Do You Love Me? Page 16

  “Is that where he’s staying, then, at Kitty’s?”

  Frances lowered her voice. “Don’t play dumb, sister. Mum’s the word, but you don’t need to pretend with me. It is wise of you, however, to keep his bedtime whereabouts confidential from this mob.”

  “Did he tell you…?”

  “He didn’t tell me anything. Mom and Dad let it slip. Besides, it was written all over his face the first time your name came up. The change in him was obvious, even to me. He became completely guarded.

  “He acts that way any time your name drops into a conversation. It’s common knowledge that you’re his benefactor. I think it’s wise of you not to interfere with his social development, knowing how people feel about you.”

  More bewildered than before, Savanna gave a solemn nod. “Right.”

  “It wouldn’t do him any good to have his name linked with a woman of your standing and ilk.”

  “My ilk?”

  Frances continued staring at her and Savanna wilted under her glare.

  “No, I suppose not.”

  Frances looked satisfied. “Anyway, I give you full credit for discovering him. For that, I thank you and forgive you all previous wrongs and slights. We are square.”

  Savanna snorted a laugh. “Square? Right. All even. The game’s tied, little scorekeeper.”

  Frances flashed her a dismissive look, then turned on her heel and hurried to catch up with the other faithful as Savanna shook her head.

  Carol rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Your sister is an idiot.”

  “She speaks her mind.” Savanna allowed a kindly smile.

  “Some minds are better kept under wraps. She knows exactly where he came from, even which side of the road. I told her myself.”

  “Our story, however, doesn’t fit the myth.”

  “Great. What about the truth?”

  “If the truth doesn’t fit the situation,” Savanna said, “change the situation, not the story. That’s Frances’s creed and she lives by it.”

  Carol was quiet for a moment before a secretive smile slipped over her face. “Did you see how he fawned over you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He scarcely looked at me.”

  Carol waved off the denial. “It was so romantic, his pivoting, moving so that you were always in his line of sight.”

  “Carol, you’re letting your imagination run away with you.”

  “No, Susu. His eyes followed your every move, as sure as a compass needle. You are his true north, honey.”

  Savanna didn’t speak, lowering her gaze to concentrate on her food. Carol picked up her fork and began poking at chunks in the small tureen in front of her.

  “I don’t have much of an appetite.” Savanna stared at the concoction before her. It looked like French onion soup with croutons and mozzarella, just the way she liked it.

  “Eat anyway.” Carol’s tone was firm. “You need your strength.”

  “For what?”

  “I’ve seen what you and Peter do to each other; those smoldering glances could set a forest fire. It wouldn’t take much to kindle those looks into flame. Don’t deny it. I saw it with my own eyes at your house, in your pool, and right here not ten minutes ago.

  “I’ve seen those looks before, sometimes even returned them, when I was young and my stomach was strong. But, sweetie, you’ve never lavished those looks on anyone. Not until now. It’s obvious. You’re crazy about the guy. All that’s required now is: you must admit it.”

  Savanna’s glower stopped Carol’s words. “How could I not be infatuated? He’s my very own creation. My Frankenstein monster.”

  Carol all but sneered and her eyes narrowed as she calculated. “Congratulations, doctor. Now that you’ve got him built and functional, what do you plan to do with this monster of yours?”

  Obviously not to be put off by her companion’s sudden tears, Carol continued. “Or should I call you Geppetto, with your very own Pinocchio. Do you plan to continue yanking his strings, or are you brave enough to allow your exquisite marionette to become a real boy?”

  Savanna sat silent, blinking back tears as Carol watched.

  “I saw what he said to you. Why, or should I say, how do you resist him?”

  “Like we just said. He’s my creation. I gave him birth, in a way. It would be almost Oedipal for me to want him…you know…that way. He thinks he’s in love. What he’s feeling isn’t love. It’s gratitude. I must not capitalize on his poor, warped feeling of appreciation.”

  “Marriages have been built on less.”

  “Marriage? Don’t be silly. He’s not right for me.”

  Carol began laughing. “If anything, Susu, he may be too absolutely perfect for you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rowena Cavendish telephoned her older daughter that afternoon. “Come over for dinner tonight, baby. Daddy and I haven’t seen anything of you lately and you’re a very hot item right now. You can hardly expect us to keep up with you by gossip screened through the household staff.”

  “You’ve heard about Peter?”

  Her mother’s light laugh percolated over the phone. “Of very little else. He’s all the rage. We’ll eat at seven.” She hesitated. “I hadn’t thought…would you like to bring your mysterious friend along?”

  “I know you’re not referring to Carol, who’s not the least bit mysterious, so I assume you mean Peter. No. I imagine he has plans. He’s very popular, you know.”

  Her mother’s voice was sympathetic. “I heard. Losing your influence, are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good practice for parenting someday, darling, believe me.”

  “See you at seven, Mother.” She waited a moment, allowing her mother to hang up first, but there was no click on the line. “Mama?” Her voice was low and she used the familiar, long-abandoned designation. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime, sweetheart. Seven, then.” Her mother broke the connection.

  They had drinks in the solarium and Savanna took a series of deep breaths and relaxed, enjoying the familiarity of her family home, the heady smells of dinner, and the comfortable company of her parents.

  “Peter Rivera has had three good interviews,” Browning Cavendish announced, leaping right into the topic that seemed to occupy the minds, if not the conversation, of the three people in the room.

  Savanna smiled at how easy it was to communicate with her parents, even as an adult. The discussion was casual, of course, but she figured it was an unspoken concern for her that prompted their interest in Peter. That was comforting.

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Her dad blustered, pacing to the broad expanse of windows. His drink in one hand, he fisted the other behind his waist in a Napoleonic stance.

  “Couldn’t you persuade him to interview with us? Cavendish’s might have a place for a man with his abilities.”

  Savanna was amused. “What abilities?”

  He turned, settling a curious frown on her. “I understand he’s something of a wizard with machinery. He might have some ideas for updating our production lines. Make us more efficient. How about it?”

  “Dad,” Savanna cast a glance at her mother, appealing for support, “I have no idea about Peter’s mechanical abilities, other than he can diagnose a faulty alternator in a car engine and replace it.”

  “What?”

  Both parents were silent as Savanna gave them the unembellished account of how she met Peter; a replay of her comments about helping the poor; his challenge that initiated their project, and the ensuing events as they occurred, omitting only the personal details.

  Her dad paced to the bar to freshen his drink. “You’re telling us all this hubbub is over some Mexican construction worker?”

  Savanna nodded.

  “The man has three CEOs talking about him as if he were the high potentate of engineering.”

  “Mr. Gonzales said he was good.”

  “I understand he’s charming, has beautiful manners and is an
impeccable dresser.” Mrs. Cavendish looked puzzled.

  Savanna allowed a light laugh. “What can I say without sounding immodest?”

  Her dad stood poised over the drink he was pouring. “He is also reputed to have excellent people skills.”

  “That’s not my influence. He kept a road crew in line and running.”

  “…and is smart with figures.”

  “He was a key player in bringing highway projects in on time.”

  “You say he has no education?”

  “I would hardly call years of experience no education, Dad. He hasn’t had the privilege of air-conditioned classrooms and professors expounding on intellectual theories. He has, however, studied meticulously in the school of hard knocks, hands on.”

  Rowena took advantage of a lull in the exchange to chime in again. “I’ve also heard that he’s devastatingly handsome.” She flashed a calming look at her husband, who appeared to bristle at the statement. “I haven’t seen him myself, of course. That’s just what they tell me.”

  Still hackling, Mr. Cavendish cleared his throat. “Well, I’d thank them to keep their mouths shut.” His stern look wilted as he glanced at Savanna. “What do you say about that, daughter? Does he appeal to you?”

  She suddenly couldn’t contain the smile. “I’d say Mom’s sources are accurate. He’s very nice looking.”

  “And nice acting?”

  “Yes, Mother, he’s very well behaved. I’m sure you’d appreciate his manners since they are the ones you hammered into Frances and me.”

  Her father spoke up again. “I hear he can eyeball a project, ask pertinent questions, and tell something about the cost.”

  “Yes, well again I had nothing to do with that. I haven’t really contributed all that much. All he needed was a shave and a haircut, some clothes, a little dusting off, and an introduction. He was a diamond in the rough. He only needed to be mined, polished and presented.”

  Her mother gave her a pleased smile. “It sounds to me as if you’ve given a hand up to a man who’s proved himself worthy of your effort, precisely what you said you intended to do, isn’t that right?”

  Savanna gazed toward the bank of windows, looking out over a veritable field of sturdy mums and marigolds, and sighed. “Yes. My only problem is, I didn’t anticipate the influence he would have on me.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Oh, Savanna, it’s sooo good to see you here.” Jennifer Echols gushed as Savanna exited the driver’s side of the Lincoln.

  The woman seemed purposely to ignore Carol emerging from the passenger side. “Kitty’s absolutely desperate to see you. She’s at the registration table, signing up potential bidders. You simply must participate this year. We have some thoroughly luscious offerings.” She winked. “Your participation today is very important to someone who’s very important to me…and to Kitty.” Jennifer winked again and raised and lowered her eyebrows significantly.

  Savanna glanced at Carol who flashed her a knowing smile and arched a brow of her own.

  Tugging Savanna along, Jennifer hurried toward the open air tent which bore the sign: REGISTRATION. “Come right on over here, now, ladies, and let’s get you signed up. Don’t dally.”

  Smiling at onlookers who called to her or waved, surprised by her new unmistakable popularity, Savanna slanted a peek at Carol. They both had to stifle their laughter as Savanna muttered, “It’s nice to be appreciated.”

  “Savanna.” Kitty’s greeting was decidedly less effusive than Jennifer’s, as she dipped her head, allowing a tolerant smile. “Let’s get you a bidder’s number.”

  Obviously Jennifer and Kitty planned for Savanna to do some significant bidding.

  Both Savanna and Carol signed the register and took their numbers, which were printed on cards stapled to wooden lathes.

  The mingled smells of sugar and mustard found their way to Savanna’s olfactory system as the two women wandered into an area where other volunteer vendors hawked caramel apples, cotton candy, hot dogs and soft drinks. Savanna found herself searching the crowd, looking for a dark head hovering above the others.

  One covered tent advertised Liquid Refreshment - Must be 21 years of age to enter.

  Carol nudged her. “Keep that place in mind, in case things get rough later.”

  Savanna nodded mute agreement. “How much do these slaves usually sell for?”

  Carol raised and lowered her shoulders. “There’s no set price. The auctioneer will try to shame you into upping the bid once you express an interest, so be careful.”

  “So, what’s a decent bid?”

  “Last year the Lathams’ two-year-old brought twenty dollars. That’s the lowest I know about. Bids for adult males can get as high as two or three hundred dollars. Most of those are from lady friends or brand new wives whose hubbies signed up before the wedding. Other substantial bids often come from mothers or grandmothers or aunts or uncles.” Carol chuckled, recalling past events.

  “The most I ever heard of anyone paying was five hundred bucks, year before last for some celebrity baseball player. I don’t think there’s anyone famous in the pool this year. They usually try to lure some celeb to up the ante, but he gets a lot of publicity beforehand. They save the most delectable offering to the last. It is, after all, a fund-raiser. The contributions are deductible, since they benefit the boys and girls clubs. Haven’t you ever done this before?”

  “No.”

  A tantalizing grin broke over Carol’s face. “Do you think maybe you will today?”

  Resisting the urge to deny it, Savanna gave a casual shrug. “I might. It’s for a good cause.”

  “Sure it is and that’s your only motive, right?”

  “Right.”

  Suddenly a hand grabbed Savanna’s arm and whipped her around. “What’s he wearing?”

  Savanna stood momentarily at a loss, looking into the face of a very young woman with an earring at the end of her eyebrow. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Your man. What’s he wearing? A bathing suit? Loin cloth? What?”

  Carol stepped in front of the young woman. “Melody? What in the world are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be away at school?”

  “Hi, Ms. Ashby. We drove all the way back last night just for this auction thing. Mary Edith collected money in our sorority house and all over campus. She showed us this blurry little snapshot of this hunk in a Speedo, said he could be our own house mascot, and we ponied up. We collected seven hundred and fifty-three bucks. We’re here to buy Mary Edith’s dream man and haul him back to school with us. We’ll be the only house on campus with its own resident sheik.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “This is way cool.”

  Suddenly the younger woman looked concerned. “The only thing is, Mary Edith says she may not recognize him in clothes, you know, street clothes, I mean.” She looked from Carol to Savanna. “Will you tell me what he’s wearing? Mary Edith said you’d know, Ms. Cavendish. She said you’re his landlady.”

  Savanna gasped. His landlady?

  Of course. They’d think his being her tenant was her primary interest in Peter. But his landlady? That sounded like some decrepit old woman. To Mary Edith and her sorority sisters, that’s probably how Savanna looked. He was nearly as close to their ages as hers. Maybe that’s secretly how he thought of her as well.

  Carol seemed to take a hint from the look on Savanna’s face and stepped between the questioner and her subject. “We haven’t seen him today, Melody. Ms. Cavendish has no idea what he’s wearing. Also, a little advice: I wouldn’t tell anyone about your bankroll. There are some pretty determined old biddies here with their eyes on your boy.”

  “Old broads? You’re kidding. What would they want with him?”

  Carol shot a quick warning glance at Savanna. “You might be surprised. There’s still some fire left in these old furnaces.”

  The girl grimaced. “Well, I think that’d be cruel..”

  Savanna turned her back to the two, fighting the as
tonished laughter burbling up inside. Some lonely spinster probably would have more use for Peter than a sorority house full of bubble-brained teenyboppers, again she enjoyed employing his term

  As they walked on, she overheard smatterings of giddy conversations as women talked about the auction, and particularly about Peter.

  “I’d pay a hundred dollars for that Rivera guy in a New York minute.”

  “Five hundred’s the biggest price ever paid.”

  “Surely no one will go that high?”

  “They say he’s royalty, you know.”

  “Bonnie Prince Harry wouldn’t bring more than five hundred in this crowd.”

  As it got closer to two o’clock and time for the auction, the crowd came alive with noisy anticipation.

  Jennifer sidled up beside Savanna. “Darryl Hightower won’t be offered until late so save your money. Several of the ladies are interested. You’ll have competition.”

  Now what the heck was Darryl doing still circulating in polite society? She’d expected him to be long gone, with Murphy Eth’s minions hot on his trail. She felt a cloud of foreboding, but she concentrated on maintaining a detached look as she nodded to Jennifer. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  What was she thinking, allowing Darryl to continue roaming free. She should have listened to Murphy. Should have pressed charges. Of course, she still could, if she would make up her feeble mind. She made six-figure business decisions more easily than she made personal ones these days.

  Jill Mason tapped a finger on the microphone and the resulting thump and mechanical screech quieted the crowd.

  “Now we come to the afternoon’s feature event Okay, ladies, get out your pocketbooks. It’s time to buy yourself a real man, one who’ll actually perform all those honey-do jobs you’ve accumulated since last year.”

  “We’re going to begin with Lester Lightfoot.”

  The announcement drew a groan.

  “Okay, now, be polite. Lester is a strapping fourteen years old this year and able to handle almost any job you need done around the house.”

  A woman’s voice piped, “It’ll be better when he’s sixteen, legal age.”