Loves Music, Loves To Dance

XII SUNDAY March 3

On Sunday morning at nine o’clock, Michael Nash phoned. “I’ve been thinking about you, even worrying about you. How’s it going?” She had slept reasonably well. “Okay, I guess.”

“Up to a drive to Bridgewater, New Jersey, and an early dinner?” He did not wait for her to answer. “In case you haven’t looked out the window, it’s a beautiful day. Really feels like spring. My housekeeper is a great cook and has to be treated for frustration if I don’t bring company home at least once over the weekend.”

Somehow, she had dreaded this day. If they didn’t have other plans, she and Erin had often met for brunch on Sundays and spent the afternoon at Lincoln Center or in a museum. “That sounds fine.” They arranged that he’d pick her up at eleven-thirty.

“And don’t get all gussied up. In fact, if you like to ride, wear a pair of jeans. I’ve got a couple of darn good horses.”

“I love to ride.”

His car was a two-seater Mercedes. “Very fancy,” Darcy said. Nash was wearing a turtleneck sport shirt, jeans, a herringbone jacket. The other night at dinner, she’d had the impression of how kind his eyes were. Today they were still kind, but there was something else. Maybe, she told herself, just the look a guy got when he was interested in a woman. Darcy realized that the thought pleased her.

The drive was pleasant. As they progressed south on Route 287, the suburbs disappeared. Houses that could be glimpsed from the road were now farther and farther apart. Nash talked with affectionate warmth about his parents. “To paraphrase that old commercial, ‘My father made his money the old-fashioned way, he earned it.’ He was just starting to hit it big when I was born. For ten years we moved every year, one house larger than the other, until he bought the present place when I was eleven. As I told you, my tastes are somewhat simpler, but God he was so proud the day we moved in. Carried my mother over the threshold.”

Somehow it was easy to talk with Michael Nash about her famous parents and the Bel-Air mansion. “I always felt like a changeling there, as though the princess daughter of the royal couple must be living in a cottage and I was an impostor in her place. “However did two such stunning people manage to produce that mousy-looking child?

Erin was the only one who knew about that. Now Darcy found herself telling Michael Nash. Then she added, “Hey, this is Sunday. You’re off duty, doctor. Be careful, you’ve got a way of being too good a listener.” He glanced at her. “And when you grew up, you never looked in the mirror and realized what an outrageous statement that was?”

“Should I have?”

“I would say so.” He was steering the car off the highway, through the quaint town, along a country road. “The fence starts the property.” It was a full minute before they turned into the gate. “My God, how many acres do you have?”

“Four hundred.”

At the Le Cirque dinner he had said the house was too ornate. Darcy silently agreed but nevertheless decided that it was an imposing and substantial mansion. The trees and plants were still bare of leaves and flowers, but the evergreens that edged the long driveway were full and luxuriant. “If you decide you’ve enjoyed yourself and come back next month, the grounds will be worth the trip,” Nash commented.

Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper, had prepared a light lunch. Sandwiches quartered with the crusts cut off-chicken, ham and cheese-then cookies, coffee. She looked approvingly at Darcy, severely at Michael. “I hope this is enough, miss. Doctor said that since you’ll be having an early dinner I mustn’t overdo now.” “It’s perfect,” Darcy told her sincerely. They ate in the breakfast room off the kitchen. Michael then gave her a quick tour of the house. “Interior-decorator picture perfect,” he said. “Don’t you agree? Antiques that cost a fortune. I suspect half of them are fakes. Someday I’ll change everything, but for now it just isn’t worth the effort. Unless I’m having guests I live in the study. Here we are.”

“Now this is a comfortable room,” Darcy said with real pleasure. “Warm. Lived-in. Wonderful view. Good lighting. It’s the kind of look I try to give a place when I refurbish.”

“You really haven’t told me much about your job. I want to hear, but how about that ride now? John has the horses ready.”

Darcy had begun riding when she was three. It was one of the few activities she had not shared with Erin. “She was afraid of horses,” Darcy told Michael as she swung onto the coal-black mare.

“Then riding won’t be memory lane for you today. That’s good.” The air, fresh and clean, seemed to at last cleanse the scent of funeral flowers from her nostrils. They cantered across Michael’s property, slowed the horses to a walk as they went across town, joined other riders whom he introduced as his neighbors.

At six o’clock, they had dinner in the small dining room. The temperature had dropped. A fire was blazing, the white wine chilling, a decanter of red wine on the sideboard. John Hughes, now in uniform, served the beautifully prepared meal. Crabmeat cocktail. Veal medallions. Tiny asparagus. Roast potatoes. Green salad with pepper cheese. Sherbet. Espresso.

Darcy sighed as she sipped the coffee. “I can’t thank you enough. If I’d been home by myself all day, it would have been pretty rough.” “If I’d been here alone all day, it would have been pretty boring.” She could not help overhearing Mrs. Hughes comment to her husband as they were leaving, “Now there is one lovely girl. I hope Doctor brings her back.”