The Trophy Wife Page 9

  Tripp had lost track of how many courses there had been. Back home, supper took fifteen minutes to cook and another fifteen to eat. Here, eating took all night.

  The differences didn't end there. He'd never spent so much time eating so little, and using so many different forks to do it. He'd just run into the biggest difference. In places where he normally dined, men in tuxedoes didn't hand out towels in the men's room. If he hadn't seen the gray-haired gentleman ahead of him drop a ten-spot into a silver dish, Tripp wouldn't have remembered to tip. Rich people found the damnedest ways to spend their money.

  On the bright side, he figured that if these people could spend their pocket money on human towel dispensers, there was a good chance they would be willing to part with a great deal more on medical clinics to aid the poor. If he got the position in Perkins's practice, that is.

  The evening did seem to be going well, all things considered. Dr. and Mrs. Perkins were extremely friendly. He couldn't get a handle on Perkins's partners, Gentry and Harris. They and their wives remained polite and formal. Tripp would have liked to get Amber to himself for a few minutes to get her take on the evening.

  Just then, two waiters stepped aside, and Tripp had a clear view of Amber. She was talking to Montgomery and Cornelia Perkins. The soft light from the crystal chandeliers turned Cornelia's perfectly coifed hair pale silver. The same light caught on the amber-colored sparkles in Amber's upswept hair and turned her blond tresses the color of spun gold.

  He neared the table while she was laughing at something Montgomery Perkins said. She glanced up as Tripp approached, and it occurred to him that her smile didn't reach her eyes.

  It wasn't the first time it had happened tonight. "Having fun?" he asked quietly.

  The corners of her mouth lifted. Again, the smile didn't quite make it all the way to her eyes. He leaned down, but before he could ask if she felt all right, Cornelia said, "I believe these young people would like to spend time alone."

  Across the table, Winston Harris said, "They're young, Cornelia. They have plenty of time ahead of them to be alone together."

  Amber looked up at Tripp. She noticed he didn't comment one way or the other. He was the one who rarely smiled, and yet it was getting increasingly difficult for her to do so.

  No matter what Winston Harris insinuated, she and Tripp didn't have the rest of their lives to be together. At best, they had a few more hours.

  She'd been despairing about the situation all evening. She hadn't slurped her fricassee or dropped her fork. She couldn't. This was too important for Tripp, and for hundreds of children and their families who needed a doctor like him.

  She'd done her best to impress this group of pediatricians and their wives. Tripp had handled himself admirably. She saw no reason on earth why Dr. Perkins would offer the position to anyone else. She was proud of Tripp. And sad, because her time with him was nearly over.

  "There's an orchestra playing, and a small dance floor on the other side of the room." Placing a hand on her shoulder he said, "Seems a shame to waste it."

  He cocked an eyebrow, waiting for her reply. Her heart fluttered, and a delicious sensation settled low in her belly. Surely, somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind he knew exactly what he was doing. Suddenly, it seemed imperative to feel his arms go around her, if only on the dance floor. She was placing her hand in his when a deep, sultry voice she didn't recognize came from a few feet away.

  "Why, hello, Dr. Perkins, Mrs. Perkins. Tripp."

  "Olivia, dear," Cornelia said. "How nice to see you."

  Amber glanced up just as one of the most beautiful women in all of California took Cornelia's hand. She'd seen Olivia Babcock's photograph in the society pages several times. The petite, dark-haired woman was even lovelier in person. Her hair was the color of rich coffee. The short, wispy, smart style accentuated her delicate features and large violet eyes. Her dress was the darkest shade of purple Amber had ever seen. It was the color of royalty; Olivia wore it well.

  "Is Derek here, too?" Winston Harris asked a little too quickly to escape Amber's notice.

  With a shake of her head and a flutter of eyelashes, Olivia bestowed her beautiful smile on everyone in turn. "Derek is on call tonight. I'm dining with Mother and Willadine Whitherspoon. You remember her late husband, don't you? Abraham headed the most renowned cancer research team at Daddy's institute."

  Amber had done some name-dropping of her own tonight, but it was difficult not to admire Olivia's technique.

  "Would you care to join us?" Cornelia asked.

  Amber wasn't altogether comfortable with how hopeful Mary Margaret Harris and Loretta Gentry suddenly appeared. The fact that their husbands shifted uncomfortably in their chairs was even more disconcerting to Amber. Olivia couldn't have been oblivious, but she cast another perfect smile in every direction and said, "I appreciate the invitation, but Derek and I had you to ourselves last weekend. It's only fair that Tripp and his date have the same privilege this evening." She paused, looking directly at Amber. "I don't believe we've met."

  "Amber Colton, Olivia Babcock." Tripp did the honors, his muscles tensing beneath Amber's hand.

  "Colton," Olivia said. "That name sounds familiar."

  "Her father is Joe Colton." Winston Harris provided the information. Surely Amber wasn't the only one who thought it had been delivered in a slightly caustic tone.

  Montgomery and Cornelia didn't appear to be hanging on Olivia's every word, but the Harrises and Gentrys certainly were. What was going on here?

  "I've heard of Joseph Colton, of course," Olivia said. "But I seem to recall a Sophie Colton, too."

  "You know my sister?"

  "Sophie is your sister? I heard she was in an accident."

  Amber nodded. Olivia seemed so genuine. Why, she almost seemed—well, nice. If she hadn't been Tripp's former fiancée, Amber might have liked her.

  "How is Sophie?"

  Amber wanted to glance at Tripp, to gauge his reaction and expression. She couldn't of course, without calling attention to the tension she sensed in him. Unobtrusively placing a gentling hand over the finger that had started fiddling with his watch, Amber said, "Sophie is fine, thanks. Actually, she's very happy. She's married now and is the mother of a beautiful baby girl."

  "Be sure to give her my best." Olivia exchanged a few more words with the others, then sashayed out of sight. A taut silence ensued. Wanting a moment to gather her thoughts, Amber excused herself to the powder room.

  She was sitting at a flute-edged table before a beveled mirror when Olivia entered the room. Coincidence? Amber was beginning to doubt it.

  Olivia's smile was friendly, though, when she said, "What a pretty dress. I just love that style."

  Amber smiled.

  "And black is so tried and true and unassuming. So safe."

  Amber's smile wavered.

  "And it hides a whole multitude of sins, doesn't it?"

  Amber's hand froze in midair for but a moment. Once she'd recovered, she applied her lipstick. It gave her a perfect excuse not to reply.

  "Has Dr. Perkins broken the news yet, hon?"

  Hon? Olivia's dress may have been royal purple, but Amber saw red.

  Olivia pretended to gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, dear. Now I've done it, haven't I?" Her timing perfect, she waited just long enough for the implication to soak in before adding, "Just forget I slipped. It would be best if Montgomery told Tripp in his own way."

  Amber replaced the top on her lipstick then dropped the tube delicately into her small beaded bag. She was proud of how perfectly unaffected her smile appeared in the mirror. "It'll be our little secret."

  She closed her purse, inspected her hair, then rose to her feet. Thankful to be taller, and thus able to look down her nose at the dark-haired woman, she quietly left the room. Inside, she was fuming. Of all the condescending, arrogant, spoiled brats! No wonder Tripp had issues with rich people!

  Amber was still fuming and trying not to let it sho
w when she returned to the table. Luckily, everyone except Tripp was involved in an in-depth discussion about someone they all knew. It awarded Amber a moment to pull a face, and Tripp a moment to whisper, "I just saw Olivia heading for the rest room. Everything all right?"

  She glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "She isn't as nice as she seems."

  "Next you'll tell me water is wet and the sky is blue."

  Joy fluttered its delicate wings in Amber's chest. She loved to laugh. Bawdy or wry, she reacted to humor. Because it was so rare, Tripp's wry humor felt like a gift. The more she came to know him, the more she wanted to know him better. She didn't want him to move downstate. She wanted him to stay right where he was so he could fall in love with her in return. But she didn't want someone less deserving to get that position, either.

  "You're quiet tonight," he said. "Something's wrong."

  She looked around the table again and said, "Olivia is under the impression a decision has already been made."

  "Did she tell you that outright?"

  Amber shrugged. "She seemed to enjoy getting the point across."

  "Damn."

  Her exact thought.

  "Then this was all for nothing? Act two in a one-act play? We might as well leave," he said.

  She recalled Olivia's condescending manner, and darn it all, it just wasn't fair. Who was it who said all things were fair in love and war? Amber looked into Tripp's brown eyes.

  This was both.

  The despair she'd been fighting all evening turned into determination. Laying a hand over his, she said, "It isn't over until it's over. Follow my lead."

  "I can only imagine how unhappy Dr. Cooper will be to see you go," she said, as if they'd been talking about this all along. "And Nurse Proctor, the poor dear."

  She paused long enough to give the other people at the table a chance to listen. Since there were few things more desirable than something somebody else wanted, she launched into a lengthy description of the people Tripp worked with and treated in Ukiah. Before long, everyone was asking him questions about his work at County General. Amber sat back and studied the level of interest. Whenever it started to wane, she launched a new topic. She talked about his patients, little P.J.'s sad plight in particular, and the progress Tripp had made with the boy's physical therapy.

  "Your practices seem somewhat unconventional," Dr. Harris said.

  Amber would have liked to stick out her tongue at the old curmudgeon. Tripp simply said, "It's not that I'm unconventional. Sometimes getting to the root of a problem requires some imaginative investigation. A case in point is a little girl I've been treating. Her mother brought her to me earlier this week. Her symptoms were baffling. Lethargy, headache, muscle soreness, loss of appetite, weight loss and abdominal pain."

  "Fever?" Montgomery Perkins asked.

  "It came and went. I ruled out the obvious illnesses such as appendicitis and strep throat."

  "A deeper, more serious illness? Leukemia, perhaps?"

  Tripp shook his head. "She tested negative."

  "Some sort of virus?" Steven Gentry asked, leaning ahead, elbows resting on the table.

  "I considered the possibility," Tripp said, his voice deep-timbered and clear. "She was anemic, too. And irritable. It just didn't feel like a virus to me."

  Now Winston Harris leaned in, too. "Did you hospitalize her?"

  Tripp nodded, and Amber relaxed.

  "One day I watched her, undetected. And even though she remained lethargic, she scraped halfheartedly at the paint on her bedstand."

  Montgomery Perkins was the first to begin to nod. "Did you test her serum lead levels?"

  A light seemed to come on in the other two doctors' eyes.

  Again Tripp nodded. "I ordered the test, then made a house call, and sure enough, the paint around the windows was chipping."

  "Lead poisoning," Winston Harris said. "I once treated a little boy for that. His toxicity level was dangerously high. Almost fifty micrograms cc."

  "How would you rate his recovery?" Tripp asked. Now his elbows were on the table, too.

  The men tossed words like erythrocyte protoporphyrin and chelation therapy into the conversation. Mrs. Harris and Mrs. Gentry exchanged resigned looks. Cornelia Perkins said, "It was inevitable that they would talk shop before the night was through."

  "It's one of the plights of being a doctor's wife," Loretta said.

  "You'll see, Amber," Cornelia said.

  Amber had to force a smile. Inside, she despaired all over again. It was highly unlikely that she would ever know how it felt to be Tripp's wife. Regardless of the outcome of the evening, their time together was nearly over.

  "Have you and Tripp set a date?" Cornelia asked.

  Amber had to think fast. Taking the advice she'd given Tripp, she hovered as close to the truth as possible. "I've always thought an autumn wedding would be lovely."

  "Weddings are lovely no matter what the season," Cornelia said. "Our second son is getting married in Mississippi next weekend. And it'll likely be hotter than Hades there in July."

  Montgomery Perkins stopped in the middle of what he'd been saying. It was as if hearing his wife's mention of the upcoming wedding flipped a light on over his head. "I have a confession to make." He looked almost apologetic. "We thought we'd made up our minds and had chosen the candidate who would best suit our practice. Now I wish I had a little more time to make a decision. I just had an idea. Cornelia, dear, would it be possible to invite both candidates to David's wedding next weekend?"

  "Why, I don't know…"

  "That is," Montgomery said, peering from Tripp to Amber, "if the two of you can make it on such short notice. I'll invite Derek and Olivia, too." He rubbed his hands together. "Why, I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner. It'll kill two birds with one stone. Pardon the expression. We'll get better acquainted with both couples in an entirely different setting. Then we'll be able to make an educated decision based on more than a few brief encounters."

  Winston Harris opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. Poor Cornelia was still gasping, too, one plump hand fluttering to the gold lamé collar on her gown. "I'll have to call Jennifer's mother, and make certain it's acceptable." The lovely, sixty-something-year-old woman recovered slightly. "If it's acceptable to the bride's family, I see no reason not to second the invitation."

  "The wedding is in Mississippi, you said?" Amber asked.

  "Yes. It's going to be held in Jennifer's parents' home. It's a lovely, stately, antebellum mansion between Vicksburg and Jackson. It's positively stunning."

  "Is that a problem?" Montgomery asked.

  "Of course not," Amber said. Oh, my, she thought. That meant she would have to fly.

  She looked at Tripp, and he said, "I'll try to get one of the doctors to cover for me at the hospital."

  "Then it's settled," Montgomery exclaimed. "As soon as Cornelia clears it with our future daughter-in-law, we'll contact you so you can make arrangements. I'll call Derek and Olivia, too."

  The party broke up soon after. Amber's daze didn't lift until she and Tripp reached the Cloverdale village limit. Her time with Tripp wasn't over, and neither was their pretend engagement. The charade would continue.

  She was thrilled and relieved and scared to death. She'd fallen in love with a man with brawn and brains and might and morals. She had one more week with him. Could he fall in love with her in that time? If he did, what then?

  It would be worse if he didn't.

  One week wasn't much time, but it was a week longer than she thought she would have. She vowed to use it wisely.

  * * *

  Amber gave the door of her father's study a quick rap with her knuckles, then turned the handle and quickly poked her head inside. "Hi, Daddy, it's me."

  She stopped abruptly, because her father wasn't sitting behind his huge mahogany desk. Her mother was.

  Amber's spontaneous smile gave way to a much more practiced one. "Mother. Hel
lo. Where is everybody?"

  "How would I know?" Meredith Colton snapped. "Nobody in this household listens to a word I say. It's a disgrace, the shape it's in."

  Eyeing the wall of bookshelves on the opposite wall, the cabinets and desktop, every surface freshly polished, Amber disagreed. The house was lovely, the floors so clean a person could eat off them. She remembered the food fight she and Tripp had. Biting her lip at the memory, she said, "Where's Dad?"

  "He isn't here."

  She could see that, but she'd experienced her mother's wrath firsthand far too often to point out that fact. Treading lightly, she said, "What are you doing here, Mother?"

  "This is my home."

  "Of course. I didn't mean…That is…" Amber could feel her throat closing up. She and her mother couldn't even be in the same room anymore without the skin on the back of Amber's neck prickling. "I didn't know you were home. How are you, Mother?"

  "I'm fine. I see you haven't had time for a facial lately. You really shouldn't neglect your skin."

  A sadness so deep it had eaten a hole through Amber's insides years ago started to ache. What happened? They used to be so close.

  This woman felt like a stranger to her.

  "Do you know where Dad went?"

  "Your father is away on business. Where doesn't matter. He won't be back for several days." She might as well have added, "Thank God." It was there in her voice and in her eyes.

  "Oh. Well, I mean…That is…"

  "Amber, please don't stammer. And stand up straight."

  Since arguing got her nowhere with the woman, Amber sighed and did as her mother said. "I just stopped by to tell Dad goodbye."

  "You're leaving?"

  Amber thought her mother could at least pretend to be sorry to see her go. "I'm going to Mississippi for the weekend."

  "Why? Why on earth would you go there?"