"Dr. Berger, how nice to meet you! Ralph spoke of you often, and your letter after he— It's one of the few I kept, for his grandchildren. Thank you for the wine," —she raised the glass in polite acknowledgment— "and please, I'm Beth."
"Your talk impressed me, Beth, both as a scientist and a son."
Beth blinked. He looks too old to be anyone's son. She took a swallow of wine to quiet her empty stomach's rumbles. Of anyone still living, that is.
"My mother's ninety-three," he added, almost as he'd read her thoughts. "She's always been a rather difficult person, and until I heard you speak tonight, I assumed her refusal to accept mechanical aids that could make her life easier was pure cussedness." He shook his head. "My colleagues value my skills as a diagnostician, but when it comes to the people I love--well, I sometimes think bats see better than I do."
Beth laughed. "That's true of more of us than care to admit it. Do I take it you're going to vote in favor of Ms. DeLuca's proposal for an invention workshop?"
"Oh, absolutely." They smiled at each other in comfortable agreement. He looked at her speculatively. "Um, I lost my wife a few years ago—no, no," he added, waving away any words of belated sympathy, "there's no reason you should have known; I only mention it because... I just wondered, are you seeing anyone?"
Without intention, Beth's gaze slid past his shoulder towards Karim, who was approaching them. As the two men exchanged nods, Karim's hand rested on Beth's shoulder."You were great," he murmured, "talk to you later.…"
Beth felt herself flush. Seeing it, her companion smiled regretfully. "He seems a fine man. Ah, the crowd seems to be dispersing, so I'll let you go. Call on me if I can help with the workshop in any way."
Beth turned and bumped into a young man carrying a tray of wine glasses precariously borne above his head on the flat of one hand. He swooped it down to her level with a stagy flourish—a drama student pressed into service?--plucked the empty glass from her hand and replaced it with a full one.
Beth's stomach grumbled another, louder, protest, but the wine she gulped to placate it succeeded only in heating her blood. She wished she could find Georgina and return her shawl. As she crossed the threshold into the smaller room in which the buffet had been set up, the unforgiving blue-white glare of the meeting room's ceiling-mounted fluorescents gave way to golden pools of light cast by round brass lamps standing on cafe tables spaced around the room's paneled perimeter. Here it didn't matter if the stain on her skirt had dried. No one would notice it, and judging from the rising pitch of the talk and laughter, no one would care if they did. She took another swallow of wine as she edged towards the buffet.
"How do you feel about spiders, Beth?"
She started at the sound of Karim's voice rumbling unexpectedly behind her. Turning towards him through a spill of light from one of the small tables, she felt his warm breath on her cheek.
"It depends. In nature, on me, or on the buffet table?"
He chuckled. "Arachnids as a garnish? I don't think even California cuisine has gone that far. No, on you I'm afraid."
Beth stiffened. "Please," she whispered.
One of Karim's hands closed on her arm; the other moved across her back, cupping, closing. "Got 'im!" He flourished a crumpled tissue.
"A big one?"
He looked at her, began to speak, then stopped. "Let's just say ignorance is bliss." He balled the tissue and tossed it in a nearby wastebasket.
"Protecting the little woman?" she challenged.
"You could say that, but if our situation was reversed and the creature in question was a cockroach, I'd expect you to return the favor."
"You drive a hard bargain, mister." Her eyes, smiling up into his, were bright as fire, soft as ashes.
"Don't look at me like that, Beth," he murmured.
She lifted her wine glass, sipped, and peered at him over the ramparts afforded by its rim. "I'm a mess. Shiny nose, lipstick's gone. My grandson wet my dress, see?" She spread out her silk skirt, her hands tangling in the shawl. "I almost didn't get here."
"I know, Beth," he said gently, "and I suspect you didn't have time for dinner."
"I didn't!" she exclaimed. "I'm starving, but Dr. Berger thinks I'm fine. He thinks you're fine, too—so does Ms. La-di-da, I bet."
"Ms. who?"
"You know. 'I fear I've been remiss in my duties as a trustee.' " Beth reproduced the well-bred tones better than she realized.
Karim grinned. He relieved Beth of her glass and led her to the buffet table. "I'm afraid I have to desert you—a couple of the trustees can't stay for tomorrow's meeting, so I promised to see them tonight—Ammy, will you take care of Mrs. Volmar for me? She didn't have time to eat before she came to speak tonight."
Startled, Beth turned to see a scowling face framed in red hair. "Karim, please don't fuss," she urged in a low voice.
"I like to fuss," he said, squeezing her arm. "No one ever wants to believe it, but I do. I'll call you, okay?"
"Fine," Beth said absently, her attention diverted by the expression on his daughter's face, which said more clearly than words that Mrs. Volmar seemed perfectly able to take care of herself.
Beth picked up a plate. "You're Amity Donovan, aren't you?" she asked brightly. The girl's head bobbed stiffly. "Your father pointed you out to me from the parking lot one day. I would have killed for hair the color of yours when I was growing up." Don't gush, Beth; young people hate that.
Amity's hand reached out to deposit a scoop of a mixed shellfish salad. "I thought blondes had more fun, Mrs. Volmar."
"Well, I—actually, I've never thought of myself as a fun-loving type of—"
"My mother used to say that sometimes." Amity broke in. "You probably remember it," she added as she moved along the opposite side of the buffet table plopping unrequested food items on Beth's plate with grim determination. "It's from some ancient TV commercial."
Not all that ancient. Karim was right, Beth realized; this girl had more than just an interesting quirk. She forced a smile. "I guess your mother must be blonde, too, then. I'm sure her opinion's better than—"
"God, no. She's a brunette, a very beautiful one, my father used to say. He is married, you know."
"I really don't—”
"Which are you, Mrs. Volmar, a widow or a divorcee? It's usually one or the other."
Amity's question could have been taken as no more than a rude nonsequitur, but Beth felt the heat rise from her cheeks to the very roots of her hair. My graying blond hair, she reminded herself. She snatched away her plate just as a spoonful of rainbow-layered Jello descended. The gelatin plopped quiveringly into a bowl of salmon mousse. They stared at it.
Georgina joined them."Ugh, terrible color combination. Better get rid of it," she suggested to Amity in a tone that brooked no argument. She picked up a napkin-wrapped packet of silverware and a small basket of breadstuffs, commandeered Beth's heaping plate, and led her to an unoccupied table. "Beth, are you all right?"
"Yes...well, I feel a little lightheaded. I missed dinner, you see, and the wine.…" She passed a hand over her brow. "Do I look as unkempt as I think I do?"
"You look fine, Beth," Georgina assured her, "a little more, uh, relaxed than usual, perhaps." She peered more closely at her friend's flushed face: the eyes starred by lamplight; the silver ringlets clinging to her damp temples. "What you really look like," she said, grinning, "is a woman who's just had great sex."
"For heaven's sake, Georgina! Keep your voice down, and here, take your damn shawl."
Frowning, she thrust it across the table, then turned her attention to her plate. The shellfish salad was the real thing...shrimp, crab, even lobster. She alternated bites of seafood with tender cubes of new potatoes dressed in sour cream and fresh dill, plucked a croissant from the basket, and nibbled contentedly at a crusty end. Her annoyance forgotten, she waved the truncated crescent at her friend. "Georgina, do you think it's true that blondes have more fun?"
"Hell no, Beth, I'm the living proof. God, w
ho dredged that old canard up out of the past?"
"Karim's daughter, Amity. The redhead at the buffet table."
"The Jello dropper? That's Donovan's daughter?" Georgina looked around to find her. "What on earth prompted her to introduce that into your conversation?"
"Hardly a conversation, Georgina. She thinks—" Beth fumbled with her napkin. "She seems to think I'm some sort of femme fatale. An aging one, of course, but the thing is, she all but warned me off."
Georgina's ebony brows arched. "You gotta be kidding."
"I'm sorry you find it so amusing."
"Now, Beth, I didn't mean it that way."
Beth reached over to pat Georgina's hand. "Yes, I know. And thank you for the shawl. It's just...I don't know what to think. Apparently, she sees me as a threat to her parents' marriage." She looked up imploringly. "I admit I like Karim Donovan, Georgina, but I hardly know the man! Besides, he told me they were getting a divorce, so why should Amity—" Beth's eyes filled with tears. She wiped at them angrily with her soiled napkin.
"Because she's jealous, Beth. Maybe she hasn't yet accepted the inevitable, or maybe her heart still belongs to daddy. It's her problem, not yours. She's not a kid anymore; she'll get over it." Georgina leaned over to rub away a smear of mayonnaise Beth's napkin had left on her cheek. "And you are a femme fatale, you know."
"Oh, sure!" Beth scoffed. "Me and Sharon Stone."
"Hey, I'm serious!" Georgina protested. "Okay, maybe not the conventional sort, but you wowed 'em tonight, honeybunch, drool-stained skirt and all. I can't think why you'd want the Terrible Turk to creep into your tent, but if you play your cards right I guarantee you can have him." She sat back and crossed her arms. "Put that under your pillow and smoke it."
Chapter Six
Beth sat back on her heels, wiped her brow, and raised her face to the Sunday morning sun. She knew she should have put on her straw hat and a sun block before coming out into the garden—her nose was already dusted with freckles—but today she had foregone all her usual cautionary measures.
This morning, the coral bells nodded fully open above their neat clumps of foliage; the bearded iris' ruffled petals had begun to unfurl; the peonies were fatly budded. She contemplated the spaces left by the Virginia bluebells, all but vanished, leaves and all, as if exhausted by their brief, azure burst of bloom. Yellow marigolds would soon fill the void, Beth decided. They smelled awful, but the roses, especially the old varieties Ralph prized, would compensate.
The roses. Mildew and Japanese beetles, pruning and deadheading—the problems and chores seemed endless. Beth picked up her pruners and bravely attacked a thorny stem with a sigh. The realtor had said a well-tended garden was a selling point. She could only hope a potential buyer either already knew about the huge effort required to maintain one or would forget to ask.
Gardening was like maintaining a family, she decided. Nothing ever went according to plan. Sometimes, like the rose she was working on, an unruly rootstock overwhelmed its carefully hybridized graft. Was that what had happened to Amity Donovan? Had the tribal Kurdish genes inherited from her paternal grandmother surged out of control? A foolish notion perhaps, but no more so than Georgina's attempt to cut herself away from her roots. No dire DeLuca family crises had arisen so far to challenge her, but her parents were aging and frail, and she was the only daughter. Suppose a teen-aged nephew's need to swagger tempted him to deal drugs? Who better to supply bail than a well-salaried spinster aunt? Hey, just this once. Aunt Georgy.
Georgina claimed she'd never lost the smarts learned on New Haven's meaner streets, but sometimes Beth, for all her sheltered background, felt more in touch with present day realities. The women she counseled grappled routinely with problems worse than any her friend had known.
Her thoughts returned to Karim's daughter. Despite what he had said, she wasn't a problem only to herself. A parent's legal responsibility might cease on a child's eighteenth birthday, but the caring was forever. If, to use Georgina's words, she invited Karim into her tent, his kin-folk would come with him. His troubled daughter, and maybe an alcoholic brother, or a mad aunt in the attic….
Beth snipped a withered, distorted branch from a cabbage rose and dropped it in her basket. People can't be disposed of that easily.
The distant wail of the noon siren at the firehouse disrupted her solemn reflections. Rising to her feet, she pressed fisted hands into the small of her back and stretched. On the other hand, she reflected, condo apartments don't have attics.
Her gardening chores done, and refreshed by a cooling shower, Beth decided to take her lunch out to the pool. Unlike many blondes, cautious exposure to the sun rewarded her with a wash of gold not deep enough to be considered a tan, but enough to release her from summer bondage to pantyhose. Clad in a blue camp shirt, tan cotton twill shorts—worn longer now, in deference to the first signs of dimpling on her trim thighs—she settled down under the canvas umbrella mounted on the poolside table, iced tea at her side, cheddar cheese sandwich in hand, with only her legs courting the noonday sun.
She leaned back, unbothered by the yellow jacket exploring the plate resting on her stomach and stared up at the pool water's bright shifting patterns reflected on the underside of the white canvas. She heard a distant ring. One, two, three, four, five. As the answering machine kicked in she sighed contentedly, wiggled her toes, closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
"Beth? Hey, anyone home?"
Beth twitched; her eyes opened and re-focused on the watery light above her.
"Ah, there you are! You didn't answer your phone, so I took a chance."
Beth sat up to see Karim smiling down at her, his teeth a slash of white against his olive skin. His navy blazer was slung across his shoulder; perspiration beaded his brow.
"Have you eaten?" she asked. "I can run in and make you a sandwich—"
"I've eaten," he said, patting his stomach, "entirely too well. What I came for is to tell you the trustees approved the workshop—”
"Oh! Georgina must be so pleased!"
"Ecstatic would be an understatement. Also, you're looking at the ex-temporary president of Peabody College."
Beth frowned. "Ex-temporary? I don't quite—" Her brow cleared. "They asked you to stay on! That's great news for the college, Karim—and for you, too, of course. At least I hope it is."
He nodded. "I drove a hard bargain: they gave me my requested six weeks in Turkey this summer, and I'll be teaching a seminar next fall."
"Just what you wanted!"
"Yes. I've grown accustomed to this place, these people." His gaze grew tender. "To you."
Beth's eyes skated away from his. "And your daughter? What does she think about it?"
Karim sighed. "She doesn't know yet— she left early this morning for Maine to spend the weekend with her mother. Valerie's at Colby, still carrying the flag for feminism."
"But not the torch for you?" Beth ventured, recalling Amity's hostility the night before.
Karim laughed. "Lord no! The less Val sees of me the better she likes it. Remember what I said last night about nobody believing I liked fussing over people? Val decided I was deliberately robbing her of choice. That I fussed not because I cared, but because I'm a—"
"Male chauvinist pig?" Beth supplied.
"I'm afraid that dates you, Beth. No, because I'm an alpha male—among other things." He pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped his forehead.
Beth noticed his longing look at the pool. "There are trunks and towels in the bath house, Karim."
"You're sure you don't mind? I feel as if I'm imposing.…"
The intensity of his gaze did funny things to her breathing. "Nonsense. That's what the pool is for."
"Will you join me?"
Beth hesitated, then shook her head, reluctant to expose herself to his eyes. "Fair skin and midday sun is a chancy combination," she said, pulling her legs up into the umbrella's shade. "I'll watch you—and time your laps," she added, joki
ng.
"Would you? I don't get much chance for serious swimming these days." Seeing her expression, he laughed. "I was on the swimming team at college, and to tell the truth, it's the only form of exercise I feel the least enthusiastic about."
"Think of what you save on country club fees."
He smiled. "I bet you're a tennis player—the courts at the Eastbury club are impressive. I went there for lunch today with the Eastbury alumni association. I thought I'd see you there."
"Heavens, no!" Beth said, laughing. "I left Peabody before my junior year. I'm qualified to give money but not to attend alumni functions. And yes, the courts are good, but these days I play as a guest, not a member. My once-a-week matches don't justify my paying the fees. I'm a skinflint at heart," she confided.
"Are you, now," he murmured.
Beth eased up out of her chair, unable to decide whether his tone was speculative or appreciative. Maybe both. She took her plate back to the kitchen. When she returned with a pitcher of iced tea and another glass, Karim was already in the pool, his brown arms cleaving the water with long, smooth, powerful strokes.
Beth laid the tray on the table. Catching sight of her, Karim pulled himself up on the pool's tiled edge. Water streamed from his hair, flattening it into a sleek cap, starring his thick dark lashes, trickling down the pathways along his torso's musculature into the dark vee of hair that descended into brief black nylon trunks Beth recognized as Andy's. On Karim's chunkier hips the fit was considerably tighter. He shook his head, splattering Beth with cool droplets. She stepped back, laughing.
"What a treat this is, Beth! The college pool is chlorinated to the point of asphyxiation."
She resumed her seat under the umbrella. "Ralph was very particular about the kind and level of chemicals used in it."
Karim walked across to stand over her, arms akimbo. His legs were sturdy and well-shaped; his short straight toes gripped the flagstone. The stretch of black nylon across his groin left little to the imagination. Beth's gaze traveled up to his face and remained there, captured by the intensity of his regard. Ralph had always seemed to be looking beyond her, his ice-blue eyes as pale and passionless as his attenuated body. This man—this stranger, she reminded herself—was of the earth, earthy. Her nostrils flared, as if seeking his scent.
And Be My Love Page 8