by Judith Gould
In the kitchen, he'd confessed that Gerda, Mrs. Reinhardt, had put together the simple fare: a delectable whole cold poached salmon with a creamy dill sauce; an unusual but delicious potato salad with bits of corn, tarragon, and lobster in it; fresh chilled asparagus in a balsamic vinaigrette; and tomatoes, right out of the garden, topped with a locally made buffalo mozzarella and garden-fresh basil, lightly drizzled with a heavenly tasting cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil.
Wyn had opened a bottle of delicious white burgundy that went perfectly with the meal. "It's an Antonin Rodet Chateau de Rully, '98," he'd said. "I think it'll go okay. I haven't really familiarized myself with the wine cellar here yet."
"It's delicious," Val had told him after having a taste.
Now she sat sipping at the wine on the candlelit terrace, enjoying the beauty of the late summer night. She was alone, surrounded by darkness, waiting for Wyn while he made the long trek to the kitchen to bring dessert. She'd insisted on helping, but he'd told her to sit still and digest a bit before he came back with the promised dessert: homemade vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce.
A light breeze ruffled her hair slightly. She'd worn it loose tonight, with a lightweight cream cotton sweater and cream nylon clam-diggers with cream thong sandals, all of it casual but well-cut with a hint of the glamour that Armani knows how to do. Little diamonds glinted in her ears, and a pearl necklace—her paternal grandmother's—hung around her neck. At her wrist was her "dress" watch, a gold Cartier Santos that her father had given her many years before. She seldom wore it, not wanting to subject it to the wear and tear her work would inevitably cause.
When she'd arrived at Eddie and Jonathan's earlier, Colette had been there, and the three of them had all but applauded her appearance, giving her ego a tremendous boost. Their timing couldn't have been better, because her afternoon and early evening hadn't gone well. It was as if the telephone call from Teddy had left her with an unpleasant aftertaste that she hadn't quite been able to overcome, but she'd made an effort to dress for tonight—if not formal, at least elegant and sexy.
Her efforts had paid off, she thought. Eddie, Jonathan, and Colette had practically swooned over her appearance and had immediately demanded to know what the special occasion was. When she'd told them she was going over to Stonelair for dinner, they'd all been intrigued and delighted and had quizzed her without any show of restraint. She'd told them about taking care of the animals at Stonelair and meeting Wyn, and when they'd asked her about his mysterious aloofness, she'd told them that he was recuperating from a polo accident. She didn't go into any detail, however, because she felt that she would be encroaching on Wyn's privacy.
"What about the money?" Jonathan had asked. "Do you think he's really some kind of drug lord or Mafioso or something?"
"That's ridiculous, Jonathan," Colette had snapped, glaring at him. "The man has too much good taste for that sort of thing. He'd never have bought Stonelair otherwise, and he certainly wouldn't have asked our Val to dinner. No, this is bound to be a man of discrimination. Why else would he be interested in Val?"
They'd all laughed at her remark, but Valerie had had to tell them that she knew nothing about the source of his wealth. "All I know is that he apparently lived very grandly in Palm Beach," she'd said, "because I saw a lot of polo pictures in the tack room."
"There!" Colette had exclaimed. "That proves my point. If he were really a gangster, he certainly wouldn't be playing polo in Palm Beach." Then she'd turned to Val and winked at her. "Val, darling," she'd said. "You remember our little conversation about your future? When we discussed Teddy and men in general?"
Valerie had nodded, certain of what was coming next. "Of course I remember it, Colette," she'd replied.
Colette had smiled brightly and knowingly, as if they shared a secret. "I think I already see a touch of the bloom on those lovely cheeks of yours."
Val had blushed, then laughed merrily, but she hadn't disagreed with Colette.
When she'd gotten out of the Jeep at Stonelair's front door, Wyn had opened it himself, before she could even ring the bell.
"Well, well, well," he'd said, looking her up and down. "No blood-smeared lab coat. I almost didn't recognize you."
"You're almost unrecognizable yourself," she'd replied.
"How's that?" he'd asked, looking puzzled.
"You're wearing a smile," she'd said. "I didn't know you had one in your wardrobe."
"Touché, madame," he'd said, bowing slightly. He'd swung the door open wide and walked her to the library, where all four of the dogs and Mina, the cat, had greeted her.
Later, while they were eating, he'd complimented her appearance again, more directly and sincerely, if in a teasing manner. "You really do look beautiful tonight," he'd said, "especially considering how I usually see you."
"If that's a compliment," she said, "I'll accept it, and return it." She looked over at him. "You look better without the big nose and eye bandages. Almost human, in fact."
"Almost human?" he'd said.
"Well, maybe I'm stretching things a bit," she'd joked, "but I think I detect a faint resemblance to a human being. The eye patch is much more becoming than that huge bandage, and you look much better. You're cleaning up nicely."
Now, as she reflected about the last couple of hours in his company, she couldn't suppress the smile that came unbidden to her lips.
"Penny for your thoughts," Wyn said, coming through one of the French doors with a tray in his hands.
"Cheap, aren't you?" she said.
He smiled. "You're an expensive woman. How about a quarter?"
"I'll take it," she said. "But... oh, I wasn't thinking about anything really," she went on. "It's just so nice out tonight, and I'm enjoying myself."
"You didn't expect to?" he said, setting the tray down.
"No, it's not that," she said. "I guess I didn't know what to expect, and as it turns out, I don't know when I've had such a good time."
"Do you mean that?" he asked, taking a plate off the tray and putting it in her place.
"Yes," she said, nodding. "I'd almost forgotten what it's like to . . . well, just have a good time without any complications."
He sat down and looked into her eyes. "I feel exactly the same way," he said. "It's been like being let loose from jail for me. In more ways than one. It's not just that you know about my accident and the injuries and all that. It's more than that, Val."
She felt her heart quicken a beat and could feel the heat of her blood rush from her chest up to her face. "I- I think I know what you mean," she said.
He reached over and put one of his hands over hers, where it lay on the table, and held it there tenderly, then gave it a squeeze. She almost shuddered at his touch, so electrifying was it.
"We'd better eat this ice cream before it melts," Wyn said, grinning as he removed his hand.
"It looks yummy," she said, picking up her spoon.
"Gerda makes it," he said, "in one of those electric ice cream machines, and she makes the chocolate sauce, too."
Valerie took the spoon out of her mouth. "This is fantastic," she said, still savoring its taste on her palate.
"I'm glad to see that you have a good appetite," he said. "I like to see that in a woman."
"Maybe so," she said, "but I don't think you'd like to see the results of a woman eating like this all the time."
He laughed. "I guess you're right about that, but I really do like your digging in. My ex, or soon-to-be ex, ate like a bird. And that was when she really let herself live."
Val looked over at him. "Always diet-obsessed?"
He nodded. "Percentage of body fat was a chief topic of conversation in her set, and a pound either way would make her absolutely crazy. But I think the number one topic of conversation was plastic surgeons. Who did the best breasts, the best lipo, the best. . . well, you get the picture." He looked off into the distance, then back at her. "She was crazy anyway," he added.
Valerie hesitate
d before responding. Ex-wives were dangerous territory, she thought, and despite her natural curiosity, this was definitely not an area of his life that she wanted to pry into. But he did seem to want to talk about her. After all, he'd brought her up.
"What's she really like?" she asked, deciding to venture into the topic. "I know she isn't really crazy or you wouldn't have married her. I mean, bad crazy as opposed to a little bit crazy, which can be good, I think."
"She was always a little bit crazy. Good crazy, as you so aptly put it," he said. "But she started getting a little too crazy for my tastes. She came from a family near West Palm Beach that didn't have much. They weren't poor, but they couldn't afford luxuries. She's very beautiful and sexy and pretty damn smart and saw what Palm Beach had to offer—as opposed to West Palm."
"Upwardly mobile, I take it?" Val said.
"With a vengeance," he replied. "And I actually appreciated that in her. Nothing wrong with wanting to make a better place for yourself in this world, is there?"
"Absolutely not," she agreed, nodding.
"Anyhow," he continued, "she got a job as a secretary in Palm Beach, met an older rich guy from New York with a condo there, and ended up marrying him. Two years later, he had a massive heart attack, and she inherited almost everything."
"Is that when you came into the picture?" Val asked.
"It was around then," he said. "She had some money and started dating, mostly proper-type rich divorced men, then started giving a little money to charities so she'd get invited to their parties. She was also throwing parties at her condo for a wilder set and hanging out in clubs, that kind of thing. I was living pretty much like her. You know, quite the ladies' man, really wild, going from one woman to the next, sowing wild oats left and right. Anyway, some friends of mine introduced us at a party, and I liked her right off the bat. It wasn't just that she was beautiful. She was like a free spirit, you know? Not stuffy and preppy like so many of those rich Palm Beach women. She was sort of a renegade, a breath of fresh air. I found out she'd almost run through nearly every cent of poor old Sydney Goodman's money by the time I met her." He laughed.
"What was she going to do then?" Val asked, genuinely intrigued.
"She didn't have the vaguest idea," he said, shaking his head slightly. "She told me that she was sure some¬thing would work out somehow. And if it didn't? She wasn't afraid. Of anything. At least not then."
"That's a gutsy lady all right," Valerie said. "Most women crave security. I guess most everyone does. Money-wise and mate-wise."
"Yes," he agreed, "and her being different was definitely one of the things that attracted me to her. But things began to change after a couple of years of marriage."
"Did familiarity breed contempt?" she asked. "Or am I being nosy?"
"Not at all," he said. "Arielle got used to a lot real fast, if you know what I mean. I loved spoiling her, but then after a while, she just didn't seem to be able to get enough no matter what it was."
"Material girl, huh?" Valerie said with a smile.
"That too with a vengeance," he said. "Plus, I think that while I was off playing polo or taking care of business, she got bored and started to hang out with a party crowd that dabbled in drugs. She stopped going to charity flings and that kind of thing, and spent all of her time with this really wild set. And I mean wild. Mostly bored Eurotrash with lots of cash, and their hangers-on."
"She must not have known what to do with herself," Valerie said. "It sounds like she didn't have any real interests and was bored."
"I guess so," he agreed. "The first year we were married she traveled with me a lot to polo matches and even went on business trips. She really seemed to enjoy some of the polo trips. There was usually a lot of socializing, big parties, meeting people, and all that. The business trips were a bore for her, I know. I mean, looking at mines and mining equipment isn't much of anybody's idea of a good time. It's a filthy, stinking business. But for a while there, we went everywhere together." He paused and looked over at her. "Then she completely lost interest in me. In every way."
Valerie stared at him for a moment before replying. "You're still hurt, aren't you. I mean by her losing interest in your life . . . and you."
He nodded. "I have to admit that I am, Doc," he said, looking over at her with a tight smile. "She had already starting ignoring me before the accident, but it didn't help that she wouldn't have anything to do with me after the accident. And I do mean anything."
"I see," Valerie said. Obviously, Arielle, who had already lost any affection she might have had for him, couldn't cope with him after the accident. If she was as obsessed with looks as he said, then his injuries would've only made sex with him all the more unendurable.
"Why don't we have a little brandy?" he said, changing the subject.
"Just a smidgen for me," she replied. "I have to drive home tonight. Remember?"
"Yes," he said, "but I was hoping I could get you good and drunk and then keep you here all weekend and take advantage of you." He smiled.
"I'm on call at the clinic," she said, "so I'll have to let you do that some other time."
They both laughed.
"Want to have that drink in the library?" he asked. "The dogs have been so good about not bothering us tonight, I think we should reward them with our company."
"That's fine with me."
He got to his feet and came around to her chair, easing it back for her as she stood. Then he put an arm around her waist and led her into the library.
From their various positions, the dogs bounded to their feet and rushed over for attention as the two of them entered the room. While Wyn went to the drinks table and poured them each a snifter of brandy, Valerie alternated petting the four huge dogs until she'd shown them all an equal amount of affection. They finally returned to their napping spots satisfied and settled down.
"My God," she said, "they're all such pussycats."
"They are with you," he said, "but they're not that way with just anybody."
He brought her the brandy and indicated a seat on one of the big leather Chesterfield couches. "Oh, wait a minute," he said. "On second thought, maybe we'd better not sit there. You'll get dog hair all over your clothes."
"Oh, that's ridiculous, Wyn," she said. "I live in dog hair. Remember?"
"If you're sure," he said.
"I'm sure." She sat down on the couch, and he followed suit, leaving a little distance between them. He slipped off his Top-Siders and put his feet up on the coffee table.
"Make yourself comfy," he said.
"I am," she replied.
"But you've got your shoes on."
"Well, there is that," she said, slipping her sandals off and putting her feet up on the big marble coffee table, too. She wiggled her toes. "Now," she said, "I really am comfy."
"I knew it," he said. "I bet your mother and father could hardly keep shoes on you when you were little."
"That's right," she said, laughing. "And I guess I haven't changed all that much."
"Cheers," he said, holding up his brandy snifter.
"Cheers," she repeated.
They clinked glasses, looking into one another's eyes.
"This is a wonderful room," she said, breaking eye contact and looking around.
"I practically live in this room," he said, "and so do the dogs, as you've noticed. I eat and read and do all my telephoning in here. I even do all of my computer work in here," he said, indicating the laptop on the antique French bureau plat.
"What kind of computer work?" she asked.
"Stuff related to the mines mostly," he said. "Keeping track of production, sales, things like that, and of course I'm constantly e-mailing management."
"So you're into mining," she said.
He nodded. "My grandfather started the mines, then left them to my dad. When he died, I took over and started expanding into related areas. Chemicals and stuff. I'd worked there in the summers since I was fifteen anyhow, so I knew quite a bit about t
he business."
"And your mother?" she asked. "Is your mother still alive?"
He shook his head. "No," he said, "she lived about two years after Dad died. She was so lonely without him. They'd been a real team, you know? She didn't seem to want to live after he died."
"I'm sorry," she said.
"It's okay," he said. "It's been a few years."
"So you're left running everything on your own?"
He nodded. "The last few years I've been able to do nearly everything from home, but I go out west four or five times a year and stay a few days. It puts a face on the boss for the new people, and there's nothing like an up-close and personal inspection to make sure things are under control." He grinned.
"I bet you're a tough boss," she said.
"I am," he said without hesitation. "But I'm also fair, and I reward my employees accordingly. They also know that there's not a job there that I haven't personally done, so they know I'm not just some rich guy living off their labor. I've worked alongside some of them." He paused and looked at her. "That's enough about me," he said. "What about you?"
"What about me?" she said teasingly.
"I bet you had a coming-out party and went to one of the Seven Sisters," he said, "and your father set you up in a nice practice."
She laughed, almost sputtering brandy.
"What's so funny?" he asked.
"Your—your presumptions."
"I'm not wrong, am I?"
She nodded. "Yes and no," she said. "I did have a coming-out party. That part you got right. But I didn't really get into it. I wasn't part of that scene at all. In fact, I wore a borrowed dress, and I didn't go to a single party but the ball itself."
"You were doing what Mommy and Daddy wanted you to do, I bet," he said.
"Exactly," she said. "It was easier than arguing with them. As for school, I worked my way through Cornell."
"You're kidding," he said, a look of surprise on his face.
"No," she replied. "I worked in a bookstore, worked as a waitress, a dog walker, baby-sat, house- sat, all kinds of things. And I borrowed money. Lots of money. Student loans. Which I am still paying off." She laughed, and he laughed with her. "Sometimes I think I'll be in debt the rest of my life."