Free Star by Danielle Steel Page B

two more nights left. Two nights before he had to move on to the life he had so unexpectedly inherited from Robert. Why the hell couldn't he have lived? Why couldn't he have been there for them, to do what they expected, to work on goddamn Wall Street ' He strode out of the room and slammed the door with a vengeance. He was expected at eight o'clock at the home of Harrison Barclay. He was a friend of Spencer's father, a federal judge and extremely well connected politically. There had even been talk that one day he might make it to the Supreme Court. And Spencer's father had insisted that he see him. Spencer had looked him up once the year before, and had called again a few weeks ago to tell him he had graduated from Stanford and was going back to New York to an illustrious law firm. Harrison Barclay had been extremely pleased for him, and had insisted that he come to dinner before leaving. It was a command performance, but Spencer knew this was only the first of many in his life, and he might as well start getting used to it. He had returned to the hotel just in time to shower and shave and change, and he hurried downstairs to the lobby, but he was in no mood to see anyone, least of all Harrison Barclay.
    The Barclay home was at Divisadero and Broadway, and it was an extremely handsome brick mansion. A butler opened the door to him, and as he was led inside he could hear echoes of a party in progress, which depressed him even more. For a moment, he wasn't sure he could make the effort. He would have to talk and be charming, and sound intelligent with their friends, and it was the last thing he wanted to do tonight. All he wanted was to sit quietly somewhere, with his own thoughts, and his dreams of a girl he barely knew ' a girl who would be sixteen the day after tomorrow.
    Spencer! The judge's booming voice met him almost the moment he entered the room, and Spencer felt like a schoolboy who had been shoved into a roomful of teachers.
    Good evening, sir. His smile was warm and his eyes were serious as he greeted his father's friend, and shook hands with Mrs. Barclay. It's good to see you. Good evening, Mrs. Barclay.
    Judge Barclay took him instantly in tow, introducing him around the room, and explaining that he had just graduated from Stanford Law School. He mentioned who his father was, as Spencer fought not to cringe visibly. Suddenly this was the last place he wanted to be. He felt almost physically unable to make the effort.
    There were twelve guests invited to dinner that night, and one of them had canceled at the last minute. Another judge's wife had turned her ankle on the way home from her golf game, but he had come anyway. He was an old friend of the Barclays', and he knew they wouldn't mind, but Priscilla Barclay was frantic as she counted out the number of guests. There were thirteen of them, including the hosts, and she knew how superstitious at least two of the guests were. There was nothing she could do about it at this late date. Dinner was going to be served in half an hour, and the only thing she could do was ask their daughter to join them for dinner. She ran hastily upstairs and quickly knocked on her door. Elizabeth was getting ready to go to a party. She was eighteen yekrs old, and attractive in a very restrained way. She was wearing a black cocktail dress and pearls. She was going to come out at the Cotillion that winter, but before that, in the fall, she would be attending Vassar.
    Darling, I need your help. Her mother glanced in the mirror and straightened her pearls, and then smoothed a hand over her hair as she turned to look pleadingly at her daughter. Judge Armistead's wife twisted her ankle.
    Oh God, is she downstairs? Elizabeth Barclay looked cool and unruffled, far more so than her agitated mother.
    No, of course not. She called to say she couldn't come. But he came anyway. And now we'll be thirteen at the table.
    Just pretend you don't know. Maybe no one will notice. She slipped into