The Playing Fields

Chapter 16

Carmela felt isolated and embarrassed, even though Tiffany's suggestion that she needed pointers amused her. If only Antonio could leave his arrogance behind and enjoy life as it came. She knew that she would be the one to pay when they were alone later. She desperately wanted to find a restroom but was afraid to leave without her husband's permission, and when Gertrude Bader approached her, she seemed to shrink within herself.

"Mrs. Begarra, you look so lost and forlorn." Her greeting rang more with amusement than concern. The two women had rarely spoken before; their association as neighbours extending to little more than polite nods and waves when encountering one another, but Gertrude was a compassionate soul who found great pleasure in providing solace and sanctuary to any and all, in distress. She seated herself beside the nervous woman, placing an arm resembling a piece of white driftwood about her shoulders.

"Antonio- my husband- he is very upset." Carmela's eyes flitted about the room searching for Gertrude's husband.

"Well he shouldn't have left you just sitting here like some kind of highway marker."

"Excuse me?"

Gertrude took her hands and smiled gregariously. "Men are such big children sometimes."

Carmela looked shocked. "Oh no! Antonio is a very considerate–"

Batting her eyes and waving off the protest, the plump woman stood up, pulling Carmela after her. "You just come with me and mix with some of the other wives until things settle down, Antonio can join us over here."

"Oh really, Mrs. Bader, he- he expects me to be–"

"Tut tut, don't worry dear. I'll look after your husband." Gertrude sailed across the room, towing the worried Carmela behind her.

Ellen appeared in the kitchen doorway, beckoning anxiously to Shelia Croft. Excusing herself from her group, Shelia joined Ellen in a hurried whisper and the two women disappeared back into the kitchen.

"Tony's such a damned hot head," Daryl complained, bristling at the sharp nudge from Denise, who apologized quickly for her instinctive response.

"His wife is right behind you," she whispered, by way of explanation.

"Well, I sure pity her, married to that guy." He said, lowering his voice and carving a chunk out of Hartley's seafood fountain, leaving it canting precariously toward the arm of a royal blue, velvet club chair.

"Here they come now," Gregg shushed, as Antonio emerged from the kitchen between the two women.

The trio strode straight out to the patio, and necks craned to watch as the pantomime dance of fence mending ensued. After a few moments, they all came back inside, and Ellen fixed the witnesses with a cautioning flash of her eyes.

"Hartley! I think it's time for your dessert creation," she cried cheerily, pushing the party back toward its happier tone.

"Look at them Nigel," Victoria murmured in her nephew's ear, taking his arm and guiding him into the dining room, "they're writing your play for you. I told you this would work."

She was right. Amazingly enough, they were creating the very play he'd described; the pre production bickering, the juggling for positions. The dialogue was being scripted as he watched.

"Let them come to you," she cautioned, sensing his growing excitement. "You just pay close attention to everything that's going on, my boy. Mark my words, this play is a done deal."

Grace maneuvered herself to a spot in line next to Donald, assessing Denise's reaction when she took his arm and asked about one of the dishes on the table. "I think they're crab cakes." He said easily, enjoying the intimacy.