A Moment in Time (30 page)

Her efforts had paid off, she thought. Eddie,
Jonathan, and Colette had practically swooned over her appearance
and had immediately demanded to know what the special occasion was.
When she'd told them she was going over to Stonelair for dinner,
they'd all been intrigued and delighted and had quizzed her without
any show of restraint. She'd told them about taking care of the
animals at Stonelair and meeting Wyn, and when they'd asked her
about his mysterious aloofness, she'd told them that he was
recuperating from a polo accident. She didn't go into any detail,
however, because she felt that she would be encroaching on Wyn's
privacy.

"What about the money?" Jonathan had asked.
"Do you think he's really some kind of drug lord or Mafioso or
something?"

"That's ridiculous, Jonathan," Colette had
snapped, glaring at him. "The man has too much good taste for that
sort of thing. He'd never have bought Stonelair otherwise, and he
certainly wouldn't have asked our Val to dinner. No, this is bound
to be a man of discrimination. Why else would he be interested in
Val?"

They'd all laughed at her remark, but Valerie
had had to tell them that she knew nothing about the source of his
wealth. "All I know is that he apparently lived very grandly in
Palm Beach," she'd said, "because I saw a lot of polo pictures in
the tack room."

"There!" Colette had exclaimed. "That proves
my point. If he were really a gangster, he certainly wouldn't be
playing polo in Palm Beach." Then she'd turned to Val and winked at
her. "Val, darling," she'd said. "You remember our little
conversation about your future? When we discussed Teddy and men in
general?"

Valerie had nodded, certain of what was
coming next. "Of course I remember it, Colette," she'd replied.

Colette had smiled brightly and knowingly, as
if they shared a secret. "I think I already see a touch of the
bloom on those lovely cheeks of yours."

Val had blushed, then laughed merrily, but
she hadn't disagreed with Colette.

When she'd gotten out of the Jeep at
Stonelair's front door, Wyn had opened it himself, before she could
even ring the bell.

"Well, well, well," he'd said, looking her up
and down. "No blood-smeared lab coat. I almost didn't recognize
you."

"You're almost unrecognizable yourself,"
she'd replied.

"How's that?" he'd asked, looking
puzzled.

"You're wearing a smile," she'd said. "I
didn't know you had one in your wardrobe."

"
Touché, madame
," he'd said, bowing
slightly. He'd swung the door open wide and walked her to the
library, where all four of the dogs and Mina, the cat, had greeted
her.

Later, while they were eating, he'd
complimented her appearance again, more directly and sincerely, if
in a teasing manner. "You really do look beautiful tonight," he'd
said, "especially considering how I usually see you."

"If that's a compliment," she said, "I'll
accept it, and return it." She looked over at him. "You look better
without the big nose and eye bandages. Almost human, in fact."

"
Almost
human?" he'd said.

"Well, maybe I'm stretching things a bit,"
she'd joked, "but I think I detect a faint resemblance to a human
being. The eye patch is much more becoming than that huge bandage,
and you look much better. You're cleaning up nicely."

Now, as she reflected about the last couple
of hours in his company, she couldn't suppress the smile that came
unbidden to her lips.

"Penny for your thoughts," Wyn said, coming
through one of the French doors with a tray in his hands.

"Cheap, aren't you?" she said.

He smiled. "You're an expensive woman. How
about a quarter?"

"I'll take it," she said. "But... oh, I
wasn't thinking about anything really," she went on. "It's just so
nice out tonight, and I'm enjoying myself."

"You didn't expect to?" he said, setting the
tray down.

"No, it's not that," she said. "I guess I
didn't know what to expect, and as it turns out, I don't know when
I've had such a good time."

"Do you mean that?" he asked, taking a plate
off the tray and putting it in her place.

"Yes," she said, nodding. "I'd almost
forgotten what it's like to . . . well, just have a good time
without any complications."

He sat down and looked into her eyes. "I feel
exactly the same way," he said. "It's been like being let loose
from jail for me. In more ways than one. It's not just that you
know about my accident and the injuries and all that. It's more
than that, Val."

She felt her heart quicken a beat and could
feel the heat of her blood rush from her chest up to her face. "I-
I think I know what you mean," she said.

He reached over and put one of his hands over
hers, where it lay on the table, and held it there tenderly, then
gave it a squeeze. She almost shuddered at his touch, so
electrifying was it.

"We'd better eat this ice cream before it
melts," Wyn said, grinning as he removed his hand.

"It looks yummy," she said, picking up her
spoon.

"Gerda makes it," he said, "in one of those
electric ice cream machines, and she makes the chocolate sauce,
too."

Valerie took the spoon out of her mouth.
"This is fantastic," she said, still savoring its taste on her
palate.

"I'm glad to see that you have a good
appetite," he said. "I like to see that in a woman."

"Maybe so," she said, "but I don't think
you'd like to see the results of a woman eating like this all the
time."

He laughed. "I guess you're right about that,
but I really do like your digging in. My ex, or soon-to-be ex, ate
like a bird. And that was when she really let herself live."

Val looked over at him. "Always
diet-obsessed?"

He nodded. "Percentage of body fat was a
chief topic of conversation in her set, and a pound either way
would make her absolutely crazy. But I think the number one topic
of conversation was plastic surgeons. Who did the best breasts, the
best lipo, the best. . . well, you get the picture." He looked off
into the distance, then back at her. "She was crazy anyway," he
added.

Valerie hesitated before responding. Ex-wives
were dangerous territory, she thought, and despite her natural
curiosity, this was definitely not an area of his life that she
wanted to pry into. But he did seem to want to talk about her.
After all, he'd brought her up.

"What's she really like?" she asked, deciding
to venture into the topic. "I know she isn't really crazy or you
wouldn't have married her. I mean, bad crazy as opposed to a little
bit crazy, which can be good, I think."

"She was always a little bit crazy. Good
crazy, as you so aptly put it," he said. "But she started getting a
little too crazy for my tastes. She came from a family near West
Palm Beach that didn't have much. They weren't poor, but they
couldn't afford luxuries. She's very beautiful and sexy and pretty
damn smart and saw what Palm Beach had to offer—as opposed to West
Palm."

"Upwardly mobile, I take it?" Val said.

"With a vengeance," he replied. "And I
actually appreciated that in her. Nothing wrong with wanting to
make a better place for yourself in this world, is there?"

"Absolutely not," she agreed, nodding.

"Anyhow," he continued, "she got a job as a
secretary in Palm Beach, met an older rich guy from New York with a
condo there, and ended up marrying him. Two years later, he had a
massive heart attack, and she inherited almost everything."

"Is that when you came into the picture?" Val
asked.

"It was around then," he said. "She had some
money and started dating, mostly proper-type rich divorced men,
then started giving a little money to charities so she'd get
invited to their parties. She was also throwing parties at her
condo for a wilder set and hanging out in clubs, that kind of
thing. I was living pretty much like her. You know, quite the
ladies' man, really wild, going from one woman to the next, sowing
wild oats left and right. Anyway, some friends of mine introduced
us at a party, and I liked her right off the bat. It wasn't just
that she was beautiful. She was like a free spirit, you know? Not
stuffy and preppy like so many of those rich Palm Beach women. She
was sort of a renegade, a breath of fresh air. I found out she'd
almost run through nearly every cent of poor old Sydney Goodman's
money by the time I met her." He laughed.

"What was she going to do then?" Val asked,
genuinely intrigued.

"She didn't have the vaguest idea," he said,
shaking his head slightly. "She told me that she was sure
some¬thing would work out somehow. And if it didn't? She wasn't
afraid. Of anything. At least not then."

"That's a gutsy lady all right," Valerie
said. "Most women crave security. I guess most everyone does.
Money-wise and mate-wise."

"Yes," he agreed, "and her being different
was definitely one of the things that attracted me to her. But
things began to change after a couple of years of marriage."

"Did familiarity breed contempt?" she asked.
"Or am I being nosy?"

"Not at all," he said. "Arielle got used to a
lot real fast, if you know what I mean. I loved spoiling her, but
then after a while, she just didn't seem to be able to get enough
no matter what it was."

"Material girl, huh?" Valerie said with a
smile.

"That too with a vengeance," he said. "Plus,
I think that while I was off playing polo or taking care of
business, she got bored and started to hang out with a party crowd
that dabbled in drugs. She stopped going to charity flings and that
kind of thing, and spent all of her time with this really wild set.
And I mean wild. Mostly bored Eurotrash with lots of cash, and
their hangers-on."

"She must not have known what to do with
herself," Valerie said. "It sounds like she didn't have any real
interests and was bored."

"I guess so," he agreed. "The first year we
were married she traveled with me a lot to polo matches and even
went on business trips. She really seemed to enjoy some of the polo
trips. There was usually a lot of socializing, big parties, meeting
people, and all that. The business trips were a bore for her, I
know. I mean, looking at mines and mining equipment isn't much of
anybody's idea of a good time. It's a filthy, stinking business.
But for a while there, we went everywhere together." He paused and
looked over at her. "Then she completely lost interest in me. In
every way."

Valerie stared at him for a moment before
replying. "You're still hurt, aren't you. I mean by her losing
interest in your life . . . and you."

He nodded. "I have to admit that I am, Doc,"
he said, looking over at her with a tight smile. "She had already
starting ignoring me before the accident, but it didn't help that
she wouldn't have anything to do with me after the accident. And I
do mean anything."

"I see," Valerie said. Obviously, Arielle,
who had already lost any affection she might have had for him,
couldn't cope with him after the accident. If she was as obsessed
with looks as he said, then his injuries would've only made sex
with him all the more unendurable.

"Why don't we have a little brandy?" he said,
changing the subject.

"Just a smidgen for me," she replied. "I have
to drive home tonight. Remember?"

"Yes," he said, "but I was hoping I could get
you good and drunk and then keep you here all weekend and take
advantage of you." He smiled.

"I'm on call at the clinic," she said, "so
I'll have to let you do that some other time."

They both laughed.

"Want to have that drink in the library?" he
asked. "The dogs have been so good about not bothering us tonight,
I think we should reward them with our company."

"That's fine with me."

He got to his feet and came around to her
chair, easing it back for her as she stood. Then he put an arm
around her waist and led her into the library.

From their various positions, the dogs
bounded to their feet and rushed over for attention as the two of
them entered the room. While Wyn went to the drinks table and
poured them each a snifter of brandy, Valerie alternated petting
the four huge dogs until she'd shown them all an equal amount of
affection. They finally returned to their napping spots satisfied
and settled down.

"My God," she said, "they're all such
pussycats."

"They are with you," he said, "but they're
not that way with just anybody."

He brought her the brandy and indicated a
seat on one of the big leather Chesterfield couches. "Oh, wait a
minute," he said. "On second thought, maybe we'd better not sit
there. You'll get dog hair all over your clothes."

"Oh, that's ridiculous, Wyn," she said. "I
live in dog hair. Remember?"

"If you're sure," he said.

"I'm sure." She sat down on the couch, and he
followed suit, leaving a little distance between them. He slipped
off his Top-Siders and put his feet up on the coffee table.

"Make yourself comfy," he said.

"I am," she replied.

"But you've got your shoes on."

"Well, there is that," she said, slipping her
sandals off and putting her feet up on the big marble coffee table,
too. She wiggled her toes. "Now," she said, "I really am
comfy."

"I knew it," he said. "I bet your mother and
father could hardly keep shoes on you when you were little."

"That's right," she said, laughing. "And I
guess I haven't changed all that much."

"Cheers," he said, holding up his brandy
snifter.

"Cheers," she repeated.

They clinked glasses, looking into one
another's eyes.

"This is a wonderful room," she said,
breaking eye contact and looking around.

"I practically live in this room," he said,
"and so do the dogs, as you've noticed. I eat and read and do all
my telephoning in here. I even do all of my computer work in here,"
he said, indicating the laptop on the antique French bureau
plat.