“I think that from now on, even in private, we should play our proper roles,” Sara said, realizing for the first time that if she ever had a chance of winning this fabulous man, she was going to have to keep him from knowing that she wanted him. Mindful of that revelation, she put her hand on the car door handle. David stopped her.
“You know that Miss Pommy will be waiting up for you, don’t you?”
“Ariel’s mother? Tonight? But it must be—”
“After two A.M. Yes, I know, but she’ll be there. You’ll just have to stand your ground.” He looked her up and down. “She’s going to hate what you have on. Can you brazen it out?”
Sara opened her mouth to say that of course she could, but then her whole body turned the yellow of a coward. “Are Ariel’s suitc
ases in the back?”
“Half of them are. I should have taken the pickup, but Miss Pommy hates it when I drive the truck. ‘So common,’ she says.”
As they got out of the car, Sara wanted to ask if he wore faded denims and a blue shirt when he drove the truck, but that would show the common side of her. “What do you think Ariel would wear on a plane?” she asked.
“Something expensive,” he said as he hauled a suitcase out of the trunk, closed the lid silently, then disappeared into the tall shrubbery at the side of the driveway. She followed him and saw an arbor covered with some dense vine. There was a seat on one side. “So this is where you and Ariel sneak away to be alone?”
David snorted. “I spend whole days alone with Ariel in her bedroom, but nothing ever happens.”
Sara couldn’t tell if he was angry or if that’s the way he wanted it to be. He pulled his keys out of his pocket, then turned on a tiny flashlight to look at the numbers on Ariel’s suitcase. She had to work to not show her surprise that he knew the combination to her lock.
He put the case on the bench, opened it, then rummaged inside and drew out two pieces of clothing. He handed Sara slacks and a fine-gauge, short-sleeve pink sweater.
As she started to change, she said, “Don’t look.” She sounded insincere even to herself.
Politely, he turned his back to her. She couldn’t help thinking that if it had been R.J., he would have folded his arms over his chest and told her to proceed—while he watched. But then, R.J. was a mad sex fiend who came on to anything female.
In seconds, Sara had put on the clothes, which fit perfectly. She could feel the fine texture, and the cost of them, even in the dark. “You can turn around now,” she said.
Turning, David looked at her. There wasn’t much light, but the moon gave a bit of a glow so they could see each other. “Ariel said that you were …” He didn’t finish his sentence, but she knew what he was thinking.
“Ariel said I was fat, didn’t she?”
He smiled. “Actually, yes. But you’re the same size she is.”
“I lost the weight I’d gained in college after about four months of working for R.J. Walking in New York while carrying R.J.’s dry cleaning and his steak lunches firmed me up.”
“Whatever you did, you look great.”
Sara could feel her face turn as rosy as the sweater and she was glad it was dark so he couldn’t see her clearly.
She took a deep breath. This was it. Meeting Ariel’s mother was the true test of her acting ability. It was her own private audition for a part that only she could play. “Shall we go?” she said, then followed David to the house. She waited on the big, deep porch with its lovely white-painted wicker chairs and flowered cushions as he hauled four of Ariel’s suitcases up the stairs.
Sara wasn’t surprised when David inserted a key in the lock of Ariel’s house.
The house was as grand and as beautiful as Ariel had told her it was. It had been built in 1832, on top of the foundations of a much older house built by one of Ariel’s ancestors. The Weatherly family was even richer then than they were now, so the house was big and lavish. Every surface seemed to have been decorated with a piece of white-painted wood. Every corner had little turned pieces of wood that were fitted into other little turned pieces of wood. Sara was sure that the house was a perfect example of some type of architecture, but it wasn’t to her taste.
Standing at the top of the stairs was an older woman, her shoulders back, her stomach pulled in. She had gray hair piled neatly and intricately on top of her head and she was wearing a lavender chiffon bathrobe over a lavender chiffon nightgown. She looked beautiful and formidable at the same time.
“Ariel,” she said in a voice that wasn’t quite a shout; still Sara knew that if they were in a theater and the microphones broke, this woman could carry on without them. “You are very late.”
“Hello, Miss Pommy,” David said from behind her.
Sara saw the woman’s face change from stern to sweet in an instant. She gazed at David with love in her eyes. Did Ariel tell me about this? she wondered. If so, she didn’t remember it. Or had she heard it and dismissed it, thinking that of course everyone loved David?
“Good morning, David,” Mrs. Weatherly said, her voice lowering somewhat. “And how are you on this very early morning?”
“Very well. And you?”