Maggy's Child Read Free Page B

banish. Let Buffy get the idea that she was hiding something, and the fat would be in the fire for sure. Every tongue—or at least all the ones that counted—in Louisville would wag. The best defense was a good offense, or so she’d always heard. She tried it: “Besides, I think you would have thought anything he said was sexy.”
    “The way you were drooling over him was embarrassing, Buff,” Sarah agreed.
    “I wasn’t drooling over him.” Buffy sounded indignant. Then she grinned again. “Well, he is a doll baby. If he gets in touch with you, Maggy, do you suppose you could give him my number?”
    “I doubt he’ll be in touch. But if he does, I certainly will.”
    To Maggy’s relief, she realized they had reached the gates of Windermere. She hadn’t even registered that they had left the expressway upon reaching the Kentucky shore and traversed the ten or so miles along River Road to the well-hidden estate entrance, so caught up was she in her own inner turmoil. The car slowed and turned right at the old abandoned gatekeeper’s cottage, pausing while theelectronic gates opened. Then they edged past the stone pillars and iron gates that marked the beginning of the long drive and headed upward with a whoosh of tires on pavement. The drive was steep and narrow and S-shaped. The first dozen times Maggy had driven herself along it she had done so with her heart in her mouth for fear she would miscalculate and end up a hundred or so yards below in Willow Creek. Over time she had gotten used to the hair-raising approach to the house, and now she scarcely noticed it, except to register in passing that the light that usually illuminated the most treacherous curve was out. But Tipton, well accustomed to the drive, didn’t even slow down. Moments later the car reached the level ground at the top of the hill that formed the front lawn. Seconds after that it nosed around the paved circle leading to the wide stone stairway that provided access to the six-columned porch and the heavy oak front door.
    The outside lights were on, illuminating the cascading fountain that was the centerpiece of the still-dormant rose garden around which this part of the driveway circled, and shining up on the smooth white stone facade of the three-story house. But except for the chandelier in the front entryway, visible through the leaded glass transom above the door, the inside lights appeared to be off.
    Even as Tipton swung open the door beside her, Maggy felt an easing of the tension that had held her in thrall. From the look of the house, Lyle had gone to bed. She would not have to deal with him until morning.
    She smiled faintly with relief as she slid out.
    Sarah and Buffy didn’t move. They were houseguests at Windermere for the festive month leading up to Derby, which in Louisville was a gala event centered around a horse race on the first Saturday in May that eclipsed even Christmas for parties and preparation. They were staying with Sarah’s mother, Lucy Drummond, for the duration of the festivities. Lucy, Lyle’s only living sibling, had resided for the past six months in the estate’s guesthouse,which was a charming, two-story frame farmhouse not far from the main house. She was at Windermere because her and Lyle’s mother, Virginia, who lived year-round in her own luxurious apartment in one wing of the main house, was gravely ill. Virginia’s doctor predicted she would not survive the summer.
    “Good night!” Buffy rolled down the nearside window to wave. Sarah echoed the words and motion.
    Maggy, standing on the cobblestoned driveway, waved back with false gaiety as Tipton got in the car. She kept waving until the Rolls pulled slowly on around the curve in the drive and headed east. The guesthouse was located there, beyond the swimming pool and tennis court and dog kennel, hidden from view of the main house by a sheltering stand of shaggy hemlocks. Her smile fading at last, Maggy watched the car until she could see no