A Moment in Time (10 page)

"Hey," he said, "watch it! That's not
replaceable, you know."

Tiffani laughed again. "But seriously, Teddy,
it gives me the heebie-jeebies just to think about it. All that
money. I've never seen so much come in and go out of a place in my
life. It's hard to imagine being that rich.

And the horses! Some of them worth a fortune.
But you know what?"

"What?" Teddy rasped, completely losing
interest in the conversation as she aroused him.

"I've never even seen him ride one," she
said. "I've never seen anybody ride one."

"Probably can't," Teddy said, working a
finger inside her. "They're just a hobby or something. Anyway, who
needs him and his horses?" he said. "Look what we've got here."

She looked down between his legs and giggled.
"Boy, are you so right, Teddy."

"I think we can make you forget all about
Conrad and the freaks out there, Tiff," he said in a whisper. He
pulled her to him and began kissing her ardently, his hand working
between her thighs. "I love that shave job, babe," he whispered.
"Really turns me on."

"I'm so glad you did it," she said. "It's
turning me on, too."

"It's a beginning."

"Oh, yeah?" she said, pushing harder against
him, totally immersed in the moment, thoughts of Stonelair already
out of her mind. "Oh, Teddy," she cooed, "you make me feel so good.
You excite me so much."

"That's what it's all about, babe," he said,
shoving himself up inside her.

"Oh, God," she moaned, "I'm so lucky. How'd I
ever get so lucky?"

Chapter Six

The summer sun was still bright when Valerie
drove up the long, twisting gravel lane that led to her mother's
house, a rambling Italianate Victorian. The house was perfectly
sited in a heavily wooded copse atop a hill that sloped gently down
to lush meadows and a meandering stream. The Berkshires, clothed in
their summer greenery, were visible from its eastern windows, and
the Catskills, on the far side of the Hudson River, rose regally to
meet the eye from the west.

This evening, its majesty seemed more
depressing to Valerie than usual
. Maybe it's just that I'm not
in a very good mood
, she thought, dreading the dinner she was
about to have with her mother and Teddy.

She drove around to the parking area in back
of the house and pulled in next to Teddy's silvery Jaguar.
So,
she thought,
he's already here, no doubt enjoying
himself immensely, telling Mother every detail of last weekend that
she doesn't already know.
Valerie wasn't surprised, although
she couldn't help being miffed, because Teddy and her mother had
long since formed a mutual admiration society. They seemed to
genuinely enjoy one another's company.

Valerie quickly checked her reflection in the
rearview mirror, patting down her unruly hair. It was pulled back
into its customary long braid, the end of which fell across one
shoulder onto her breast, but the top and sides had managed to
create a frizzy halo about her face as usual.

"Ah, well," she said to her reflection,
"you'll just have to do. Even if Teddy and Mother would like to see
you coiffed to perfection with a real ladylike 'do."

She swung out of the Jeep and began brushing
dog hair off the black linen pants and blouse she'd changed into.
It had been her hope that the outfit would match, and thus conceal,
Elvis's hair, which invariably managed to attach itself to
everything she owned. No such luck, she noted. Elvis, whom she'd
left at home in deference to her mother's wishes, was decidedly
blacker and shinier than the black linen she wore.

Oh, well
, she thought.
This too
will have to do. Love me or leave me!

She heard familiar voices in the garden and
walked over to the iron gate that led into it and peered inside.
Teddy, dapper as usual in a dark blue blazer, crisp white linen
trousers, and a light blue shirt with a daring apricot-colored tie,
and Marguerite, a vision of loveliness in a cream suit with emerald
trim and an emerald blouse, were strolling toward her, arm in arm,
their voices animated in conversation. Teddy's hair, she noticed,
was sunny blond perfection, and Marguerite's, a stunning silvery
white, was fixed in an elegant French twist. Neither of them had a
hair out of place.

Of course
, she thought with wry
amusement.

Suddenly Teddy looked up. Seeing her, he
began waving and calling to her. She waved back.

"We'll be in shortly," she heard her mother
call. "Get yourself a drink."

"Okay," Valerie called back, nodding. She
turned and walked to the big screened-in back porch and on through
it into the kitchen.

"Well, look who's finally here," Effie said,
wiping her hands on a towel. She tapped a dark cheek with a finger.
"Right here," the tiny, white-haired woman said.

Valerie leaned over and kissed her on the
cheek where she'd indicated. "You look great, Effie," she said,
straightening up. "And whatever you're cooking up in here smells
terrific."

"It's a surprise," Effie said, "so don't ask.
I'm just glad you and Teddy came to dinner. It gives me a chance to
do some real cooking. Your mother eats like a bird, so I hardly get
to do much."

"I guess she's on one of her diets," Valerie
said.

"She's always on a diet," Effie said
grumpily. "One more disgusting than the next. It's a wonder she
doesn't make herself sick, she's so skinny."

"Some things never change," Valerie said,
and, she reflected, they really didn't. Effie had complained for as
long as she could remember about Marguerite's eating habits, among
many other things, but had remained devoted to her nevertheless.
"I'm going to get a drink, Effie. Do you want me to mix something
up for you?"

Effie grinned. "Thanks, Val," she replied,
"but I already had a little nip of gin."

"Aha!" Valerie said. "I should've known, but
I won't tell." Effie's nips of gin were a deeply guarded secret
between Valerie and the old woman, a secret that everyone knew
about.

"You better not," Effie replied, "or I'll
tell Teddy some of your secrets."

"Blackmail!" Valerie cried with a laugh.
"I'll see you in a bit," she said, heading out the kitchen door to
the butler's pantry.

Scanning the bottles there, she quickly
decided on a vodka and tonic, with lots of vodka. She didn't often
drink anything other than wine, but tonight, she thought, a little
fortifying medication was in order.
My mother by herself is
excuse enough
, she told herself,
but Mother and Teddy
conspiring together ought to make drinking straight out of the
bottle permissible
.

Taking her drink, she began to roam the big
quiet house, going from room to room, sipping as she went. Her eyes
swept over the antiques with their beautiful silk, velvet, and
leather upholstery. She scanned the walls, hung with luxurious
silks from Lyons or the finest hand-blocked papers from Zuber in
Rixheim. She glimpsed the elegant chandeliers of crystal and ormolu
that hung suspended from the ceilings of nearly every room, and
eyed the paintings that decorated the walls. Family portraits from
France, Denmark, England, and America were rivaled by fine
landscapes from all over Europe; plus drawings and watercolors,
some of them nearly five hundred years old, hung chockablock in
virtually every room.

Like the art, bibelots and treasures of all
kinds covered almost every surface. Chinese and Japanese
porcelains, Meissen and Sevres, ormolu mounted vases, flower
arrangements made of semiprecious stones and gold, photographs in
fantastically carved silver or gilt frames.

The house was an Aladdin's den that would
make an auctioneer's pulse race, she'd often thought. Many of the
treasures had come from the big apartment in New York City that
they'd sold after her father died. Memories of her childhood—both
in the formal city apartment and here in the more casual atmosphere
of the country—always swept over her when she came here. It was
almost as if her entire past were contained in this one house.

Perhaps
, she thought,
that's why I
stay away from here as much as possible.

A familiar sadness began to pervade her
usually bright spirits, infusing her with a sense that all of this
material beauty was part of a world gone by, a lifestyle that had
all but ceased to exist, and a way of life that she had once been
part of but never really belonged to. Even the familiarity with
every object her eye rested upon did not dispel the feeling that
she was an interloper.

In one of the drawing rooms she lingered over
a favorite drawing, a Berthe Morisot of a field. Then she picked up
an old black-and-white photograph of her father on horseback. He
looked so handsome in his riding habit, she thought as she replaced
it on the table. She meandered on into the music room and lightly
stroked the ivory keys on the antique Bosendorfer, the same piano
on which she'd learned to play. She climbed the curving stairs and
went down the hallway to her old bedroom, where she sat on the lacy
canopied bed that had once been hers. Looking at the antique
dressing table, its surface still cluttered with crystal bottles of
different scents and a monogrammed silver dressing set, she
remembered the countless times she'd sat before its mirror, trying
to make herself into the woman that her mother wanted her to be. To
no avail.

No
, she thought idly.
I was never
the girl she wanted and haven't become the woman she wanted me to
be. But then, I never really felt that I belonged here or that I
was even an important part of life here.

There had been a time when she would have
given anything to fit in with these people and what most thought
was their fabulous lifestyle. She'd really struggled to be the
daughter her mother and father wanted her to be.

But no more
. I don't want to live like
them. I want to live my own life, the way I want to live it. I want
to be me.

It sounded so simple, she thought, but she'd
found it very difficult to break the bonds. It had been hard to see
the disappointment on her parents' faces, to hear the recrimination
in their voices, to deal with the constant pressures that they
exerted on her. But despite all the battles, she was finally living
her life in a way that she found fulfilling.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the tinkling
of her mother's laughter and the sound of Teddy's doting voice. She
took a sip of her drink and sighed.
Might as well go face the
music,
she decided. She retraced her steps downstairs.

Teddy and Marguerite were standing in the
marble- floored entrance hall, drinks in hand, and looked up at her
as she came down the stairs.

"Hi, you two," Valerie said cheerfully.

"Hello, dear," Marguerite said, her eyes
sweeping appraisingly over her daughter's appearance. She offered
up a cheek for a kiss.

"It's good to see you, Mother," Valerie
said.

"I'm glad you could fit me into your busy
schedule," Marguerite said with a light laugh.

Valerie didn't reply, but kept a smile fixed
on her face.

"Hi," Teddy said, brushing her lips with his,
then putting an arm around her shoulders and hugging her to him.
"We've been out looking at the garden," he said unnecessarily.
"It's incredible what your mother does practically by herself."

"Oh, Teddy," Marguerite said, "you don't have
to humor me. I know it's a disaster, but what can one do?" She
spied Effie out of the corner of her eye. "Oh, look," she said,
"Effie's ready to serve. Shall we go in?"

"Let's," Teddy said, offering Marguerite his
arm. She took it, and he winked at Valerie. "Can you manage?" he
asked.

"It's twenty or thirty feet, but I think I
can manage it," Valerie joked.

Darkness had descended outside, and in
Marguerite's dining room the silver and crystal sparkled in the
candlelight. They had finished Effie's delicious feast of chilled
avocado and cucumber soup, tiny stuffed Cornish game hens grilled
with a ginger and plum sauce, fresh asparagus drizzled with
Hollandaise sauce, wild rice with Portobello mushrooms, and a salad
of micro-arugula, endive, radicchio, and baby oak with a balsamic
vinaigrette. She had just served the dessert, homemade ginger ice
cream topped with fresh organically grown strawberries and
raspberries smothered in a syrupy kirsch sauce.

"Thanks, Effie," Teddy said, "this looks
delicious. Everything was really wonderful."

"Thank you, sir," Effie replied as she headed
back into the kitchen.

"She never ceases to amaze me," Valerie said
appreciatively. "I don't know how she does it. Cooking and cleaning
and—"

"She is good," Marguerite interjected, "but
I'm trying to teach her to rely less on sauces. They're so awfully
rich, don't you think?" She glanced at Teddy speculatively, and he
didn't disappoint her.

"Everything was very rich," he readily
agreed. "You certainly couldn't eat like this all the time."

"Indeed not," Marguerite said. "It would
spell certain ruin for both your health and your figure. And as for
her cleaning, Val, dear"—Marguerite looked at her daughter
pointedly and shrugged—"well, she barely hits the high spots with a
feather duster anymore. I do think it's awfully sweet of you to be
so loyal to her, but I sometimes think that Effie is taking
advantage of me."

"Oh, Mother," Valerie burst out in barely
concealed astonishment. "Effie's devoted herself to you for over
forty years. I hardly think that if she slows down a little bit at
her age, you should call that taking advantage of you."

Marguerite haughtily ignored her daughter's
outburst entirely. She turned her attention back to Teddy. "The
wine was divine," she said, "and perfect with this meal."