have considerable other talents,” the charming Jacques insisted. “Beauty and brains are a rare combination.”
As the waiter stopped to take her drink order, Luz wondered if she had unconsciously attempted to assert her superiority over Claudia by responding in French. She wasn’t certain whom she had been more interested in impressing—Claudia or Drew’s foreign clients.
In the lounge, the conversation remained general, but shortly after they moved into the dining room, it moved to business. As they discussed the legal matters on which they were seeking Drew’s counsel, Luz found herself acting more and more frequently as a translator, supplying English words or phrases that eluded the French men or defining words they didn’t know. On more than one occasion, she didn’t know the French equivalent of some legal term.
Through it all, Luz had a very definite feeling that a “we” and “they” existed. Drew and Claudia were on the “we” side while she was part of the Frenchmen’s “they.” She sensed an invisible bond between Drew and Claudia, a quickness with which they picked up each other’s thought and an easy way they touched each other when they wanted to insert a point or emphasize something. She understood why Drew had said they worked well together, yet when she watched Claudia she had a sense she was observing a territorial intrusion. It made her wonder how much of jealousy was a feeling of possession—that Drew was her private property and Claudia was trespassing.
By evening’s end, Luz felt mentally and emotionally drained. When the parking attendant arrived at the front door with her car, she said her au revoirs to the Frenchmen and left. Drew would be home later after he had driven the two men to their hotel.
The foyer light was on when she entered the house. She left it burning for Drew and went upstairs. The suitcases had been unpacked in her absence. All signs of her recent trip were gone. She changed into a nightdress and wrapped a kimono around herself, too tired and too tense to go directly to bed.
When Drew arrived home forty minutes later, Luz was in the sitting room, unwinding with a glass of brandy. He was startled to see her up. “I thought you’d be in bed sound asleep.” He unknotted his silk tie and pulled it from beneath his shirt collar. “It’s been a long day for you.”
“Not that long.” She uncurled from her chair, setting her drink aside, and crossed over to stand in front of him. With fingers clasped behind his neck, she tilted her face up to him. “And I’m not that tired. I’ve been gone for two weeks, or had you forgotten?”
His arms were slow to go around her. “I hadn’t,” he assured her, but he was slow to accept the invitation of her moist lips. When he did, his kiss held a long, steady pressure, his mouth rocking only slightly across hers.
She wasn’t seeking a wild display of passion. Her mood tonight desired the closeness of his body, the warmth of his arms around her, and the comfort of his love, nothing more. Luz was satisfied with what she found in his response.
She nuzzled his lips, breathing into his mouth when she spoke. “Your room or mine?”
“Yours.”
She turned within the circle of his arms and pressed his hand against the flatness of her stomach, maintaining shoulder contact with his chest while they walked slowly into her bedroom. They undressed separately and crawled into bed. Little foreplay preceded the sexual act, a decision that was mutual.
Afterward Luz lay alone in the darkened room. Drew had retreated to his own bed within minutes after it was over. There had been something lackluster—almost perfunctory, about their lovemaking tonight, she realized, as if they were performing some duty. Luz suspected she had been more tired than she realized, unable to arouse enthusiasm in herself or Drew. Or maybe it was just another facet of this vague dissatisfaction that had troubled her for days. She sighed and turned into her pillow, shutting her eyes and waiting for the sleep that wasn’t far away.
The warm, sunny Florida weather was pushed out by a storm front that lingered for three days. Gray drizzle alternated with tropical cloudbursts that saturated everything, including Luz’s spirits.
Virtually confined to the house by the inclement weather and left alone to fill the long hours Drew spent at his office, she had too much time in which to think about her life and dwell on its idleness. Until now, she had never felt unfulfilled. She had always had everything she wanted. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had failed those around her. She had not become the bright and clever daughter her mother wanted; she was not the intellectual, career-minded role model her daughter sought. Worst of all, all those descriptions fit Claudia Baines.
It was still raining on Friday. Unlike other luncheons Luz knew this one with her mother would not be canceled because of the weather. After being housebound for most of the week, Luz welcomed any excuse to get out, even if it meant a faultfinding session with her mother. No one ever did things quite the way Audra would have, and endless explanations were usually required to justify the difference. It was a trait of her mother’s that seemed to have grown stronger in recent years. Part of growing old, Luz supposed.
The questions began the minute she arrived at the Kincaid oceanfront estate. Luz explained everything—how something was packed, where it was stored and why, what was kept and what was discarded or given away. Few of her answers met with Audra’s approval. Luz’s nerves were already worn thin. When her mother began complaining because they had packed her Limoges china set instead of sending it here, Luz finally lost her patience.
“Why did you have Mary and me close the house, Audra? You should have done it yourself. Maybe then it would have been accomplished to your satisfaction.”
A second later, she was leveled by a long steady look. “When are you going to learn to control your temper, Luz?” It was an autocratically tolerant query posed many times before. “It isn’t my fault you and Mary didn’t do a proper job.”
“But we did.” Luz managed to speak evenly, but her voice trembled with the effort. “However, we did it the way we felt it should be done. Since you assigned the chore to us, you’ll have to be satisfied with the results.”
“That’s quite true.” Audra’s agreement surprised her. “
Ultimately, I am responsible for your actions.” She turned away, signaling an end to the discussion. “We’re having lunch on the glass porch today.”
Never had she been permitted to have the last word in any conversation with her mother. Smothering a sigh of frustration, Luz followed her into the ocean-facing room, walled in tinted glass on three sides. Raindrops splattered on the glass, blurring the palm trees swaying in the wind. Leaden clouds drooped low over the stormy green Atlantic, waves churning and frothing and throwing the sea’s wrack onto the beaches. The gray, angry turbulence outside seemed to match the mood Luz had been in for days.
They crossed to the rattan table set for two, and she sat in the chair opposite her mother. As she smoothed the linen napkin across her lap, the maid brought a fresh avocado salad to the table and spooned a serving onto their plates. Luz picked at it, her appetite lost in the restlessness that pushed at her.
During lunch, Audra talked about the family, catching Luz up on all the things that happened while she was away. Little response was required from her. Which was just as well, since she hardly listened to any of it. At last, the dishes were cleared away and she no longer had to keep up a pretense of eating. A teapot and warmed cups were placed in front of Audra.
“Really, Luz. You could show some interest in what I’ve been saying.” She poured tea from the ceramic pot into one of the cups and cast a reproving glance across the table.
“I was thinking.” Luz took the cup and saucer her mother passed to her.
“Thinking or sulking?” Audra filled the second cup.
“Thinking,” she repeated firmly, and stirred a spoonful of crystallized brown sugar into her tea.
“About what? Are you and Drew having problems?” Shrewd dark eyes studied her with a wondering look.
“We’re getting along fine. Why would you ask that?” It was a subject that made Luz defensive.
“All couples have problems at one time or another. It’s part of marriage. And I know his law practice has been taking a great deal of his time lately. It’s natural that you might feel slighted.”
“Well, I don’t,” she insisted. “That isn’t the problem. Not directly, anyway.” She was reluctant to confide in her mother, but Audra had a way of ferreting out information.
“Why don’t you tell me what it is? I may not be able to help, but sometimes it’s enough just to talk a problem out.” She settled deeper into her chair, her shoulders squared and her back straight, one hand holding the teacup and the other the saucer.
“It isn’t anything earth-shattering.” Luz attempted to diminish its importance. “Now that Trisha and Rob are grown, it’s only a matter of a year or two before they’ll be living away from home permanently. So I need to decide what I’m going to do with my time. I can’t continue to do nothing all day while Drew works.”
“It seems to me that you have plenty to do.” Audra frowned. “You’re involved in so many activities now—”
“I’m not talking about social clubs or local charity organizations,” she interrupted impatiently. “I want to do something that matters. Sheila Cosgrove has that smart little dress shop and Billi Rae Townsend has opened an art gallery.”
“What nonsense is this?” her mother demanded.
“I should have known you wouldn’t understand.” Luz pushed out of the chair and stiffly crossed to the glass-paned wall looking out to the ocean.
“Perhaps you would care to explain exactly what it is that I don’t understand.” The command was calmly issued, but a command all the same.
“That I want to do something with my life.”
“Something that matters,” Audra said, repeating the phrase Luz had used earlier. “And you believe that expensive boutiques and art galleries matter?”
“Yes.” She thrust her hands into the deep pockets of her gored skirt, doubling them into fists, and hunched her shoulders, fully expecting to hear a lecture on manners. Sometimes it seemed they never talked as one adult to another, always mother to daughter instead. “Although I’m certain you don’t believe I’m intelligent enough to operate a business of my own.”
“Now that is not true.” The teacup rattled in its saucer as the pair were firmly placed on the table. “You are a very capable woman, a good manager and excellent organizer. Your household is smoothly and efficiently run. No small credit goes to your assistant, Mrs. Sanderson, but I’m also aware that you closely supervise everything yourself.” Luz slowly turned to face her mother, stunned to hear such praise coming from her lips. “And how many social functions and benefits have you successfully organized? I couldn’t begin to count them myself. I may be old, Luz, but I’m not blind.”
“You’ve always treated me—”
“—as a mother treats a child,” she admitted freely. “Surely you have learned by now that in a mother’s eyes, a child never grows up. You never see them as quite ready to leave home, or to marry, or to have children.”
“I suppose not.” But Luz was still slightly dazed by what she was hearing.
“And as for doing something that matters, what could possibly matter more than your family?” Audra demanded. “Simply because your children are grown does not mean that they will stop having problems—that they won’t continue to need you. What about when your grandchildren are born? Don’t you want to be there when they come into the world? How can you do that if you’re running a business? Luz, you are the anchor pin that holds the family together. Without you, they’ll drift apart. They’ll lose the closeness that made them special. It’s the family that matters, Luz. The family.”
She shook her head slowly as she was drawn back to the table. “I wonder if I’ll ever know you, Audra.”
“I’m your mother. It isn’t important for you to know me. And you’d do well to remember that. Now sit down and drink your tea before it gets cold,” she admonished.
Smiling, Luz did as she was told.
Halfway home from her mother’s, it stopped raining and a spray of sunlight glinted through a break in the clouds. The smile she’d been wearing for most of the drive was still on her face when she pulled in front of her Spanish-styled home. She left the car parked by the steps and glided up the two steps to the carved entrance door.
“Emma!” she called cheerfully as she swung into the foyer. “I’m home. Have there been any phone calls?”
The day’s mail was stacked on the side table in the foyer. Luz stopped to sort through it, skipping the various bills and invoices in her search for a letter from Rob or Trisha. At the bottom of the stack was a slim brown package, addressed to her.
Curious, she picked it up and glanced at the return address, conscious of Emma’s footsteps coming from the dining room. The package came from the hotel in New York where they always stayed. Wondering what it contained, Luz hooked a finger under a folded end of the brown paper and ripped it loose from the packing tape. Inside was a slim box.
“How was lunch?”
Luz half turned at the question, smiling absently at her plump gray-haired secretary, while she finished pulling the paper away from the box. “Actually, it was more enjoyable than I expected. Any calls?”
“Mrs. Randolph phoned to remind you of the luncheon meeting next Tuesday. I assured her that it was listed in your appointment book. She asked you to call her later so she could discuss the order of the meeting with you.”
Luz lifted the lid of the box. Tissue paper rustled softly as she pushed it aside to reveal the contents. A folded letter lay atop a silky black garment trimmed in black lace. It looked like a teddy. With a bewildered frown, Luz flipped open the letter. Emma was still talking, but Luz was no longer listening as she quickly scanned the typed note, then read it again, more slowly.
Dear Mrs. Thomas,
Enclosed is an item of lingerie one of our maids found when she cleaned your suite after your recent visit to New York. We took the liberty of having it laundered before returning it to you and hope this delay hasn’t caused you any inconvenience.
We appreciate your patronage.
Respectfully yours,
A signature was scribbled across the bottom. Luz glanced at the black undergarment again and lifted an edge of the black bodice. It didn’t belong to her. She didn’t own any black lingerie.
“Is something wrong, Luz?” Emma’s question finally penetrated her consciousness.
Something stopped Luz from saying there had been some mistake. “No, of course not.” She quickly put the lid back on the box. “Did you say Drew called?” She had a vague recollection of his name being mentioned.
“Yes.” Emma eyed her uncertainly, not fully believing that nothing was bothering Luz. No matter how long and closely they had worked together there was still that fine line between employer and employee, and Emma didn’t cross it. “He called to say he’d be a little late and suggested that you plan to serve dinner at eight.”
“Thank you.” She moved away from the foyer table, clutching the box in her hands. “See to the rest of the mail, will you, Emma?” She walked to the stairs.
“What about Mrs. Randolph?” Emma asked as Luz’s hand gripped the banister. There was a pounding in her head. “She wanted you to call.”
“Later,” Luz replied without even turning her head, and climbed the long set of steps to the second floor.
Upon entering the master suite, she closed the door behind her. Quick, reaching strides carried her to the loveseat in front of the tiled fireplace. She removed the letter, put the box and its wrapping paper on the coffee table, then turned to the telephone sitting on the end table. She dialed the number listed on the hotel’s letterhead. She had to find out whether there’d been some mistake before her imagination ran rampant.
“Yes, this is Mrs. Drew Thomas calling from Florida. I would like to speak to—” Luz paused to glance at the signature in the letter. “To Mrs. Nash.”
“Would you hold one moment, please?”
“Yes.” But it seemed much longer than that before a woman’s voice identified herself as Mrs. Nash. “I’m Mrs. Thomas … Mrs. Drew Thomas,” Luz began.
