The Glory Game Part 22

"You're probably right," she admitted, responding to that smile.

"I did not expect you ever to admit openly that I might be right about anything." His smile turned gently mocking, to hint at her previous mistrust.

"I sometimes speak rashly," Luz admitted, stimulated by this subtle wordplay that had sprung between them. It was an almost forgotten sensation that reminded her of high school and college days. She thought she had forgotten how to play the game, but flirting was obviously like riding a horse-no one ever completely lost the knack.

"Which is not always wisely," Raul suggested dryly.

"Not always," she agreed.

Trisha breezed back into the owner's box, her return scattering the faint undercurrents Luz had sensed. She grasped the clutch purse with her winnings tightly in her hand. "It won't buy a Dior original, but it will finance another trip to that divine shop on the Rue du Faubourg St. Honore with all the leather and suede," she declared, then laughed. "Remind me to send a basket of apples to Vagabond Song when we get back to the hotel. And I'll have them throw in a bunch of carrots, too. It's only fair, since he did all the work."

"That's true." Luz smiled, but she felt oppressed by Trisha's vivacious humor, its youthful vigor more than she could match.

She welcomed the arrival of the Chandlers, both of them still glowing from their horse's victory. "Remember that drink we were going to have to the winner?" Vic said. "Well, I think it's in order now. What do you say?"

There were more races on the afternoon's program, but they would be anticlimactic after this one, so Luz agreed with Vic's suggestion. They left the owner's box and retraced their route to the inner paddocks while Vic related the jockey's account of the running, naturally filled with praise for the horse.

He was still talking when they reached the champagne bar under the trees, but paused in his story long enough to ask, "Champagne all around?" His glance singled out Raul, who nodded affirmatively; he took the ladies' answers for granted. Once the order was placed with the bartender, he went back to his story, hardly skipping a beat. "Ewan wants to try the Song in a mile-and-a-quarter race to see how he fares before committing to the Arc. I say the breeding is there and we should go for it, but he likes to play it cautious. He's brought the Song along this far, so I have to go along with him. As Jake always said, you can't argue with success." The bartender set the filled gla.s.ses in front of him, and Vic handed them to Raul to distribute. Luz was conscious of the brush of his fingers when he pa.s.sed one to her. "To the winner, Vagabond Song." Vic raised his gla.s.s in a repeat of his prerace toast.

"To the winner," they all echoed.

The race remained the topic of conversation, the race and its winner. Through it all, Luz caught herself watching Raul, especially when Vic questioned him about Thoroughbred racing in Argentina and the caliber of the horses compared to the American and European horses. Then she could study him without being obvious.

The conversation came around to a discussion of fillies competing with colts in their same age group. "I have a two-year-old filly that I picked up last year at the yearling sale in Deauville for next to nothing. She has been doing exceptionally well in her races. She won the last two going away. I've been talking to Ewan about running her against some colts. I think she could beat the ones I've seen."

"You're better off waiting until the fall," Luz said. "It's been my experience-through Jake-that fillies always fare better against the colts in the fall than they do in the spring when they're in season."

"A good point. I hadn't considered that." Vic nodded thoughtfully, while Luz caught a glimmer of respect in Raul's look and experienced an odd rush of pleasure.

Then his glance shot past her. A split second later, his right hand gripped her arm above the elbow and pulled her closer to him, out of the path of a man shouldering his way to the bar before she was jostled by him. She looked up to thank him and saw the pain in his expression. She realized he had used his injured arm.

"Your wrist-" she began.

"De nada." He brushed aside her concern, insisting it was nothing, but there was something warm in his look.

It unsettled her, though, just as her growing fascination with him unsettled her. Maybe it was as simple as being in the company of a man who was a stranger to her compared to Drew, whose every gesture and expression she knew so well she could almost antic.i.p.ate what he was going to say next. But she didn't know Raul well enough to guess what he was thinking or what a particular look or movement meant.

That unknown always spiced a relations.h.i.+p, never allowing a person to be sure of her footing until the time came when everything was learned and disenchantment or boredom set in. That's obviously what had happened to her marriage. She and Drew had grown apart, and he had become bored with her. That level of interest necessary to make a relations.h.i.+p last had to be based on more than just caring or wanting something to be so. Maybe it required common interests such as Drew shared with Claudia.

The weight of her depressing thoughts began to crush her. Luz took a drink of champagne to throw them off. She was enjoying this afternoon, and she wasn't going to let herself be buried by endless wonderings of what she'd done wrong. Paris was a place to have fun-to enjoy being a woman.

"I have the most perfect idea," Diana declared. "Let's all go out to dinner this evening and celebrate in style."

"I think it's wonderful," Luz seconded it and turned to Raul. "You will come, won't you?" It was less a question than a statement.

"I have no wish to intrude on a private celebration among friends," he declined politely.

"Nonsense," Diana dismissed his reasoning. "The five of us watched the race together. We should all dine together, too. You can't abandon the party now, Raul. What kind of celebration would that be with one of us missing?"

"Don't be difficult, Raul." Trisha lent her voice to the others, c.o.c.king her head at him at a provocative and challenging angle. "Why do you always have to play hard to get?"

Luz watched the smile come into his eyes as he looked down at Trisha. There was obviously a hidden meaning in that phrase known only to them. She liked it even less than the other times she had intercepted such intimations.

"It seems I cannot refuse the invitation." He bowed slightly to his evening's hostess.

"That's settled. Now the problem, where to go? So many of the fine restaurants are closed on Sunday, even Maxim's." Diana waited for suggestions. When none were forthcoming, she offered her own. "There is that popular restaurant in the Latin Quarter. It's always filled with actors, writers, and artists."

"Please," Luz objected. "Let's not spend an evening surrounded by intellectuals."

"What about the Tour d'Argent? The food is superb, the wines are excellent, and the decor is very elegant," ventured Diana.

"The food is so rich," her husband objected.

Raul took no part in the ensuing discussion over the merits of various proposed restaurants, some rejected on the ground that one or another of them had eaten there in the past few days. There were any number of establishments in Paris that served fine food, although not all were high-priced or expensively decorated. But the wealthy, he'd observed, tended to equate price with quality. Sometimes it seemed they spent more time deciding where to eat than which horses to buy. He'd sold horses to wealthy amateur players on sight alone. If he'd ridden a horse in a game, that was sufficient for them. Looking at Luz Kincaid Thomas and Trisha, he realized they had never in their life wondered how they were going to eat-only where and what. It was something he never could shake, and he felt his distance from them and viewed their conversation with the disdain of reverse sn.o.bbery.

"What about the galleon moored opposite the racecourse?" Vic suggested. "It has excellent food and a great view overlooking the Seine. Maybe we can get a table outside."

There was a lull, but no objections were forthcoming. "Do you suppose we can get reservations?" Diana wondered.

"Georges can get anything," Luz insisted.

CHAPTER XV.

Reservations were made for dinner at nine o'clock, and two chauffeur-driven cars picked them up at the hotel in advance of that hour. The Place de la Concorde had a magical quality at night, the towering obelisk and the surrounding statuary illuminated by spotlights and diamond waters dancing in the lighted fountains. At the other end of the wide boulevard, Napoleon's triumphal arch stood in all its glory, bathed in light.

"After dinner, perhaps we should be terribly touristy and take the Evening Road up to Montmartre so we can view the lights of Paris." The heavy pearl dangling from an ear swung against her neck as Luz turned her head to glance at Trisha in the shadows of the car's interior.

Trisha leaned forward to touch Raul's arm, which was draped along the backrest of the front seat. The sheen of her black satin dinner suit reflected the light from a streetlamp.

"Have you seen the view from Montmartre by night before, Raul?" she questioned when he turned.

"Yes."

"Who with? I know a gentleman would never tell, but I have my doubts that you are a gentleman," she mocked playfully.

"That is your choice." He briefly lifted his hand from the seat back in a gesture of indifference. Before he faced the front again, his glance lingered an instant on Luz in the opposite corner. She was impressed by the way he'd deftly handled Trisha's deliberately provocative comment, turning it away so easily.

She glanced at her daughter, whose flirting had been so idly rebuffed. Trisha looked the young sophisticate tonight. The black satin jacket with peplumed waist, puff sleeves, and notched lapels in contrasting white satin covered a close-fitting strapless sheath with a sweetheart neckline, trimmed in white satin. The crowning touch was the nothing of a hat, a V-shaped black band coming to a point in the center of her forehead with a pouf of black veil. As Luz had advised her, it was impossible to be overdressed in Paris, where even the shop clerks dressed with style and elan.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the moored galleon, its lights silvering the waters of the Seine. The driver opened the rear door for Luz, taking her hand as she swung gracefully out of the car. Straightening, she smoothed the s.h.i.+mmering material of her slim, straight skirt, dotted black on black, and adjusted the flared waist of black-belted jacquard blouse, a contrasting match of white dots on white.

A car drove up behind them, bearing the Chandlers. Together they boarded the galleon, refurbished to house a first-cla.s.s restaurant. Although the summer night was mild, they chose to dine inside instead of taking a table in the open air. The matre d' showed them to a quiet area away from the noise and congestion of the kitchen entrance. Raul held the chair for Luz as she sat down, then took one facing her. The menus were waved aside for the time being as they ordered aperitifs. When the drinks were served, another toast was drunk to the horse whose victory had brought them together.

"Tell me, Trisha." Vic Chandler sat at the head of the table while Trisha occupied the chair on his left next to Raul. Leaning an elbow on the table, he bent toward her, appearing intrigued by her blossoming sophistication. "Have you left some young man pining away back in the States for you?"

"No." The edges of the hat veil came no lower than the tip of her nose, the fine mesh creating a provocative see-through mask for her dark eyes. "There is no special one. I prefer playing the field."

"The polo field?" he teased with a pointed glance at Raul.

"Speaking of polo ..." Luz took a sip of her Cinzano, then lowered the gla.s.s, holding it at the top with her fingers. "Rob tells me that you also train and sell polo ponies. Is that right, Raul?" She decided to discard their previous formality; a social evening was no place for it.

"Yes. I presently have approximately twenty ponies with game experience for sale as well as many others in various stages of advanced training."

"I know that after riding the ponies Henry bought there, Rob is very interested in purchasing some Argentine-bred horses for his string."

"We spoke of it." Raul nodded.

"Yes. That evening at the pub," Trisha inserted.

"Regardless of what we decide about your school, we will probably be coming to Argentina in the near future anyway to look at horses, including yours," she said.

"I would welcome the opportunity to show you my ponies, and I always recommend to prospective buyers that they ride them, preferably under game conditions." He paused, smiling slightly. "With the school to draw from, we never lack for players to make up a team for an impromptu game. Although I believe my ponies are among the best in Argentina, if you don't find all that you want in my herd, I will introduce you to other stable owners with made ponies for sale."

"How kind of you."

"Kindness has little to do with it, Mrs. Thomas."

"Please," she interrupted. "I would prefer that you call me Luz." She felt his gaze move over her face, touching hair, eyes, and lips. The line of his mouth curved faintly as if satisfied by what he saw.

"As you wish," Raul said and picked up from before. "My offer is a matter of business. You will see my ponies first and have a standard by which to judge the others. And if you come before the end of August, you'll have an opportunity to look over the school's facilities and still allow time for your son to enroll."

She had to smile at his strategy, despite feeling a twinge of disappointment that he hadn't addressed her by name after she had invited it.

"We'll be there in August," Trisha stated. "It can't be any later than that or it will interfere with the beginning of fall term. And I'm not about to let Rob and Luz go without me. Argentina fascinates me."

"She's been reading all about your country." The gla.s.s was close to her lips as Luz spoke, eyeing Raul across its rim. "She's made all sorts of interesting discoveries, such as that the Const.i.tution of the United States was the model for your own."

"August. Why, you'll barely be home a month before leaving on another long trip," Diana realized.

"You always did love to travel," Vic recalled. "Although Drew was never particularly fond of it. Since you broke up with him, you seem to be making up for lost time."

"It might appear that way, but actually this European trip has been planned for some time. Our party is simply smaller by one," she said, the taste of the aperitif strong on her lips.

"You need to find yourself a man," Diana stated, and Luz unconsciously looked at Raul, remembering, however vaguely, when he'd held her in his arms and they had danced so close.

"She will," Vic a.s.serted. "Luz has the right idea. New places, new faces. See what life has to offer and go after it. The best way to put out the ashes of an old fire is with a new one."

"please," she protested laughingly. "The divorce was just recently final."

"How long has it been since you and Drew split up?" Vic asked.

"Three months." Sometimes it seemed much longer than that. It had all the echoes of a bad dream. And there was a part of her that still expected to wake up some morning and everything would be the way it was.

"You know what they say, Luz-'Eat, drink, and remarry!'" Vic laughed at his own pun. The waiter stopped to inquire whether they wished to see the menus yet, sparing Luz a response. "Yes. And a round of drinks for everyone except this young lady." He patted Trisha's arm. The drink in front of her was barely touched. "Send the ... uh ... sommelier to our table. We'll want to order some wine."

After the menus were distributed, Luz noticed that Raul spent little time studying the selections. He laid the menu aside after one quick perusal. Trisha angled her body toward him, the raised menu s.h.i.+elding much of her face from Luz's view, and pointed to an item, asking his opinion.

Luz pretended to study her bill of fare. "Have you already made your choice, Raul?" she asked, breaking up the murmured conference.

"Yes," he replied, straightening away from Trisha.

"Do you always make your decisions so quickly?"

"About some things I do."

"And the important ones?"

"They take longer," he admitted, smiling dryly.

"And you don't consider the choice of food important," Luz guessed.

"Some dishes taste better than others, but food is food, no?" A dark brow was arched with amused question.

"It is almost sacrilegious to say such a thing in France." She laughed. "If the waiter hears you, he'll have you thrown out."

Eventually all decided what they wanted and their orders were given to the waiter along with the selections of wine recommended by the wine steward to accompany the various courses. In French fas.h.i.+on, the meal was a leisurely affair with time between each course. All the while, the winegla.s.ses were kept filled by an attentive waiter.

As the main course was being served, Luz noticed Raul bending his head to catch a murmured aside by Trisha. She opened her mouth to say something that would reclaim his attention. Then it struck her what she was doing-what she had been doing all evening. She was vying with her daughter for Raul's attention-competing with Trisha woman to woman. She wasn't trying to protect Trisha. She wanted Raul for herself.

"Is something wrong, Luz?" Diana questioned the shocked look on her face.

The words were slow to register, but when they did Luz answered quickly, "No," and reached for her winegla.s.s.

She barely tasted the fish, was.h.i.+ng each bite down with wine from a gla.s.s that was never allowed to become empty. Each time she looked across the table and saw them talking, a rawness went through her, the simmering anger of jealousy. She hated herself for it. It was so wrong to resent her daughter's youth and beauty, yet the terrible envy was there.

The cheese was served in advance of the sweet. It tasted like chalk in her mouth. When she tipped her head to take a drink of wine, she felt woozy. She had no idea how much she had drunk, but it was too much. Determined not to embarra.s.s herself a second time, Luz set the gla.s.s down and pushed her chair back from the table.

"Would you all excuse me?" She stood up, holding on to the chairback for balance. "I'm afraid I've had too much wine tonight. I think I should leave." There was a movement, but Luz wasn't sure which member of her party had started to move. "No. You stay here and finish your meal. I'll be fine. The driver's waiting outside. He can take me back to the hotel."

"I'd better go with her." Trisha folded her linen napkin and laid it alongside her place setting.

"I don't want you to come with me." She was the last person Luz wanted, afraid of what her wine-loosened tongue might reveal. "I am not helpless, Trisha." The harshness of her tone seemed to push Trisha back into her chair. "Please, all of you stay and enjoy yourself," Luz insisted tautly. "I'll be fine."

Before more protests could be made, she left the table and walked as quickly as she dared to the exit. Once outside, the fresh air hit her and the vague feeling of dizziness became suddenly overwhelming. She pressed a hand to her head, trying to stop the spinning inside it while her other hand groped for any kind of support until this merry-go-round in her mind stopped turning.

An arm went around her at the same instant that she felt a body beside her. She leaned gratefully against its solidness. "Pardon, monsieur. Un moment." Luz breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with the warm night air and letting it sober her. "Merci." As she moved away from the supporting chest and shoulder, she looked up and recognized Raul as her kind Frenchman. "Well, my lord of nothing has come to rescue me again." It was hurt pride that made her mock him. She angrily pushed his arm away from her. "I don't happen to need your help this time."

"I will see you safely into the car," he stated, and motioned to the drivers lounging by a rear fender of one of the hired cars.

As she looked anywhere but at him, she began to notice the silvery sheen of the Seine, the bright pattern of lights s.h.i.+ning out from the huge galleon and the faint dusting of stars overhead. A summer night in Paris should be filled with gaiety and laughter. She longed to be carefree again. Young and foolish. Why not?