Ride the Thunder (9 page)

Startled by the question, he looked up and opened his mouth as if to deny it. “Yes, I guess so,” he nodded.

Her gaze strayed to the magazine opened on his lap. Uncurling her legs, Jordanna rose and walked over to his chair. She set her glass beside his on the stand and moved behind his chair to massage his temples.

“Better?” she asked.

“Much,” he murmured and relaxed under the manipulation of her fingers.

“If you would quit being so vain and stop reading without these . . .” Jordanna tapped the glass case inside his jacket pocket, “. . . you wouldn’t strain
your eyes and get headaches.” She shifted her attention to knead the taut muscles in his neck.

“I’d find some other excuse to get one of these rubdowns,” he told her and she could hear the teasing smile in his voice.

“You are spoiled,” Jordanna accused.

“Thanks to you,” he replied, vaguely serious. Jordanna knew it was a veiled reference to her mother’s lack of interest in his health or him.

“What have you been doing all afternoon?” She quickly changed the subject.

“After you left, I had coffee with Max Sanger and . . .” A knock at the door interrupted his answer. “Yes?” The maid, Tessa. stepped inside.

“There’s a telephone call for you, Mr. Smith. It’s your attorney, Mr. Blackburn.”

“Thank you, Tessa. I’ll take the call in here.” He rose from his chair while the maid quietly withdrew.

“It sounds like business,” Jordanna remarked and picked up her drink to walk to the door. “I’ll leave you to your dull and dreary legal conversation while I clean up for dinner.”

“A fine friend you are,” Fletcher mocked, “deserting me in the face of boredom.”

Vibrant, deep-throated laughter was Jordanna’s only response to his jesting reproach before she slipped out the door into the hall. It wasn’t until later, when she was in the bath, that she thought about what he’d said and agreed with his conclusion. They were friends, the very closest of friends, a relationship that was stronger and deeper than just father and daughter.

There were only two place settings at the table when Jordanna entered the living room that evening. She hesitated in front of the French Empire dining table, the black pleats of her long skirt swaying with her uncertain motion. Her gaze skipped over the crystal chandelier suspended above the table and the richly carved Victorian china cabinet against the one wall.
Flanking the cabinet was a pair of rose acacia onyx pedestals with matching turquoise Sevres urns sitting atop them.

As Jordanna turned, her mother appeared in the archway wearing a long mandarin-style gown of peacock blue. The color cast blue highlights on her raven-black hair, piled atop her head, and accented the cat-green of her eyes. Her gaze ran over Jordanna’s simple white silk blouse and long black skirt in a dismissive fashion.

“Your father won’t be joining us this evening,” she announced in explanation of the two settings at the table. “There was some legal business, documents to be signed or something.” Her vagueness about the reason for his absence revealed the inattention she had paid when she had been informed. “So it will be just the two of us.”

“How cozy,” Jordanna murmured and sat down in the Chippendale chair to her mother’s right.

The mixing and blending of different periods and furniture styles was one of her mother’s favorite projects. The only thing that ever remained predominant in the decor of the apartment was the color green, like the draperies in the dining room; the velvet material then was moss green, with valances and gold tassel trim.

Seconds after they were seated, Tessa entered to serve the soup. “Will you be going out this evening, Jordanna?” her mother inquired.

“No.” She dipped her spoon into the soup and cast a sidelong look at the still very striking-looking woman. “Will you?” The softly voiced question bordered on a taunt.

“No. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day with all the preparations for the party in the evening so I’m having an early night.” Olivia Smith returned with implacable ease. “Perhaps you could help me tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Jordanna agreed.

Their conversation through the rest of the meal’s courses continued in the same stilted fashion, like two
cats warily circling each other. Jordanna felt the strain of it as she reacted and responded to a variety of subjects her mother introduced.

“We’ll have our coffee in the living room, Tessa,” Olivia requested when the maid entered to clear the dessert dishes. She rose from the table and Jordanna followed her into the living room. Her mother was so slender and petite that Jordanna always felt like a gangly schoolgirl walking beside her, except that she knew her willowy stature was equally graceful and attractive. “I’m relieved to discover you are still capable of intelligently discussing politics, the theater, and a variety of literary subjects, Jordanna.”

“You are forgetting, Livvie, that while you are reading the condensed versions of novels, I am reading the unabridged editions.” She had ceased referring to her as ‘Mother’ a long time ago.

Her jibe was smoothly deflected. “I truly enjoyed our conversation. It was such a pleasant change,” her mother remarked. “I am usually bored to tears listening to you and your father talking about hunting.”

“Perhaps if you contributed something to those conversations, the topic would be changed,” Jordanna suggested, knowing her mother’s exclusion from the discussions were self-imposed. “Daddy and I would be happy to talk about something else.”

“Daddy and I.” Something seemed to snap inside the green-eyed brunette. “It’s always ‘Daddy and I.’ You are with him so much it’s a wonder
you
don’t want to marry him!” she laughed caustically.

The delicate thread that had held Jordanna’s temper in check broke. She wasn’t even conscious of turning or striking. Not until she felt the flat of her palm connect with her mother’s rouged cheek was she aware of what she’d done. By then, she was trembling with rage.

“That was an ugly thing to say!” Jordanna’s voice was loud and harsh. “Dad and I share the same interests. We like each other. I love my father and you make it sound like some incestuous thing! Why? Or
are you simply jealous because I’ve succeeded in forming an attachment to one person? That’s it, isn’t it?” she accused. “One man isn’t enough to satisfy you.”

Blinded by her white-hot anger, Jordanna didn’t see the hand that struck at her. The stinging blow turned her head and brought tears to her eyes. She widened her eyes to keep them at bay and looked back at her mother, proud and coldly defiant.

“Don’t you ever speak to me like that,” Olivia ordered in a voice that shook.

“I was twelve years old when I finally realized that all of your male friends were really your lovers. I know it’s something that no one is ever supposed to mention. It’s the family secret, the skeleton in the closet,” Jordanna said with contempt. “But we all know—Kit, Dad, myself, Tessa, and all the servants, probably all of our friends, too. I’ll never understand why you treat Dad the way you do, or why he keeps on letting you hurt him!”

“There are two sides to everything, Jordanna.” The dark-haired woman had regained her composure. Her expressionless features resembled smooth, fine-boned china, except for the livid red mark on her cheek. Her jade-stone gaze swept past Jordanna. “Bring the coffee in, Tessa, and stop looking so shocked.” There was a degree of weariness in her dry tone. “You’ve witnessed our little family squabbles before.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The uniformed maid minced her way forward as if walking on eggshells, and set the coffee service on a gold-leafed table. She hovered beside it. “Will that be all?”

“Yes.” With a dismissive flick of her ringed fingers, Olivia waved her from the room, an order that was obeyed with alacrity. Sitting on a damask seat cushion, she began pouring the coffee. “It would be a novelty if you ever considered the situation from my side, Jordanna.”

“You’ve painted yourself as a martyr for so long, Livvie, that you are finally beginning to believe in your own image.”

“You have no conception of loneliness.” She handed Jordanna a fragile cup and saucer in a delicate rose pattern. “At least Christopher understands.”

“He was always your favorite,” she stated without jealousy. “From the time I can remember, you’ve doted on him. You wrapped Kit around your finger and used him to get back at Dad. You knew how much he wanted a son and you turned Kit against him. Every father dreams of teaching his boy to hunt and fish, telling him about life and training him to take over the family business.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing all this time, Jordanna? Trying to play the role of a son to your father?” Olivia challenged in a saccharin voice.

“No.” She abruptly set the cup and saucer on the table. She didn’t trust it in her hands. The urge to hurl the steaming contents on her mother was too great. She had given way to her temper earlier and had resolved not to do it again. “I am not trying to be like a son. I am a woman. I look like one; I act like one; and I think like one. Simply because I enjoy sports and hunting doesn’t make me less of a woman. I am not his surrogate son. I am his friend, one of the few he has, thanks to the way you’ve cuckolded him in front of the others.”

As Jordanna started to cross the room, her mother demanded, “Where are you going?”

“To my room,” she answered, not skipping a step. “The atmosphere in here has become sickening.”

“Do you understand what I meant earlier, Jordanna?” The question followed her. “I’m always being left alone.”

The emptiness of her room offered cold comfort. The aftermath of such scenes was always the same. Her nerves were stretched taut, tying her stomach into knots of tension. Jordanna paced back and forth across the Oriental rug of beige, green, and blue, like a caged tigress.

Stripping out of her skirt, she changed into a pair of red satin pants and tied a designer scarf around her
waist. She slipped the gold chain of her miniature shoulder purse onto her arm, bolted from the room and out of the apartment.

It was sticky outside, the pavement holding the day’s heat to mix with the night’s humidity. The door man hailed her a cab. She slipped him a tip as she climbed into the rear seat. Jordanna gave the driver the address of a club she frequented when she was in New York and leaned back in the seat to nibble at a fingernail.

Alone, she hovered inside the club entrance. The music was loud and the pulsating lights were confusing. The place was crowded, the din grating on her nerves. Jordanna wished she hadn’t come, but since she was already there, she started toward the bar.

Before she could reach her destination, she was invited to join a group that could loosely be described as friends, the regular bunch that frequented the club. Jordanna knew most of them at the two tables. She returned their greetings, missing the introductions of the two she didn’t know in the noise of music, voices, and laughter.

Someone bought her a drink. It momentarily soothed her nerve ends. She drank more, seeking a release from the tension that had her so on edge. Jordanna danced, laughed, and didn’t object when someone flirted with her, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling of alienation. It was this, more than anything, that prompted her to leave after she had been there little more than an hour.

Her announced departure brought several offers to escort her home, but Jordanna refused, knowing an acceptance would mean taking the long way home. She hadn’t reached the age of twenty-four without discovering that her desire was as easily aroused as her temper. She didn’t even have to like the man she was kissing to derive a measure of satisfaction from the experience. All she had to do was close her eyes. But sooner or later, she had to open them and she rarely liked what she saw.

It wasn’t the answer for her loneliness; nor would it solve her problems. Men’s arms only offered temporary forgetfulness and she craved something more. An empty bedroom looked better than empty passion. Outside the club, she flagged down a taxi cab and rode home alone.

J
ORDANNA SCOOPED SOME
caviar onto a cracker and slipped it into her mouth. The caterer watched as she licked a few globules of the expensive roe from her finger. “It’s very good.”

“Would you care for another sample?” he inquired blandly.

“Mmm, no thank you.” Unperturbed by his vague irritation, she wandered out of the kitchen into the main rooms of the apartment where other members of the catering staff were busily preparing for the party. Jordanna heard voices in the living room. One of them sounded like her brother’s.

“. . . seem to be going smoothly for the party tonight.” She caught the last half of Kit’s statement.

“Yes, they are,” her mother replied. “I missed your help. It’s all so much easier when there are two people organizing things.”

“I’m sure you managed quite adequately without me.”

“I really don’t know what kind of party this is going
to be,” her mother sighed. “Your father invited some of
his
friends . . .” There would have been more to the comment, but Olivia glanced up to see Jordanna appear in the archway.

“Don’t let me interrupt you, Livvie,” she mocked the sudden silence, the shimmering green flecks of her hazel gaze locking with the jeweled brilliance of her mother’s.