The Playing Fields

Chapter 15

Victoria's hopes for a successful evening were exceeded only by the surprising discovery that Nigel possessed a trait of which she had been completely unaware. His inordinately willing acceptance, by such a closed fraternity, not only insured that success, it underlined the shallowness of its member's principles. A few well directed, flowery compliments, and egos surfaced with the speed of light. Nigel's opening strategy was to politely insist on a tour of the proudly heralded kitchen, confiding a child-like awe for North American, domestic technology. At that moment, Ellen would have gladly taken a bullet for her young guest, thrilled at last, to present the original reason for her party. After a whirlwind tour of an array of appliances, designed and constructed of space-age materials, custom sinks, and cupboards containing custom utensils, Ellen basked in the anticipated admiration; her mission accomplished.

Grace Winston greeted the Crofts with a smile, as they wandered onto the patio with their plates of food, "Quite an impressive renovation, wouldn't you say?"

"Excuse me?" Sheila leaned closer, turning her head and nodding toward the piano. "I'm afraid the level of noise makes it hard to hear."

Grace smiled graciously, "I was saying, Ellen's new kitchen is quite impressive."

"Oh, yes. I'm quite excited too. Bill has promised we might do something different with ours next year," her creamy skin changed to rose, "I've always wanted one of those islands to keep all the cooking things together."

"You'll have to excuse Sheila, Grace, she gets very excited with house and garden stuff." Bill gave them both a charming smile. "Uhm, you come alone tonight?"

"Yep," Grace smiled, nibbling at her food, "a doctor friend was going to come, but he decided it was too long a drive."

"Not very gallant, I would say."

Grace silently interrogated his expression, seeking any signs of interest, but the young man's face was honestly open and void of intrigue.

"Well, what can you expect from a pig but a grunt." She murmured, swiveling her head slowly around, taking in the others, milling about noisily.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing, it was nothing." She brushed a strand of her short dark hair away from her face and sipped her drink with a growing sense of dissatisfaction. Excusing herself, she set her plate on the end of the patio wall and strolled slowly through the crowd, heading for the bar. The meaty touch of a hand on her arm caused her to stop.

"Grace, are you enjoying yourself?" Daryl Osborne moved around to stand in front of the tall woman, raking her boldly from head to foot with sleepy eyes.

She mustered a charming smile, avoiding the glare of Daryl's shirt and tilted her head quizzically. "Yes thank you. . . but if I weren't?" Here it comes, she thought, the sloppy good old boy as charmer.

"Well if you weren't, I'd be crushed." He slipped a cigarette into his mouth and lit it, watching her carefully through a cloudy exhale. "Even if this isn't my party, I like to think everyone is having a good time."

She rattled the ice in her empty glass and raised her eyebrows. The smile became innocently coy.

"You'd like a refill." He smirked, taking the glass and leading her by the arm to the bar. "Henry, another drink for the lady."

"Yes ma'am." A brilliant white smile split the bartender's smooth black features. "Vodka and lime, right?" Grace bowed her head politely. "I always remember what I serve to special people." Grace reset her attention, considering the confidence in his charming hit.

"I'm strictly a vodka man myself." Daryl said quickly, glaring at the bartender and drawing her attention back to him. "It mixes well with any number of things- and goes down quite smoothly." Grace winced inside as he actually licked his lips.