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Well, why not see! While they were out buying more. What harm would it do?
Quickly she shed her jeans and shirt. Stepped into the soft folds and zipped it up. It was too big and too long, but she gathered the dress about her and preened as Whitney had.
She brought her face close and peered into the mirror. Did it do something for her eyes? She tried to look sultry.
No good. Her eyes were too big.
But they did take on that color, didn’t they? She bet if she went to the dance and he looked at her, his eyes would melt into hers, and they would dance and dance and...
Oh, for goodness sake, she’d best stop twirling around. If she tore that dress there’d be hell to pay.
And why was she standing here, wasting time? She couldn’t afford such a dress, and, even if she could, where would she wear it? She wasn’t going to any ball, and she certainly wasn’t going to dance with him. And why was she thinking of him, anyway. He wasn’t a real prince. Not that she gave a dam if he was.
She took off the dress and went back to work.
When she had first come to San Diego, Paula had signed up with a caterer. She was often on her own in the evening and could earn a little extra money serving at a catered affair. She was putting away as much as she could for the time when she might enter veterinary school. But with the extra work at the Ashfords,’ she hadn’t had much time for other jobs.
“I’m not sure I can make it,” she told Harry, the caterer, when he called, wanting an extra hand for the Moody costume party. “The Ashfords will be attending, and she likes me to help them get dressed.”
“That’s okay. Aren’t they going to some dinner first? Everybody is.”
“Yes, they are,” Paula said, remembering.
“Well, then, that gives you time. I don’t care if you’re a little late. Please, Paula, I really need you.”
“Can’t you get somebody else this time?”
“Then I’ve got the problem of a uniform.” The caterer was persnickety about uniforms and had had Paula fitted for one.
“Well . . .” Paula felt guilty about the uniform, and the caterer did pay well. “All right,” she said, though she didn’t want to go. She was tired.
But that night, as she stood in the Moodys’ oversize pantry arranging hors d’oeuvres and setting out clean glasses, she didn’t feel at all tired. Somehow, the gala party mood seemed to revive her. She was fascinated by the colorful costumes of the masked figures that talked, laughed and danced to the beat of the band. The scintillating music penetrated the thick walls of the pantry and seeped into her funstarved heart. She threw back her head, humming the melody, her feet tapping in perfect rhythm as she danced around the table.
She did not hear the door open and was unaware that he watched.
“Perfect. Beautiful. But must you dance alone?” The deep voice startled her.
She stopped in her tracks. Despite the mask, she recognized him immediately. He was more handsome than in the newspaper, and his hair was like copper. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she muttered, feeling humiliation flood her cheeks. “I was... I... Can I help you?” she asked.
“Indeed you can.” He held out his arms. “May I have this dance, fair lady?”
She tried to laugh. “No. Sorry, but I’m not a guest. I work here.”
“Oh? Well, let’s fix that.” The amber eyes that showed through his mask glittered with mischief. From somewhere he produced another mask and tied it over her face. “There. Now you’re my guest. Shall we dance?”
She couldn’t resist. He drew her to him, and for a long time she was only aware of the feel of his arms about her, the pleasant fresh smell of aftershave and the gentle firmness of his guidance as the music swelled around them. She followed his lead with easy grace, abandoning herself to the joy, reveling in the colorful pageant, the dance.
From somewhere an old grandfather clock intoned the midnight hour. The music stopped, and someone shouted, “Masks off!”
Dear Lord, she was in the middle of the ballroom!
The man bent toward her, his hand cradling her neck, his lips lightly touching hers. “Time to unmask, little one.”
The slender gold chain of her necklace snapped as she fled.
CHAPTER TWO
“HEY, wait!” Too late. She had slipped through the crowd and vanished. All that was left of her was a slender gold chain dangling from his fingers. Feeling strangely bereft, he started after her. She would be in that room where—
“Brad Vandercamp, take off that disguise!” The daughter of his host blocked his way. She tugged at his mask. “You didn’t fool anybody, anyway. We all knew you.”
“Oh?” He looked at the costume that hugged her figure and glittered with sequins in the shape of fish scales. “Well, my little mermaid,” he said trying to remember her name, “some of us are not as clever as—”
A sultry voice interrupted. “No matter how clever, you couldn’t hide that copper hair.”
“No more than you could hide those eyes.” Sensuous and suggestive, he thought.
Whitney gushed with pleasure. “So you knew me! Tell me, are my eyes distinctive?”
“Indeed they are. They’re, er, so...so expressive,” he said, thinking of the last dance. She had been as light as a feather in his arms, and her blond curls had a fresh soapy scent, more tantalizing than any perfume. He must see her again, ask—
“Come along.” The mermaid took his arm. “Let’s have a refreshing drink. They’ll be serving breakfast in a few minutes.”
She will be serving, he thought, as he was borne off between the two women.
Breakfast, however, was served buffet-style, with several well-groomed waiters attending. No sight of long slender silk-clad legs beneath a short maid’s costume. No sight of merry blue eyes and golden curls topped by a frilly bit of lace.
“You don’t have a thing on your plate. Here, try this.” The woman with the eyes popped a small sausage into his mouth. “Like it?” He nodded, and she piled more on his plate. “There. Now what kind of omelet would you like?”
“Spanish!” Carl, Brad’s closest friend and teammate, ordered. “Give him some of that old San Diego flavour.” He punched Brad on the back and added in a whisper, “Get with us, buddy! Where’s your mind?”
In the kitchen, Brad thought, as he watched the chef preparing the omelet. Was that where she was? Best not go back there asking if someone had lost a necklace and, if so, what is your name and where do you live?
Never mind. Later. He would find her. The slender gold chain rested in his pocket...like a promise.
“Nobody knows who she was, but she was dressed as a maid.”
“Maybe she was a maid.”
Paula’s heart lurched, and she stopped in the hall to listen. The sisters’ voices were clear as they discussed last night’s ball from their adjoining rooms where they were dressing for the first game. If they even suspected...
“Don’t be silly. She wasn’t a maid.” Rae sounded sure. “She was a guest. She had a mask on. And—” Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the shout from across the hall.
“Paula! Where’s that girl!” Mamie Ashford demanded somewhat piteously.
“I’m right here,” Paula said, hurrying to her. “Just lie still and allow that bromide to settle.” She adjusted the pillows and replaced the ice bag. “There now. You’ll feel better soon.”
“My poor head. I don’t see how I’ll make that committee meeting.”
“You’ll be fine,” Paula assured her. “Just rest for a little while. I’ll be back in time to help you dress.” She felt sorry for the always-anxious woman. Not easy on her limited budget to buy the proper outfits and maintain the proper social commitments so important to her and her demanding daughters. Seeing that she was about to fall asleep, Paula closed the draperies and tiptoed from the room.
As she emerged, Whitney called, “Paula, where’s my dress?”
“Almost ready.” Paula rushed downstairs to finish pressing the dress. She returned to find Rae in Whitney’s room holding out two outfits.
“Which should I wear?” she asked.
Whitney didn’t answer. She carefully applied eye shadow and stared dreamily into the mirror. “He said my eyes are so expressive.”
“Bet he didn’t look at you like he looked at her,” Rae said a little spitefully. She frowned. “Who could she be? I don’t remember anybody dressed as a maid, do you, Whitney?”
“Plenty of serving maids around.” Whitney peered into the minor to inspect her makeup. “Maybe one of them sneaked onto the dance floor. I wouldn’t put it past that kind.”
Paula gulped, but Rae answered her sister. “I told you. She was a guest. And Brad knew her very well! The way he was holding her—”
“I thought you didn’t see her.”
“Sylvia did. She and Rod were dancing right next to them, and Sylvia said he was staring at her like there wasn’t anybody else in the room, and when he kissed her...”
Paula’s breath caught as Whitney turned to glare at her sister. “Kissed her?”
“Right there on the dance floor!”
Whitney frowned, then shrugged. “Doesn’t mean a thing. Don’t you read the tabloids? He’s always kissing somebody.”
Paula, who had gone rigid, forced herself to relax. Whitney was right. What was a kiss to Brad Vandercamp? And his kiss certainly meant nothing to her!
“Which, Paula?” Rae’s question jerked her to attention. “Should I wear this or the green one?” Rae held a yellow outfit against herself.
Paula advised the green instead while Whitney continued to muse. “So Sylvia saw her. She must know who she is.”
“No. She doesn’t. She said when everybody started unmasking, the woman...well, it was amazing, but she just disappeared. Sylvia asked Rod if he saw her face, but he didn’t. He said he was looking at her legs.”
Paula winced. This kind of talk was making her nervous.
Shucks! They didn’t suspect her. They probably didn’t even know she had been there. They knew she sometimes worked for Harry, often at affairs they attended. But, thank goodness, they were always too absorbed in themselves to notice her. Even when, as now, she was right under their noses.
Whitney didn’t even look at her when she held out the linen she had pressed.
“Here you are,” she said.
Whitney glanced at the dress, shook her head. “No. Changed my mind. Bring the dusky rose with the sexy short skirt.”
Paula fetched it, tied a green scarf becomingly into Rae’s hair and made sure Whitney’s makeup was in her bag, along with the binoculars.
As they made their way out, she heard Rae say, “He’s not playing today. Do you suppose he’ll be among the spectators?”
“Of course, silly. The players always watch the techniques of the other teams. He’ll be there. And I’m sure he’ll linger at our box. He was quite taken with me. He said my eyes...” Her voice faded, and Paula gave a sigh of relief. If she couldn’t hear them talking about him, she could stop thinking about him!
She couldn’t. She stared at the rumpled sheets, the discarded clothing, a dresser cluttered with lipsticks, bottles, crumpled tissues and traces of spilled powder. But what she saw was a man with unruly copper hair and eyes that glinted with mischief. He smiled at her and held out his arms. Had he really held her in a special way? Then, when he kissed her...
Had he kissed her?
Such a fleeting touch. She might have arranged it.
No. No fantasy. Her lips had burned like fire.
Vividly she recalled the dream... music, voices, laughter and the tolling of a clock.
Then the kiss. Light and fleeting, yes. But it had ignited a powder keg of emotion, sending strange and exhilarating sensations exploding through her. For a moment, she was immobile.
The loud “Masks off” broke the spell and jolted her into movement, thank goodness!
She shook her head to clear it. She was far too practical to let a dream interfere with reality. Quickly erasing last night from her mind, she went to wake Mrs. Ashford. By the time Lew returned from depositing the girls, she had their mother dressed and alert, ready to be chauffeured to her committee meeting.
Paula tidied the bedrooms and baths, finished the laundry and vacuumed. Dinner was no problem, as the Ashfords were dining out. Time to retire to her little room in the attic and study.
Two hours later, she had finished the outline for her English term paper and prepared for tomorrow’s chemistry test. She heard the family car coming down the drive and glanced at the clock. Almost six. That would be Uncle Lew returning, and he would be hungry. She hurried to the kitchen.
“Where’s the chow?” Lew asked, as he tossed aside his chauffeur’s cap and popped open a can of soda.
“Coming right up,” she said. “I wasn’t sure when you’d be back.”
“Me, either. Been driving all day. Hauled the old lady to her meeting, the girls out to the polo field, back to pick her up and back to the field.” He sat at the table and took a long swallow from the can. “Waited till the game was over and squeezed out of that mess of traffic to get them into town to where they’re having dinner. Gotta pick them up at ten.”
“Did you see any of the game?” Paula asked as she set leftover meat loaf in the microwave oven and set the timer.
“Wouldn’t waste my time. Bunch of horses with bandages on their legs, all getting in each other’s way. Guys in fancy helmets whacking at a ball.”
“All for sweet charity, Lew! Lots of money,” Paula said. “Anyway, it’s a game. For fun. Like a rodeo.”
“Rodeo’s a hell of a lot more than fun. It’s . . . well, how to rope a calf, break a horse. Teaching people how to do things, not just showing off.”
Paula grinned. “Seems I often saw you showing off. Remember that rodeo where you—”
He gave a satisfied smile. “Yeah, I was good, huh? Expert at that stuff.”
“Sure, sure. I remember,” Paula said, as she fashioned cold mashed potatoes into cakes, sprinkled paprika and set them sizzling in a frying pan. “But I’ll have you know that these polo players are considered experts, too.”
“Humph!” Lew unfolded the newspaper.
Paula turned the potato cakes, set muffins to warm in the oven. “Some are quite famous, renowned for their expertise all over the world.”
Lew shrugged.
She removed the soda can, set out silver and napkins and bent to whisper in his ear. “Wanta hear a secret?” At his wary look, she gave him a conspiratorial wink and added, “I danced with the most famous one of all last night.”
Lew’s head jerked up. “You’re joking.”
