Winter Affair (17 page)

Leda went to her and embraced her, kissing her cheek. “I know that, Monica, and I love you for it. But it’s my life, and I have to do what I think best with it.” She pulled back and looked at the older woman fondly. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then.”

Monica nodded dully.

“Goodbye,” Leda said, and left before Monica could call her back.

The records from the lawyer were waiting for Leda when she got home. Reardon was working, and Leda spent the rest of the day reading a copy of the trial transcript, including the testimony of co-workers who talked about Reardon’s behavior before the disastrous test that killed the onlookers. The picture that emerged was the one that got Reardon convicted, a portrait of a headstrong, reckless experimenter who wouldn’t listen to the advice of cooler, wiser heads. Leda could readily see how a jury would have been led astray by it, especially when the defense could offer almost nothing to controvert it. Those judging Reardon had believed that when he was denied permission to run the test he had disobeyed orders and run it anyway, resulting in the fatal explosion.

Leda sighed and put the transcript aside. Kyle was due in a few minutes, and she had to start dinner. After the party she would go back to her father’s things and look again.

* * * *

New Year’s Eve was overcast and cold, a typical winter’s day. Claire called to say that she would be driving back the next night, since she had to resume her teaching duties on January second. Leda was unable to contain herself and told her about her relationship with Kyle, and Claire was delighted. She wished her luck with a cautionary note about her plans for that evening. Leda agreed not to unduly antagonize the locals, and hung up in good spirits, convinced that there was at least one person on her side.

Anna dropped by in the afternoon with a prop dress Leda had gotten permission to wear for the evening. Anna had a date with a musician from the orchestra of a Broadway show she had appeared in, and brought along her gown to show Leda.

“What do you think?” she asked, striking a pose after Leda had zipped her up.

“Dynamite,” Leda pronounced, nodding. “He’ll propose tonight.”

“I hope not,” Anna sighed, backing up so that Leda could unzip her again. “On what the musician’s union pays him he can barely afford to feed his cat.”

“Where are you going?”

Anna shrugged. “To the apartment of some friend of his. The guy plays the trombone, does weddings and party gigs on weekends.” She peered at Leda. “How about you? All set for the big night?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m getting cold feet. It seemed like a great idea before, but now that the time is at hand I’m not so sure.”

“How does Kyle feel?”

“He thinks the whole project is questionable, but he’s going to please me.”

Anna sighed dramatically. “What a hunk. I wish he were interested in pleasing me, I’d have a few thoughts for him.”

“That reminds me, I have to pick up his tux,” Leda said. They both headed for the door, and Anna asked as she folded her dress, “Did you really turn down the tryout for that touring company? Bob said you did.”

Bob was Anna’s agent, and a friend of Leda’s agent, who worked for the same theatrical booking concern. “Yes. I didn’t want to leave Kyle.”

Anna raised her brows. “I can understand that, but it’s a great opportunity. I’m going to see them.”

“Good,” Leda said sincerely, locking the door behind them. “I hope you get it.”

“There’s room enough for two if you change your mind,” Anna called over her shoulder as she went down the walk to her car.

Leda waved in reply. She wouldn’t be changing her mind.

* * * *

Leda was getting dressed when Kyle returned to her apartment from work. He entered her bedroom in his coveralls and held her off, laughing, when she tried to kiss him.

“Leda, I’m filthy,” he said.

“Has that ever been known to stop me?” she asked, winding her arms around his neck.

“No,” he replied, giving in and kissing her back, peeling the robe off her shoulders.

“You’re early,” she said as his lips trailed over the creamy expanse of her skin.

“I told you there was split shift tonight. Everybody wants to party, including me.” He backed her toward the bed.

“I picked up your tux,” she informed him.

He groaned and released her. “Do I really have to wear a monkey suit to this shindig?”

“Yes, you do. This is a formal affair.”

“Can’t we just stay here and have an informal affair in your bed?” he inquired, reaching for her again.

Leda danced away, smiling. “You, Mr. Reardon, have a one track mind.”

“Leda, I’m serious. Maybe we’d better skip this. It’s just going to make everyone uncomfortable.”

“I don’t care,” Leda said stubbornly. “I want all of those righteous people who’ve been giving you such a hard time to see me with you. Maybe they’ll think twice about their high-and-mighty attitude.”

“And you have an idea that if the accused escorts the daughter of Carter Bradshaw, they’ll do that?”

“I hope so.”

He pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair. “Leda, that’s not going to make the board in Harrisburg give me my license back,” he said gently.

“I know that. But I also know that part of their investigation is to question the employer and the neighbors of the person under consideration for reinstatement. Won’t it help if everybody says you’ve been forgiven by the family of the dead man?”

“I haven’t been forgiven by all of it,” he said flatly, his grip loosening.

“Don’t worry about Aunt Monica. She’ll come around.” Leda stepped out of the circle of his arms and went to her closet. “Help me into my dress,” she said, holding it up for his examination.

“I’d rather help you out of your dress,” he replied, but took it from her obediently, dropping it over her head and zipping it up to the waist. The silver lame sheath left her back and one shoulder bare. He planted a lingering kiss on her spine before she turned to face him and then whistled when he saw the full effect.

“Miss Bradshaw, you’re a knockout,” he said gravely.

“I guess you like it.”

“I sure do.”

“It isn’t mine.”

He grinned. “Whose is it? Claire’s?”

“Heavens, no. Claire’s taste run more to asymmetrical stripes in primary colors. I saw this in the prop department at the theater, left over from a production last year. I tried it on and it fit, so I asked the director if I could borrow it just for tonight.”

Reardon shook his head, marveling. “You certainly have some ingenious methods for assembling a wardrobe.”

“Thank you,” Leda said, bowing. “With my limited finances I have to be creative. Now for the final touch.” She went back to the closet and returned with the tux, neatly assembled on a two-tier hanger and covered by a plastic bag. He eyed it suspiciously.

“Don’t look like that, Kyle. It’s not going to bite you.”

“You sure about that?” He took it from her and examined the carefully pressed garments. “I hate these things,” he muttered. “Before I went to jail I was always forced to wear one for some damn party or other. They make me feel like the dressed pig at a luau.”

Leda burst out laughing. “Kyle, what an awful thing to say. I can’t understand your attitude.” She ran a practiced eye deliberately over his form from head to toe. “You have the perfect body for one,” she pronounced. “Tall and slim and elegant.” She smiled, batting her eyelashes.

He shot her an arch glance. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I thought so. Come on, Kyle. You’ll look wonderful.”

“I’ll look the way I’ll feel, like a damn fool.” But he pulled off the plastic cover and inspected the suit more closely. “Blue?” he said, fingering the ruffled shirt.

“Of course blue. It’ll be great with your eyes.”

He made a face.

“Trust me,” she whispered.

He smiled dryly. “Okay, Leda. This is your show. I’ll go take a shower.”

He ambled off down the hall, and Leda sat down to put on her makeup. Reardon returned a few minutes later, dripping, with a towel wrapped around his waist. He stood by the side of the bed, pushing back his wet hair with his palms. Leda caught sight of him in her mirror, and her breath stopped in her throat. How beautiful he was. She got up and went to him, putting her arms around him and licking the droplets that spangled his muscular arms.

“What are you doing?” he asked huskily, closing his eyes. His hand came up to the back of her head, binding her to him.

“Drying you off,” she replied.

“More like turning me on.” He embraced her fully, turning her toward the bed. Leda pulled back.

“Kyle, we can’t. We’ll be late.”

“We won’t be late, we won’t go,” he answered, reaching for the zipper on her dress.

Leda resisted. “Kyle, it’s important that we go. Important for you. Now come on and get dressed, or we’ll never make it out the door.”

He sighed and let her go. Leda returned to her toilette, watching covertly as he put on the tuxedo. He fumbled with the studs and fussed with the cummerbund, frowning down at it as if he were trying to tie a kitchen apron around his waist.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Kyle, let me do that,” she finally said in frustration, getting up to help him. “I’ve never seen anybody so contrary. If you wanted to wear this thing you’d have it on in a minute.”

She adjusted the waistband and fixed the hooks at the back, patting it into place. She stood at his side as he tied the tie, and then she straightened the bow.

“There,” she said. “Where’s the jacket?”

He pointed, and she got it for him, helping him into it. Then they both studied his reflection in the full length mirror. The dark material complemented his hair, and the blue shirt turned his eyes into molten silver disks.

“You’re gorgeous,” she breathed.

“I’m ridiculous. I look like the maitre d’ on a cruise ship.”

“Take my word for it, every woman in the place will be transfixed. Now, are you going to stop griping and relax? I just have to brush out my hair and I’ll be right with you.”

Leda went back to her dressing table and unpinned her hair, letting it cascade about her shoulders. She started to brush it and then Reardon came up behind her, taking the brush from her hand.

“I’ll do that,” he said softly, and she closed her eyes. He drew the brush through her thick hair until it crackled and snapped with electricity. His arms were much stronger than hers, and the result was a glowing mass of spun gold that shimmered like sunlight. She opened her eyes when he set the brush down and put her head against his shoulder.

“Will you do that for me every night?” she asked him.

“Absolutely. I have a whole list of things I’m going to do for you every night, and that will be added to it.”

Leda laughed. “I think we’d better leave, Kyle,” she said shakily.

“I think you’re right.” He got her cashmere jacket and helped her into it, settling for a scarf and gloves for himself. He had no overcoat.

They took Leda’s car and drove to the country club. On the way there Leda thought about the people they were likely to encounter. Unlike many other clubs of the type, Yardley’s club was not based on wealth, but rather the lineage of the members, many of whom could barely afford their dues. Money didn’t matter but background did. As a result women like Elaine the seamstress and Sara Master were charter members because Elaine’s ancestor founded the town and Sara’s had been a circuit judge in the 1880’s. Monica and Leda were accepted because Monica’s father, Leda’s grandfather, had been an important local lawyer with strong ties to the town blue bloods. The whole atmosphere was snobbish in the extreme, and Leda avoided the place like the plague, except when she made guest appearances to puncture the overblown self importance of the members.
 

She intended to do so tonight. She was already regarded as something of a renegade because of her choice of profession and her unorthodox lifestyle of shuttling back and forth to New York. The other girls she’d gone to grade school with were married and settled, spending their days pushing baby carts up and down the aisles of the Supermart and their summers beside the club pool. They looked upon Leda as a member of an alien species and didn’t try to conceal it. Leda smiled sardonically as they pulled up to the entrance and Reardon left the car with the attendant. The town would really have something to talk about after tonight.

The lobby of the club was spotlessly clean but a little shabby; with a few exceptions, the members didn’t have the capital to refurbish it. Reardon left their things with the check girl, who greeted Leda and eyed Reardon with undisguised interest.

“Hi, Greta,” Leda replied. “Is my aunt here yet?”

“She’s inside with the others,” Greta said, smiling at Reardon.

“Thanks,” Leda said dryly, taking his arm. They walked past the big Christmas tree that stood by the entrance to the main room, and over the faded Chinese carpet that had been there as long as Leda could remember.

All eyes turned toward them as they went inside. A brilliant chandelier overhead cast a white light on the buffet spread beneath it. The assembled party goers moved back and forth from the attractively displayed food to their tables, arranged around the central dance floor. The orchestra played softly in the background and there were a few couples dancing. Waiters circulated with trays of drinks, and Leda looked around them for her aunt. She spotted Monica, dressed in basic black and pearls, standing by the bandstand. She was with her usual escort, the high school vice principal, a widower in his sixties.