A Moment in Time (29 page)

Arielle padded over to the big sofa, sat
down, and drew her legs up onto the floral chintz, watching Lolo
pour their drinks. She yawned and stretched her arms. It had been a
long day after a very late and raucous night of lovemaking, but
she'd managed to nap aboard the Whitman's Gulfstream V. The trip
had gone without a hitch, and Larry, the Whitmans' chauffeur, had
been at the airport to meet them in Bibi's dark green Rolls Royce
Phantom V.

"Mr. and Mrs. Whitman had to go out," Larry
had explained, "and apologize for not being here to greet you. They
will expect you at six o'clock for cocktails and then dinner."

When they'd reached Bibi and Joe's monstrous
old house in Saratoga, Mildred, the housekeeper, had greeted them
and shown them to the guest house, where a bottle of chilled
champagne awaited them. The guest house was filled to overflowing
with bowls and vases stuffed with beautiful flowers, roses mostly,
and a cornucopia of fresh fruit sat in the center of the dining
table. The kitchen was well stocked with an assortment of gourmet
treats to satisfy any appetite: cheeses, pates, caviar, various
cuts of prepared meat and fowl, and mineral water, mixers, sodas,
and liquor galore.

Bibi, she reflected, was legendary for her
exquisite taste and lavish entertaining, and deservedly so. Too bad
Arielle didn't really like her or old Joe, but even the dragon lady
and the stuffed shirt couldn't dampen her excitement at being here
in Saratoga.

I'm only a stone's throw from Wyn,
she
thought,
and I can already smell all that lovely money.

Lolo stood over her, a glass of champagne
extended in her direction. She smiled and took it from him.
"Thanks, Lolo," she said, moving her legs and patting the sofa with
a hand.

He sat down next to her, then lifted her
long, slender legs and placed them over his own. "What are you
thinking about, my loco Arielle?" he asked, running a hand up one
of her legs toward her thigh.

"Hmmm," she breathed, taking a sip of the
champagne, then setting the crystal flute down on the marble-topped
coffee table. She looked at him, smiled mysteriously, and withdrew
a cigarillo from the pack on the table.

Lolo reached for her gold cigarette lighter
and lit the cigarillo for her, looking into her eyes. Then he took
one for himself and lit it. "You're up to some¬thing, Arielle," he
said. "What is it?"

She took a long draw on her cigarillo.
"Ooooh, just an idea," she said teasingly, smoke trailing from her
nostrils.

"What?" he asked, running his hand back up
her thigh again, his dark eyes searching hers.

"I thought ... I thought we might pay a call
on Wyn," she said. "I mean . . . we're so close and all." She
stared at him, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

His hand suddenly stopped moving, and his
eyes bored into hers. "You're joking, aren't you?" he said, already
knowing that she was deadly serious. "I told you that I would talk
to him, man to man, but it's crazy for both of us to try to see
him. He'd never see you, so I wouldn't get to him, either."

She had the merest hint of a smile on her
lips. "Maybe you're right, but I'm not joking. I've never been more
serious."

"But-but what are you thinking?" he
stuttered. "What kind of plan do you have? This is really stupid,
Arielle. Don't you see?"

Her eyes never left his as she slowly shook
her head. "Nooo," she said softly, "I don't. In fact, I think it
might be one of the smartest things I've ever done." She languidly
tapped her cigarillo in the ashtray.

Lolo became agitated. "Arielle," he said,
"what the hell have you got in mind? You know he doesn't want you
there. It's crazy."

"He won't even know we've been there," she
said, looking into Lolo's eyes. "If things work out the way I want
them to." She smashed her cigarillo out in the ashtray, then
reached toward him with her arms. "Come here," she said, sliding
one of her legs around his back, the other still across his
lap.

He set his champagne down and put out his
cigarillo, looking at her anxiously. "I don't know, Arielle," he
said slowly, shaking his black curls.

"Come here," she repeated, reaching for
him.

He leaned toward her, letting her hook an arm
around his neck, her legs scissored around his torso. Her other arm
slid down to his crotch, and she eased her hand beneath his jockey
shorts, encircling the growing tumescence there. "Kiss me, Lolo,"
she said. "Kiss me hard."

Teddy sat behind his desk in the office at
Apple Hill, his feet propped up on its surface. He finished looking
over the paperwork Lydia had left for him and flung it down
unceremoniously onto his desk. He heaved an audible sigh of relief.
The ups and downs of the last few days had almost gotten the best
of him, that and having to be on perfect behavior with Marguerite
and Jamie.

He knew that the nose candy had helped fuel
the ups and had probably been responsible for the depth of the
lows, but, hell, he didn't know how else to keep going. Between
running his investment company, satisfying clients, trying to keep
Val happy, and making certain that he and Tiffani had time for a
little fun on the side—well, it had all begun to wear him down as
never before.

But everything's in order now
, he told
himself grimly. He'd had a handful of investors who'd recently
withdrawn all of their money from his investment service—thanks to
the volatility in the marketplace—and he'd had to perform a number
of intricate and time-consuming maneuvers to make certain that they
were all fully recompensed.

Now at least those bastards are all out of
my hair
, he thought. There was no satisfaction in it for him,
however. He'd been controlling a quarter of a billion dollars last
week—chump change as far as a lot of high-flying Wall Street guys
were concerned, but a tidy sum for him to work with—investing it
for a small group of very rich clients. This week he found himself
left with less than fifty million dollars, money entrusted to him
by those investors who'd stuck with him despite recent losses in
the market.

Thank God, Marguerite de la Rochelle and
James de Biron hopped on board when they did,
he thought for
the umpteenth time.
And thank God Dock Wainwright came through
with the paperwork and checks overnight
. Between himself,
Lydia, and Dock, everything had been set up. He was in full control
of Marguerite's stock portfolio now, and had a good chunk of
Jamie's to boot. He'd needed all the capital he could get his hands
on to repay all those investors who'd abandoned ship. Now he just
had to make certain that when the time came, he could show
Marguerite and Jamie that their money was not only intact but
making a nice hefty profit under his brilliant and watchful
eye.

I'll be able to do it
, he told himself
convincingly.
I've played the market successfully in the past,
and I can do it again. I just need the chance to hit the right
stock at the right time, and. . . voila! I'm not only back in
business but back in the black. I'll just have to be very careful
dealing with Marguerite and Jamie.

He knew they both appeared on the surface to
be unconcerned with money, as if it were something dirty for others
to deal with, but he also knew that beneath their sophisticated and
aristocratic exteriors, they wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice him to
the authorities if they detected the least impropriety on his
part.

His thoughts turned to Valerie and the
telephone conversation they'd had a little while ago. He considered
telling Marguerite what had transpired. He knew that she was
capable of instilling in Valerie a sense of duty and
responsibility, if not outright fear, and he knew that she was his
ally. She would certainly be mad to hear that Valerie had so
offhandedly given her fiancé the brush-off.

He reached down and pulled open the bottom
right- hand drawer in his desk and picked up the little box he had
put there. He set it down on the desk and extracted the plastic bag
of white powder and the silver straw. He ignored the mirror and
razor blade as he had ever since he reached the country. Instead,
he opened the bag, stuck one end of the straw in the powder and the
other in his nostril. He inhaled deeply and held his breath for a
long moment, then repeated the process with his other nostril. When
he finished, he leaned back in his chair, enjoying the enhanced
feeling of well-being that the drug rapidly induced.

He looked at the telephone, thinking that he
would place that call to Marguerite, then decided to wait and talk
to her when she and Jamie came over to sign paperwork. That might
prove to be interesting, he thought, because Jamie de Biron was an
enigma to him, and he needed to get to know him better. After all,
the better he knew him, the better he'd know how to control
him.

Whoa!
Suddenly he realized the coke
had really hit, and he felt almost as if his body had begun to
vibrate with life.

I'll try to get hold of Tiffani
, he
thought.
Make sure we can get together tonight
. He was off
the hook with Val, so he might as well make the best of his
time.

He dialed her number and waited. After the
fourth ring the machine kicked in.
Shit!
he thought. After
the message beep, he said, "Hey, babe, it's Teddy. Call me as soon
as you get in. Let's party tonight. I've got lots of toys to play
with."

Slamming the receiver in its cradle, he
frowned.
Where the fuck is she?
he wondered.
First Val,
now Tiff. She's probably already out at that local dump of a bar
with redneck friends
.

And now I've got to get ready to play host
to Marguerite and Jamie,
he thought
. Put my best foot
forward
. But he knew they wouldn't be here long, probably no
more than a couple of hours at the most. Tiffani probably wouldn't
get his message until late. That left him at least a couple of
hours alone.

Suddenly he decided what he would do with
those two hours or so. He laughed aloud, then got to his feet and
picked up the box on the desk, tucking it under his arm, grinning
from ear to ear.
First I'll take a shower
, he thought,
walking toward the office door.
Then change clothes for
Marguerite and Jamie. Be my most charming self for them. When
they've gone, I'll have a little bite of whatever it is Hattie's
left in the kitchen for me. If I feel hungry. Then I'll get busy. I
know what'll put the fear of God in Val for sure. And it'll serve
her right, too. Serve them all right.

Chapter Twenty-One

A table for two had been set on the stone
terrace just outside the big library. In its center was a small
bowl filled with daisies and other colorful wild flowers, and to
either side of it, big glass hurricanes held candles that flickered
romantically as the night darkened. The table was set with a
colorful cotton Provencal cloth and simple pottery dishes with
attractive but plain glassware and silver.

The table looked summery and beautiful, Val
thought, yet casual and not too precious. Thank heaven it didn't
look as if everything had belonged to some long-departed royal or
immensely rich robber baron. She appreciated its simplicity all the
more because of the grandeur of the house itself. She hadn't known
what to expect, of course, but was hoping that the dinner wouldn't
be as formal as what one might expect in such a mansion.

She'd been surprised not to be greeted by
Santo Ducci, or see him at all. Wyn had answered the door himself,
dressed in khakis, a crisp black linen shirt, and

Top-Siders. She'd been doubly surprised when
he'd mixed their drinks himself—a vodka and tonic for her, a scotch
and water for him—then served the dinner without anyone assisting
him, other than Val herself.

In the kitchen, he'd confessed that Gerda,
Mrs. Reinhardt, had put together the simple fare: a delectable
whole cold poached salmon with a creamy dill sauce; an unusual but
delicious potato salad with bits of corn, tarragon, and lobster in
it; fresh chilled asparagus in a balsamic vinaigrette; and
tomatoes, right out of the garden, topped with a locally made
buffalo mozzarella and garden-fresh basil, lightly drizzled with a
heavenly tasting cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil.

Wyn had opened a bottle of delicious white
burgundy that went perfectly with the meal. "It's an Antonin Rodet
Chateau de Rully, '98," he'd said. "I think it'll go okay. I
haven't really familiarized myself with the wine cellar here
yet."

"It's delicious," Val had told him after
having a taste.

Now she sat sipping at the wine on the
candlelit terrace, enjoying the beauty of the late summer night.
She was alone, surrounded by darkness, waiting for Wyn while he
made the long trek to the kitchen to bring dessert. She'd insisted
on helping, but he'd told her to sit still and digest a bit before
he came back with the promised dessert: homemade vanilla ice cream
with chocolate sauce.

A light breeze ruffled her hair slightly.
She'd worn it loose tonight, with a lightweight cream cotton
sweater and cream nylon clam-diggers with cream thong sandals, all
of it casual but well-cut with a hint of the glamour that Armani
knows how to do. Little diamonds glinted in her ears, and a pearl
necklace—her paternal grandmother's—hung around her neck. At her
wrist was her "dress" watch, a gold Cartier Santos that her father
had given her many years before. She seldom wore it, not wanting to
subject it to the wear and tear her work would inevitably
cause.

When she'd arrived at Eddie and Jonathan's
earlier, Colette had been there, and the three of them had all but
applauded her appearance, giving her ego a tremendous boost. Their
timing couldn't have been better, because her afternoon and early
evening hadn't gone well. It was as if the telephone call from
Teddy had left her with an unpleasant aftertaste that she hadn't
quite been able to overcome, but she'd made an effort to dress for
tonight—if not formal, at least elegant and sexy.