A Moment in Time

by Judith Gould

  When Wyn finally disappeared into the house, the interloper quickly darted down a path toward the woods, mind already spinning with possible solutions to this problem. It was a problem that needed to be nipped in the bud.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Teddy poured himself a few fingers of vodka, paused a moment and looked into the glass, then drank it straight down. He shivered from the taste and fire of it and quickly chased it with a glass of water. "There," he said aloud, almost gagging, "that's better."

  He crossed to one of the big couches and sat down. A smile came to his lips. On a small mirror on the coffee table were the two long, thin lines of cocaine he'd cut, along with the sterling silver straw a friend in New York City had given him. Although he was alone in the conservatory at Apple Hill, he instinctively looked around him before picking up the straw. Bending down, he snorted up both lines, one up his right nostril, the other up his left.

  Dropping the straw, he sank back into the downy comfort of the couch and took a few deep snorts of air, making sure he got all the coke up there. Then he let his mind drift, relaxing after a busy day and grueling dinner. Whoa, he thought after only a few minutes. This is powerful stuff. Seemingly of their own accord, his feet had begun tapping on the floor and his fingers were beating an erratic tattoo on an invisible drum.

  He looked over at the telephone, then glanced at his watch. Tiffani surely would be home soon, he thought, and he could hardly wait. The evening had been a terrible bore. He'd called Linda and Barry Miller, clients of his who lived up here, to discuss their stock portfolio. When he let slip that Valerie was busy and wouldn't be coming over to his place, they'd very kindly invited him to dinner. He thought the Millers were loathsome, if cultivated, nouveau riche, and he hated their endless discussions of art and music and politics and civic responsibility. He'd gone, however, and been his most charming, of course, because they'd invested a lot of money with him. And he was after them to invest a lot more.

  Well, he thought, at least I managed to insult that old witch, Colette Richards. He laughed aloud. He really didn't care because, although she was one loaded old lady, he knew he'd never get his mitts on her money. She had blue-chip, blue-blooded money managers on three continents.

  He wondered what she would tell Val about the call, but then decided he didn't really care about that either. He could always pull the wool over good, trusting, naive Val's eyes, couldn't he? Always had, he told himself.

  He looked at his watch again, then reached over for the telephone. He punched in Tiffani's number.

  "Hello?" she answered.

  "Hey, babe," he said, "where you been? Why didn't you call me? I've been waiting for you."

  "Oh, Teddy," she cooed, "I'm so glad you called. I just listened to my messages and was getting ready to call you. I went over to Billy's. You know, the bar where I used to work."

  "Yeah?" he said. "What were you doing over there?"

  She giggled. "Just having a few drinks with the girls. You know, ladies' night out."

  "Yeah?" he said. "Well, what about spending a little time with a man?"

  She giggled again. "I'll be ready and waiting."

  "I'll be over there in about fifteen minutes," he said.

  "I'll be here," she replied.

  Teddy went back over to the drinks table and poured himself another few fingers of vodka. One good thing about coke, he thought, is that you can drink and drink and never feel drunk. He downed the vodka, shivered as before, then quickly drank a big swallow of water. He set the glass back down on the table and retraced his steps to the coffee table. He picked up the mirror, silver straw, and the little plastic bag of cocaine, and shoved them into his trouser pocket.

  He could already feel his body responding to his excitement about the night that lay ahead. Just the thought of seeing Tiffani, hearing her voice, thinking about what they'd do—he never failed to get aroused. He strode to the entrance hall, grabbed his keys off a console there, and sauntered out to the Jaguar.

  Troubles? he thought, smiling with pride at his sleek machine. What troubles? Teddy de Mornay doesn't have a worry in the world. Not tonight he doesn't. He laughed aloud again and got in the car. No, siree. He's got a hot date. That's what he's got.

  Arielle put the remote telephone up on the swimming pool's coral stone coping and turned around to face Lolo, her arms spread out on the coping, her breasts bobbing on the water's surface. She looked at him teasingly, her sensuous lips parting in a smile. "Guess what?" she said, flipping water at him with a finger.

  "What?" he asked.

  "Bibi and Joe Whitman are flying us up to Saratoga," she said. "We're invited to use their guest house as long as we want."

  "Great!" Lolo responded. "When are they leaving?"

  "They're already there," Arielle said. "They're sending their jet down to pick us up tomorrow."

  Lolo swam over and placed an arm on each of hers, pushing his body up against hers in the water. "You know what that means, don't you?" he said.

  "What? That we have to hurry and pack?" Arielle asked with a laugh.

  Lolo nibbled at her neck. "You know what I mean," he said. "The jet has a nice bedroom, and we can have fun all the way to Saratoga."

  Arielle laughed again. "I knew you'd be thinking about all of the really important logistics," she said. She kicked her legs out and scissored them around his ass.

  "That's me, for sure," Lolo said. "Always practical." He buried his head in her breasts, licking and kissing her, underwater, then above the water's surface.

  "Hmmmmm," Arielle moaned. "That feels so good, Lolo."

  He came up for air and placed his lips on hers, kissing her hungrily, pushing himself against her, his desire for her precluding any further conversation.

  Arielle threw her arms around his neck, pulling him against her greedy body, abandoning herself to pleasure. He was already aroused, and she gasped when she felt his manhood brush against her nakedness.

  Lolo moved his right hand down between her thighs and began rubbing her there. His breath became more rapid, his desire mounting as he felt her distended readiness. Putting his arms under her knees, he lifted her legs, then entered her, and Arielle trembled all over as she felt him inside her.

  Lolo began moving in and out, slowly at first, teasing her with long strokes of his engorged cock, taking his time, enjoying the little whimpers and sighs and moans that escaped her lips as he moved in and out, in and out, until he couldn't hold off any longer. He suddenly began to speed up, pumping at her with more vigor, and Arielle began to moan louder, then begged him for more, her desire for him overcoming any urge to hold back. She gave herself up to him entirely, her body starved, and began moving wildly against him as he began to thrust into her with abandon, his body demanding release.

  Suddenly he groaned hoarsely and rammed into her, virtually impaling her on his throbbing cock as he heaved his juices into her in explosion after explosion. Arielle screamed when she felt his release, and her entire body spasmed against him in a monumental climax, wave after wave of contractions sending her into an orbit she had never known before. They clung to one another, gasping for breath and shuddering with pleasure, their lips meeting again in a kiss before their bodies parted.

  When he could finally speak, Lolo said, "See what we have to look forward to in the jet tomorrow?"

  Arielle sighed with pleasure. "Oh, yes," she breathed. "And tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. "

  And she thought: Yes, Lolo, my love. There'll be plenty of time for this, a whole lifetime. I'll see to that. But we have a mission, too. Only you don't know it. Not yet.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wyn poured himself a cup of coffee in the library and began pacing the floor, lost in thought, as he sipped from the steaming mug. He was still worried about Layla. It was early in the morning, not long past dawn, but he had already been down to the stables and checked on the sick horse. She appeared to be somewhat better, perhaps less swollen and not in as much distress,
but he wasn't really certain.

  He strode over to his desk and started to call for Santo when the giant lumbered through the library door.

  "I was just getting ready to call you," Wyn said, looking over at him.

  "You're up awfully early this morning," Santo said somewhat grumpily. He was hungover from his night out and would have liked a little time to himself this morning. He'd already taken some aspirin to help chase away the incessant pounding in his head, and now he needed a lot of coffee before the day's activities began.

  "I want you to get on the phone and get hold of that vet," Wyn said. "Valerie Rochelle."

  "Now?" Santo asked. "The place isn't even open yet, Wyn."

  "Then leave a message for her," Wyn said. "I want her to take a look at Layla this morning as soon as possible."

  "What's the problem with Layla?" Santo asked.

  "Oh, I forgot you weren't here last night," Wyn said pointedly. "When you bought her, she'd apparently had strangle. Then you vaccinated her, and now she's having a massive reaction to the vaccination."

  "Aw, jeez," Santo said, his headache suddenly getting worse. "I had no idea—"

  "That's why things like lineage and medical records are so important in this business, Santo," Wyn said sharply.

  "I'm sorry," Santo said, "but I had no idea. She looked—"

  "Just get on the phone and get that vet here as soon as possible," Wyn interjected.

  Without another word, Santo picked up the address book on the desk and flipped through it until he found the clinic's number. He picked up the telephone and dialed. When the service answered, he left a message for Dr. Rochelle to call as soon as possible regarding Layla. He hung up and shrugged. "I left a message," he said. "There's nobody in yet."

  "Okay," Wyn said. "I'm going to go upstairs and get cleaned up and change clothes. When she calls, you tell her to get out here pronto. Got it?"

  "Yes," Santo said, "I've got it."

  He watched as Wyn climbed the spiral stairs to the hallway that led to his bedroom. What the hell's gotten into him? he wondered. He's hardly worn anything but sweats for months and doesn't bother cleaning up half the time. It did not look like a promising day at Stonelair.

  Valerie parked near the stable office and, carryall and medical bag in hand, she strode to the door, hoping that Layla hadn't taken a turn for the worse.

  Santo Ducci stood up when she entered the office. "Good morning," he said.

  "Good morning, Santo," Valerie said. "Layla's in her stall, I take it?"

  He nodded. "You can go on back."

  "Thanks," Val said. She went through to the tack room, then on into the stable, walking down the length of stalls to Layla's.

  When she got there, the stall door was open, and Wyn was sitting on a stool intently looking at Layla. "Hi, there," Valerie said.

  He looked up. "Hi, Doc," he said, standing up.

  Valerie was momentarily nonplussed. He had taken off the mask and left his bandaged face exposed. She wanted to study it closely in the light to see how serious the damage was, but she didn't say anything. Not now, she thought. First things first. Her immediate responsibility was to Layla.

  "Okay," she said, "what's going on here? Has Layla taken a turn for the worse?"

  "That's why I called you," he said. "I don't really know. I came down here early this morning and then again a little while ago, but I can't be sure if there's any change or not. I don't mean to be an alarmist, but I want your opinion."

  "I don't think you're being an alarmist," Valerie said. "She was in acute distress last night. Let me just have a good look." First she examined Layla's neck, then she got down on all fours and studied each of her legs in turn, gingerly feeling for swelling and looking for signs of hemorrhaging.

  When she was finished, she stood back up and looked at Wyn. "You know what?"

  "What?" Wyn asked.

  "It's working," Valerie said happily. "The swelling has already gone down considerably and the hemorrhaging has stopped completely. I think she's going to pull through with flying colors."

  Wyn breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God," he said. "I was making myself crazy trying to decide, but I honestly couldn't tell whether there was any difference this morning or not."

  "It's not an easy call in such a short period of time," Valerie replied, "but I'm more than satisfied with her progress overnight. She'll pull through."

  "Thanks, Doc," Wyn said. "I really appreciate you coming all the way out here."

  "That's what I'm here for," Valerie said.

  "Well, as long as you are here," Wyn said, "could I offer you a quick cup of coffee or something?"

  Valerie didn't even take the time to think about it, though she had a busy schedule today. "Sure," she said. "I'd like that."

  "Why don't we go up to the house?" Wyn suggested.

  "Okay."

  They sat on a big couch in the library, the four Irish wolfhounds lounging on the floor around them. Sunlight streamed through the French doors, and Valerie could see his face clearly now. He wore a bandage across his forehead, a large one across his nose, and one eye was completely bandaged over.

  "You look a lot better without the mask," she said quietly.

  "Do you mean that?" he asked.

  She nodded. "Definitely." She paused a moment, then asked, "Do you mind if I take a closer look?"

  "No, I don't mind," Wyn said, surprising himself.

  Valerie set her mug on the coffee table, then scooted across the couch. She examined his face closely, lightly brushing her fingertips across the exposed skin. "Very light scarring," she concluded. "Dermabrasion would take care of most of it, if you wanted to bother. Personally, I wouldn't even bother with that."

  "Are you serious?" he asked.

  "Absolutely," she said, nodding her head. "May I look at the bandaged areas?"

  "Go ahead," he said, deciding to trust her. "You've gone this far."

  Valerie lifted one end of the forehead bandage, looked at the wound beneath it, then carefully secured the bandage again. She followed suit with the other bandages, making certain they were properly replaced. When she was finished, she sat staring at his face for a while.

  "What is it?" Wyn asked. "What do you think?"

  "You're healing remarkably well," she said, "and I don't think there's going to be much evidence that you ever had an accident. Very minor scarring, if any."

  "You don't have to try to let me down easy, Doc," he said. "I can take the truth."

  "That's exactly what I'm giving you," she said seriously. "Oh, your nose may look like you've been in a fight or something, but other than that..." She shrugged. "Your looks are hardly going to have changed. I might add that you've got great plastic surgeons."

  He sat in silence, digesting her words. "You really do mean that, don't you?" he finally said.

  "I think that it's not half as bad as you think," she said, carefully choosing her words. She reached over and touched his hand. "I think that there are other, more serious scars you've got to deal with, and they're making these seem a lot worse than they are."

  He looked down at her hand on his and sighed heavily. "Maybe you're right, Doc," he said softly. He looked up at her. "Maybe you're right."

  Wyn showed Valerie to her car, watching until the Jeep had disappeared from view. He walked back to the library and sat down at his desk, where he booted up the computer. It's time I e-mailed the men out West, he thought. See what's going on. Stay on top of things.

  Santo stood at one of the French doors, staring at his boss. He noticed that Wyn wasn't wearing the mask or his customary baseball cap and that his hair was carefully combed. Then he took in the clean knit polo shirt, the crisp chinos, and shiny loafers.

  Something's definitely going on, Santo thought. Something I don't think I like.

  He stepped into the room and approached the desk.

  "Want to go over today's schedule now?" he asked Wyn.

  "Sure," Wyn said. "It'd be a good idea befor
e I start my E-mails."

  "I'll go get your meds first," Santo said, starting for the spiral staircase.

  "Santo," Wyn called to him.

  Santo turned around and looked at him. "Yes?"

  "I don't want the shots anymore," Wyn said.

  "You—?"

  "You heard me," Wyn said. "No more shots. You can get rid of the stuff."

  Santo stood, rooted to the spot. Is it that damn vet? he wondered. Could she be causing all these changes? Could some bitch like her waltz in here and waltz away with everything, Wyn included?

  He had some serious thinking to do, some very serious thinking. About his future. Wyn's future. And Valerie Rochelle's.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Marguerite gave Effie strict instructions. She was to serve lunch on the screened-in porch as she normally would, then disappear for the duration of the afternoon. She was not to serve dessert, nor was she to clear the table. Marguerite would see to these things herself.

  "I don't understand," Effie protested, unaccustomed to any variation in her work routine. "I always serve the dessert and clean up afterward. Why are you—?"

  "Shush!" Marguerite commanded, a long slender hand held straight up in the air. Her eyebrows were arched, and her emerald eyes glistened with intensity. "You are not to question me, Effie. You are to do as I say. As soon as you've served lunch, leave. Go into the village and shop or go have a drink somewhere."

  "A drink! But—" Effie started to protest.

  "Oh, do come off it," Marguerite exclaimed. "I know you swill gin half the day, and I really don't care. But I do want you gone this afternoon. I don't care where you go, just go!"

  Effie would do as she was told, though she pouted in the kitchen until Teddy had swept in to say hello when he arrived for lunch. "Oh, I'm so glad you're here," she told him, looking him up and down with pleasure. He was wearing a jacket and tie, an outfit most would consider overkill for a lunch in the country, but not Marguerite de la Rochelle or Teddy. "You look nice," Effie said.