The Glory Game (67 page)

There were so many incidents that took on new significance when she looked at them in retrospect. She remembered that afternoon when Rob had walked into the hotel room in Buenos Aires and found her and Raul together. She recalled how abusive
he'd been before he'd stormed out, then how ebullient he'd been when he returned, blithely accepting the affair he'd earlier condemned. He must have been high on cocaine then, but she hadn't questioned the radical change of mood. No, she had been relieved because it meant he wasn't going to make things awkward for her and Raul.

And those hours he'd been gone, claiming he was with Tony. She recalled that he had spent a lot of time with Tony away from the polo field. There had been evenings at the
estancia
when Rob and Tony had acted like a pair of schoolboys out on a lark. Luz suspected now that they might have been sniffing cocaine. Tony could even have been the one who supplied it. At the time, she hadn't paid too much attention to their antics, because she was thinking about later in the evening when she would meet Raul in her room.

All the spare time Rob spent at the stable after they returned from Argentina—she realized he must have gone there to use the drug. It was where he had stashed his paraphernalia. He had rarely been at the house in the evenings, but she had never bothered to check on him because it meant she had Raul to herself, just the two of them together.

Always, always the thought of Raul, of being with him, and it had blinded her to the things she should have noticed. So she drank, never getting drunk but drinking just enough to deaden some of the pain. She had failed Rob.

There were odd moments when Luz knew she should get herself together for Trisha's sake, but she couldn't make the effort. She had lost her son. And Trisha didn't need her. She never really had. She was back at college, too far away to matter greatly.

Moving with stiff care, Luz descended the staircase to the foyer, her hand constantly gripping the railing for balance. When she saw the suitcases sitting by the front door, she frowned in hazy confusion.

“Emma?” she called and heard brisk footsteps in the galleria. Turning, she saw the plump woman as she entered the foyer. Her frown deepened when she noticed the light suit and hat Emma wore. She glanced back at the luggage and rubbed her fingers against her left temple, trying to clear her head. “Is it your vacation time already?”

“No.” The expression on the woman's face was what Luz
had always called her no-nonsense look. “I have quit. I gave you my notice two weeks ago. I doubted at the time that you were sober enough to understand. So I took the liberty of notifying Mrs. Kincaid of my resignation. I believe she is arranging for someone else to come in and stay with you.”

“You're leaving? But you can't,” Luz protested, the shock sobering her.

“I was not hired to be a nurse and bartender. For three months, I have waited for you to come to terms with your grief, but it appears that you prefer to wallow in self-pity. You are not the only woman who has ever lost a loved one. Life goes on. And I intend to get on with mine. I am a social secretary and house manager. I am not going to allow those skills to go to waste. I need the stimulation of challenging work.”

“You can't go. What will I do without you?” Emma had always been there, it seemed, making sure everything ran smoothly. Luz couldn't imagine the house functioning without her.

“I suggest you go to work,” Emma retorted.

“What?”

“I'm well aware of the fact you're a Kincaid, so my advice hardly applies to you,” she replied with some irritation that she had even mentioned it. “But work, a stimulating occupation, is what a person needs when she has lost someone she cared about very much. I'm not saying that it makes the pain or the grief any better. But it stops you from being so absorbed in yourself, and eventually you can deal with your loss. Yes, it would be best if you had to get a job.”

“A job? Can you imagine Luz Kincaid Thomas looking for a job?” The idea was ridiculous, she couldn't help mocking it. “My God, that's rich.”

“I am sure you find it very amusing,” Emma said stiffly.

“Be honest, Emma.” She tasted the bitterness of remembering how Trisha had once described her life as doing nothing all the time. “What am I qualified to do? Hire out as a social secretary?”

“If that's what interests you. It has to be something you enjoy, whether it's cooking, gardening, or whatever.” The woman stopped abruptly and sighed. “I'm wasting my breath. You probably aren't sober enough to remember this conversation. Goodbye, Luz. I did enjoy our past association. Mrs.
Kincaid has kindly agreed to provide a reference, so you needn't concern yourself about it.”

Motionless, Luz watched Emma pick up her suitcases and set them outside the front door, one by one. When she carried out the last one, a taxi pulled up the driveway. As the driver began loading the luggage in the trunk, Luz went to the door.

“You're really leaving, aren't you?” she murmured.

“Yes. I'm sorry,” Emma said, then walked to the cab.

As the taxi drove away, Luz slowly shut the door and turned to face the empty house. Everyone had left her—Jake, Drew, Rob, Trisha, Emma, Raul. Or had she driven them away? Had she rejected them? Or was it a combination? She couldn't think. Her head pounded.

She moved away from the door, her steps slowing as she neared the living room. She looked down at the robe she was wearing, the drink stains on the red material. Her hand went to the straggly tangle of her unbrushed hair. It was early afternoon and she hadn't even attempted to dress.

Work. She laughed shrilly at Emma's parting advice. Who would ever hire her to mop floors looking like this? “Something you enjoy.” What had she ever enjoyed doing? What had there ever been in her life beside home, family, and social functions? There were so few activities she had ever truly enjoyed—helping Rob with his polo ponies, fox-hunting in Virginia, working with Jake at Hopeworth Farm.

Hopeworth Farm. Her eyes filled with tears as she remembered those early carefree days at her childhood home. She looked around the beautifully decorated room, so empty of life and love. She wanted to go home.

Nothing was keeping her here, she realized. Not anymore. With quickening steps, she walked to the study and headed straight for the telephone directory atop the desk. She opened the yellow pages to the airline listings and picked up the phone, dialing the number.

“Reservations? Yes, I'd like to know what flights you have going to Virginia. Richmond.”

Ten days later, Luz rang the doorbell at her mother's ocean-side estate. The maid answered its summons and showed her into the sunroom. Audra looked up from the stack of correspondence
she was answering and lowered her glasses, as if they were deceiving her.

“Hello, Audra.” She smiled sunnily, her heels striking a quick tattoo on the tiled floor.

“Luz.” She rose to greet her. “I thought you were in Virginia.”

“I was.” After a warm peck on the cheek and a brief hug, Luz moved away, setting her purse on the table and clasping her elbows with her hands, trying to contain the eagerness she felt. “As a matter of fact, I've just come from the airport.”

“The trip certainly seems to have done you some good,” her mother remarked. “You're almost glowing with health.”

“I'm feeling better,” she admitted, although the grief was still with her, still haunting her waking hours. “Audra, I want to lease Hopeworth Manor from you.”

“What?”

“And I want to train some of the colts that I feel would be good polo prospects. You can have Stan Marshall—or whoever you like—establish a fair market value for them as they are. After I have trained them, we can sell them and we'll split the profits.”

“What?”

“Hector once told me that you don't have to be an expert at polo to train a polo pony. And I believe him. I am good with horses, Audra. I can give them everything but game experience. Later on, I might be able to work out something with one of the polo instructors at the university. But this is something I want to try.”

“Who told you?” Audra frowned. “Luz, are you all right?”

She laughed shortly, suddenly realizing how carried away she had gotten about her project. “I haven't been drinking, if that's what you're wondering. I am very serious about this, Audra. I'm not claiming that I'm going to become the world's greatest horse trainer, but I need something more demanding than parties, committees, and fund-raisers to occupy my time. And I love horses … and I love Hopeworth Farm.”

“But what about your home here?”

“I'll sell it.” She had already decided that. Ideally, she'd move to Hopeworth Manor, if Audra agreed to her proposal. If not, then somewhere. “It's just a house now … a house with memories. I can't live in the past. Well, Audra?”

“I can't say that I approve.”

“I'm not asking you to approve of what I'm doing. I'm asking if you'll lease the manor house to me.”

After a long, considering look, Audra smiled softly, her eyes shining moistly. “I never could stand to see anything go to waste.”

A YEAR AND TWO MONTHS LATER,
HOUSTON POLO CLUB, HOUSTON, TEXAS

I
t was a sticky, humid Texas afternoon in May, and only a reluctant breeze stirred the heavy air. Standing alone on the grass sidelines away from the grandstand, Luz watched the white ball rolling parallel to the line toward her and the rider chasing it, his mount straining for every ounce of speed. With eyes hungry for detail, she studied the man in the saddle. Everything was so familiar about him; even if she hadn't known Raul was playing in this exhibition match, she would have recognized him. But she had known.

The polo club had touted the ten-goal players who would be participating in the match being held in conjunction with the annual polo pony sale, and Raul was one of them. That's why she had come to the game. Maybe it wasn't fair to want to see him again after more than a year apart, but lately she'd been wondering if there was anything left between them. She had to find out. With four of her polo ponies consigned to tomorrow's auction, she had the perfect opportunity.

She watched Raul guide his mount into position for a shot. His head came up, and she saw him take his eyes off the ball and, for a split second, look directly at her. The discovery splintered through her in little shock waves, but it was so brief that an instant later she thought she had imagined it. Then she saw him swing at the ball and miss an easy shot.

“Buchanan missed the ball. That's something you aren't going to see very often, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers. “But I guess it proves even ten-goal players can make mistakes.”

Raul had seen her, Luz realized. She had distracted him for an instant and thrown off the timing of his swing. A little hope sprang that maybe he'd want to see her. He reined in his horse and looked back at her. There was no one else around her, so she had to be the object of his gaze.

The play continued on the field with less than three minutes left in the game. After hesitating a split second longer, Raul wheeled his pony to pursue the play of the ball. Luz didn't wait for the finish of the game. She started walking toward the end of the field, where a small pavilion stood, offering shelter to the players between chukkars.

When the final bell sounded, Luz stood beneath the shade of the awning and fingered the belt buckled around the waist of her slim four-pocket safari dress. She didn't realize how nervous she was until she saw Raul riding off the field toward the pavilion. Dismounting at the picket line, he turned his horse over to the groom and shed his helmet, mallet, and knee guards, then picked up a towel to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. It was still in his hand when he walked toward her.

She was conscious of her heart-lift. He had changed so little, still a stirring sight in his white breeches and snug-fitting polo jersey, more tanned maybe, a few more lines, but his hair was just as dark and his eyes as blue as she remembered. She felt a little awkward being here like this, remembering the way she'd asked him to leave.

“Hello, Raul.”

“You are looking well, Luz.”

“Thank you.” She searched for words, trying to think of something else to say.

The other players rode by to their individual picket lines and called to Raul, some congratulating him for a well-played game and others chiding him for missing an easy shot. He acknowledged most of them with a curt nod, then reached to take Luz by the arm.

“Shall we walk?” he suggested.

“Yes.”

The pressure of his fingers on her arm was a pleasant sensation as he guided her away from the milling crowd of grooms, riders, horses, and bystanders. They walked toward the shade of the trees, where the initial preparations were underway for the traditional barbecue and dance to be held that evening under
the club's famous oak tree. Their steps slowed automatically when they reached the coolness of the shade. Luz was conscious of the silence that lay between them.

Raul broke it. “When did you leave Palm Beach? I heard this last winter that you had moved.”

“A little over a year ago. I live in Virginia now, at Hope-worth Farm. I've begun training polo ponies. That's why I'm here.” One of the reasons, anyway. “I have consigned four ponies to tomorrow's auction. So far I have two interested buyers who want to take some trial rides. I'm supposed to meet them at the barns in an hour.”

“You were always good at handling young horses.”

“It's a pity I was never as good at handling other things,” Luz murmured ruefully, then glanced upward into the spreading branches of the big oak. “I almost wish they still held the auction here under this ancient oak instead of at the new sales pavilion. I always thought it was unique.”