New Way to Fly. Margot Dalton

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СКАЧАТЬ woman, whoever she was, stood sideways with her face turned away from Amanda, and her figure didn’t seem nearly as terrible as her outfit. She appeared to be in her late forties or early fifties, with carelessly styled graying auburn hair and weathered skin.

      Amanda was eyeing the woman with pained attention, picturing how a soft windblown haircut and some clothes that suited her wholesome fine-boned look would transform this woman. Possibly a rough slub-linen jacket in a raw oatmeal shade, and a longer soft wool skirt with a…

      Just then the object of her attention turned to look past Amanda at somebody across the room. Amanda gazed at the older woman’s face, stunned by the expression she saw there. Amanda forgot her criticism of the woman’s clothes, speculations about image improvement, everything but a wrenching sympathy and a passionate desire to help.

      “Having a good time all alone in the corner, Amanda? Come on, why aren’t you socializing and getting to know people?”

      Amanda turned to smile at her friend Beverly Townsend, who was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful and well-dressed women in the room. Beverly’s blue eyes shone with excitement, and her lovely golden face was glowing.

      Amanda suspected that at least part of Beverly’s glow was due to the young man behind her. Jeff Harris had paused to joke with a group on the other side of the archway while Beverly tugged impatiently at Amanda’s sleeve, trying to draw her friend out into the room.

      Amanda shook her head. “Beverly Townsend,” she teased, “this isn’t a college dorm party, you know. We’re both twenty-five years old. Don’t you think it’s about time you quit trying to line me up with eligible men?”

      “Oh, pooh, I’m not talking about men,” Beverly protested, though the mischievous sparkle in her eyes somewhat belied her injured tone. “I’m talking about potential customers. Come on, Mandy,” she whispered, leaning closer to her friend, “look at the clothes some of these women are wearing. Now, could they or could they not use some professional help with their image?”

      Amanda nodded. “Maybe,” she said, her eyes falling involuntarily on the tight leather miniskirt and black-spangled panty hose that swayed past Beverly at that moment.

      “Oh, her,” Beverly said with scorn, following Amanda’s gaze. “That’s Billie Jo Dumont. Forget it, Mandy, she’s hopeless. She doesn’t have the sense God gave a chicken, or she wouldn’t have come here at all today. It’s hardly even decent,” Beverly added, her blue eyes suddenly fierce.

      “Why not?” Amanda asked, bewildered. “I mean, it’s a truly tacky outfit, but you can’t really call it indecent, Bev.”

      “No, no, I was talking about her gall, coming to this party.” Beverly leaned closer to her friend. “See the woman by the archway, that nice little lady in the awful polyester pantsuit?”

      Amanda nodded, trying not to gaze conspicuously at the woman Beverly indicated.

      “Well, that’s Mary Gibson.” Beverly paused for dramatic effect, giving Amanda a pointed significant glance.

      Amanda looked at the other woman in puzzled silence. “The name kind of rings a bell,” she said at last, “but I…”

      “Bubba’s wife,” Beverly whispered. “Bubba Gibson.”

      Amanda’s eyes widened. “The one who’s in jail? He killed somebody, didn’t he?”

      “He killed some of his horses for the insurance. If it had just been people he killed,” Beverly added, “folks around here would probably be able to forgive him. But horses, that’s something else altogether. Far, far more serious.”

      Amanda gazed at her friend, startled and appalled. “You’re kidding. Aren’t you, Bev?”

      Beverly considered. “Maybe a little,” she conceded, “but not much.”

      “And the girl in the leather skirt, where does she come into it?” Amanda asked.

      Beverly eyed her beautiful dark-haired friend with scant patience. “Come on, Amanda,” she said, sighing. “You’ve been living in Austin for months, and visiting out here all the time, and it’s all anybody’s been talking about. How can you not know what’s going on?”

      Amanda shrugged. “I don’t pay much attention to gossip,” she said. “You know that, Bev. I’m just not that interested in dishing the dirt.”

      “Well, it’s dirty, all right. The girl in the miniskirt, she was Bubba’s mid-life folly long before the mess with the horses. That little affair went on for ages, right under Mary’s nose, and everybody knew it. They were just awful, the pair of them.”

      Amanda’s blue eyes widened. She gazed surreptitiously at the gorgeous young woman with her pouting red lips and sumptuous figure, and then at the stiff middle-aged woman in the dowdy suit who stood near the archway.

      “The poor woman, Bev. How can she stand it?”

      “It can’t be easy,” Beverly agreed with a flash of the generous compassion that often surprised people who didn’t know her well. “And the worst part of it is that Mary’s such a darling. She truly is, Mandy. Everybody loves her. And she’s never said one word against Bubba, not once during this whole mess. If she has opinions, she keeps them to herself.”

      She keeps her agony to herself, too, Amanda thought. And it’s probably going to kill her, the poor woman.

      “Come with Jeff and me,” Beverly was urging in an obvious attempt to change the subject. “There’s lots of people I want you to meet. You can’t hide here in the shadows all evening, girl.”

      “Hmm?” Amanda asked, giving her friend a distracted glance.

      “I said, I want you to come with me and…”

      “Oh, right. Sure, Bev, in a minute, okay? I just have to…to find a powder room, and then I’ll come right out. Where will you be?”

      “On the patio. Just through that door over there,” Beverly said, pointing with a graceful scarlet-tipped finger. “Don’t get lost.”

      “I won’t,” Amanda promised. “I’ll be out right away.”

      She stood watching with an automatic smile as Beverly took Jeff’s hand, paused to give him a quick kiss and headed for the patio, dragging the handsome young man laughing behind her.

      After they were gone, Amanda took a fresh drink from one of the serving girls, exchanged a few cheerful remarks with the youngster and then edged toward the woman by the archway, who was gripping her elbows in white-knuckled hands and staring at the swirling crowd with a blank unseeing stare.

      “Hello,” Amanda said in her quiet musical voice.

      “My name’s Amanda Walker.”

      The older woman turned to look at her with a dismal expression. Then she smiled and her face was transformed. Mary Gibson had a luminous, childlike smile that lit her weathered features and shone warmly in her hazel eyes. Amanda swallowed hard and smiled back.

      “I’m Mary Gibson,” the woman said, extending a slim brown hand. “And I know who you are.”

      “You СКАЧАТЬ