With a sigh, Thatcher pulled a stack of papers closer and began to read.
Chapter 11
"Forty, love," Sargent Cole called.
Lydia stood at the net and watched her father serve to her partner. He used the overhead style, a method she herself had never bothered to learn. It looked terribly difficult, and aside from that, there was something decidedly unladylike in the motion. The ball went whizzing over the net, landed four feet beyond the service box, and would have struck Edward in the privates had he not twisted his plump frame and protected himself with his racquet.
"Out," Edward mumbled. Recovering from his defensive scramble, he established a proper ready stance.
Lydia heard her mother giggle from across the net. The next serve fell into play, and the two men exchanged a short rally before Edward was outdone, his last effort a weak, fluttering lob that Mother was allowed to finish.
"That's it then!" Sargent Cole boomed, rushing to the net. "Six-one, six-love."
Glad to be done, Lydia complimented her father on his form, while Edward, still not accustomed to the thrashings, endured a brisk handshake.
"Don't worry, my boy," her father said. "In time. All in time."
The four retired to the patio where a large round table sat in wait, stocked with fresh juice, pastries, and coffee. Mother busied herself serving.
Sargent said, "Lydia, we must work on your backhand. I'll set up some lessons next week with Serge."
"Father, its no use. IVe already got a thousand-dollar backhand."
"But you were better when you were a girl."
Lydia couldn't argue that. She'd been decent a few years back, but lately had been gaining weight. She was slower now, more cumbersome, and her enthusiasm for the game had disappeared. It seemed such a trivial pastime, given what the rest of the world was enduring.
"Monday," her father decided.
"All right, Father."
"And Edward, what about you? Shall I set something up?"
Edward said, "No, sir. I'll be in the city Monday. In fact, I'll be going in this afternoon as well. I should get cleaned up now." He trundled toward the main house, his round shape straining the white tennis togs.
"All work, that boy," Sargent said. "He needs to break more of a sweat out here."
Lydia was about to select a pastry when she saw the signal from inside the house. It was Evans, the butler, standing in a window and beckoning her with a rapid hand motion. She excused herself and went discreetly into the house.
"What is it, Evans?"
"A gentleman to see you, miss."
She looked out the window, toward her parents, and wondered why it had not been a general announcement.
Evans, who had been with the family for thirty-two years, clearly understood her confusion. "Come with me, miss. I think you'll understand."
A perplexed Lydia followed to the library. When Evans opened the door, she froze at a vision that had died in her dreams a thousand nights ago.
"Oh, God!"
Her knees buckled and she felt dizzy. Through a semiconscious state she felt Evans at her side, supporting an elbow. And then another, stronger presence anchored the opposite side. They guided her to a chair and she sat, grasping the soft fabric arms so that the world might stop spinning. When Lydia finally focused, the apparition was still there, now balanced on one knee at her side. Then came the voice.
"Hello, Lydia."
That strong, undeniable voice.
"Alex?" she managed. "Dear God — is it really you?"
His watery blue eyes seemed to embrace her. And then the cavalier, one-sided smile. He reached out and took her hand.
"Its been a very long time."
"Oh, Alex. I thought… I thought you were dead." Tears flowed over her cheeks. "I stopped hearing from you, the letters. And I knew you were fighting—"
"Yes, yes. Its a long story. But all thats over now. Done."
She saw a ragged scar on his temple. It was prominent, but somehow almost an improvement on Alex, a touch of visceral splendor to accent his strong features. She reached out to touch it softly with her hand. What had he been through? Lydia wondered. What other scars might there be?
"Can I get you some water, miss?" Evans asked.
The question brought her back, and Lydia stood gingerly, collecting herself. "What kind of hostess am I? Evans, we have a guest. Bring coffee, would you? Alex enjoys coffee."
Evans acknowledged the order and disappeared. Alex stood back and she realized he was looking at her. His eyes wandered carelessly across her body, the half smile still intact. What was he thinking? No, she knew exactly what he was thinking. Is he disappointed? God, what stupid thoughts.
"You look well," she blurted.
"A few scratches, but mostly I came through unscathed."
"You're not in uniform. Are you on leave?"
"Yes. I just got back from Europe. My uniforms are at the cleaners. God knows they needed it. I have three weeks before I'm scheduled to report for duty on the West Coast."
"Of course. We're not done yet, are we? Those pesky—" Lydia froze when she saw Edward stroll in the doorway.
"Darling, have you seen my red tie?" Edward asked before noticing the guest. He paused to study the man for a moment. "Sorry, I don't think we've met."
Lydia said, "Oh, forgive me. Edward, this is Alex, an old friend. Alex, this is Edward Murray… my husband."
She saw it for an instant. A crack in Alex's easy smile. He shook Edward's hand and exchanged niceties.
"Alex was at Harvard, before the war."
"Harvard, was it? Bad luck. I was Princeton myself. Law. What did you study, Alex?"
"Architecture, although I wasn't able to finish."
"Oh yes, of course, the war. You know, I tried to enlist myself but there was some rubbish about an eardrum. What I do now is the next best thing. All those tanks and guns don't get built without contracts. My firm does almost half their work with the defense industries. Boring, of course, but it has to be done."
"Soldiering is mostly boring, to tell you the truth. But at least the food is first class."
Edward looked baffled before recognizing the joke. He laughed. "Yes, I'm sure." He turned to Lydia, "Now, dear, I really have to be on my way."
"On the hook in your closet," she said.
"What?"
"The red tie."
"Oh, right." He closed in and gave Lydia a peck on the cheek, then added, "Good to meet you, Alex."
"And you, Edward."
Edward disappeared and the room fell silent. Having seen him off, Lydia's back was to Alex. She couldn't bring herself to turn. What must he think, she wondered, fighting the war for so long, only to come home to this? But if only he'd written. If only she'd known he was alive. Lydia folded her arms tightly, still not able to face him.
"Alex, I —"
His hands took her by the shoulders and guided her around until she faced him. What Lydia saw in his eyes was not anger or disappointment. It was strength. Understanding. She stayed locked to his gaze until her fathers voice interrupted, bellowing her name from out on the lawn.
Alex smiled again. "I should go say hello to Sargent."
"He always liked you, Alex."
"Except when I beat him at his games."
"Can you stay? At least for a few days?"
He paused. "I don't see why not. Actually, I'd rather been planning on it."
She sighed and closed her eyes, his hands still on her shoulders.
"He seems like a nice fellow," Alex said.
"Who?"
"Edward."
"Oh… yes, he's very nice."