The Glory Game (15 page)

For a minute, Mary couldn't answer. Finally, she put an arm around Luz's shoulders. “I don't know, kid. I don't know.”

A
howling March wind prowled around the closed and shuttered antebellum home. When the front door opened, it rushed in, sweeping around the baggage-laden man coming out. The quick and curious wind raced to investigate the shadowed and gloomy interior, billowing under the cloth dustcovers draped over the furniture and lifting edges to take a look. Then the door shut and the wind died in a slow swirl of cold air.

Luz shuddered and burrowed a gloved hand under the collar of her coat, gathering it more tightly around her throat. Her gaze wandered over the barren foyer. Its walls were blank, all paintings and adornments packed away in protective crates. The furniture was hidden beneath shapeless, draping cloths. There was nothing in their drawers or doors, and no objects gracing their polished surface. Overhead, a cloth bag encased the crystal-and-bronze chandelier.

At the sound of footsteps on the freestanding staircase, she turned and watched Mary descend. “Is that everything?” She spoke in a low tone. The house was asleep, its eyes closed and covers drawn around it.

“Yes.” Mary's voice was equally hushed.

Together they crossed the length of the foyer. The high heels of their shoes made sharp clicking noises on the bare hardwood floor once covered by the Oriental rug now rolled up and stored away. Luz had a strong impulse to tiptoe, and the last few steps to the door, she did to avoid the hollow echo of the sound.

Outside she waited while Mary locked the front door, her back to the strong March wind tunneling down the long portico. She could hear it rattling the bony branches of the trees that
shaded the front yard in the summer. When the deadbolt was securely locked, they walked swiftly to the station wagon parked in the drive, its engine idling, and crawled inside, nodding when Stan asked if they were ready.

“It's a shame,” her sister murmured as they pulled away from the house.

But Luz said nothing, and simply gazed at the silent house, framed by a windswept sky. The times in that house had not all been happy, carefree ones. There had been raging fights with her brothers and sisters, moments of anger and resentment toward her parents, and the anguish over minor tragedies that only the young can feel so sharply. Yet, the bad times had a way of fading from memory until they were only dimly recalled. But Luz knew it wasn't all the good things that had happened to her in that house which made this moment so poignant. When she had lived there, all life's expectations had been before her. Now she was faced with the reality of her life, and found it wanting.

The solid and efficient Emma Sanderson met the arriving flight. Drew was tied up at the office and couldn't get away, she explained. Luz watched the enveloping hug Mary received from her youngest and the warm peck on the cheek from her husband, and wished for that kind of a welcome.

“Mrs. Kincaid telephoned this morning,” Emma told her. “She wants you to come for lunch on Friday.”

Before Luz could acknowledge the message, Ross Carpenter informed her sister, “You received the same invitation.”

“No thanks.” Mary's lips thinned into a grim line of rejection. “All she wants is a report. You can give it to her, Luz. After being away for two weeks, I can guess at the chaos that's waiting for me at home. I can do without a cross-examination from Audra until I get it straightened out.”

“Aren't you lucky to have such a devoted sister?” Luz mockingly chided Mary for expecting her to take the brunt of their mother's demand for a thorough report.

“I think so,” Mary said and laughed.

After claiming their luggage from the carousel, they went their separate ways. An hour later, Luz entered her home, weary from the long flight and feeling vaguely despondent. Behind her, the caretaker carried in her luggage.

The phone started ringing as her foot touched the first step of the oak stair. She paused, letting the caretaker go around her, and glanced back at her housekeeper and secretary. “Answer that, Emma. If it's Mrs. Kincaid, tell her I'm upstairs changing and that I will be there on Friday.”

As Emma went to pick up the living-room extension, Luz started up the stairs. A moment later, the ring of the telephone cut off. Luz was nearly to the top when Emma called up to her.

“Luz! It's Drew!”

“I'll take it up here.” She hurried up the last few steps and went directly to the extension in the sitting room. “Hello.” The breathy quality in her voice came mostly from pleasure that he had taken the time to call.

“How was the flight?”

“Long,” Luz said, glancing absently at the caretaker when he crossed the room to the stairs. “What time will you be home?”

“That's part of the reason I'm calling.”

“Oh, Drew.” Mixed in with the disappointment was irritation. She knew what that statement meant. It was a prelude to the announcement that he'd be late. She might have been gone for over two weeks, but nothing had changed.

“I'm sorry, Luz, but I have an important client here from out of town. And I really have to take him to dinner tonight.”

“Very well.” But there was no way she was going to spend the evening alone her first night back. “I'll join you. Where and when shall we meet?”

“Luz, I can't ask you to do that. I know you must be tired from traveling and—”

“You are not asking. I am volunteering.” An angry determination had chased most of her fatigue away.

The line went silent for several seconds before he said, “If you're sure, I have dinner reservations for eight o'clock at Le Pavillon, but we'll meet half an hour before for drinks in the lounge.”

Promptly at seven-thirty, Luz left her car with the valet and entered the restaurant. The maître d' came forward to greet her.
“Bonsoir
, Madame Kincaid-Thomas.” He always hyphenated her name. Luz suspected it was his way of remembering
the importance of her social status.
“Votre mari est ici. S'il vous pla
î
t,”
He beckoned her to follow him and escorted her to the lounge, where Drew was seated with his guests.

Any doubts Luz might have had regarding the advisibility of including herself in tonight's dinner party vanished the instant she saw Claudia Baines sitting at the small cocktail table. The brunette had usurped many positions Luz had once held, becoming Drew's companion, friend, and confidante, but the role of hostess at this dinner was not one she was going to assume.

All three men politely stood when Luz approached the table. She moved to Drew's side to be introduced to his two clients, Jacques Aubert and Guillaume Poirier. Each took her hand in turn, bowing slightly over it.

“Enchanté, madame.”
Jacques Aubert, the tall and slender one with a decidedly Gallic eye for the ladies, smiled his most charming smile at her. “It is our pleasure to have you with us this evening.”

“Non, monsieur. Le plaisir est le mien.”
She graciously returned the compliment in his language.

“You speak French?” His look was skeptical and curious, uncertain whether she actually knew the language or only a smattering of phrases.

“Oui.”
Luz inclined her head in an affirmative manner. “But it has been a while, so I may be rusty.”

“My wife is modest,” Drew inserted. “She speaks French fluently. She should. She manages two or three trips a year to the Continent or England.”

The second man, sharply dressed despite his stoutness, his dark hair thinning at the crown, started to speak. Luz had the feeling he had intended to speak in French before he glanced at Claudia and changed his mind. “This is rare, madame. Few Americans know any language but their own.”

“That is unfortunately true, Monsieur Poirier,” Luz agreed. “However, as large as this country is, few people travel outside its boundaries. Even if a second language were compulsory in our public schools, most would eventually lose their facility in it from lack of use. That isn't true in Europe, where daily business can be conducted in all languages—French, German, Italian.” The list went on, but she stopped there.

“Still, those of us who aren't well enough versed in another
language to use it in conversation envy those who possess the ability Mrs. Thomas has,” Claudia stated, drawing the attention back to her.

“Ah, but I am certain, Mademoiselle Baines, that you have considerable other talents,” the charming Jacques insisted. “Beauty and brains are a rare combination.”

As the waiter stopped to take her drink order, Luz wondered if she had unconsciously attempted to assert her superiority over Claudia by responding in French. She wasn't certain whom she had been more interested in impressing—Claudia or Drew's foreign clients.

In the lounge, the conversation remained general, but shortly after they moved into the dining room, it moved to business. As they discussed the legal matters on which they were seeking Drew's counsel, Luz found herself acting more and more frequently as a translator, supplying English words or phrases that eluded the French men or defining words they didn't know. On more than one occasion, she didn't know the French equivalent of some legal term.

Through it all, Luz had a very definite feeling that a “we” and “they” existed. Drew and Claudia were on the “we” side while she was part of the Frenchmen's “they.” She sensed an invisible bond between Drew and Claudia, a quickness with which they picked up each other's thought and an easy way they touched each other when they wanted to insert a point or emphasize something. She understood why Drew had said they worked well together, yet when she watched Claudia she had a sense she was observing a territorial intrusion. It made her wonder how much of jealousy was a feeling of possession—that Drew was her private property and Claudia was trespassing.

By evening's end, Luz felt mentally and emotionally drained. When the parking attendant arrived at the front door with her car, she said her
au revoirs
to the Frenchmen and left. Drew would be home later after he had driven the two men to their hotel.

The foyer light was on when she entered the house. She left it burning for Drew and went upstairs. The suitcases had been unpacked in her absence. All signs of her recent trip were gone. She changed into a nightdress and wrapped a kimono around herself, too tired and too tense to go directly to bed.

When Drew arrived home forty minutes later, Luz was in
the sitting room, unwinding with a glass of brandy. He was startled to see her up. “I thought you'd be in bed sound asleep.” He unknotted his silk tie and pulled it from beneath his shirt collar. “It's been a long day for you.”

“Not that long.” She uncurled from her chair, setting her drink aside, and crossed over to stand in front of him. With fingers clasped behind his neck, she tilted her face up to him. “And I'm not that tired. I've been gone for two weeks, or had you forgotten?”

His arms were slow to go around her. “I hadn't,” he assured her, but he was slow to accept the invitation of her moist lips. When he did, his kiss held a long, steady pressure, his mouth rocking only slightly across hers.

She wasn't seeking a wild display of passion. Her mood tonight desired the closeness of his body, the warmth of his arms around her, and the comfort of his love, nothing more. Luz was satisfied with what she found in his response.

She nuzzled his lips, breathing into his mouth when she spoke. “Your room or mine?”

“Yours.”

She turned within the circle of his arms and pressed his hand against the flatness of her stomach, maintaining shoulder contact with his chest while they walked slowly into her bedroom. They undressed separately and crawled into bed. Little foreplay preceded the sexual act, a decision that was mutual.

Afterward Luz lay alone in the darkened room. Drew had retreated to his own bed within minutes after it was over. There had been something lackluster—almost perfunctory, about their lovemaking tonight, she realized, as if they were performing some duty. Luz suspected she had been more tired than she realized, unable to arouse enthusiasm in herself or Drew. Or maybe it was just another facet of this vague dissatisfaction that had troubled her for days. She sighed and turned into her pillow, shutting her eyes and waiting for the sleep that wasn't far away.

The warm, sunny Florida weather was pushed out by a storm front that lingered for three days. Gray drizzle alternated with tropical cloudbursts that saturated everything, including Luz's spirits.

Virtually confined to the house by the inclement weather
and left alone to fill the long hours Drew spent at his office, she had too much time in which to think about her life and dwell on its idleness. Until now, she had never felt unfulfilled. She had always had everything she wanted. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she had failed those around her. She had not become the bright and clever daughter her mother wanted; she was not the intellectual, career-minded role model her daughter sought. Worst of all, all those descriptions fit Claudia Baines.

It was still raining on Friday. Unlike other luncheons Luz knew this one with her mother would not be canceled because of the weather. After being housebound for most of the week, Luz welcomed any excuse to get out, even if it meant a faultfinding session with her mother. No one ever did things quite the way Audra would have, and endless explanations were usually required to justify the difference. It was a trait of her mother's that seemed to have grown stronger in recent years. Part of growing old, Luz supposed.

The questions began the minute she arrived at the Kincaid oceanfront estate. Luz explained everything—how something was packed, where it was stored and why, what was kept and what was discarded or given away. Few of her answers met with Audra's approval. Luz's nerves were already worn thin. When her mother began complaining because they had packed her Limoges china set instead of sending it here, Luz finally lost her patience.