The Glory Game Part 19

"Who else," Luz agreed dryly-and quietly. The Argentine had been Rob's nemesis the last time they'd played against each other, and today appeared to be a repeat.

"If looks could kill, Rob just buried him. Wanta see?" Trisha offered her the binoculars.

"No." It was all she could do to hold her head up, and those field gla.s.ses were heavy. Besides, she doubted if she'd be able to see any better through them anyway.

And she had already guessed which one he was. Even at a distance he had looked familiar to her, so she had identified him from the start of the game. These last couple of days, Rob had talked about Raul Buchanan incessantly. Supposedly she had met him at last night's party, or so Rob claimed at breakfast this morning, but Luz didn't remember that.

Most of last night was a haze to her, although she had a vague, lingering sense that she'd made a fool of herself. She had seen and talked to a lot of people, mostly English lords and gentry, but no Latins that she recalled. Actually, she was grateful Rob had let the matter of her memory lapse drop. Maybe he knew she'd had too much to drink, but she hadn't wanted to admit that to him.

The game moved swiftly with none of the fouls that had so frequently halted the action in the first half of play. Privately, Luz was glad it wasn't dragging out, although for Rob's sake she was sorry time ran out while his side was still behind.

"Poor Henry." Fiona sighed. "He won't be fit to live with for a week."

"I suppose we should go console Rob," Trisha said.

Luz would have preferred to go straight back to Seven Oak and lie down with an ice pack on her forehead, but she knew Rob would expect her to come by. Before the game, he had said he wanted her to meet Raul Buchanan. Now that the Argentine player had beaten him again, he might have changed his mind about that. G.o.d, she hoped so. She wasn't sure if she was up to meeting the man who was fast becoming Rob's polo idol.

"We'll be back shortly," she promised Fiona Sherbourne, and carefully pushed out of the chair.

Together, Luz and Trisha proceeded up the sidelines toward the picket area. Luz kept her head down so that the brim of her hat could s.h.i.+eld her from as much of the glaring sun as possible. Silently, she wished for some of that notoriously foul English weather-some heavy thick clouds would be nice.

They skirted the spectators, most of them there in hopes of catching a glimpse of some member of the Royal Family, either playing in the game or observing the action. Pa.s.sing the parked horse trailers, mainly the old-fas.h.i.+oned horse boxes instead of the goose-necked kind so common in the States, they approached the riders' pony lines. They had to watch where they were going and avoid the piles of horse droppings that dotted the rear area.

"There's Rob." Trisha pointed.

Luz glanced in the direction she indicated. Rob was in the company of another man whose back was to them, the polo helmet tucked under his arm to reveal dark, rumpled hair. The color of his sweat-darkened s.h.i.+rt identified him as a member of the opposing team, obviously being congratulated by Rob on their victory.

"Hey, Luz!" Rob called to her, his expression seeming unusually earnest in the face of his loss. A second later, Luz recognized the black horse standing to one side of the rider, and it all made sense. That was Raul Buchanan with him. "You've met my mother, haven't; you?" he said to him as she walked up, Trisha lagging slightly behind her.

When the man turned, shock rippled through her. That face belonged to the man she had danced with at the party. The clothes were wrong-the dirt-smudged white breeches, the tight-fitting polo s.h.i.+rt, and boots. In black evening suit, she would never have guessed that he played polo for a living-that he was Argentine.

A second thought hit Luz with sickening force. She'd been so drunk. The impression she must have made on him was sobering. She looked at his level blue eyes, deeply lined at the corners. He probably saw her as a bitter, self-pitying divorcee, afraid of growing old alone. That wasn't really who she was. And she wouldn't have him looking down at her.

"Yes, I've met Mrs. Thomas," he said.

"You have the advantage on me, Mr. Buchanan," Luz a.s.serted coolly. "Last evening you only identified yourself as the lord of nothing.' A memorable t.i.tle-and a curious one under the circ.u.mstances."

"It seemed appropriate at the time. The phrase was once used to describe the gaucho-the cowboy of my country. Seor de nada, lord of nothing. As you said, Mrs. Thomas, it's memorable although the humor may be weak." The explanation was smooth and aloofly made.

"Part of the fault for this mix-up may be mine." Trisha stepped forward. "You see, the other evening, Luz, I likened Raul to a modern-day gaucho."

A combination of things registered simultaneously on Luz-Trisha's familiar use of his given name, the way she looked at him, and the memory that her daughter had been with him when Luz first saw him. The nearly twenty-year age difference came last, but Drew had proved to her how irrelevant that was to a man. Luz shuddered inwardly when she recalled how very close she had come to making an utter fool of herself and indulging in absurd fantasies. The dark gla.s.ses she wore were a blessing.

"Well, seor de nada-or should I call you Mr. Buchanan? I don't know which you prefer." Her brittle, forced laugh, like her smile, had a trace of sarcasm that mocked whatever n.o.bly romantic notions he had about himself.

"Mr. Buchanan-or simply Raul."

Luz suspected the latter familiarity was offered because he had already given the privilege to her daughter. "My son has spoken at length about you, Mr. Buchanan." Belatedly, she realized that Rob probably called him by his given name, too, but she preferred to keep this new distance. "Naturally he talked about your polo school."

"He is a good player. With training, he could improve his handicap rating. I admit I would like to see him enroll in the program. I think he would benefit greatly from it.'

"Before we made a decision of that nature, I would have to know more detailed information about it-the duration of the training, the time frame. And the costs involved-I'm sure you don't do this for nothing," she added cynically. "Many things have to be considered."

"I understand." Raul's expression had become very remote. "I have supplied your son with my address in Argentina. You may direct your inquiries there for information, or any arrangements you may wish to make. He also has the name of the man to contact regarding the school."

"I was under the impression it was your school. Do you actually do any instructing, or have you simply lent your name to it?" Luz challenged.

"It is my school," he stated firmly. "And I will be involved in the instruction of the finer points of the game, but there will be others teaching as well, so the young player will have the benefit of the expertise of others."

"I hope you don't think I was accusing you of misleading us." She smiled.

His mouth curved in response, its line containing the same knowing expression as hers. "It never crossed my mind, Mrs. Thomas."

"Then you will understand when I say that I'm accustomed to dealing with the person in charge, and that appears to be you." She wasn't about to be shunted to some underling. "It seems only fair that if we are prepared to invest both time and money in your program, you take time to answer our questions personally."

"I would do so now, Mrs. Thomas, but unfortunately they will be making the trophy presentation shortly. And I have the feeling your discussion would be a lengthy one. Previous commitments will take me out of the country the first of the week, so I cannot be certain how soon I could arrange to meet you. I gave you my a.s.sociate's name as an alternative. It would be poor business practice-and rude-to indefinitely postpone supplying the information you seek before deciding whether Rob-your son-may wish to attend this year's session."

"It starts the latter part of August," Rob volunteered. "That's less than two months away."

The obvious deadline irritated her. She felt she had to take a firm stand to establish some kind of authority. Her pride insisted on it.

"Raul is going to France," Trisha supplied.

"Yes, I will be there approximately a month before I fly home to Argentina."

"Perhaps that's our answer, Mr. Buchanan," Luz stated. "We-that is, Trisha and I-will be in Paris for the next ten days. Rob will stay on here and join us later. Surely we can arrange to have dinner one evening."

"I am staying in the country." He began what sounded like a refusal, then appeared to change his mind. "But I could arrange to come into the city for an evening."

"We will be staying at the Hotel de Crillon. What day would suit you? Our plans are flexible." Again, she forced the issue, seeking a firm date rather than leaving it open.

"Shall we say Tuesday, the week next?" he suggested smoothly.

"That will be fine," Luz agreed. "Dinner at eight."

"I will leave the choice of restaurant to you," he replied. "If any conflict arises, I will leave a message at your hotel, but I antic.i.p.ate none." A movement on the field distracted his attention. "You will excuse me." He collected the reins of his horse and swung onto the saddle.

When Luz tipped her head back to look up at his now greater height she looked directly into the sun, its light no longer blocked by her hat brim. Not even the dark lenses of her sungla.s.ses could s.h.i.+eld out all the force of its blinding glare. She averted her face and instinctively raised a hand to cover her eyes.

"In Paris, Mrs. Thomas." The firm tone of his voice promised a future meeting. A second later, she heard the heavy step of the black horse, its shod hooves carrying him away. Wary of the sun, Luz chanced another look at the rider, this time careful to keep her head down, and watched him ride back onto the field to join the other members of his team.

She was conscious of the silence on both sides of her. "Is anything wrong?" She glanced first at Rob, noting his moody dejection.

One corner of his mouth was pulled down in a rueful line. "It didn't sound as if you thought very much of his school. It really is a kind of polo college," he a.s.serted.

"It may be, but I don't have any of the facts. At this point, I have no opinion one way or the other," Luz insisted.

"He's the best polo player I've ever met. I could learn a lot from him." The stubborn jut of his chin reminded Luz of Drew, always so very definite about his ideas. "Remember when I changed horses just before the end of the next-to-last chukkar? Henry crawled all over me for that, because they scored a point while we were short. Raul told me, before you came, that I had made the right decision. I didn't have control of my pony, so I was useless to the team anyway."

"What happened to the pony?" A frown flickered across Trisha's face.

"It was my fault, I guess." He shrugged self-consciously. "I never checked over the equipment. The bit was too tight and it cut up his mouth. Henry isn't going to be too happy about that either."

"It was a regrettable oversight. I'm sure Henry will understand." Luz smiled with bland encouragement. "If he doesn't, I'll simply have to remind him of the time he was playing in a game with Jake and forgot to check the saddle girth. The first time he went to make a shot, the saddle twisted, and he did a rather ungainly swan dive onto the gra.s.s."

"I would have loved to see his face." Rob laughed. "As red as he gets, it must have looked like a ripe tomato."

"Close." The empty smile remained in place as she glanced at Trisha. "Fiona will be ready to leave. We'd better go back."

"I'll see you there," Rob said. "I want to check on the sorrel before I have to face Henry."

As she and Trisha left the picket area to retrace their steps, Luz felt the dampness of her armpits. Her palms were clammy with nervous perspiration, too. She realized how much the confrontation with Raul Buchanan had shaken her. She had to get control of herself and put last night's performance behind her. It was best forgotten. All of it.

Gradually she became aware of Trisha's silence. Her expression was unusually pensive as she gazed at the little ceremony being conducted on the field, the presentation of the winner's trophy. Any hope that the subject of Raul Buchanan had been dropped faded from Luz's mind.

As if sensing her study, Trisha turned to look at her. "It must have been embarra.s.sing."

"What?" Luz looked to the front, pretending not to understand her reference.

"I didn't realize you didn't know his name last night. I guess I thought he'd told you." She stared at the ground as they walked. "It had to be really awkward for you finding out like that."

"Why should it? I don't have to account for my actions to him-or to anyone," Luz added stiffly to include her daughter, then went on the attack. "You seem to know him quite well."

Her head came up to meet Luz's glance. "Not as well as I would like."

"Don't get involved with him, Trisha. He's too old for you."

"Luz, I-"

"And don't bring up your father. There is no comparison. You are barely eighteen, and that is too young to be getting involved with an older man. I don't care who he is."

There was no answer from Trisha, but Luz didn't expect one. Nor did she believe that her daughter was going to listen to her.

Shortly after they returned to Seven Oak, afternoon tea was served in the relatively informal sunroom. Luz sampled the small sandwiches, avoiding the cuc.u.mber in favor of the lighter watercress, but concentrated mainly on the tea. Her stomach wasn't up to digesting the sweet rich delicacies on the polished silver tray. It wanted to turn when Luz watched Trisha biting into one of the cream-filled brandy snaps, so she was careful not to look at Rob when he helped himself to a cream dariole, a custard tart topped with red currant jelly and whipped cream.

Her host ignored the light repast altogether, she noticed as a disgruntled Henry Sherbourne tossed down another swallow of Scotch, then hobbled away from the window overlooking the garden, nursing a sore hip and shoulder bruised in a fall during the polo match. Luz suspected that defeat had only added to the pain of his injuries. He was a stocky, florid-faced man with what Jake had been fond of calling "donelap's disease," meaning his stomach "done lapped" over his belt. His presently tucked-in chin and the downward droop of his mouth corners emphasized the jowling of his cheeks. As Fiona had predicted, he was in an ill temper and had said barely ten words since he'd joined them.

"Excuse me." The butler made one of his silent entrances; he was a properly sober-faced and formal man, young by the standard image, in his middle thirties, but exuding quiet authority. "There is a telephone call for Mr. Thomas."

"Me?" Rob said in surprise and question.

"Yes, sir." The dark head inclined in an affirmative nod. "A young lady, sir. Cynthia Hall."

"Oh." He appeared vaguely fl.u.s.tered.

"Would you care to take it in the library, sir?"

"Yes, that's fine. Thank you, Tobin." Recovering, he set aside his Haviland plate with the half-eaten cream dariole and dabbed at his mouth with the linen napkin.

"Hurry, Rob," Trisha teased. "You don't want to keep Cyn-thia waiting."

His look glittered with brotherly irritation as he rose from his chair, then he pointedly ignored her to follow the butler out of the room. Trisha stared at the door through which he'd gone, a bemused expression on her face.

Then she stirred, announcing generally, "It's time I was getting ready."

"For what?" Luz frowned.

"Didn't I tell you?" She paused on her way to the door. "Don Townsend is coming by to pick me up. We're going dancing somewhere. With him, who knows where we'll end up? It is likely to be Annabel's in Berkeley Square. You don't mind, do you?"

Luz knew she wasn't really seeking her permission. "No. But try not to be too late," she called after her.

With Trisha gone and Rob on the telephone in the library, that left just the three of them in the room. "A quiet evening at home seems to be in store for us," Fiona remarked, then glanced in her husband's direction. "It's probably just as well."

Luz smiled wanly in agreement, although she knew there were a couple of things she had to do before she could enjoy that implied peace. "Henry, what do you know about Raul Buchanan?"

There seemed no better time to begin gathering background material on the man. She knew little about him beyond his surface credentials as a high-goal polo player, and Rob was too prejudiced in the man's favor for his judgment to be reliable. And there was the problem of Trisha's interest to consider. Personally, she wanted nothing more to do with him, but she wasn't likely to succeed in imposing her dictates on Rob and Trisha. Since a decision had to be made after she met him again, she wanted it to be a rational one. To do that, she needed information from sources other than Raul Buchanan.

"Don't mention his name to me!" Henry took another swig of his Scotch, trying to wash out the bad taste.

"I wasn't trying to rub salt into your wounds." She had her own smarting memories of him, although it was her own behavior that was to blame for them. "But I understand he has a polo school in Argentina. You know how interested Rob is in improving his game. He has been talking to Buchanan about attending his school. Most of my experience, personally and through Jake, has been in club polo-the lessons and occasional seminars they give. I felt you would know more about the professional level of play, and advanced training of this nature, specifically Buchanan's and how well it's regarded."

"I see." It was a harrumphing response, grudgingly accepting the subject matter. "I can't tell you much about the man personally, but I know our British pros are keen on him. There are some good training schools around. As a matter of fact, there's one in Ireland. But I can't speak specifically about his. However, there's no doubt Argentina has some of the best players in the world. One would think that would be the place to learn. I could make some inquiries, if you like."

"Please. I'll be meeting with Mr. Buchanan a week from Tuesday to talk about his schooling program. I would like some information beforehand."

"That shouldn't be a problem."

"Thank you, Henry. I do appreciate it."

After tea, Luz went up to her suite. In the hallway, she met Rob coming out of his room. The smell of his after-shave was so strong, she wondered if he had splashed the whole bottle on his face.

"Going out?" she guessed.

"Yes. Cyn is on her way over now. Cynthia Hall, the girl who phoned earlier," he added quickly. "We're just going out for a couple of hours."

"Enjoy yourself." She didn't want Rob to feel guilty for leaving her alone. Since the separation and divorce, he'd been very sensitive about that, often making sure she had plans of her own.

After she went by him, he seemed to hesitate before continuing down the hall. As she entered her rooms and turned to shut the door, she couldn't help thinking that everyone was paired. Fiona and Henry were downstairs. Trisha was off with her date, and Rob was meeting his. Now Drew and Claudia.

"Two by two," she muttered.

"I'm sorry. What did you say, Luz?"

Emma's voice startled her. She pivoted around to face the room and saw Emma sitting at the small desk by the sitting room window. "Nothing." She walked forward, her attention resting thoughtfully on the plump woman who seemed so well adjusted to her own single status. She frowned curiously. "How do you cope with loneliness, Emma? You've been a widow for ten years or more."

They worked so closely together, their lives entwining, yet they had never become confidantes. Luz doubted that there was much about her private life that Emma didn't know, yet they never talked about it. And she knew nothing about Emma's, beyond the names of a few friends and relatives, and odd bits about her late husband-superficial information.

"I stay occupied, involved in my work and interested in people and places," she answered matter-of-factly. "It's a matter of keeping busy at something, I guess." As if to prove it, she reached for the note pad on the desk. "I have verified our airline reservations to Paris, and a limousine will be waiting for us at the airport when we arrive. They have our flight number and our scheduled time of arrival, so there shouldn't be any mix-ups."