Romance Classics (66 page)

He got out, swung the gate open, drove the car through and closed the gate once more. As the car rolled along the wide, winding, unpaved but carefully raked dirt road, Alison looked about her at the rolling green fields, dotted here and there with grazing cattle that did not even look up as the car drove by.

The stables were elaborate, yet functional. There were a dozen or more thoroughbreds looking over the low doors of their stalls, and half a dozen stable boys busily attending to them. As the car rolled to a halt, a tall, well-built man in his mid-thirties, wearing well-worn riding gear, came toward them.

“Hi, Sam. Hello, Judy!” the man greeted them. His admiring eyes clung to Alison as Judy presented them. “And Miss Parker. Nice to meet you. Care to have a look at the winner of the Carolina Cup?”

“Wait, up, Stevie me boy,” Sam said firmly. “You haven’t seen our entry. It’s several weeks until the running of the Cup, and a lot of things could happen by then.”

He was out of the car. He excused himself to Judy and Alison, and he and Steve Jordan walked down to the end of the row of stalls, where they stood for a moment chatting, looking over the low door at the horse inside. When they came back to the car, Sam was laughing, and Steve was looking very resentful.

“You just wait, boy!” snorted Steve. “We’ll show you the cleanest pair of heels you ever saw win a race!”

“I’ll look forward to that,” Sam mocked him. “Care to place a small bet on the race?”

“Certainly not!” Steve protested. “You know gambling is against the law!”

“Why, so it is! Guess we’ll have to wait for the Kentucky Derby to risk our bankrolls.” Sam agreed as he slid behind the wheel and lifted his hand in a goodbye salute.

“I don’t like to reveal my ignorance,” Alison said as they drove back to the highway. “The Kentucky Derby I know about. But the Carolina Cup? Fill me in, please!”

“Well, it’s one of the most exciting steeplechase races in the country,” Sam told her. “Only three miles, but a grueling course over brush and timber. Brings thousands of racing fans to the town every year. It’s been run since 1930, and the cup is a trophy that is rich in history and highly prized. In fact, it’s supposed to be the most valuable trophy in American racing.”

“The cup was made in Ireland in 1702,” Judy chimed in eagerly. “It’s made of Queen Anne silver. The way it got down here is interesting, I think. It’s a perpetual trophy, and each year’s winner gets a replica. But the original stays here. It came from an exhibition of silver and art objects at a famous London art dealer’s. It was seen and admired by a man who helped establish the Cup Race. He felt that the cost of the cup was too much, that $1,000 should be the cost of a trophy for the track here. Later on, the other partner who had helped to establish the track came across the cup in a chest of old silver at an art gallery in New York and, without knowing that his friend had seen and admired it, bought it expressly as the trophy of the race. It’s dedicated to Thomas Hitchcock, of Aiken, who was considered the dean of American steeplechase horse breeders.”

Sam looked down at her and laughed.

“How much does the Chamber of Commerce pay you for learning that spiel by heart and reciting it at the drop of an adverb?” he demanded.

Judy grinned, completely unabashed.

“Well, I did learn it by heart from one of the Chamber’s brochures,” she admitted. “And it saves a lot of time when you’re trying to explain the race to strangers from out of town.”

“And I should think it would fascinate them,” Alison observed. “It fascinates me, and I only hope Marise will be willing to stay on long enough for me to attend the race.”

Judy and Sam exchanged a swift glance, and it was Judy who put the question that was in both their minds.

“How long is she planning to stay?” Judy wanted to know. And so did Sam, although he had let her put the question.

Alison made a slight gesture. “Only Marise knows,” she said frankly. “She’s a creature of impulse. She may stay on for weeks, or she may be ready to leave tomorrow. There’s no way of knowing.”

Judy’s expressive face altered slightly, and before she could speak, Sam said quickly, “Well, let’s hope she’ll stay until after the race, since you want to see it. Why don’t you tell her?”

Alison’s laugh was tinged with bitterness.

“So she’ll pack and leave tomorrow?” she drawled. “She would, you know. She has to be the one to call the shots—anything else would be unthinkable! No, I’d better just be very quiet and hope that Bix won’t be leaving before the race. She’ll stay as long as he does, unless they have a knock-down-and-drag-out fight. Which, of course, could happen at any minute.”

She glanced at their faces, and her own colored. Then she straightened her shoulders, tilted her chin and said briskly, “And now let’s talk about something or somebody else. I get very witchy when I talk about Marise, and I shouldn’t, because I
do
have to depend on her for bread and butter and a bit of jam to go with it.”

She looked from one to the other and there was a faintly defensive tone in her voice as she went on, “I’m sorry. I know I’ve behaved abominably. I’m spoiling your fun. Forgive me and let me out here, and I’ll walk back to Oakhill, as penance.”

“Nonsense!” Sam protested. “Neither Judy nor I know Marise, and you do. We aren’t having our trip spoiled by hearing what I am sure are a few homely truths about the imperious Miss Parker—”

“Thanks,” said Alison briefly. “You’re a sweet, but I know what a no-good I am to take from her and then stick a knife in her back. What’s that ahead—that pretty church there?”

Sam explained the church, set in a neatly trimmed green lawn, shaded by ancient magnolias and backed by live-oaks just turning green. The patio, with its blossoming azaleas and the quaint little Mission style church, made a lovely picture in the brilliant spring sunlight.

“And it has a beautifully toned bell called Gabriel,” Judy announced happily, and smiled at Alison.

“Don’t forget to show her the grave of Agnes of Glasgow,” Sam reminded Judy as they drove into town.

Alison glanced at him, startled. “What a cheerful sound that has!”

“Oh, it’s on all the sight-seeing cruises,” Judy assured her lightly. “Nobody really knows much about it, but there is a legend that Agnes was a girl whose lover was with the British here during the Revolutionary War. She was brought up-river by an Indian in his canoe, and she died a little later of a fever. The stone says only, ‘Here lies the body of Agnes of Glasgow, who departed this life Feb. 12, 1780, of a fever, aged 20.’”

“There’s the legend, of course,” Sam told them as he negotiated the midtown traffic and drew in to the curb to let them out. “There are people who say that because the grave doesn’t point in the conventional direction, it really points to buried treasure.”

Alison stared at him, wide-eyed.

“And nobody has ever tried to find out if there
is
buried treasure?” she asked.

Sam shook his head. “Nobody has dared; or at least if they have, it’s been kept very, very quiet!”

“Sounds a little like Evangeline of the Acadians,” Alison said softly, “except that Evangeline found her love after twenty years and learned he was a husband and father of several children. But nobody has ever hinted that Evangeline’s grave points to buried treasure.”

They were on the sidewalk now, and Sam said cheerfully, “You girls have a nice time and meet me at the hotel for lunch at one o’clock! Right?”

“Right,” said Judy happily, and turned to Alison. “Let’s go shoplifting.”

Alison looked startled. “Shoplifting?”

Judy chuckled. “Oh, it’s just a crazy phrase some of the girls use when we really are just window-shopping or browsing through the stores. A friend of mine says she goes into the stores to see what they have that she can do without and is always pleased that there is so much that comes under that heading! She has three small children, and by the time she gets them outfitted there’s not much of her husband’s salary left over for shopping.”

Alison smiled at the explanation, and they moved on down the street. Alison’s thoughts were busy, and as they reached the first shop she turned quickly to Judy and said, “Sam’s nice, Judy, isn’t he?”

Puzzled at her vehemence, Judy said, “Well, of course! He’s a lamb and a sweetie-pie. I adore him.”

“Then don’t let Marise meet him! If you love him, go in and get him before she so much as sets eyes on him,” Alison urged her.

Judy stared at her, and suddenly she laughed.

“Alison, for Pete’s sake, I’m not in love with Sam! I just meant he’s like the big brother I never had and that every girl wishes she had!”

“Oh, said Alison and managed a smile. “Well, you could do a lot worse than fall in love with him, my girl. He’s quite a lad.”

“Of course he is and I don’t know what I’d do without him,” Judy answered frankly. “He’s always been the one I ran to when things got out of kilter, from the time he used to mend my broken dolls until now.”

Alison eyed her as they walked into the store.

“Until now?” she repeated curiously.

Judy made a slight gesture of dismissal.

“Oh, I still run to him when things aren’t the way I’d like them,” she drawled, unwilling to make any further confidences to a girl she knew so slightly.

“And he puts things right? My, my, aren’t you lucky to have somebody around like that?” Alison seemed to understand Judy’s unwillingness to make any further confessions, and from then until they met Sam at the hotel for lunch, theirs was the casual kind of girl talk two women exchange on a shopping tour.

Sam was waiting for them when they came into the lobby and grinned at the packages they carried.

“I can see that our merchants benefited by your visit,” he told them as he walked between them into the dining room. “I therefore forgive you for being late.”

“Oh, are we?” Alison smiled up at him. “I’m so sorry. I’m afraid it was my fault. I simply couldn’t make up my mind about a couple of things, and Judy wasn’t much help. She suggested I buy both. But then Judy doesn’t understand my financial situation! Just because I’m Marise’s cousin, people think I control her pursestrings! Which just isn’t so!”

The elderly, very dignified waiter greeted Sam and Judy by name, settled them at a corner table beside a window that looked out over the street and placed menu cards before them.

Judy looked coolly at Alison and said briefly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. It was just that both dresses were so very becoming, and there seemed very little reason to choose between them.”

“I know.” Alison’s tone was humble. “But I didn’t really need them, and it was silly of me to buy even the one.”

Several people had spoken to Sam and Judy as they came into the dining room. Now a tall, pleasant-looking young man entered, glanced about the room as though searching for someone and saw Judy and Sam. He came forward with unrestrained delight, greeting them exuberantly.

“Haven’t seen you two in town in a dog’s age,” he said happily. “Since you’re here, I take it the Old Gentleman is much improved.”

“I’m afraid he’s about the same, Andy,” Judy told him carefully. “Alison, may I present Mr. Abbott, an old friend from school days? Andy, this is Miss Parker, who is a house guest at Oakhill.”

Andy stared at Alison, a faint scowl drawing his brows together.

“The Old Gentleman isn’t improving, and yet you have house guests at Oakhill?” He obviously could not keep back the words, although he turned instantly to Alison and added apologetically, “I’m sorry. I only mean that Mr. Bullard has been in such a serious condition that callers have even been forbidden and—well, it startled me to learn that he was able to have house guests. But I am delighted, of course.”

Sam’s eyes twinkled as Andy tried to extricate himself from a mildly embarrassing moment. But it was Judy who answered him.

“Bix had some friends who stopped by to say hello,” she told Andy briefly.

Sam asked, “Won’t you join us, Andy?”

Andy looked down and met Alison’s eyes, and his own warmed with admiration.

“Wouldn’t you know that the first time I’ve run into you in ages, I’d be meeting a client for lunch and be all tied up? But thanks just the same, Sam,” he answered, and then, turned to Judy. “Maybe, since you have house guests at Oakhill, I might run out some evening. I’ll promise not to make a lot of noise or bother the Old Gentleman. I’ll be on my best behavior, I swear it.”

Judy smiled at him and said warmly. “Of course, Andy. Any time at all. Yon know you are always welcome at Oakhill. The Old Gentleman himself would want you to feel free to drop in any time.”

Andy beamed at her in relief.

“Thanks, Judy. I always said you were a sweetheart.” He turned to Alison and said happily, “Then I’ll see you again soon, I hope.”

“If Cartwright is your lunch date, Andy, old man, he’s just come in and is scowling around in search of you,” Sam told him.

“Oh, yes, Cartwright, bless the man. He wants to buy a horse farm in the area, and I hope I can make the deal,” Andy said, and nodded as he turned to greet the man who stood in the doorway.

“I wonder whose farm Andy thinks he’s going to sell the man,” Judy wondered. “Do you know of one that’s available, Sam?”

Sam shook his head. “But with Cartwright’s wealth, if he really wants one, Andy will probably find one for him. Andy’s one of the best.”

“He’s a realtor?” asked Alison, watching the two men being escorted to an advantageously placed table.

“And a very good attorney, young as he is,” Sam answered. “He’s had the advantage of training by one of the best that ever walked! His father was a top-notch man, and Andy read law in his office from the time he was twelve years old.”

The waiter arrived and began serving their meal, and the conversation lapsed into trivialities.

It was late afternoon when they returned to Oakhill, and as Sam brought the car to a halt beside the steps leading up to the wide verandah, Marise came swiftly out of the house and stood accusingly before Alison.

“Where the blazes have you been all day? And without a word to me! How did you know that I might not need you?” she blazed.