Regret Not a Moment (28 page)

With a voice like ice, Devon said, “I would like to speak to you in private.”

Willy did not interrupt what he was doing.

“Now.”

The tone of her voice made Willy turn and look at her over his shoulder. The expression on her face brought him to his feet.

“Follow me,” Devon commanded, leading him up to her empty owner’s box. They made the five-minute trek in hostile silence.

Once they were seated, Devon said in a calm voice, “I do not believe that you are weighing fairly each horse’s chances for winning.”

“When we made this deal, you said it would be my call. I choose Fearless Leader.”

“Why?”

“He’s run faster in practice than Firefly did yesterday. His injury will be fine. He’s a colt. I think he’s got the best chance of winnin’ the Derby. Firefly, on the other hand, faltered yesterday when Rainmaker challenged ’er. She fell behind.”

“For a split second. Anyway, I learned from that. I’ll run her with blinkers next time.”

“It’s a good idea, but fillies don’t win the Derby.”

“Regret won,” Devon said in a reasonable voice.

“Aye,” Willy acknowledged. “The only one.”

“Firefly will do it,” she insisted more emphatically.

“The choice was mine, you said. I made my choice.”

“But it’s totally capricious!” Devon said. “You’re just trying to prove something—to prove that you’re the power at Willowbrook. Well, I won’t have it! Firefly can win the Derby!”

Willy jumped to his feet, outraged that his objectivity as a trainer had been challenged. “If I thought Firefly would win, I’d run ’er and you know it!”

Devon, just as angry, pushed back her chair with such force that it fell over. She leaned closer to Willy and glared into his eyes, her eyebrows forming a furious line, like dark storm clouds over an aqua sea. “Your reasons for thinking she won’t win are absurd. They’re based on some rigid rule about fillies and colts. Trainers like you are why more fillies haven’t won the Derby!

“Now, I agree that she had a momentary problem,” Devon said, her voice trembling from the effort to calm herself, “and I believe blinkers will solve it. Plus we’ll work with her in practice on it. But her time beat the track record! Willy, for God’s sake, she can win!” Devon stamped her foot to emphasize her last words.

“I’m not convinced of that!” Willy yelled, tearing his baseball cap off his head and slapping it against his thigh in frustration.

“Well, you don’t have to be!” Devon yelled back.

For a moment, they were both too taken aback by her furious words to say anything.

Devon took a long, shaky breath and continued in a quieter voice. “I respect your opinion very much, but you haven’t worked with Firefly like I have. What it comes down to, Willy, is that I’m the owner. I know we had an agreement, but I can’t let you do something I completely disagree with. If you want to run Fearless Leader, fine. He’s a great horse. But I’m running Firefly, and that’s my final word on the subject.”

“Then we’ve got nothin’ more to say, have we?” And without waiting to be dismissed, Willy slammed the baseball cap onto his head, turned, and stomped away from Devon.

The guest cottage of Mr. and Mrs. Cooper Lyle III’s estate was so pleasant that Devon was beginning to think of it as home—at least for the time she was in Kentucky. After a long day at the track—more tiring than usual because of her fight with Willy—Devon was looking forward to relaxing with John over a cold drink on one of the white wicker lounge chairs overlooking the cottage’s tiny private pool.

She immediately felt the tension slip away from her as she turned into the long, dogwood-lined driveway of her friends’ estate. So vast was the Lyle’s property that it took her another few minutes to reach the little circular driveway in front of the cottage. Devon closed the door of the borrowed Packard and hurried into the cozy living/dining area calling John’s name. The floral chintzes, cheery brass accessories, and pastel colors acted as a balm on her frayed nerves.

“In here, Devon,” John called from the bedroom, a fluffy blue and white affair that looked sunny even on cloudy days.

“Hello, love,” Devon said wearily, giving her husband a kiss. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the leather trunk on the floor. It was open and John’s valet was carefully folding his master’s clothes into it, each layer meticulously lined with tissue paper to prevent wrinkling.

Devon, startled, asked, “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready to go home, of course,” John replied matter-of-factly.

“What do you mean? It’s still several weeks until the Derby.”

“Yes, I know, but you said that if Firefly wasn’t to run that you would come to New York with me. I asked Alice to prepare your things as well. I believe she’s doing some laundry at the main house.”

Devon frowned, puzzled. “But Firefly is running.”

“No.”

“No?” Devon was too dumbfounded to say more.

John turned to his valet. “I can finish up here, Wilkes, why don’t you go and prepare your own things.”

“Very good, sir,” said the manservant, quietly closing the door behind him as he exited.

“I had a visit from O’Neill today,” John said, busying himself with some toiletries on the cherry wood chest of drawers.

“How dare he!” Devon cried, furious.

John cocked an eyebrow. “How dare he talk to his employer?”

Devon moved so that she stood directly beside John. He was forced to meet her eyes.

“What did Mr. O’Neill have to say?” Devon asked in a tone that was abnormally quiet. So quiet, in fact, that John could tell she was attempting to keep her voice from rising.

“He related your conversation of this morning.”

Devon squared her shoulders and fixed John with a glare. “O’Neill related our conversation and now you’ve decided we’re to go home?”

“I have,” John said.

“On what grounds, may I ask?” Devon enunciated each word sharply in order to ensure that her sentence was coherent. Otherwise, she was afraid she would spew forth a stream of vituperative babble. She was outraged that Willy should have involved John in their dispute, but what absolutely stunned Devon was that her husband was siding with him! Humiliating her! The betrayal almost made Devon feel physically ill.

John straightened and faced Devon, his posture rigid. “On the grounds that I agree with his decision to run Fearless Leader in the Derby. That I agree with him that we should run only one horse in the Derby, and that I agree that Firefly has less chance of winning.” John said all this in a reasonable tone, but his fists, jammed into the pockets of his linen slacks, were clenched tightly.

“Well,” Devon said, her voice rising in pitch, but growing no louder, “I disagree with his assessment. And I am at the track every day,” she added pointedly.

“Yes, I know.” There was a pause. John’s resentment was obvious to Devon. “You are indeed at the track every day. You have, rather unbecomingly, I might add, attempted to usurp the authority of one of the best trainers in the world. We should count ourselves fortunate that he didn’t quit over this
ridiculous
dispute.”

The words were like a punch in the stomach for Devon. Never had John been so ugly to her. Never had he complained about her involvement with racing, other than to say that he missed her in New York. On the contrary, he had encouraged her in her interest. Now John was like a stranger to her—revealing an autocratic side that Devon had never seen before. His attitude made her more defiant.

Devon placed her hands on her hips and took a step closer to John. “We should be grateful to Willy?” To be dictated to by an employee?”

“One of the most competent.”

“I agree. But that still does not make him the owner of Willowbrook Farm. If I were a man, he perhaps wouldn’t like my involvement, but he wouldn’t think of disputing it.”

“I don’t know if that’s true. Nevertheless, you are not a man. You are my wife. And I stand with O’Neill on this issue.”

“How can you say that? Yesterday, you said the decision of which horse to run was mine and O’Neill’s!”

“That was before I heard his side of things.”

“But you haven’t even heard
my
side of things yet!”

“O’Neill explained your rationale.”

Devon’s fair complexion flushed red-hot as the blood pounded in her temples. “So now you’re allowing that man to speak for me without even listening to what I have to say,” she hissed.

“All right,” John said calmly. He sat on the edge of the bed and crossed his arms, a look of mock expectancy. “Tell me your rationale.”

Devon wanted to slap the expression away. Her palm itched to do it, but she controlled herself. Finally, she decided to ignore the sarcasm of his expression and proceeded to explain why she believed Firefly could win the Derby. By the time she had finished, she was a little calmer. “And,” she concluded, “if she wears blinkers, I believe we can avoid the problem we saw at the Blue Grass Stakes.”

“What you’re saying may be true,” John conceded, “but I’ve already made my commitment to O’Neill.”

At these words, Devon took a step backward as though she herself had been slapped. “So your commitment to O’Neill is more important than my views?”

“You made a commitment to him, too,” John pointed out.

“That is correct,” Devon said in a tight voice. “I don’t like to break a commitment and it’s not something I usually do. However, I believe he is being old-fashioned and superstitious in his idea that a filly can’t win the Derby. Firefly proved herself, but he won’t admit it. He’s just being stubborn.”

“So are you,” John pointed out. “Dammit, Devon, why are you making this a personal quarrel—it’s strictly a business decision. I’m going with the decision of the man I pay to give me his best judgment.”

Raising her voice, she cried, “But Firefly won the Blue Grass Stakes! Won! If she had only come in second, I would agree with Willy, but she won! I don’t see the dollars-and-cents wisdom of not running a proven winner.”

How could she make her husband realize the logic of what she was saying? He seemed so distant. Kneeling next to the bed, she pounded a fist into the mattress near John’s thigh. “Don’t you see? I trained Firefly. By myself. I’m not the novice at this that I was when I began. Of course O’Neill is one of the best and I don’t want to lose him. But I don’t want to be controlled by him either. Firefly has all the heart in the world. She can win the Derby. I’m sure of it. She’s never had any health problems.”

John suddenly softened. “I know you believe that,” he said, stroking Devon’s hair, “and it may even be true. But I can’t let you undermine O’Neill’s authority.”

“You keep repeating that!” Devon jumped to her feet in exasperation. “I’m not a child who has to be taught my rightful place, but that’s how the two of you are treating me,” she said bitterly.

What was most hurtful about the men’s attitude was that it seemed to indicate that they had no respect at all for her, despite her proven ability. On the other hand, one part of her acknowledged that she had made a commitment to let Willy pick the Derby horse. But that had been before Fearless Leader’s injury. Before Firefly’s victory. Who could have foreseen such a juxtaposition of events?

“Can’t you see, John? This way, you’re undermining
me!
Willy should not have come to you behind my back. That was wrong. He and I work together every day. You aren’t involved in the farm. Every time I ask you to be, you say you haven’t the time.” Devon’s voice became more vehement as she went on. “Why now should he suddenly come to you as though you were a higher authority?”

John cleared his throat uncomfortably. He seemed to be searching for just the right words, but there was no way to soften the blow of what he said next. “The fact of the matter is that I bought Willowbrook before our marriage. Willy came to work for me with the understanding that he would be in control of the racing operation. I believe strongly, Devon, in the principle of delegating authority to those I hire for that purpose—and not undermining them on a whim. And let me add, ungentlemanly though it may be to remind you, that I am, in fact, the highest authority at Willowbrook.” Devon opened her mouth, angry retort ready, but John interrupted. “And remember, the first day I brought you to Willowbrook, you and I together told O’Neill that he’d have complete control of the racing operation.”

Complete control? No, she told herself. She would not let the threat of Willy’s resignation prevent her from running a filly that had won the Blue Grass Stakes. A filly that had been the highest stakes winner of Willowbrook Farm the year before.

Calmer now, but resolute, Devon said, “Things change, John. I respect Willy’s knowledge and his experience, but he’s not God. He hasn’t worked with Firefly as I have. I know her better. I won’t give up her chance to run in the Derby.”

“What do you mean by ‘won’t’?”

Devon fixed John with a steady gaze. “I mean that I intend to run Firefly. As I told Willy, he can run Fearless Leader.”

John rose to his feet. He stood squarely in front of Devon. “And if I tell you not to?”

Devon’s eyes turned icy. “As you so accurately point out, you are the sole legal owner of Firefly. But while we’re on the subject of agreements, you will also recall that you agreed that the racing operation was my bailiwick. You may, of course, prevent me from running Firefly in the Derby, since she is your horse. In that case, I have two options. I can buy her from you, or I will set up my own racing operation elsewhere. I don’t think that either of us wants that kind of division in our marriage, but it may be that your commitment to O’Neill is more important to you than your commitment to me.”

“That’s absurd!” John said in disgust. He paced back and forth for a few moments in angry silence. Never had they had a dispute that struck so fundamentally at the core of their marriage. Devon, for the first time, was declaring that if John stood in her way, she could—and would—do what she wished without him.

He could feel Devon’s gaze boring into the back of his neck as he stared unseeingly out the window. She said nothing. She had said her last word. The choice was now his. Finally, he whirled around and blurted out, “I don’t know why you’ve made this a matter of such stupendous importance, but obviously you have. The whole thing is absurd and your actions go against everything I believe in, in terms of business. And now you’re forcing me to make a personal choice rather than an objective business decision. No matter what I decide, I’m not going to feel comfortable. So run Firefly, if you insist. But I’m not going to stay around to try to smooth things over with O’Neill. I’m going to New York tonight, just as I planned. And don’t expect my help in persuading another trainer to come to work for you when O’Neill leaves you flat. Because if he leaves—when he leaves—people will find out why. And then no decent trainer will be willing to work for Willowbrook Farm.”