Free An Independent Woman by Howard Fast Page A

walking shoes, packed a dress and a pair of black pumps in a bag, and climbed into her Volvo for the drive to Napa. It was little more than an hour’s drive, and she would be there by two, in time for a visit with Eloise before dinner. Thinking about her talk with Philip Carter, she felt a weight had dropped from her shoulders. It was not simply what he’d said, but the practical matter-of-fact manner of his approach to her problem. She had not been to Highgate since the theft, fearing the barrage of questions about the incident.
    It was a beautiful July day, cool and crisp, with a clean wind blowing from the Pacific and small white cumulus clouds sailing across the sky; and here she was, sixty-nine, and hale and hearty and looking forward to being with people she loved. It was by no means the worst of all possible worlds.
    Eloise, still round and pretty in her sixty-sixth year, was waiting for her. She had confessed to Barbara that she was tinting her blond hair. “Adam won’t let me grow old.” Now she embraced Barbara and admired her jeans. “I can’t wear jeans. I’m too fat.”
    â€œYou’re not fat.”
    â€œI am, and I will not worship at this American altar of diet. You eat like a horse, Barbara, and you never gain an ounce.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œOh, my dear, you know what I mean. You’re not dainty. I grew up with the curse of being dainty. ‘Oh, what a dainty child! Oh, what a beautiful little dainty child!’ I was wearing those damn Mary Janes until I was sixteen. No one ever called you dainty.”
    â€œThat’s true,” Barbara admitted. “I was all long bones with a bony face and freckles.”
    â€œYou should bless the bones. Everyone wants them. Good bones and all that nonsense. We’ll put away your things, and then we’ll walk and talk. Are you hungry?”
    â€œAfter what you said?”
    In the kitchen Cathrena was making tortillas, rolling the dough into little balls and then patting them out in the old manner.
    â€œI offered to buy her a tortilla machine. She wouldn’t have it.”
    â€œBecause they are no good.” Cathrena snorted. “Did God want tortillas to be made in a machine? How many for dinner, señora? ”
    Eloise counted on her fingers. “Eight, I think.”
    â€œYou think, but you don’t know. I cook for twelve.”
    â€œShe always cooks for twelve,” Eloise said as they went outside. “Put this on. The sun is strong today.” She handed Barbara a wide-brimmed white straw that she had in her hand. “Now, what is all this about you making a gift of a hundred thousand in jewels to a black thief? I never knew you had a fortune in jewelry. You never wear jewelry.”
    â€œJust what you read in the papers. Who’s coming to dinner?”
    â€œYou tell me the inside story of the great jewelry caper, and I’ll tell you who’s coming to dinner.”
    â€œDarling,” Barbara assured her, “there is no inside story. I had a choice between sending a man to jail for fifteen years or insisting that I gave him the jewelry. That left me no choice in the matter.”
    â€œBut why can’t he give them back to you?”
    â€œWe’ll discuss that another time. Meanwhile, let’s walk. It’s a glorious day. I want to breathe this air and look at the vines and count the grapes.”
    â€œCount the grapes, indeed.”
    â€œAnd who is the mysterious guest?” Barbara asked.
    â€œFirst we’ll go to the bottling plant. I have to ask Adam about dinner tonight. He’s been in the bottling room all day—can you imagine, on a day like this? Last season, under the influence of Freddie, he agreed to buy a truckload of Sylvaner grapes—you know what Sylvaner is.”
    â€œI think I know—is it Franken Riesling? My dear, I didn’t grow up with wines as you did.”
    â€œForgive me, Barbara!