A Moment in Time (18 page)

"Mr. Conrad," she said, making an effort to
control the irritation in her voice, "if you
are
Mr. Conrad,
I think I know what I'm doing. And I don't think I need your
help."

There was the sound of Santo catching his
breath, then dead silence in the vast room. It was finally broken
by a chuckle coming from the balcony.

"It's your hand," the voice finally said.
"Bloody it if you will."

Valerie heard the amusement in his voice, and
wasn't certain whether to be further insulted or somewhat placated.
She wished she could see his face so that she could read the
expression on it, but the man didn't move from his spot. His face
was still in complete shadow.

"But don't tell me I didn't warn you," he
continued. Then he paused a moment before saying: "And, by the way,
I
am
Conrad. Wyn Conrad."

Valerie still felt flustered, but replied
coolly, "And I'm Dr. Rochelle."
Not Valerie Rochelle to you
,
she thought.

"Pleased to meet you, Doc, I'm sure," he
said.

"And now I'd better get about my business, if
you don't mind, Mr. Conrad," she said.

"Don't let me stop you, Doc," he replied.

Valerie turned back to Mina then, stroking
and caressing her gently.

"You'd better hold her tight," Santo
said.

But Valerie ignored his advice and continued
stroking the huge cat. Then, using her thumb and finger, she
reached down and, in the blink of an eyelid, grasped the tick and
removed it with apparent ease.

Mina didn't even react to the procedure, but
simply continued her contented purr, obviously enjoying Valerie's
gentle strokes on her back. Out of the corner of her eye, however,
Valerie had seen Santo flinch, then relax. She couldn't help but
feel satisfied with herself, perhaps even a bit smug. She had
accomplished the simple deed Santo and Conrad seemed to believe was
impossible without risk of bodily injury.

"I never saw anything like it," Santo
exclaimed in wonder. "I... I don't believe it. She won't let
anybody touch a tick on her. Not even a burr." He looked up at the
balcony, where Conrad still posed, though he had stepped forward a
pace to get a better view. "Did you see that?" Santo asked.

"I saw it," Conrad said. He sounded a little
disgruntled.

"She looks awfully well groomed for a cat
that won't let anybody take a burr or tick off her," Valerie said
with irrefutable logic.

"Well," Santo said, "she lets Wyn—Mr. Conrad-
brush her. In fact, she goes to him every day after lunch to be
groomed, and she won't let anybody else groom her. I mean
nobody
."

So the mighty Mr. Conrad stoops so low as
to groom a cat,
Valerie thought
. I'd like to see
that
.

"But," Santo continued, "and this is a big
but, she won't even let him pull off ticks or burrs."

She smiled and gave Mina a final stroke.
"Well, I guess I'm finished here," she said, pleased. "So I'll be
on my way. I'll get their charts updated and filed, so you'll get
notices about vaccinations and so on from now on. Let me know if
you need anything else."

"Thanks a lot," Santo said. Then he picked up
the animals' medical records and put them in a large padded
envelope. "I think everything's here."

"Thanks, Mr. Ducci," she said, taking them
from him.

"Santo, please."

Valerie nodded slightly. "Santo, then."

"And by the way, I sent copies of the medical
records for all the horses over to your office this afternoon," he
said.

"Great," she replied, disposing of the
syringes in a special plastic carrying case she'd brought. This
little case she would have to put in the biohazard garbage back at
the clinic, from where it would be picked up, along with all the
other biohazardous materials, and sent to Canada for disposal. She
closed her leather bag with a snap, shouldered her carryall, and
turned to leave.

She glanced up toward the balcony, and Conrad
quickly retreated a step backward. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Conrad,"
she said gaily.

He nodded from his distant perch. "You too,
Doc," he said, then he did an about-face and disappeared down a
hallway.

"Do you want a check now?" Santo asked.

"The office will bill you."

"Okay," he said. Santo indicated the door
they'd used to enter the huge room. She followed him back through
the long gallery to the grand entrance hall. She noticed a few of
the paintings appeared to be by George Stubbs, arguably the
greatest painter of horses, and several that she was certain had
been painted by Alfred Munnings.

Suddenly she stopped, drawn by a tiny,
postage- stamp-size drawing of a horse's head. She stood,
entranced, studying the remarkable image. It was exquisite,
rendered in charcoal, and signed by Stephano della Bella. She shook
her head in wonder.

"Mr. Conrad's an art collector, I gather?"
she casually said to Santo, who had stopped with her.

Santo nodded. "Sort of," he replied. "He
inherited a lot of the stuff and now and then he'll pick something
up to add to it. Like the drawing you just looked at. He got that
himself."

"It's truly beautiful," Valerie said.

"He thought so."

They reached the front door, and Santo opened
it. "Thanks again, Dr. Rochelle," he said. "I've got to hand it to
you. You did a good job."

Valerie smiled. "You're welcome," she said,
accepting the compliment with ease. "If there are any problems, let
me know."

"Will do," he said.

She walked across the stone terrace and down
the wide steps to the driveway and her Jeep. She stowed her medical
bag in the rear compartment, then went around to the front door,
opened it, and climbed in with her carryall bag.

Santo waved from the doorway as she pulled
out, and she waved back. Slowly going back down the long drive, she
was rounding a curve, then almost slammed on the brakes to bring
the Jeep to a stop. She took a deep breath.
Shit!
she swore.
She was certain she'd glimpsed a figure about to step out into the
drive. But no. The figure—not an apparition, she told
herself—rushed behind a stand of hemlocks.

She felt goose bumps rise on her flesh, and
her heart began to race. She almost pulled the car over to relax a
minute, but then she thought better of it.

I'm getting out of this weird place
,
she thought,
as fast as possible.

She gunned the engine and swiftly arrived at
the entrance gates, where she was buzzed through automatically. On
the highway at last, she pulled over for a moment and took a few
more deep breaths.
What's going on in that place?
She
wondered.
And why is Conrad like some kind of ghost? Staying up
on the balcony, watching me from a distance?

She checked for traffic, then pulled back out
onto the road
. I don't think I'll be going back there,
she
told herself.
It just makes me feel too uneasy
. Despite her
laughing at all the silly rumors, she had to admit that the
atmosphere was somehow . . . eerie.

On the other hand, she told herself, the
animals were well adjusted and happy.
Conrad must love them
,
she thought.
But
, she asked herself,
what can I really
make of what I know?
He had appeared to be quite an impressive
specimen from what she could see. She wished she could have seen
his face, seen if it matched the rest of his body. She had to admit
that his insulting sergeant-major behavior and then his amusement
at her obvious anger should have been a real turnoff. Men like that
were generally for the birds as far as she was concerned. But for
some reason she couldn't put her finger on, she couldn't shake her
curiosity about him.

Suddenly she realized that she wanted to know
more about him. She had become intrigued by the old place and its
owner. Despite just deciding that she didn't want to return, she
realized that she couldn't wait until the next time she was called
back.

Chapter Eleven

Arielle's head jerked wildly from side to
side as Lolo thrust away at her, sweat flying off his body, his
grunts like those of a rutting animal. Then she screamed, her nails
sinking into his back, as she felt him release a flood tide inside
her, his body in an arc of rigid muscle atop her, his bellow of
spent passion almost like a wail of pain.

He fell on top of her, and flushed and
panting, they threw their arms around one another, their sweat-
soaked torsos meeting as they peppered each other with kisses. They
lay gasping for breath amid a tangled mass of Egyptian cotton
sheets, discarded silk lingerie, and polo gear ripe from the
practice field. On the table next to the bed were half-empty gin
and tonics.

The air was pungent with the aromas of her
Caron perfume, the lavender water her sheets were laundered in, and
the sandalwood-scented powder that she lavished on her body.
Intermingled with the sweet scents of her boudoir was the sweaty
leather of his polo boots and knee pads, and the faintest hint that
remained of the spicy vetiver cologne he'd used much earlier in the
day. But overpowering all of these scents was the indisputable
smell of their sex.

"Oh, my God, Lolo," Arielle gasped in a
breathy voice, "that was fantastic stuff." She barked a short laugh
and hugged his hard muscularity. "
You're
fantastic
stuff."

Lolo stroked the perfect length of her nose
with his fingertip and smiled, his teeth gleaming against his
darkly tanned flesh. "I think I'm beginning to love everything in
Palm Beach," Lolo said, a hand stroking her buttocks.

"Well, I hope not everything," Arielle said.
"Maybe just me."

"Yeah," he said. "Just you." He reached over
to the bedside table for a package of Arielle's cigarillos and her
gold lighter. Sitting up in the bed slightly, he took two of the
long, thin cigarillos out, placing both of them in his mouth. He
lit them and handed Arielle one.

She took the cigarillo and sat up next to
him. "Thanks," she said, kissing his cheek.

He draped an arm around her shoulders and
held her close, proprietarily, but he smoked in silence, blowing
lazy plumes of gray fog toward the ceiling, staring off in the
distance.

Arielle watched him, aware of his unusual
silence and his thoughtful expression. Normally they were chatty
after sex, oftentimes sharing their dreams for the future they
wanted to build together, the future they would have after the
divorce was finalized and the settlement was paid.

"You're awfully quiet, Lolo," she finally
said, unable to bear his distance any longer. His silence
frightened her.

Still, he smoked silently, not responding to
her remark. The lazy whorls of smoke streamed toward the ceiling,
shifting about in the breeze coming in off the ocean.

"Come on," Arielle cajoled, her voice rising
with concern. "What is it? Why the silence? Something's wrong,
isn't it?" She stubbed out her cigarillo in the ashtray, grinding
it hard against the crystal with nervous fingers.

He shrugged and sighed loudly, exhaling smoke
at the same time. Then he looked into her eyes and smiled wanly.
"I'm sorry, Arielle," he said. "It's just that. . ." He sighed
again, and all of the energy seemed to seep out of his body with
its sad, defeated sound.

"Come on," she said with alarm. "You can tell
me, Lolo. You know that. You can tell me
anything
."

"Well," he finally said, averting his eyes
from hers and looking off into the distance, "it's just that"—he
flashed a look at her—"I don't have the money for the car payment
on my Ferrari this month."

She looked at him in confusion. "You mean the
fucking thing's not paid for?" she cried in horror. "I can't
believe this." She slapped the bed with both of her fists, and her
pretty face contorted in a mask of fury.

Lolo had known she was going to be outraged,
but there was no avoiding the issue. Not if he wanted to keep the
car. A few more days and the fiery red Ferrari would be hauled off
right out from under him.

Finally, he ground out his cigarillo and
turned to look into her eyes again. "I'm sorry, Arielle," he said.
"I should've told you before. I just didn't want you to worry about
it."

His expression was so genuinely contrite that
Arielle melted. "Oh, darling Lolo," she said softly, placing her
hands on his cheeks. "Nothing you could do would worry me." She
leaned toward him and kissed his lips, then sat back and looked at
him lovingly.

He tried to smile, but the effort was too
much. He looked down at the bed hopelessly.

"Tell me how this happened," she said,
stroking his cheek with a long magenta-lacquered fingernail. "I
thought you paid for the Ferrari when Palmer gave you the bonus for
signing up to play for his polo team."

Lolo shook his head slightly, then his
downcast eyes rose to meet hers. "No," he said. "I made a down
payment with part of it," he said, "and they let me finance the
rest."

Arielle slumped despite herself.
Jesus
, she thought,
what's this going to cost? And where
the hell did the rest of the money go?
"What happened to the
rest of the money, Lolo?" she asked calmly, trying not to sound
distressed.

"It's all gone," he said.

"All of it?" she replied in astonishment.

He nodded.

"But. . . but what the hell did you do with
it?" she asked, her voice becoming strident in spite of
herself.

"I had to pay some bills," he said
sheepishly. "You know. Clothes and stuff." \

"What?" She looked at him in amazement.
"Clothes and stuff? Jesus, I've charged a fortune in clothes for
you. In every fucking shop in Palm Beach! What the hell could
you've bought that took that kind of money?"