“Oh, well, he’s working and won’t be tagging along. It’s just us girls.” Lillie silently admonished herself for being jealous and selfish. She had given in to her desire for Swain the night before, but a casual fling would only confuse an already complicated situation. Still, that kiss had filled her dreams all night and lingered in her thoughts all morning, so she couldn’t help wanting Swain’s sexy voice in her ear a bit longer. “Tell me more about the match.”
*
Mary watched Lillie retreat from the kitchen and smiled. “Looks like those two have already become friends. I’m glad. They’re both fine young women.”
“I hope that’ll help when the will is read,” Bonner muttered. He looked up, chagrined that he’d voiced his thought aloud. “You didn’t hear me say that.”
“I don’t know what’s in that will, Mr. Whitney, but I hope it won’t cause more trouble. Lord knows, that family’s already had more than its share of grief. I never understood why their only child cut them off like that and kept that sweet young lady in there from knowing her grandparents. Some said it was a falling-out with his father, but I just can’t imagine what could have been so bad to permanently split up a family as close as they were. It tore my heart out to see how much it hurt Abigail.”
Bonner closed his briefcase and stared at it. “Terrible things happen to good people sometimes, Mrs. Chandler. Terrible things.”
Thirty-Two Years Later
She was my friend. She looked up to you. How could you have done this?” Eric moaned, his face in his hand. “You’ve ruined my life.”
Jim tried to place his hand on his shoulder, but Eric jerked away and stared up at him. “You were drunk again, weren’t you?”
Jim’s hands shook. He hadn’t taken a drink since that dreadful night. Not since the morning he woke up to only hazy flashes of what had happened. Not since he’d had to face Abigail with what he’d done.
When they’d married, he had been her knight in shining armor. She had been his queen. But he didn’t deserve her now. Somewhere along the way, he let money and power go to his head. He had become exactly what he swore he wouldn’t…an alcoholic just like his old man. He had thought no one, except maybe Abigail and Bonner, had suspected. He’d managed to control his drinking. But now everything was falling apart.
Abigail stepped between them. “Eric, I know you’re upset, but you will not speak to your father with such disrespect. Not in my presence.”
“Why not, Mother? Apparently he has no respect for me. He let them think it was me, not him, to blame. Now I’m being sent out of the country.” His voice grew louder with each word.
“Eric, lower your voice. You were going to study music in England anyway. We just moved it up a year. And we’re doing everything we can for that poor girl’s family.”
“You’ve covered it up with his filthy money.”
Jim shoved his trembling hands into his pockets. His head pounded with each angry word that Eric spat out. Eric was the son he’d taught to ride and who shared his passion for polo, but who looked at him now with loathing. “You didn’t mind my money when you wanted a fancy car for your birthday or a new polo pony.” God, he wanted a drink, just one drink to settle his nerves.
Eric stepped around Abigail and faced Jim, his eyes scorching lasers. “You are not my father!” His angry words were still bouncing off the walls as his steps echoed in the hallway.
Abigail hurried after him. “Eric, wait.” She wanted to gather him in her arms, like when he was a child, and console him. But the son who stood before her now was a young man and would have to learn to handle life’s hard lessons.
Eric stopped, his back to her and his words bitter. “How can you stay with him, knowing what he did?”
“He’s broken and I won’t leave him no matter what he’s done. I love you, son, with all my heart. But I love him in a way you’ll never understand until you fall in love yourself. How we work this out between us is nobody’s business but mine and your father’s.”
He whirled to face her, tears trickling down his cheeks “I loved her,” he choked out. “That’s why I’ll never be able to forgive him. After I leave tomorrow morning, I’ll never speak to him or set foot in this house, his house, again.”
Abigail stared after him as he stomped up the stairs. In the morning, her husband would be on his way to a rehabilitation facility to dry out and her son would be on a plane to England. It was up to her to bury this whole mess and save her marriage.
Chapter Twenty
New Bridge Polo Club, which had hosted two U.S. Polo Association Gold Cup tournaments and the international Triple Crown of Polo in recent years, was teeming with people, horses, trucks, and trailers on Saturday. White canvas canopies stood on the outskirts of the playing field to shade spectators who lounged in canvas camp chairs next to tables laden with gourmet finger food and coolers filled with imported beer and wine. Cheap seats in the bleachers were available for the casual spectators.
Lillie and Catherine searched through the crowds for Swain, who had left the farm at daybreak with the horses and trailers.
Dinner the night before had been wonderful. Swain had listened closely to Lillie describe how to make beef stew step by step. Then Lillie was equally attentive as Swain analyzed the teams in the tournament and their chances for winning. When they said good night, Swain shuffled her feet a bit, then kissed Lillie on the cheek. Lillie had hoped for more, but it was for the best. Perhaps Swain realized that, too. But knowing that hadn’t dampened the desire between them.
Lillie was thinking about that one kiss as she and Catherine stood on the edge of the field. They had been searching for Swain for more than an hour. They were about to give up and find a seat in the bleachers when Swain came thundering up, wheeled Domino to a stop, and grinned. She greeted both of them, but her eyes stayed on Lillie.
“You made it. I was beginning to worry.”
Domino bobbed his head at Lillie. “Hello, handsome.” She patted his shoulder, but gazed at Swain as she spoke.
Swain bent down toward Lillie, her eyes a cerulean blue in the bright sun. “Sorry I’ve been tied up. I wanted to meet you when you arrived.”
A wave of pleasure floated through her, lightening her heart, easing her doubts. A small part of her was afraid Swain had regretted that kiss and was beginning to avoid her. “We’ve been here a while, searching for you.”
Swain straightened and gestured to the other side of the field. “I usually park away from the crowds. Our trailers are over there, behind those red ones. Two have campers in the front, equipped with restrooms, one for boys and one for girls. Ask John. He’ll point you to the right one.”
“We were about to find a seat in the bleachers,” Catherine said.
“No, don’t do that.” Swain pointed down the field. “See the big green canopy? That’s the Wetherington tent. Abigail always had a table and big fancy lunch catered. The socialites like to tent-hop to see who’s outdone the other. But I haven’t had time to keep up the tradition. I did have John set up a couple of chairs for y’all and a cooler with water, beer, and a bottle of wine.” She shrugged apologetically. “We’ve got some sandwich stuff in the trailers for lunch.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Lillie said, smiling. Domino shifted, restless. “Don’t you need to get back out there?”
“Yeah. We’re getting ready to start soon, so I probably won’t have a chance to talk to you again until after the match.”
“You just concentrate on winning. I’m expecting a trophy tomorrow, you know,” Lillie said.
Catherine nodded. “Don’t worry about us.”
Swain gave them a small salute. “See you later then.” She turned Domino toward the middle of the field and began cantering him in a wide figure-eight pattern.
“Shall we check out our seats?”
“After you,” Catherine said.
The canopy was large and custom-made, with Wetherington embroidered on the front in a fancy script.
And, though Swain’s last-minute accommodations were sparse, the chairs were comfortable and the beer was very cold.
“I’ve never been to a polo match. I have no idea what they’re doing,” Catherine said.
“Well, Swain did give me one lesson, and I looked it up on the Internet, so I’ll explain what little I know. They play six chukkers, each one seven and a half minutes long. They have only three minutes between chukkers. That’s barely enough to trade mounts with the fresh one a groom brings you, gulp down some water, and get back out there. There’s a five-minute halftime after the third chukker.”
“I guess we just sit here then, until the match is over.”
“Except at halftime. That’s when all the spectators have to walk out on the field and stomp down the divots the horses’ hooves have made in the grass.”
Catherine laughed. “Really? That sounds like fun, but I’d have thought they’d have a big machine to do that. You know, like that thing that smooths the ice during the break in an ice-hockey game.”
Lillie laughed with her. “I’m sure they could, but divot-stomping is a polo tradition they don’t dare modernize.”
Much of the spectator crowd ignored the play on the field and tent-hopped to see and be seen. Catherine and Lillie, however, clapped and cheered for their team, occasionally walking up and down the sidelines so Lillie could take pictures of the play. Lillie was surprised when Catherine let out an earsplitting whistle after one hard-fought goal scored by the Wetherington Raiders.
“Bloody hell. Did that come out of you?” She found it comical that someone so feminine could whistle like a sheepherder.
“My daddy is a huge Atlanta Braves fan. I learned how to whistle cheering with him at ball games.” Catherine chuckled. “I didn’t embarrass you, did I?”
“Not at all. Could you do that when that woman in the yellow jacket comes by to stare at us again? That’ll give them something to talk about, as if they aren’t already buzzing about us sitting here like common folk, drinking beer right out of the bottle.”
A constant parade of people had strolled by, stared at them, looked up at the identification on the canopy, and kept walking.
When halftime was signaled, Lillie and Catherine jumped up to enthusiastically stomp as many divots as possible. They returned to the tent, laughing and walking arm-in-arm like schoolgirls, only to find out they had company.
A woman dressed in a pristine white linen suit and a Panama big-brim hat adorned with a gargantuan white flower sat in Lillie’s chair, her long legs crossed and a smug look on her face.
“Hello. I don’t believe we’ve met.” Lillie held out her hand. “I’m Lillie Wetherington.”
The woman looked her over, from her tennis shoes to her knit shirt, before returning Lillie’s greeting with a limp handshake. “Pleasure, I’m sure. I’m Susan Whitney. I was told you were here, but when I came over to extend a welcome, I thought the rumors must have been wrong. I saw two chairs and a cooler of beer and decided the barn help was occupying your tent.”
“Swain did the best she could, but she’s been very busy concentrating on winning the tournament. We’re perfectly happy roughing it.”
“Both of you are here with Swain?” She shifted her eyes to Catherine, evaluating her with the same dismissive gaze.
“Yes. We are. This is my friend, Catherine Strom.”
“Yes, of course. The new cook at Kate’s little place.”
“Chef.” Catherine corrected her with an equally disdainful expression. “People with taste know the difference.”
Susan sniffed as if she smelled something bad and turned back to Lillie. “Please feel free to come by our tent. We use a caterer out of Augusta, who’s superb.” She gave Catherine one more condescending look. “You can bring your friend, too.”
They watched Susan walk away and hook arms with a handsome young man, who was engaged in conversation with another very attractive young man.
“Bitch,” Catherine muttered.
“Hussy,” Lillie said. “Another beer?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Catherine stared after Susan. “Hats with a brim that large are so yesterday.”
But they had forgotten Susan’s visit by the last chukker. The teams were tied eight to eight in the final minute with a knot of players jostling for the ball just yards away from the opposing team’s goal. The ball skittered outside the group and Javier smacked it downfield. Swain and two opposing riders pursued it, but she was riding Nor’easter and easily outdistanced the other ponies. She lined up the shot, executed a perfect swing, and blasted the ball between the goalposts.
Catherine and Lillie jumped from their seats to cheer and whistle as the horn sounded, signaling the end of the match. After accepting the congratulations of her teammates, Swain galloped over to the tent.
“Ah, my knight in a sweaty polo jersey,” Lillie teased her.
Swain swept her helmet off in a dramatic bow from horseback. “I pledge my mallet to your service, my queen.”
“You’re such a ham,” Catherine said.
Swain grinned. “Speaking of ham, I’m famished. If you ladies will wait here, I’ll turn my steed over to John and return with sandwiches for all.”
“Are you sure we can’t help?” Lillie asked.
“You can have a cold beer open for me when I get back.” Swain winked at them. “Give me ten minutes to wash up.”
She returned in less than ten, carrying another chair and three plates of thick ham sandwiches and potato salad.
“Mmm. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. This is delicious,” Lillie said between mouthfuls.
“You two could have walked around some. Just introduce yourself at any tent and the owners will invite you to sample from their tables. It’s like a little high-society competition.”
“They were invited, but didn’t accept.” Susan suddenly appeared at Swain’s elbow, carrying a platter full of delicacies. When Swain looked up from wolfing down the last bite of her sandwich, Susan planted a kiss squarely on her lips. “I brought your favorites—oysters on the half shell, shrimp salad, and caviar. We have food at our tent.” She quickly kissed Swain again. “And more of everything else at my place tonight if you’re interested.”
Swain blushed, glancing over at Lillie. “I don’t think so, Susan. But thanks for the food.”
“You don’t have to answer right now, but I’m sure your employer and her friend know you’re a consenting adult. If you can’t make it tonight, maybe I’ll catch you after tomorrow’s victory.” She fanned herself with her hand for effect. “You’re always at your best when you’re still seething with battle lust.” Susan gave a little wave to Lillie and Catherine, who were speechless. “Ta-ta,” she said, sauntering back to her tent.
“Bitch,” Catherine said, regaining her voice.
“Hussy,” Lillie hissed.
Swain laughed. “I’m sorry. That woman practically stalks me.” She looked down at the platter Susan had placed in her lap. “At least she left the food.”
Before she could pick up an oyster, Catherine snatched the platter from her hands. “Don’t eat that.”
“Hey, you may not like Susan, but the food is still good.”
“Actually, no, it isn’t. These oysters have spoiled. See how they are green around the edges? They’ll make you sick as a dog.”
Lillie stood to look at the oysters in question. “What about that shrimp salad?”
“It looks okay. Let’s taste it.”
Lillie handed Swain her plate that still held a half-eaten sandwich and dug into the shrimp salad. “Very good. Try it.”
Catherine took a forkful. “Hmm. Not bad. There’s something extra in it that I can’t quite make out.”
They settled back into their chairs and propped the platter between them, both taking another bite of the shrimp.
“Do you think the caviar is safe, too?”
“It looks fine to me.”
Lillie popped a cracker topped with cream cheese
and caviar in her mouth. “Delicious! You have to try one.”
“Do I get any?” Swain asked.
Catherine passed her plate to her. “You can have the rest of my potato salad. You have a match tomorrow. What if some of this made you sick? That would be terrible, wouldn’t it, Lillie?”
“Absolutely terrible. You’d better let us make sure it’s okay.”
Swain shook her head and ate the last bite of Lillie’s sandwich before digging her fork into Catherine’s potato salad.
Lillie looked at Catherine. “I’d give my last penny to show her up, but it’s too late to hire a caterer for tomorrow.”
Catherine’s smile was predatory. “I’ve got the time if you’ve got the money to buy the stuff we’ll need.”
“And we’ll have to wear something other than jeans.”
“I know a great shop in Columbia that will have everything we need,” Catherine said, hesitating. “I’m afraid it’s out of my price range, though.”
“Don’t worry about it. I have plenty of money, and I wouldn’t want my caterer to be underdressed.”
“I don’t know, Lillie. I’d feel like I was taking advantage of you.”
“Please? I need a partner in this caper. How dare she—” Lillie glanced over at Swain, but didn’t finish what she was about to say. She hated the way Susan touched Swain, kissed Swain as though she owned her.
Catherine looked at Swain, who was getting another beer and oblivious to the real reason for their plotting. “Okay. You’ve got yourself a partner. We’ll have to leave now to get it all done. Give me a minute to visit the ladies’ room, and we’ll take off.”
“You guys are leaving? You’re not going to watch the next match with me?”
Lillie suddenly realized what she would be doing. “I didn’t stop to think that you’d be here alone.” And with that woman about. “It was a marvelous idea, but I’ll tell Catherine we shouldn’t leave.”
“I was kidding. Go ahead. I’ll miss your company, but I’m not alone. John, Rob, and Javier will sit with me. We have to scout out the winner because that’s who we’ll play tomorrow.”
Call Me Softly Page 15