A Moment in Time (25 page)

He strode over to his desk and started to
call for Santo when the giant lumbered through the library
door.

"I was just getting ready to call you," Wyn
said, looking over at him.

"You're up awfully early this morning," Santo
said somewhat grumpily. He was hungover from his night out and
would have liked a little time to himself this morning. He'd
already taken some aspirin to help chase away the incessant
pounding in his head, and now he needed a lot of coffee before the
day's activities began.

"I want you to get on the phone and get hold
of that vet," Wyn said. "Valerie Rochelle."

"Now?" Santo asked. "The place isn't even
open yet, Wyn."

"Then leave a message for her," Wyn said. "I
want her to take a look at Layla this morning as soon as
possible."

"What's the problem with Layla?" Santo
asked.

"Oh, I forgot you weren't here last night,"
Wyn said pointedly. "When you bought her, she'd apparently had
strangle. Then you vaccinated her, and now she's having a massive
reaction to the vaccination."

"Aw, jeez," Santo said, his headache suddenly
getting worse. "I had no idea—"

"That's why things like lineage and medical
records are so important in this business, Santo," Wyn said
sharply.

"I'm sorry," Santo said, "but I had no idea.
She looked—"

"Just get on the phone and get that vet here
as soon as possible," Wyn interjected.

Without another word, Santo picked up the
address book on the desk and flipped through it until he found the
clinic's number. He picked up the telephone and dialed. When the
service answered, he left a message for Dr. Rochelle to call as
soon as possible regarding Layla. He hung up and shrugged. "I left
a message," he said. "There's nobody in yet."

"Okay," Wyn said. "I'm going to go upstairs
and get cleaned up and change clothes. When she calls, you tell her
to get out here pronto. Got it?"

"Yes," Santo said, "I've got it."

He watched as Wyn climbed the spiral stairs
to the hallway that led to his bedroom.
What the hell's gotten
into him?
he wondered.
He's hardly worn anything but sweats
for months and doesn't bother cleaning up half the time
. It did
not look like a promising day at Stonelair.

Valerie parked near the stable office and,
carryall and medical bag in hand, she strode to the door, hoping
that Layla hadn't taken a turn for the worse.

Santo Ducci stood up when she entered the
office. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning, Santo," Valerie said. "Layla's
in her stall, I take it?"

He nodded. "You can go on back."

"Thanks," Val said. She went through to the
tack room, then on into the stable, walking down the length of
stalls to Layla's.

When she got there, the stall door was open,
and Wyn was sitting on a stool intently looking at Layla. "Hi,
there," Valerie said.

He looked up. "Hi, Doc," he said, standing
up.

Valerie was momentarily nonplussed. He had
taken off the mask and left his bandaged face exposed. She wanted
to study it closely in the light to see how serious the damage was,
but she didn't say anything.
Not now
, she thought.
First
things first
. Her immediate responsibility was to Layla.

"Okay," she said, "what's going on here? Has
Layla taken a turn for the worse?"

"That's why I called you," he said. "I don't
really know. I came down here early this morning and then again a
little while ago, but I can't be sure if there's any change or not.
I don't mean to be an alarmist, but I want your opinion."

"I don't think you're being an alarmist,"
Valerie said. "She was in acute distress last night. Let me just
have a good look." First she examined Layla's neck, then she got
down on all fours and studied each of her legs in turn, gingerly
feeling for swelling and looking for signs of hemorrhaging.

When she was finished, she stood back up and
looked at Wyn. "You know what?"

"What?" Wyn asked.

"It's working," Valerie said happily. "The
swelling has already gone down considerably and the hemorrhaging
has stopped completely. I think she's going to pull through with
flying colors."

Wyn breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God,"
he said. "I was making myself crazy trying to decide, but I
honestly couldn't tell whether there was any difference this
morning or not."

"It's not an easy call in such a short period
of time," Valerie replied, "but I'm more than satisfied with her
progress overnight. She'll pull through."

"Thanks, Doc," Wyn said. "I really appreciate
you coming all the way out here."

"That's what I'm here for," Valerie said.

"Well, as long as you are here," Wyn said,
"could I offer you a quick cup of coffee or something?"

Valerie didn't even take the time to think
about it, though she had a busy schedule today. "Sure," she said.
"I'd like that."

"Why don't we go up to the house?" Wyn
suggested.

"Okay."

They sat on a big couch in the library, the
four Irish wolfhounds lounging on the floor around them. Sunlight
streamed through the French doors, and Valerie could see his face
clearly now. He wore a bandage across his forehead, a large one
across his nose, and one eye was completely bandaged over.

"You look a lot better without the mask," she
said quietly.

"Do you mean that?" he asked.

She nodded. "Definitely." She paused a
moment, then asked, "Do you mind if I take a closer look?"

"No, I don't mind," Wyn said, surprising
himself.

Valerie set her mug on the coffee table, then
scooted across the couch. She examined his face closely, lightly
brushing her fingertips across the exposed skin. "Very light
scarring," she concluded. "Dermabrasion would take care of most of
it, if you wanted to bother. Personally, I wouldn't even bother
with that."

"Are you serious?" he asked.

"Absolutely," she said, nodding her head.
"May I look at the bandaged areas?"

"Go ahead," he said, deciding to trust her.
"You've gone this far."

Valerie lifted one end of the forehead
bandage, looked at the wound beneath it, then carefully secured the
bandage again. She followed suit with the other bandages, making
certain they were properly replaced. When she was finished, she sat
staring at his face for a while.

"What is it?" Wyn asked. "What do you
think?"

"You're healing remarkably well," she said,
"and I don't think there's going to be much evidence that you ever
had an accident. Very minor scarring, if any."

"You don't have to try to let me down easy,
Doc," he said. "I can take the truth."

"That's exactly what I'm giving you," she
said seriously. "Oh, your nose may look like you've been in a fight
or something, but other than that..." She shrugged. "Your looks are
hardly going to have changed. I might add that you've got great
plastic surgeons."

He sat in silence, digesting her words. "You
really do mean that, don't you?" he finally said.

"I think that it's not half as bad as
you
think," she said, carefully choosing her words. She
reached over and touched his hand. "I think that there are other,
more serious scars you've got to deal with, and they're making
these seem a lot worse than they are."

He looked down at her hand on his and sighed
heavily. "Maybe you're right, Doc," he said softly. He looked up at
her. "Maybe you're right."

Wyn showed Valerie to her car, watching until
the Jeep had disappeared from view. He walked back to the library
and sat down at his desk, where he booted up the computer. It's
time I e-mailed the men out West, he thought.
See what's going
on. Stay on top of things.

Santo stood at one of the French doors,
staring at his boss. He noticed that Wyn wasn't wearing the mask or
his customary baseball cap and that his hair was carefully combed.
Then he took in the clean knit polo shirt, the crisp chinos, and
shiny loafers.

Something's definitely going on, Santo
thought.
Something I don't think I like.

He stepped into the room and approached the
desk.

"Want to go over today's schedule now?" he
asked Wyn.

"Sure," Wyn said. "It'd be a good idea before
I start my E-mails."

"I'll go get your meds first," Santo said,
starting for the spiral staircase.

"Santo," Wyn called to him.

Santo turned around and looked at him.
"Yes?"

"I don't want the shots anymore," Wyn
said.

"You—?"

"You heard me," Wyn said. "No more shots. You
can get rid of the stuff."

Santo stood, rooted to the spot.
Is it
that damn vet?
he wondered
. Could she be causing all these
changes? Could some bitch like her waltz in here and waltz away
with everything, Wyn included?

He had some serious thinking to do, some very
serious thinking. About his future. Wyn's future. And Valerie
Rochelle's.

Chapter Eighteen

Marguerite gave Effie strict instructions.
She was to serve lunch on the screened-in porch as she normally
would, then disappear for the duration of the afternoon. She was
not to serve dessert, nor was she to clear the table. Marguerite
would see to these things herself.

"I don't understand," Effie protested,
unaccustomed to any variation in her work routine. "I always serve
the dessert and clean up afterward. Why are you—?"

"Shush!" Marguerite commanded, a long slender
hand held straight up in the air. Her eyebrows were arched, and her
emerald eyes glistened with intensity. "You are not to question me,
Effie. You are to do as I say. As soon as you've served lunch,
leave. Go into the village and shop or go have a drink
somewhere."

"A drink! But—" Effie started to protest.

"Oh, do come off it," Marguerite exclaimed.
"I know you swill gin half the day, and I really don't care. But I
do want you gone this afternoon. I don't care where you go, just
go!"

Effie would do as she was told, though she
pouted in the kitchen until Teddy had swept in to say hello when he
arrived for lunch. "Oh, I'm so glad you're here," she told him,
looking him up and down with pleasure. He was wearing a jacket and
tie, an outfit most would consider overkill for a lunch in the
country, but not Marguerite de la Rochelle or Teddy. "You look
nice," Effie said.

"And you look worried," Teddy replied.
"What's going on?"

"I don't know what's gotten into her," Effie
said, nodding her head toward the parlor where Marguerite was, "but
she sure could use some cheering up or something today."

"Why?" Teddy asked. "She seemed fine when we
spoke on the telephone."

"I don't know why," Effie said, "but I'll
tell you one thing. She's been acting strange ever since that
fancy- pants cousin of hers, Mr. James de Biron, got here day
before yesterday. And today, she's being meaner than a snake to me.
She's making me clear out till after you leave."

"Oh, well, Effie," Teddy said reassuringly,
"you know she doesn't mean any harm. Whatever it is, she'll get
over it. Maybe she's just a little nervous because her cousin's
visiting from France."

"Humpf!" Effie said. "I don't wonder. He may
be real good-looking and always have a big smile ready, but if you
ask me he's a snake in the grass. And he's not even French. He just
lives there. Imagine her wanting me out of here."

Now Teddy understood perfectly well why
Marguerite had banished Effie from the premises. She didn't want
Effie to be privy to what she'd planned to discuss with him and
Jamie de Biron. There was always the chance that Effie would
overhear something, and Marguerite knew that Effie would go
straight to Valerie with the information.

Marguerite, Teddy, and Jamie convened on the
big screened-in porch. She always had summer lunches here rather
than at a table in the garden because her beautiful skin was
shielded from the sun's damaging rays and they were protected from
the plethora of bothersome insects.

Soon they were enjoying the warmth of the
summer heat and the remnants of dessert, sliced mango topped with a
mango and papaya sorbet.

Teddy put his spoon down and smiled. "That
was delicious, Marguerite," he said, "but then your food always
is."

"Marguerite's always done everything
perfectly," Jamie added, smiling at his cousin. Like Teddy, he was
dressed casually but elegantly in a navy blue blazer with gold
buttons, white trousers, and a blue-and-white striped shirt with a
yellow tie. His very blond hair was short, almost in a military
cut, and contrasted sharply with his darkly tanned skin. It was
obvious that he was in excellent physical shape.

"Thank you both," she replied. "I'm so glad
you could be here with us today, Teddy, so that you could meet
Jamie and we could have our little discussion in privacy." She
paused and delicately sipped her mineral water, then looked
directly into Teddy's eyes. "But you mustn't forget that not a
single word of this is to reach Val's ears."

"There's no danger of that, Marguerite," he
replied. "I think—no, I know—that we're of a single mind on this.
You and I know what's best for Val, even if she sometimes doesn't,
and in this case it's best that she doesn't know anything."

"Exactly," Marguerite said. "I think you and
I will get along very well, Teddy. We always have, and I see no
reason why that shouldn't continue. We do see eye to eye. Certainly
about my daughter." She shifted her gaze to Jamie. "And you've
known her practically all of your life, Jamie, so it goes without
saying that you understand why I'm doing what I am."

Jamie set down his wineglass and nodded. He
had consumed several glasses of wine over lunch, Teddy had noticed,
but it didn't seem to have affected him in the least. "You don't
have to explain a thing to me, Marguerite," Jamie said. "I know
exactly how Val is— always has been—and the only difference I see
is that she's become more . . . independent, I guess is the word
... in the last few years. Somewhat out of control, I would
say."