by Judith Gould
Valerie continued letting the dogs get a good scent of her, stroking them and crooning all the while until suddenly she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked up. An enormous cat, a fat, long-hair calico, was not so much walking down the steps from the balcony, Valerie thought, as descending them grandly, her every step measured and regal.
"Ooooh," she cooed, "and who do we have here?" The cat strode toward Valerie, her feet practically invisible beneath her fat, furry body, and continued through the veritable thicket of dogs' legs, rubbing herself up against Valerie when she finally arrived at her feet. She was totally comfortable with the dogs, ignoring their friendly sniffs and licks at her. Valerie leaned down and stroked her silky fur, noticing her huge green eyes.
"That's Mina," Santo said.
"Oh, Mina, you are a beautiful lady," Valerie said. "Quite the madame, aren't you? And you look like you have a lot of Maine coon in you."
"We think so, but we're not sure," Santo said. "Wyn—Mr. Conrad—got her at the pound several years ago."
"She's certainly brave with these dogs," Valerie said.
"She's fearless," he replied. "She had a Mexican standoff with a six-foot-long snake once. I don't think she's due any shots, but you can check her chart. I have all their medical charts here."
Valerie looked up at him in surprise. "They usually send them to us," she said.
Santo looked stony-faced. "I had them sent to Mr. Conrad overnight so you'd have them today. You can take them with you when you leave."
I guess Mr. Conrad gets whatever he wants, she thought. "That's great," she said. "Could I take a look at them?"
"Sure," he said. "They're over here." He walked over to an enormous French bureau plat, and she picked up her bags and followed him, the dogs and cat trailing behind her.
Santo indicated the pile of charts on the desk, then placed them on a corner, where they were easily within her reach.
Valerie set her bags down and studied the charts for a while, then neatly placed them in a stack on the desk's old burgundy leather surface and looked up at him.
"You're right about Mina," she said. "She's up-to-date on everything." She turned around, looking at the dogs. "So it's just you guys," she said. Then turning back to Santo, she asked: "Okay if I set up here?"
"Sure," he replied. "Whatever's best for you."
Valerie set her leather medical bag on the desk, opened it, and started pulling out supplies: four syringes, already filled with fluid, swabs and alcohol, and several boxes of medication.
"I'll help hold them for you," Santo said, starting to straddle Paddy's huge body with his own.
"No," Valerie said. "Just leave them be. That won't be necessary."
"Uh, I beg to differ," Santo said. "I think you're going to be a very sorry lady if you don't let me help you out here."
She shook her head. "No," she said emphatically. "Trust me on this."
Santo saw that she meant what she said, just as she had down at the stables some weeks ago, and reluctantly backed off. "Okay," he said, "but I think you're making a mistake."
Valerie paid no attention to him as she picked up an alcohol-soaked swab, looking over at the pack of tail-waggers. "Okay, who's first?"
The dogs looked at her expectantly.
"Aha," she said, "I think Katy wants to be first. You know the old rule, don't you, Katy? Ladies first."
She began stroking Katy's neck, talking to her softly and reassuringly, all the while rubbing the alcohol- soaked pad on the back of the neck where she wanted to give her the injection. After a moment, she put down the pad, picked up the syringe, and then deftly plunged it in. Katy looked around, but her attention was diverted by Valerie's constant crooning.
Santo watched as she repeated the process with the three remaining dogs without experiencing any difficulty whatsoever. When she was finished, he shook his head. "I don't believe it," he said, "not a single complaint."
Valerie smiled and continued petting the animals. "You're all good boys and girls, aren't you?" she said. "Okay, now we'll have our first heartworm pill. That's nothing. It tastes like a real treat."
She opened one of the boxes on the desk and tore off four of the large chewable pills. "They should have one of these a month," she told Santo, opening the blister packs one by one. "Here's a magnetized calendar you can put on the refrigerator or wherever to keep track of when they should have them. You can mark down today's date and go from there."
"Thanks," he said, taking it from her.
When she was done, she gave each of the dogs one of the pills, and all four returned to their favorite spots to chew them.
With a tiny meow, Mina jumped up on the chair at the desk, then onto the desk itself. "Oh-ho," Valerie said, "are we jealous?" She stroked the big cat, then looked at her more closely. "Oh, Mina," she said. "You have a tiny tick on your chin."
"What?" Santo said, looking at the cat.
"Yes," Valerie said. "See right there, just below her lower lip? A tick."
"I hadn't seen it," Santo said, apologetic.
"Well, it's easy to miss," Valerie said. "It's barely begun to feed. I'll just get rid of it." She reached over a thumb and finger, prepared to pinch off the tick.
"Don't do that!" a voice boomed out authoritatively from somewhere above her.
Valerie jerked around, looking up, but she didn't see anybody. She did see all four of the Irish wolfhounds spring from their various positions and go bounding toward the spiral steps that led up to the balcony.
"You'll either have to put her under or heavily sedate her to do it," the voice continued, its volume now lower, but still commanding.
Valerie's eyes followed the dogs to the spiral stairs, where she finally spotted a figure standing up on the balcony at the opposite end of the room. There her eyes rested, trying to make out the distant figure, his body silhouetted against the sunlight pouring in through the window behind him. He appeared to be very tall and lean. His polo shirt revealed powerfully built arms, a neck thickly corded with muscle, and hinted at an imposing chest. Other than that, she could tell almost nothing about him because he was wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his face, casting it in shadow.
The elusive Mr. Conrad? she asked herself. Obviously, she decided. Who else around here would issue orders from on high?
"I think I can take care of the problem," she finally replied in an even tone.
"Then I don't think you know the animal," he said challengingly.
"And I don't think you know me," she retorted without thinking.
"You're right about that," he said, "but I know Mina extremely well."
She flushed in anger and embarrassment. Who the hell did he think he was, questioning her abilities like this? First the man all but begs her to come out here and treat his animals, and now he insults her about those very abilities he is willing to pay for.
"Mr. Conrad," she said, making an effort to control the irritation in her voice, "if you are Mr. Conrad, I think I know what I'm doing. And I don't think I need your help."
There was the sound of Santo catching his breath, then dead silence in the vast room. It was finally broken by a chuckle coming from the balcony.
"It's your hand," the voice finally said. "Bloody it if you will."
Valerie heard the amusement in his voice, and wasn't certain whether to be further insulted or somewhat placated. She wished she could see his face so that she could read the expression on it, but the man didn't move from his spot. His face was still in complete shadow.
"But don't tell me I didn't warn you," he continued. Then he paused a moment before saying: "And, by the way, I am Conrad. Wyn Conrad."
Valerie still felt flustered, but replied coolly, "And I'm Dr. Rochelle." Not Valerie Rochelle to you, she thought.
"Pleased to meet you, Doc, I'm sure," he said.
"And now I'd better get about my business, if you don't mind, Mr. Conrad," she said.
"Don't let me stop you, Doc," he replied.
Valerie turned back to Mina then, stroking and caressing her gently.
"You'd better hold her tight," Santo said.
But Valerie ignored his advice and continued stroking the huge cat. Then, using her thumb and finger, she reached down and, in the blink of an eyelid, grasped the tick and removed it with apparent ease.
Mina didn't even react to the procedure, but simply continued her contented purr, obviously enjoying Valerie's gentle strokes on her back. Out of the corner of her eye, however, Valerie had seen Santo flinch, then relax. She couldn't help but feel satisfied with herself, perhaps even a bit smug. She had accomplished the simple deed Santo and Conrad seemed to believe was impossible without risk of bodily injury.
"I never saw anything like it," Santo exclaimed in wonder. "I... I don't believe it. She won't let anybody touch a tick on her. Not even a burr." He looked up at the balcony, where Conrad still posed, though he had stepped forward a pace to get a better view. "Did you see that?" Santo asked.
"I saw it," Conrad said. He sounded a little disgruntled.
"She looks awfully well groomed for a cat that won't let anybody take a burr or tick off her," Valerie said with irrefutable logic.
"Well," Santo said, "she lets Wyn—Mr. Conrad- brush her. In fact, she goes to him every day after lunch to be groomed, and she won't let anybody else groom her. I mean nobody."
So the mighty Mr. Conrad stoops so low as to groom a cat, Valerie thought. I'd like to see that.
"But," Santo continued, "and this is a big but, she won't even let him pull off ticks or burrs."
She smiled and gave Mina a final stroke. "Well, I guess I'm finished here," she said, pleased. "So I'll be on my way. I'll get their charts updated and filed, so you'll get notices about vaccinations and so on from now on. Let me know if you need anything else."
"Thanks a lot," Santo said. Then he picked up the animals' medical records and put them in a large padded envelope. "I think everything's here."
"Thanks, Mr. Ducci," she said, taking them from him.
"Santo, please."
Valerie nodded slightly. "Santo, then."
"And by the way, I sent copies of the medical records for all the horses over to your office this afternoon," he said.
"Great," she replied, disposing of the syringes in a special plastic carrying case she'd brought. This little case she would have to put in the biohazard garbage back at the clinic, from where it would be picked up, along with all the other biohazardous materials, and sent to Canada for disposal. She closed her leather bag with a snap, shouldered her carryall, and turned to leave.
She glanced up toward the balcony, and Conrad quickly retreated a step backward. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Conrad," she said gaily.
He nodded from his distant perch. "You too, Doc," he said, then he did an about-face and disappeared down a hallway.
"Do you want a check now?" Santo asked.
"The office will bill you."
"Okay," he said. Santo indicated the door they'd used to enter the huge room. She followed him back through the long gallery to the grand entrance hall. She noticed a few of the paintings appeared to be by George Stubbs, arguably the greatest painter of horses, and several that she was certain had been painted by Alfred Munnings.
Suddenly she stopped, drawn by a tiny, postage- stamp-size drawing of a horse's head. She stood, entranced, studying the remarkable image. It was exquisite, rendered in charcoal, and signed by Stephano della Bella. She shook her head in wonder.
"Mr. Conrad's an art collector, I gather?" she casually said to Santo, who had stopped with her.
Santo nodded. "Sort of," he replied. "He inherited a lot of the stuff and now and then he'll pick something up to add to it. Like the drawing you just looked at. He got that himself."
"It's truly beautiful," Valerie said.
"He thought so."
They reached the front door, and Santo opened it. "Thanks again, Dr. Rochelle," he said. "I've got to hand it to you. You did a good job."
Valerie smiled. "You're welcome," she said, accepting the compliment with ease. "If there are any problems, let me know."
"Will do," he said.
She walked across the stone terrace and down the wide steps to the driveway and her Jeep. She stowed her medical bag in the rear compartment, then went around to the front door, opened it, and climbed in with her carryall bag.
Santo waved from the doorway as she pulled out, and she waved back. Slowly going back down the long drive, she was rounding a curve, then almost slammed on the brakes to bring the Jeep to a stop. She took a deep breath. Shit! she swore. She was certain she'd glimpsed a figure about to step out into the drive. But no. The figure—not an apparition, she told herself—rushed behind a stand of hemlocks.
She felt goose bumps rise on her flesh, and her heart began to race. She almost pulled the car over to relax a minute, but then she thought better of it.
I'm getting out of this weird place, she thought, as fast as possible.
She gunned the engine and swiftly arrived at the entrance gates, where she was buzzed through automatically. On the highway at last, she pulled over for a moment and took a few more deep breaths. What's going on in that place? She wondered. And why is Conrad like some kind of ghost? Staying up on the balcony, watching me from a distance?
She checked for traffic, then pulled back out onto the road. I don't think I'll be going back there, she told herself. It just makes me feel too uneasy. Despite her laughing at all the silly rumors, she had to admit that the atmosphere was somehow . . . eerie.
On the other hand, she told herself, the animals were well adjusted and happy. Conrad must love them, she thought. But, she asked herself, what can I really make of what I know? He had appeared to be quite an impressive specimen from what she could see. She wished she could have seen his face, seen if it matched the rest of his body. She had to admit that his insulting sergeant-major behavior and then his amusement at her obvious anger should have been a real turnoff. Men like that were generally for the birds as far as she was concerned. But for some reason she couldn't put her finger on, she couldn't shake her curiosity about him.
Suddenly she realized that she wanted to know more about him. She had become intrigued by the old place and its owner. Despite just deciding that she didn't want to return, she realized that she couldn't wait until the next time she was called back.
Chapter Eleven
Arielle's head jerked wildly from side to side as Lolo thrust away at her, sweat flying off his body, his grunts like those of a rutting animal. Then she screamed, her nails sinking into his back, as she felt him release a flood tide inside her, his body in an arc of rigid muscle atop her, his bellow of spent passion almost like a wail of pain.
He fell on top of her, and flushed and panting, they threw their arms around one another, their sweat- soaked torsos meeting as they peppered each other with kisses. They lay gasping for breath amid a tangled mass of Egyptian cotton sheets, discarded silk lingerie, and polo gear ripe from the practice field. On the table next to the bed were half-empty gin and tonics.
The air was pungent with the aromas of her Caron perfume, the lavender water her sheets were laundered in, and the sandalwood-scented powder that she lavished on her body. Intermingled with the sweet scents of her boudoir was the sweaty leather of his polo boots and knee pads, and the faintest hint that remained of the spicy vetiver cologne he'd used much earlier in the day. But overpowering all of these scents was the indisputable smell of their sex.
"Oh, my God, Lolo," Arielle gasped in a breathy voice, "that was fantastic stuff." She barked a short laugh and hugged his hard muscularity. "You're fantastic stuff."
Lolo stroked the perfect length of her nose with his fingertip and smiled, his teeth gleaming against his darkly tanned flesh. "I think I'm beginning to love everything in Palm Beach," Lolo said, a hand stroking her buttocks.
"Well, I hope not everything," Arielle said. "Maybe just me."
"Yeah," he said. "Just you." He reac
hed over to the bedside table for a package of Arielle's cigarillos and her gold lighter. Sitting up in the bed slightly, he took two of the long, thin cigarillos out, placing both of them in his mouth. He lit them and handed Arielle one.
She took the cigarillo and sat up next to him. "Thanks," she said, kissing his cheek.
He draped an arm around her shoulders and held her close, proprietarily, but he smoked in silence, blowing lazy plumes of gray fog toward the ceiling, staring off in the distance.
Arielle watched him, aware of his unusual silence and his thoughtful expression. Normally they were chatty after sex, oftentimes sharing their dreams for the future they wanted to build together, the future they would have after the divorce was finalized and the settlement was paid.
"You're awfully quiet, Lolo," she finally said, unable to bear his distance any longer. His silence frightened her.
Still, he smoked silently, not responding to her remark. The lazy whorls of smoke streamed toward the ceiling, shifting about in the breeze coming in off the ocean.
"Come on," Arielle cajoled, her voice rising with concern. "What is it? Why the silence? Something's wrong, isn't it?" She stubbed out her cigarillo in the ashtray, grinding it hard against the crystal with nervous fingers.
He shrugged and sighed loudly, exhaling smoke at the same time. Then he looked into her eyes and smiled wanly. "I'm sorry, Arielle," he said. "It's just that. . ." He sighed again, and all of the energy seemed to seep out of his body with its sad, defeated sound.
"Come on," she said with alarm. "You can tell me, Lolo. You know that. You can tell me anything."
"Well," he finally said, averting his eyes from hers and looking off into the distance, "it's just that"—he flashed a look at her—"I don't have the money for the car payment on my Ferrari this month."
She looked at him in confusion. "You mean the fucking thing's not paid for?" she cried in horror. "I can't believe this." She slapped the bed with both of her fists, and her pretty face contorted in a mask of fury.
Lolo had known she was going to be outraged, but there was no avoiding the issue. Not if he wanted to keep the car. A few more days and the fiery red Ferrari would be hauled off right out from under him.