Regret Not a Moment (60 page)

In the hospital, they had sat silently for hours, holding hands. She had no doubt that his presence had sped her recovery. The knowledge of his love for her—for she could not help but be aware of it—was like a soft cocoon of fluffy down, insulating her from the hurt of reality. Yet as she recuperated physically, she found herself withdrawing emotionally from John.

She discouraged his visits to Willowbrook, pleading fatigue. When he came anyway, she made sure that she was not alone with him. She kept their conversations focused on business or small talk. To John of all people, who so treasured gaiety and beauty, Devon could never reveal her feelings, still less her maimed body.

“I’M sorry you missed the Preakness because of me,” Devon said to Francesca, pushing a wayward strand of hair from her daughter’s face. They leaned together against the white rail of the Willowbrook racetrack, watching Kelly ride King of Hearts.

“Don’t be crazy, Mom! I couldn’t have possibly thought about going to the Preakness while you were in the hospital.”

“At least we got to watch it on television. I never thought I would like that stupid contraption, but it came in handy in the hospital, I’ll admit.”

“Oh, Mom, you’re so modern about some things. Why are you so old-fashioned about others?”

“Aesthetics, intellect, honor, manners. I think I cling to the good values. And I’ll wager those things are still admired when your grandchildren have grandchildren.”

Francesca put an arm around her mother. “I hope so, Mom.”

Francesca had become less confrontational toward her mother since Devon’s operation. The bout with cancer had made her feel protective. She fussed over her mother constantly, forcing her to take naps, eat well-balanced meals, and ration her strength.

“Well, anyhow, we have Belmont to look forward to,” said Devon.

“It would be a dream come true to win the Triple Crown!” Francesca sighed.

“It would be the crowning glory of my career,” said Devon dreamily.” A lot of people laughed when I set that record at the yearling sale for King of Hearts. His bloodlines were not all that impressive.”

“I’d still rather be a jockey than an owner,” Francesca remarked, her eyes enviously following Kelly as he circled the track.

Devon followed her gaze, feeling sympathy for her daughter’s strong ambition. “I know that’s what you’re yearning for now, but it’s inevitable that you’ll be an owner. And it’s important that you know about choosing stock. That’s not Jeremiah’s strong point, as he’d be the first to tell you. He’s invaluable as a trainer, of both jockeys and horses, but he doesn’t have Willy’s eye for stock.”

“Or yours.” Francesca grinned at her mother.

“Or mine,” Devon admitted with a conspiratorial wink.

She pushed away from the white fence and turned to face her daughter, who did likewise. “You know, we’ve always operated on the assumption that Jesse would take over from Jeremiah one day. That the two of you would be a team as his father and I are. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Francesca’s long black lashes were silhouetted against her golden cheeks as she stared at the ground. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her riding breeches. “I hear he’s going to law school,” she mumbled.

“You hear? Didn’t you see him when he was visiting?”

“No.”

“You used to be such good friends.” Devon sighed at the thought of times gone by.

Francesca looked up, but she did not meet her mother’s eyes, instead focusing on a fat white cloud that scudded across the sky. “Yes, well, people outgrow each other, I guess. He went away. Anyhow, now he’s married.”

“I’m sorry we had to miss that, too. But I couldn’t let that poor girl, whom I’ve only met once, postpone her own wedding on my account,” said Devon, smiling as she remembered Jeremiah’s suggestion that the event be put off. “Celine would never have forgiven me.” Devon didn’t notice Francesca flinch at the mention of the girl’s name.

Francesca’s eyes shifted to her mother’s face. “You and Jeremiah are best friends, aren’t you?” she asked.

Devon chuckled softly. “I’m not sure what that means. I suppose I’ve always thought of the term in relation to another woman, not a man. But certainly I’ve shared more travails with Jeremiah as an adult than I have with anyone else I know. I love him dearly as a friend, and I think he feels the same way about me.”

“Did you ever feel… I don’t know… attracted to him?” Francesca asked.

“Don’t be silly! I’ve known him since he was sixteen and I was ten years older.”

“So?”

“Well, it just never occurred to me.”

“Because he’s a Negro?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“But that night the Klan came—”

“I believe very strongly that racism is wrong,” Devon interrupted her. “That doesn’t mean that I’m oblivious to racial taboos.”

With an intensity that surprised Devon, Francesca said, “I wish racism didn’t exist.”

“So do I.”

“How can you change something like that?”

Devon said thoughtfully, “I don’t know that you can. People try. Those who do are brave. Take Jesse, for example. Jeremiah says he’s gotten involved with the civil rights movement through his university. And I’m sure that when he graduates from law school, he’ll want to get involved in those kinds of issues. I’m sorry he won’t be taking over from his father here, but what he’s doing is more important. And I know Jeremiah is immensely proud of him. Still, I miss him.”

“I do too,” Francesca admitted.

For God’s sake, Devon, let’s get a move on,” said John, looking at his watch impatiently as he called up the stairs.

Devon came hurrying into view behind the railing of the second-floor gallery. She leaned against the banister and said, with aplomb, “I haven’t kept you more than five minutes. If you simply relax and have a glass of lemonade, you’d find the wait much shorter.”

John looked up at her and caught his breath. From this distance, she appeared no more than thirty, with her graceful, limber carriage and her shining black hair. She was wearing a dress of soft rose-colored tropical-weight wool; as always, a perfectly tailored example of the latest fashion. The long, body-skimming skirt and molded bodice displayed her slender figure to advantage. She wore sheer stockings and pale taupe high-heeled sandals, thus creating one long, soft line of color.

As she spoke, she pulled on a pair of taupe kid gloves. “Let me just get my jacket and I’ll be right with you.”

John sighed. “I suppose I have no choice but to wait.”

“Not if you want to sit with the owner of the Triple Crown winner.”

“But that race isn’t until the day after tomorrow.”

“Nevertheless,” she said with mock hauteur as she disappeared from view. A few moments later, she made her way down the marble staircase of the Richmond family’s New York town house as though there were absolutely no reason to hurry. And in fact, she was dreading the ride to Belmont Park. It would be her first time alone with John since her operation. She had always been careful to surround herself with people when he was present. But it had been impossible to engineer that in this instance.

Francesca had invited John to watch her ride in one of the less important races that preceded the Belmont Stakes. He had agreed, remarking that he would be staying at his New York town house during that period. Of course Devon had been obliged to invite him to view the race from her box, and rather than asking Devon to ride with him, he had asked if he might ride with her. How could she refuse? The car was a two-seater, so Devon was obliged to be alone with him for the ride to Belmont. She had, however, taken the precaution of inviting several people to share the box with them.

She paused and readjusted her hat before the huge pier glass that accented the entry from the foyer into the main salon.

“You look marvelous. Now let’s go.”

Devon gave him a look of exasperation. “We’ve plenty of time. The others aren’t to meet us until two o’clock.”

“Precisely why I’m anxious to go. So I can enjoy a few moments alone with you.”

“We’re alone now, aren’t we?”

He gave her a sardonic look. “If you don’t count the servants and your mother and Alice upstairs—the ladies are looking extremely well, by the way.”

“I hope I look as well at their age.”

“You will,” John assured her with a grin.

Devon automatically held out her jacket for John to assist her in putting on. His hands rested for a moment on her shoulders as his eyes met hers in the mirror. Devon moved away from him. She didn’t like for him to touch her. It disturbed her, made her feel as though a hummingbird were desperately flapping inside her, trying to escape. When he touched her, it reminded her too acutely of what she would miss for the rest of her life. Devon had always enjoyed the physical side of love and had never anticipated that she would have to do without it. Yet her resolve to end that aspect of her life had not weakened since her operation. When she looked at John and felt her resolve slip, she had only to think of the ugly red gashes on her chest and—more important—the freakishly asymmetrical flatness of the left side of her torso.

“Let’s go,” she said, picking up her purse and hurrying to the door. Outside, Devon’s green Jaguar awaited them. Devon sometimes wondered if she was too old for the sports car, but then dismissed the thought. Why should she care what anyone thought? She enjoyed it too much to give it up.

After they were settled and Devon had eased the car into traffic, John cleared his throat and said, “Devon, I’d like to ask you a rather blunt question. I hope you’ll be as frank in your response.”

Devon looked straight ahead, sensing his meaning. “I’ll try,” she said, promising nothing.

“Do you realize that this is the first time we’ve been alone together since your operation?”

Devon smoothly picked up the conversational thread and carried it in an entirely different direction. “I’m so grateful, John, that you were there when I awakened. I don’t know if I’ve ever fully expressed how much that meant to me,” she said, watching him from the corner of her eye. “And, of course, to Francesca.”

“You are the two most important people in the world to me, Devon.”

“You’re one of the most important people in the world to Francesca, too,” Devon said carefully.

“And to you? John held his breath as he waited for Devon’s answer.

Devon fixed her eyes firmly on the road. “I… I’m very fond of you, John.”

John exploded with frustration. “Christ, Devon! Fond! Am I one of your stable hands or, worse yet, one of your horses that you should be fond of me? What a truly repellent word to use!” he concluded in a tone of disgust.

Devon struggled to stay calm. She couldn’t bear to hurt his feelings, but neither would she permit herself to reveal her own. “I certainly didn’t mean to offend you,” she protested weakly.

“But you did!” he insisted, shifting in his seat so that the entire top half of his body faced her. “Why won’t you even look at me or touch me? Am I so distasteful to you? Sometimes I think you love me. Other times it’s as though you can’t endure me!”

She turned her face to him, alarmed at the hurt in his voice. “It’s not that at all!” she cried.

“Then what?” he demanded. “We’ve wasted too much time already. I understood when Mason was in your life that you were off-limits. That’s one of the reasons why I accepted the post in Europe. I don’t know exactly when the two of you ended it—or why—but I’d like to believe that it left the door open for me. This cancer thing has made me realize that we’d be criminal to waste any more time. I love you, Devon! I want us to be married again!”

“No!” she cried.

John stared at her, struck silent by her vehemence. Then an idea occurred to him. “Devon, are you angry at me for going overseas?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped. Then, more quietly, she continued. “It’s not that. I just don’t want to remarry.”

“Devon, we’ve been through too much together for you to resort to these… evasions!” He slapped the dashboard for emphasis. “I want a straight answer. Do you or do you not love me?” He
knew
she loved him. Had felt her love for him growing over the years. Yet he had also sensed wariness on her part. They had hurt each other. Had failed miserably at the most important commitment of their lives when neither one of them was accustomed to failure in other realms. For six years, he had loved Devon anew, and for six years there had always been reasons for his reluctance to declare himself. But all that had been swept away with the cancer. Now, he intended to insist on an answer from Devon.

“Do you or do you not love me?” he repeated.

Devon was staring straight ahead again, her pure profile as closed and stony as a statue. Finally, she spoke. “I… I don’t know about love anymore, John.”

“Don’t know? What’s that supposed to mean!” he demanded.

“I don’t think I’m physically able,” Devon said, almost in a whisper.

“Why ever not?” he asked, puzzled. “All they removed is one breast, isn’t that right?”

Devon turned shocked eyes to him. She had never heard the words spoken so bluntly or so nonchalantly. It was as though he were relating the latest birthing of one of Willowbrook’s broodmares, not a life-altering operation. “How can you be so callous!”

“Callous? In what way?”

“John, a woman’s entire identity is tied to her physical appearance!” Devon cried.

“Hogwash!” he expostulated. “To say such a thing is to undermine all the qualities that make you special. Your accomplishments, your courage, your perseverance, your intelligence. Those are the things that make you Devon Alexander!”

“Somerset-Smith,” she said quietly.

John looked abashed. “Of course. That’s what I meant to say. Look, could you find a place to pull over so we can talk?”

Devon’s eyes swept the surrounding area, then spotting an exit that led into a restaurant parking lot, she pulled off the highway. The car rolled to a stop and Devon turned off the ignition.

John leaned across the center glove box and gearshift and took Devon’s hands. “Look at me, Devon,” he compelled her in a quiet voice.