The Ladies Farm (19 page)

“Unless, of course, we meet it,” Kat said. “And assuming, of course, you have Barbara’s cooperation.”

“I intend to talk with her as soon as I can.”

But not before we talk with her, Della vowed. Because if Barbara won’t sell, if Barbara’s giving us her half—“You also should know,” Hugh Jr. was saying, “that Castleburg’s talked to the Huttos.”

“The Huttos? But there’s no—”

“No point to us arguing about it, is there?” Kat cut her off.

“I’ll call Barbara this afternoon,” Hugh Jr. told them. “Maybe come out later this week.” He sipped cautiously. Then he smiled. “I
think Barbara will go along with what we want: I think she owes us that much.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kat.

“Hugh—” Della started.

Hugh Jr. pulled one of the journals off the top of the stack before him and slid it across the table. “Read all about it.”

“Hugh,” Della said, “the Morrisons were good friends of your parents. If they hadn’t bailed them out, time after time, your parents could never have held onto Sydon House.”

“They lent my parents money,” Hugh stated. “My parents paid back every penny.”

“Read all about what?” Kat said.

“Barbara and my dad.”

“What?”

Della shot a look at Kat, then plunged in. “Hugh, your father had a one-night stand with Barbara years and years ago. Your parents got over it. The Morrisons got over it. It didn’t mean anything then, and it doesn’t mean anything now.”

“Barbara cheated on Richard?” The journal lay untouched on the glass table.

“Barbara and Richard lent your parents money at a time when no bank ever would,” Della recited. “They refused to accept any interest, and they never once requested repayment.”

“If it weren’t for Barbara,” said Hugh Jr., “we would never have moved out to Sydonia. That’s why my mother agreed to that harebrained scheme, that’s why she gave up her museum job: to get away from the Morrisons.”

“Barbara Morrison and Hugh Freschatte had an affair?”

“One night hardly qualifies as an affair,” Della snapped. “Obviously, Pauline found it in her heart to forgive Hugh. And Barbara.”

“That’s what she told you,” Hugh Jr. said. “But it tore her heart out when Barbara came back and she saw that amethyst my father gave Barbara.”

“Your father gave that amethyst to Richard. As a gesture of friendship, to enable Richard to create a spectacular gift for Richard to give to his wife.”

“Yeah, sure. Just because that wife was someone my father fucked!”

“A reconciliation gift,” Della emphasized, ignoring Kat and wondering if Hugh Jr. expected her to chastise him for his language. “A sign that Richard and Barbara still loved one another, no matter what had happened between them.”

“Hugh, your mother kept these things from you because she didn’t want to hurt you … or anyone else. She wanted the past to stay the past. She wanted you—and us—to live in the present. To do what is right now. And Hugh, doing what’s right means letting us—all of us, including Barbara—stay at the Ladies Farm. Your mother welcomed Barbara to the Ladies Farm. I’m sure she would want us,” Della looked at Kat, “all of us, to do the same.”

“You mean, I should accept a low bid from you so you can turn around and sell it to Castleburg yourself?”

This time, he met her gaze after she glanced once again at the stack of journals piled in front of him. “Want to see the one about you?”

Hugh Jr. was pulling another journal from the stack.

Kat was staring at Della. “You slept with Hugh?”

“No.”

“Della?”

Della looked across the table at Kat. “I had an affair with Richard,” she told her friend. “After I divorced Tony.” She felt Hugh Jr.’s gaze, but she kept her eyes on Kat. “I was with him the morning before he died. I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you when … I couldn’t tell you.”

Kat was out the door before Della could say she was sorry one more time.

Della caught up with Kat in the ladies’ room off the lobby.

“Get out,” ordered Kat, disappearing into the handicap stall.

“No.”

Della rapped on the closed door of the stall. “I don’t hear any peeing in there.”

“Go to hell.”

“Come on, Kat. I know you’re pissed, no pun intended, but you’re going to have to come out sometime, and I’ll be here when you do. So come out now, so we can talk.”

“Go to hell.”

“Kat!” Della banged on the door.

There was silence. “Okay.” Della sniffed. “I can wait.”

She returned to the mirror and combed her hair. She powdered her face and rubbed on blusher. “You got any under-eye cover-up?” she called out, but she wasn’t surprised when she received no answer.

Della stepped back from the mirror and eyed the closed stall door. “Kat?” she called out once more. “You don’t come out, I’m coming in.”

She hooked her purse over her jacket on the corner of the door of the vacant stall. Then she knelt down, rolled onto her back and slid into the locked stall. “Why hi!” she greeted her pal, who sat, fully clothed, on the only place there was to sit. “Imagine finding you here.”

Della flipped over onto her stomach and crawled fully into the stall. “Get out,” hissed Kat.

Della shook her head, drew herself up until she was seated on the floor with her back against the tile wall. “Kat, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t tell you without hurting you; I never thought anyone would know.”

Outside the stall, the door to the ladies’ room opened and someone entered.

“Excuse me?” Kat called out. “Excuse me, could you call the security guard? I’m being invaded here. Assaulted.”

Della scrambled up. “Kat!”

“Help! Help me, please!” Kat called, but they both heard the woman step into the third stall and lock the door.

Della seized Kat and pulled her up. “C’mon!” she said, throwing the latch. “We gotta run!”

Kat resisted for a second, then, maybe considering her position, grasped Della’s hand and followed; and the two of them, hand in hand, stopped only to retrieve Della’s jacket and purse, and then they fled.

Barbara supposed Hugh Jr. had called her because he wanted her to agree to meet with him before Kat and Della could get to her. She wondered why he was in such a hurry, and she suspected that he was worried about something, but none of that mattered. She would still get a chance to talk to Della and Kat before he met her for breakfast in Sydonia the next day.

But when Della returned, Kat was not with her. “She’s spending the night at the Worthington,” Della told her. Barbara saw that thin-lipped scowl and she didn’t question further, but it was obvious enough things hadn’t gone well. “Castleburg’s offered him two-eighty for Pauline’s share. Even if we meet it,” Della clipped each word out, “we’ll still be surrounded by gravel pits between Castleburg and the Huttos.” Her eyes teared up even though Barbara could tell she was fighting it. “Kat decided to stay in Fort Worth for the night. We’ve all got a lot to think about.”

               Chapter 12

“W
here have you been?” Rita scolded Della. “Tony called to say he’d be here at seven.”

“Tony!” Della barely remembered that this was Friday and soon to be Friday night.

“Never mind that, what took you so long?”

Della didn’t feel like recounting the fight with Kat, which no one had won, but which had merely wound down to silence punctuated by Kat’s order to leave her at the Worthington because she wasn’t returning to the Ladies Farm. “I told you, Kat and I got into a fight and she wanted to stay at the Worthington. I just went through all this with Barbara.”

Rita’s eyes narrowed. “You told us you fought; you didn’t say what about.”

“The Ladies Farm,” Della said. “The Ladies Farm, the Ladies Farm, the Ladies Farm!” She yanked a glass from the cupboard and jammed it against the lever in the refrigerator door that dispensed ice. “We fought because we’re scared. We can meet Castleburg’s offer, but that doesn’t do us any good unless we can buy out the Huttos and stop all this digging.”

Rita still regarded her suspiciously, but Della didn’t offer any more explanation. She didn’t want to discuss how rotten it felt to tell your friend that you had had a much longer and much more recent affair
than she had with the love of her life. Nor did she want to explain how greedy she felt not sharing the details, for which Kat seemed insatiable.

“Well, you’ve got just enough time to shower and dress, that’s why I got Nancy to stay. We’ll get dinner on.”

“Shower.” Della repeated. The drive home had not worked its usual magic, and she could not even sort out what she could reveal to Rita and Barbara. And she certainly could not manage a conversation with Tony.

“Are you okay?”

Della shook her head and collapsed onto a kitchen chair. Nancy had been washing vegetables, but now she turned from the sink to stare. “You want me to call an ambulance?”

“Oh, for God’s sakes,” Rita snapped, “no one is dying! Not now, anyway!” She turned to Della. “What’s wrong?”

“Would you mind calling Tony for me?”

“Why?”

“To tell him I can’t make it. Don’t look at me like that, I can’t! I’ve got to figure out what we’re going to do.”

“Well, if you’re going to stand him up, you tell him. I’m damned if I’ll do that to someone as nice as Tony.”

Della shook her head. “He’s just trying to get back in my pants because he hasn’t got the energy to go after someone new.”

“Well that’s all Dave’s doing, and you don’t hear me complaining!” Rita shot back. “None of us has that much energy.”

“Come on,” she coaxed. “Be a sport.”

“A …? You break your own hearts! After all he’s planned for you. You should be in that shower right now. You should be letting me do your hair.”

Della didn’t know which was tougher: going out with Tony and pretending nothing was wrong or explaining to him why she couldn’t go out with him. She looked at Rita one more time, but Rita was not moved. “I’m going upstairs,” said Della.

Della washed her hair and toweled it dry, trying to fluff it out enough that the roots didn’t show. Then she stood in her towel for a long time studying the contents of her closet since her silk pantsuit was locked at the cleaner’s, which had closed an hour ago. There weren’t too many other choices; most of her clothes were tunic tops and washable slacks. Her red silk was far too dressy, jeans not dressy enough. Sighing, she pulled a white cotton dress from the back and hunted up a pair of white flats. At least it’ll be cool, she thought.

At the mirror, she barely studied her face before she launched the routine. Moisturizer followed by concealer to hide the shadows under her eyes, followed by a moisturizing foundation, followed by a matted finish on her eyelids. She lined her eyes with an olive pencil; the least she could do was show she had tried. Then she rubbed on a little blush, powdered the whole thing, lined and filled her lips, and brushed on her mascara.

It doesn’t work, she thought, pulling in her stomach as she studied her reflection in the full-length mirror. I’m too old to look innocent and too worn to look sophisticated. This thing’s so white it makes my teeth yellow.

Tears welled up even as she ordered herself not to cry. You’ll just have to do the whole thing over again, and this isn’t worth one paint job, let alone two. Della marched herself back into the closet and yanked a denim jumpsuit from a hanger. It had an elastic waist and fake jewels on the yoke and always reminded her of something Rita would wear, but maybe Rita was right. Maybe a little gaudiness up around the neckline lured the eyes down from your crow’s-feet and up from your belly. Maybe that was the best you could hope for.