"Has there been any change?"
"Some slight change for the better. His temperature has dropped half a degree. It's very nice of you to have come to be with me. Thank you."
"Oh, Tony, I'm so worried about him. We had such a good time together while you and Momma were away, but honestly, we didn't do anything that would have made him sick. We were outside a lot, but he was always properly dressed, and whenever he showed any signs of getting cold, we went right back inside. And he had a good appetite and . . ."
"Hold on . . hold on." Tony seized my elbows in his hands. "Troy's been sick like this before. It's just his nature. No one can predict it. I don't blame anyone, least of all you. Stop thinking about it." He looked at his watch. "It will be a while yet before the doctor can say anything new about Troy's condition and it's just about dinnertime. I know a nice little Italian restaurant eat far from here," he said. "Hungry?"
"Sure, you must be. I haven't eaten since early morning. There's no point in us just sitting here. Come on," he said putting on his coat and then taking my arm into his. 1 couldn't help my hesitation. I hadn't demanded to be brought here so I could eat dinner in Boston. I wanted to be near Troy.
But, I thought, if Tony felt it was all right to leave for a little while to get something to eat, I supposed it was all right.
"Troy's getting the best possible treatment," Tony said, after we were seated at a small table by the window. "That little tyke has a way of pulling out of crises when he wants to, and now that you're living with us at Farthy, I know he wants to live and be well more than ever." He reached across the table to pat my hand reassuringly.
"I hope so," I said, nearly following it with a sob.
"Let's eat. They have wonderful pasta here. Let me do the ordering for both of us," he said. How sophisticated he was, pronouncing the Italian words perfectly. The waiter recognized his worldly ways immediately and was immediately impressed. I could see it in the way he listened and nodded. Tony then turned and stared at me for a moment. His sharp, penetrating blue gaze rested on me with deep consideration.
"You know you're a baffling girl, Leigh. One second you look positively radiant with happiness, and the next all happiness has fled and you have tears in your eyes. I think you're just as intriguing, or confusing, I should say, as your mother. No man is a match for either of you, I'm afraid," he added, not sounding bitter so much as he sounded resigned to his fate.
"Did you have a good time on your
honeymoon?" I asked, sensing a sour note. "Momma went right to bed so I didn't have a chance to ask her anything." His blue eyes narrowed, suspiciously.
"I know I did," he replied, a wry smile on his face. I waited breathlessly for him to say more. "Your mother told me she liked skiing and ice skating. She said she loved winter sports, but when we arrived in St. Moritz, she decided it was too cold to go skiing. Can you imagine?" He laughed. "Too cold to go skiing. Anyway, I spent the days on the slopes and she spent the days shopping or by the fireplace in the hotel.
"I finally got her on the slopes one day, but she complained so much and fell down so much, I let her go back to the hotel. As for ice skating at night on their beautifully lit lake . . ." He waved his hand and shook his head. "That took less than ten minutes to reject.
"She kept complaining about the effect the cold air was having on her skin, and I discovered she hates getting sweaty. So much for a winter sport
honeymoon. Or any sports for that matter," he added with wide eyes.
"But you must have gone to wonderful European restaurants," I said. I knew Momma was looking forward to that.
"Oh, we did, but your mother eats like a bird. It's a waste to order her a full meal, even a children's portion. I ended up eating her meal and my own every night. Lucky I was getting a lot of exercise, huh?" he said sitting back and patting his tummy.
"No, you look . . . you look good," I said. I had almost said "wonderful."
"Thank you. Anyway, that's the story of our winter holiday and honeymoon," he added with disappointment.
The waiter brought us the bread and the salads. It didn't strike me how hungry I was until I began to eat. The cozy restaurant, Tony's casual conversation about Momma and the honeymoon, and the delicious food put me at ease. I relaxed for the first time since I had discovered Troy was so sick.
We talked some more about Europe and I told him about our trips to London. Then I described every little thing I had done while he and Momma were away. I wasn't aware of how much arid how long I was talking because he listened so attentively, his eyes fixed on me.
"Oh, I'm sorry I'm talking so much. I don't know what's come over me."
"That's all right. I'm enjoying it. It's the most you've said to me since . . . since we met."
A little embarrassed, I swung my eyes away to look at some people coming into the restaurant.
"You look very good," he told me. "Like you have been spending time outdoors."
"Thank you." I couldn't help blushing. I hadn't learned how to take compliments as nonchalantly as Momma could. She always expected them, however. For me, they were still something unanticipated and something very special, especially when a man as handsome as Tony Tatterton spoke them. He had a way of sounding so sincere. It made me warm and tingly. Then I felt guilty for feeling so good while little Troy lay so sick in the hospital.
"Shouldn't we get back?" I asked. He was still gazing at me intensely, his eyes so piercing and direct.
"What? Oh, yes. Immediately." He signaled for the waiter.
When we arrived at the hospital, he went straight to Troy's room while I waited in the corridor. Soon, he emerged with the doctor and Tony signaled for me to join them.