The Only Solution(31)

But she did know one other person, she realized. Only a few feet away  from her was the woman who had stopped her on her walk last week, in  order to admire the baby. DeCarlo  –  that was her name; Wendy was proud  of herself for remembering it. She was with another, younger woman, and  she was studying Wendy over the rim of her champagne glass as if trying  to place her.

Wendy smiled encouragingly. It would be no surprise if the woman didn't  recognize her. In her new red dress, Wendy must bear only a vague  resemblance to the bundled-up, jeans-clad figure of a few days ago.

The woman said something to her companion and strolled toward Wendy.  "Well, hello, Wendy Burgess. Let me introduce you to my friend Yvette  Abbott."

Wendy held out a hand. "You do remember me, then, Mrs. DeCarlo."

"Of course. You're unforgettable."

Wendy's smile tightened a little. Though the words were flattering,  there was something about the woman's voice which sounded almost cold.  Why it should be that way was beyond her understanding, but the hair at  the back of her neck was bristling in anticipation.

The other woman laughed lightly. "I hear you have a most precious baby  –  Mrs. Burgess."

Wendy understood why she was under attack. She'd heard that voice only  once before, on Mack's answering machine  –  but the smooth polish and the  molasses-like drawl were unmistakable.

"I'm amazed you left her for a mere party," the woman went on. "I'm sure  you'd be much happier at home with her than in a place like this."

There was no need to stand there and be slashed at. "If you'll excuse me..."

"Oh, come now. You can't start cutting all of Mack's friends just  because they raise an eyebrow about your little story. Before long, you  won't be speaking to anyone at all." Mrs. DeCarlo raised her champagne  glass and studied the bubbles rising silently in the wine. "You know,  people can't help but speculate how very convenient it is that Marissa  can't defend her reputation."

"I don't know what you mean." The only thing Wendy understood just then was that she was feeling ill.

Mrs. DeCarlo gave a ladylike snort. "It was positively ingenious of  Elinor to announce that the baby is Marissa's, to explain why the child  looks so very much like Mack. Let's face it, Marissa had no reputation  left to smear."

Wendy remembered the way the woman had studied Rory's sleepy face and  commented about her looks. And she remembered her easy, diplomatic  answer about who Rory resembled. It no doubt looked like an admission of  guilt to a woman who was already convinced she knew the truth.                       
       
           



       

The younger woman said, "If I'd realized that all it took to catch Mack  was to have a baby and tell his mother..." She paused. "Though saddling  him with an unwanted infant is a cheap trick."

The crowd shifted a bit, and Mack appeared at Wendy's side. "It took a  while to find you in this mess. Here's your champagne, darling." He  pressed a tall fluted glass into Wendy's hand, and his lips brushed her  cheek.

Yvette Abbott turned slightly red. The woman must be trying to figure out exactly how much Mack had heard.

"Hello, Yvette," Mack went on cheerfully. "And Mrs. DeCarlo. It's very nice of you to welcome Wendy."

Yvette relaxed a little. "It's such a pleasure to finally meet your  wife, Mack," she purred. "Tell me, Wendy, when do you plan to start  entertaining Mack's friends and clients? In his position, he can hardly  continue to ignore them. And if he tries to keep you hidden much longer,  they'll start to wonder if you have antlers or something."

Wendy had to admire the woman's recovery. She almost sounded sincere.

"When she's ready," Mack said. "In the meantime, she's very busy with  the baby. And as long as we're talking about the baby, Yvette, I must  point out that saddling me with an unwanted infant would hardly be a  cheap trick. Considering what we'll have invested in Rory by the time  she graduates from college, I'd call it a very expensive one. But then,  since it's not a trick, and she's not at all unwanted, it hardly  matters, does it?" He smiled sweetly and slipped a hand under Wendy's  elbow. "I'd like your opinion on a painting over here. If you'll excuse  us, ladies..."

"Thanks for rescuing me." Wendy's voice was soft, and in the noisy room,  Mack bent his head so close that his breath brushed her ear. "You know  what they're saying, don't you?"

"Of course. I wish you hadn't heard it."

"It doesn't bother you?"

Mack sighed. "The important people know the truth. When the time's  right, so will Rory. As for the rest, no matter what they're told,  they'll speculate. At any rate, we're going to raise Rory as ours, so  what difference does it make if a few people with little minds think she  really is?"

She knew he was right, but somehow it wasn't as easy to dismiss the  gossip as he obviously thought it should be. The discomfort Wendy felt  puzzled her a bit, for she'd had her share of encounters with women like  Mrs. DeCarlo and Yvette, and she'd always been able to brush off their  venom. Of course, she admitted, no one had ever credited her with an  illegitimate child before.

But it wasn't the fact that her own reputation was being unfairly  tarnished which bothered her. No matter how irregular the circumstances,  if Rory had actually been her child and Mack's, Wendy would have had no  hesitation in carrying the baby to term. She would never have planned  such a pregnancy, of course, and she would never have schemed to capture  Mack, as Yvette had implied. But she would have been proud to have his  child.

Too proud to have hidden behind Marissa's tragedy, that was certain. Was  it the fact that she was being called a liar which really bothered her?

No, it wasn't that either. It was difficult to explain, even to herself,  but she'd be happy no matter what people thought about her  –  and about  Rory  –  if this was a real marriage. If she knew Mack cared about her,  the little stuff wouldn't be important. And compared to Mack's love,  what the neighbors thought would be very small potatoes indeed.

But to have only the illusion of being his wife, and to be branded an immoral liar as well... That was a double-barreled blow.

"What do you think?" Mack gestured with his glass.

Wendy swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on the painting he was  pointing out. Unlike the others, this work was displayed flat on the  floor like a rug, arranged at an oblique angle to the closest wall and  surrounded by velvet ropes to keep viewers at a distance. It consisted  of nothing but thick black paint on a stretched canvas; there was not  even a frame.                       
       
           



       

Mack had obviously shaken off the gossip, and so should she. She  couldn't dwell on this just now. The truth was, she shouldn't dwell on  it at all, since there was nothing she could do about the problem  –   though she thought putting it completely out of her mind was probably  beyond her power. Still, she couldn't think it through properly while  she was in the public eye.

"Wendy?"

"I know, the painting." She twirled her champagne glass and played for a  bit of time. Mack couldn't be thinking about buying that monstrosity,  could he? What on earth would he do with it? "It's unusual."

"Your honest opinion, Wendy."

She sighed. "All right. Call me a cretin, but I think it looks as if a  workman has smeared glue all over the floor and now he's ready to lay a  batch of vinyl tile."

Mack started to chuckle. For an instant Wendy felt like a fool, till she  realized that his laugh was deep and infectious. He wasn't laughing at  her, he was sharing the joke.

She groped through her memory for what she'd heard the art-lovers in the  crowd saying earlier. "You mean you don't see the incredible control in  his work either? And the masterful vision, and the restrained passion?"

"I'd say any passion in that particular piece has been limited to glee  at taking money from the poor soul who buys it. Not very nice of me, is  it?" He glanced around at the crowd. "I think we've been seen by enough  people for one evening. Let's go home."



*****



Wendy brushed her hair an extra hundred strokes that night, hoping that  Mack would come to her bedroom, but he didn't appear. He hadn't visited  since the afternoon when Mrs. Morgan had walked in on them in her  kitchen  –  the day he'd said they'd make the best of the situation. He'd  been talking about the trip to Phoenix, but Wendy knew he'd meant a  great deal more than that. He'd meant the whole marriage, and she had  accepted the statement at face value. Until tonight. After her encounter  with Mrs. DeCarlo and Yvette, his words had taken on a more sinister  meaning.