The Glory Game.

Janet Dailey.

Part I.

CHAPTER I.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeaker, resonating beyond the spa.r.s.e crowd in the stands to the players and their ponies on the turf. "I want to welcome you to the final match of the Jacob L. Kincaid Memorial Cup here at the Palm Beach Polo Club. Most of you knew Jake Kincaid, a seven-goal player in his prime and a loyal supporter of polo throughout his life. He was a worthy compet.i.tor and a true amba.s.sador of the sport. His presence will be missed." The announcer paused before continuing, the tone of his voice lifting from its serious level. "I'd like to direct your attention to the front box seats, where the Kincaid clan has gathered."

"Not the whole clan, George!" The shouted correction came from a stylishly slim woman seated in the Kincaid box, her ash-blond hair protected from the Florida sun by a white straw hat. Even shouting to carry to the announcer's roofed stand atop the stadium, her voice had a cultured sound, smooth and dry, like an excellent Bordeaux. "If all of us were here, we'd fill half the stands."

Smiling spectators who knew the family chuckled. By anyone's standards, the Kincaids were a large family, six children in all, three boys and three girls. They'd always been a boisterous, energetic group, obviously spoiled yet possessing an engaging charm that maturity enhanced. Time had thinned the ranks of that generation; Andrew, the oldest, had died tragically in Vietnam when his helicopter landed in a minefield; and Helen had been killed two years ago in a drunk-driving accident. Of course, Andrew and Helen had left their parents a brood of grandchildren to raise, and the rest had added to the number.

Informality was part of the essence of a big family, so it seemed right that the formality of this occasion should be broken by a Kincaid. And polo, for all its prestigious facade, was an informal sport, enjoyed by an elite few who considered themselves to be part of one big polo-loving family.

"You should have brought them, Luz. We could have had a full house today," the announcer responded.

"Next time," the elegant woman responded. Luz Kincaid Thomas had been christened Leslie, but no one called her that anymore, and hadn't for years. She looked thirty; an unkind eye might guess thirty-seven, but people were always surprised when she admitted she was forty-two. Her skin had a fresh and youthful glow, lightly tanned by the Florida sunshine, never overexposed to be browned into leather. Many discreetly looked, but there were no scars near the hairline to betray nips and tucks taken to correct sagging flesh.

When she was a debutante, her features had been too strikingly defined, but she had matured into a beautiful woman. Age had softened the distinctive Kincaid jaw while time brought her natural brows into style to draw flattering attention to lively brown eyes, her most attractive a.s.set.

Her shoulder-length hair, presently tied at the nape of her neck with an Italian designer silk scarf, was that indefinable natural shade between pale blond and light brown. If her hair stylist used a rinse to enhance the lighter streaks or mask the odd strands of gray, few were the wiser.

Over the years, Luz Kincaid Thomas had acquired her own sense of style and the confidence that went with it. She had everything, not just beauty and poise, but financial security, a close family, a stable marriage, and two grown children. There were minor annoyances and vague yearnings from time to time, but basically her life had an order and meaning that she found satisfying.

"Audra Kincaid is with us today-Jake's widow," the announcer continued, reading from his prepared notes on the proceedings. "At the conclusion of the finals match, she will be presenting the trophy, named in her husband's memory, to the winning team. I'm glad you could be with us today, Audra."

Out of the corner of her eye, Luz caught the motion of her mother's hand lifting in a casually regal acknowledgment. A scattering of applause from the small crowd followed the gesture. Audra Kincaid was very much the respected and admired matriarch, and a very handsome woman even at sixty-nine. She carried her age well; Luz supposed she had inherited her own youthful appearance from her mother.

Luz turned slightly to study her mother, seated in the canva.s.slung lawn chair beside her. Always so impeccably dressed for the occasion, never over- or underdoing it, this time Audra Kincaid had on a short-sleeved green sundress trimmed with white piping, with a matching jacket. It was suitable for the occasion as well as for her age, yet sufficiently sporty so that others in slacks or bermuda shorts would feel comfortable around her. And the green was the color of growing things that says life goes on-even for a woman mourning a husband dead these last three months.

Did Audra mourn him? Luz felt a twinge of guilt for even wondering. No one could ever accuse Audra of not being a devoted wife and mother. But Luz couldn't remember the last time she'd called Audra Mother. She remembered Audra had cried in her arms when the heart specialist informed them Jake Kincaid hadn't survived the second stroke, but had it been with relief? Some said it was a blessing that he had died and not lingered, constantly needing care, but Luz wasn't thinking of it in those terms. Had Audra been glad he died, glad she was at last free of all pretense? It seemed impossible that she still could have loved him.

Jake Kincaid had been the best father any girl could have; she'd been father-spoiled and mother-disciplined. He loved as he lived, generously. He loved power, polo, and women-not necessarily in that order. His various affairs with other women were never a secret for long. The Kincaid name was too well known, too socially prominent. What was hinted at in society columns was elaborated on by gossips.

Luz had learned what a.s.signation meant when she was eleven years old, and not long afterward, she had understood the hurt and humiliation her mother suffered. Through most of her teen years, she had hated her father for what he was doing to her mother, then she had hated Audra for letting him do it, and maybe for being to blame.

She remembered the advice Audra had offered before her marriage to Drew Thomas: "Marriages are based on trust. A man will have his peccadilloes, even Drew, but you must trust he will always come back to you-his wife."

Even though she had come to understand Audra's reasoning, Luz still wondered how her mother truly felt, especially now that he was gone. She couldn't ask. Any mention of Jake Kincaid's indiscretions was forbidden, and his death hadn't changed that. It was not discussed then, and certainly not now.

"... and now, I'd like to introduce the players who will be riding for the Black Oak team in the championship game." The announcer's voice intruded on Luz's thoughts, and she shifted her attention to the huge, thickly turfed polo field, four times the size of a football field. Her glance skipped past the four helmeted riders in black jerseys and white breeches and scanned their four opponents in blue jerseys. Her pride swelled when she found the lanky rider wearing the numeral 1 on the back of his jersey: long hair, the same shade as her own, curled well over his collar, and his mallet held upright in a position of readiness.

"Where is Drew?" The question from Audra briefly distracted Luz's attention. "He's going to miss the start of the game."

"He's waiting outside for Phil Eberly and someone else from his office. They must be late." Luz glanced in the general direction of the stadium entrance, but the familiar silvered head of her husband wasn't in sight. "If they don't show up soon, I'm sure he'll come to watch the opening toss."

"Bill Thornd.y.k.e, probably. He enjoys watching polo."

"What?" Her concentration had returned to the field for the introduction of the next four players, lined up facing the stands in numerical order, so Luz was slow to follow Audra's meaning. "No. Bill Thornd.y.k.e isn't coming. It's some new attorney who's just joined the law firm. A woman. You remember how much ha.s.sle Drew had with the Equal Opportunity Office, so he's giving her the royal treatment."

She pa.s.sed on the information with the degree of vagueness with which she usually regarded the inner workings of the law firm Thomas, Thornd.y.k.e & Wall-except when she was expected to entertain a client. If clients were that important, she usually knew them or their family. She was intelligent, but she was by no means a "brain." She had her bachelor's degree in liberal arts from the University of Virginia, but she knew she had pa.s.sed by the skin of her teeth. One of the requisites she had sought in a husband was that he had to be smarter than she was. Drew was.

"... and now for the opposing team, it seems fitting somehow that one of the teams competing for the Jacob Kincaid Memorial Cup in this finals match should be Jake's old team, the Blue Chips. And keeping the Kincaid polo-playing tradition alive is his grandson, Rob Kincaid Thomas, playing the Number One position."

Applause sounded through the stands, but the cheering came from the Kincaid box, and Luz was loudest of them all as he cantered the steel-gray forward when his name was called. The crowd's reaction nearly drowned out the rest of the announcer's words.

"... riding the gray gelding that's familiar to a lot of you, Jake Kincaid's top mount, Stonewall. Watch this boy. He's only nineteen and already has a two-goal handicap."

Audra pursed her lips in a subtle gesture of disapproval that Luz remembered well from childhood. "He should have saved the gray for the last chukkar. Jake always did."

"I suggested the gray to lead off the match," Luz stated, the smile freezing on her lips while she continued to applaud for her son. "That gray horse is as steady as his name. He'll settle Rob's nerves and get him into the rhythm of the game."

"We'll see." Which meant "I know better."

"Besides, by the time they start the sixth chukkar, the gray will be rested enough for Rob to ride him again if he has to." Even though confident of her own judgment, Luz was annoyed by this need to convince Audra she was right, an obvious remnant of their former parent/child relationship.

Her sister, Mary Kincaid Carpenter, older than Luz by two years, leaned forward to remark to both, "You can sure tell which team is the favorite. Listen to the way they're clapping for our side."

Luz nodded, then turned her head slightly without taking her eyes off the field, where the riders were squaring off. "If you'd ever get all your children together in one place and on horseback, we could have a whole league of our own."

It was a family joke; she and her stockbroker husband had twelve children. An even dozen and no more, Mary had often said after the birth of the last, quick to add she had married a Carpenter, not a baker. Only three were still living at home; the rest were at prep school, college, married, or on their own.

Just keeping track of where they all were was a feat in itself, and a family gathering could turn into a logistical nightmare. Luz often marveled at her older sister's ability to juggle everything and still find time to attend functions like this and cheer her nephews or nieces. Of course this was a special occasion, a tribute to their father as well.

Mary had inherited his larger bone structure. Never pretty, she was a handsome woman, like their mother, and the pace of a big family kept her slender, in spite of birthing twelve children. Without a doubt, Luz was closer to Mary than she was to their oldest brother, Frank, or the baby of the family, Michael. Happiness radiated from within Mary; that's where her beauty lay. Sometimes Luz envied her that.

"Don't wish polo ponies on me, Luz. We already have three horses, two Shetlands, four dogs, and I don't know how many cats. I don't mind the children's leaving home, but I wish they'd take their pets with them instead of letting me look after them," Mary stated with little genuine complaint. She leaned back as a mounted umpire, one of two on the field, rode to his position for the throw-in to start the game.

Viewed from the sidelines, the beginning of a polo match always seemed a scene of confusion. The eight players, four riders on each team, were cl.u.s.tered on their respective sides of midfield, more or less angled to face the umpire, depending on the nervous prancing of their horses and the individual jockeying for no apparent advantage over another. Into this narrow gauntlet between opposing teams of horses and riders, the umpire tossed a white ball measuring the regulation three and one-quarter inches in diameter. Luz lost sight of it almost immediately amid the legs of horses with their colorful protective sandowns bandages and the hooking sticks going for the ball. She didn't see the actual hit that knocked it free of the tangle, just the white ball bouncing down the center of the field toward the opponent's goal.

Horses and riders shot after it. A black-shirted player had the angle on the ball, and his forward teammate spurred his horse toward the posts, breaking away from the slower-reacting blue defensive back. Racing hooves drummed the ground as Luz watched the near-perfect form of the black rider's swing and silently hoped the mallet would miss the ball. It didn't.

The ball sailed in a long, lobbing pa.s.s, landing sixty yards downfield in perfect position for the free-running Black Oak forward to knock it between the goalposts. The first chukkar was less than a minute old and already the score was Black Oak one, Blue Chips zero.

Mary gave Luz a consoling pat on the shoulder. "That was just luck. Wait until our guys get going."

But the announcer had a different opinion. "Martin gets the score for Black Oak after a brilliant pa.s.s by Raul Buchanan. Plays like that are what earned that Argentine his nine-goal handicap. Looks like the Blue Chip players are going to have their hands full this afternoon."

Her glance picked out the black-shirted professional, riding his horse back to midfield for the throw-in that followed a score. The white numeral 3 on his back referred to the position he played on the team, a defensive back and play maker, usually given to the team captain and most skilled member of the group.

Polo teams were almost always a mixture of amateur and professional riders, with certain exceptions, but the enlistment of this Argentine star's services indicated how badly Chester Martin, sponsor of and player on the Black Oak team, wanted to win.

A high-goal polo player had to be an expert horseman, and from Luz's own riding experience she knew this man was one. At any given moment, he knew without looking which hoof was on the ground and which was lifting, where the horse's center of balance was, and what its att.i.tude was. He could sense it and feel it through his legs and the reins.

At this distance, there was little Luz could discern about the man himself except that he had a rider's trimly muscled build, narrow-hipped and wide-shouldered. The white polo helmet and faceguard increased the difficulty in distinguishing any features, but now that Luz had sized up the main opposition, her attention shifted to her son as he rode up to the midline bisecting the three-hundred-yard-long field.

The quick score against his team appeared to have eliminated the anxious jitters Rob usually suffered in the early minutes of a game; he looked settled and calm, ready for serious play. Luz smiled faintly, pleased with his developing maturity. He was outgrowing those abrupt mood swings from high to low and back again that had marked his early teens.

"There's Drew coming now." At her mother's announcement Luz turned, hearing an unspoken reminder that Audra had warned he would miss the start of the game.

As far as Audra Kincaid was concerned, good manners dictated punctuality, and there was no excuse for tardiness. Luz could remember the raging argument she'd had with her mother when she was seventeen and wanted to arrive fashionably late to a party. On reflection, Luz realized that it hadn't quite been a raging argument; she had raged, but her mother had never raised her voice, and the argument had been lost. The lesson had been learned well, Luz realized, because she was rarely late for any appointment now.

And Drew was rarely on time, which was a constant source of annoyance to her. As he approached the box, she could see there wasn't a glimmer of regret that he had missed the opening play of the match even though he knew how important this game was to Rob.

Smothering that flash of resentment, Luz reminded herself of his good qualities as a provider, father, and husband. He was still an attractive man, distinguished with those silver tufts in his dark hair, proud of the way he'd kept his shape by playing a lot of tennis and golf instead of turning into the round b.u.t.terball Mary's husband had become.

His thriving law career took a lot of his time, and even when they did spend time together, they didn't talk much, but after being married for nearly twenty-one years, they knew just about everything there was to know about each other, so what was there to discuss? Politics? The weather? The children? A recap of the day's happenings? Luz didn't mind the silences. She supposed they were what writers described as "comfortable" ones.

"I see his guests finally arrived." Audra's observation prompted Luz to glance at the couple following Drew to the box. Her first glimpse of the woman startled Luz. This strikingly lovely brunette with her curious eyes and laughing smile did not fit the mental picture Luz had of a female lawyer, with a prim mouth and black-rimmed gla.s.ses. Drew had failed to mention how beautiful she was. Surely in the month she'd been with the firm he had noticed that little detail.

Immediately, Luz detected the catty tone of her thoughts and suppressed it. She wasn't going to play the role of a jealous wife just because her husband had hired some pretty young thing to work in his office. She had her suspicions that Drew had stepped out on her in the past. They'd only been one-night stands. Every man she knew indulged in those, given the opportunity. But Drew had never kept a mistress, she was sure of that.

"I remember that Eberly boy now," Audra murmured to Luz. "He's the bachelor that gave Mary's Barbara such a rush last fall."

"Yes." Luz couldn't ignore the relief she felt when she finally noticed the handsome junior partner in the law firm. Tall and dark, definitely Harvard, he could have been a Madison Avenue model for a rising young attorney.

As the three late arrivals entered the ringed enclosure, the polo match resumed play. Courtesy dictated that Luz ignore the action on the field in order to meet Drew's guests. Drew offered an excuse about traffic for their tardiness, for Audra's benefit.

"I hope we didn't miss much," the brunette said, smiling. She was very poised yet disarmingly open and friendly.

"The game has barely started," Luz a.s.sured her graciously.

Drew took over the formal introductions. "Audra, I'd like you to meet the newest member of my staff, Miss Claudia Baines. This is Audra Kincaid."

"It is a privilege to meet you, Mrs. Kincaid." Claudia Baines extended a hand in greeting, not showing any awe of the Kincaid dowager. Luz wondered if she knew how closely she was being inspected, her scarlet-and-white slack suit judged as to line and fit, the soft cut of her dark hair examined for faddish extreme. The appraisal points were numerous, but all reviewed in the sweep of an eye.

"And, of course, you remember Phil Eberly from the firm." Drew stepped aside to allow room for the young lawyer to present himself to Audra Kincaid.

"Yes, we've met before." And her comment to Luz had been that the young man was "too full of himself."

That had been her opinion of Drew twenty-two years ago. At the time, the Bridgeport Thomases were an old and socially acceptable family with little money and a lot of hubris. Determined to make it on his own, he had refused Jake Kincaid's offer to work in the legal department of his investment banking company. Over the years, Luz had often wondered if Drew ever guessed how many of his high-paying clients in those earlier years had been referred to him by Jake Kincaid. Not that they had ever struggled, since she had her own money, her own inheritance from her grandfather-and even more now that Jake was gone.

Then it was her turn to meet Claudia Baines. The sparkling zest in those wide hazel eyes made it easy for Luz to smile back at her. She reminded Luz of her daughter; that youthful optimism was contagious. After the usual exchange of pleasantries, with the rumble of pounding hoofbeats and the crack of locking mallets in the background, Drew started to extend the introductions to the back row of the boxed area, where Mary, her husband, and three of their children were seated. She waved aside the attempt with a good natured "Down in front. It can wait until this first chukkar is over."

"Sit in the front row." Luz motioned to the empty chairs one level down from the ones she and her mother occupied. "You'll be able to see better."

The chair on her immediate right was vacant. Drew paused beside it, bending toward her and nodding his head in the direction of his two guests taking their seats in front of her. "I'd better sit with them so I can explain the rudiments of the game."

"Of course." Her attention was already attempting to shift to the action on the field, but Drew was blocking her line of sight and Rob's team appeared to be near the goal. Behind her, Mary groaned in disappointment. "What happened?"

"Rob's shot went wide of the goal. That Argie forced him to take a bad angle." The ball had gone out of bounds along the backline, and the riders were pulling in their ponies to regroup. "Black Oak will have the knock-in."

"Where's Trisha?" Drew turned in his chair to ask about their daughter.

"At the picket line, where else?" Luz glanced toward the end of the field, where the additional polo ponies waited for their chukkar of play. "As Rob says, who needs a groom when you have a sister?"

"Our seventeen-year-old is horse-crazy," Drew explained to his guests, and Luz noticed that the brunette occupied the middle chair, between the two men. "I suppose I shouldn't complain. The time to start worrying is when she discovers boys."

"She knows about them." Luz didn't doubt that for a minute, although she refrained from reminding Drew that Trisha would be eighteen in a short two months. And Trisha wasn't horsecrazy. It was the action on the sideline she preferred to the inaction of the grandstand seats. "If you're going to worry, worry about when she discovers men."

"That's not fair, Luz," Phil Eberly protested, then leaned a shoulder closer to Claudia Baines's chair. "She makes us sound evil, and we're not, are we?"

But she appeared not to hear him, directing all her attention to the field. "Which one is your son, Mr. Thomas?"

"Let's see, he's ..."

When Luz heard the uncertainty in her husband's voice, she pointed him out. "He's on the blue team, riding a gray horse."

"The gray horse, that's easy to spot," Drew said and smiled. "Usually she tells me something like 'He's riding the bay horse with the white snip on its nose.' Out of the eight horses on the field, ten counting the two umpires, half of them will be a bay or brown color. And who can see its nose?" The obvious dilemma such a description created drew a warm, infectious laugh from Claudia. A part of Luz listened to the conversation going on in front of her while she focused on the game. The black team controlled the knock-in and moved it toward midfield. "Of course, Luz is more familiar with the horses than I am. She exercises them and helps our son keep them in condition."

"Do you ride?"

"No, I'm no horseman." On the field, shouts and absent curses mingled with the grunts of straining horses, the clank of bridle chain, and the groan of leather. Digging hooves threw divots of turf into the air as the horses were directed by their riders into tight reverses, sharp turns, and hard gallops after a backhanded ball. "Now, Luz comes by it naturally. She was born and raised in Virginia, rode in the hunt clubs while she was growing up. Do you follow horseracing, Miss Baines?"

"No, it isn't one of my vices." She sounded playful, but Luz couldn't tell whether she was being deliberately provocative.

"Then you probably have never heard of Hopeworth Farm. It's a large Thoroughbred breeding farm in Virginia, owned by the Kincaid family."

"Really? I knew he controlled several financial inst.i.tutions and insurance companies, but-"

"-and a large brokerage firm and a lot of real estate along the East and West Coasts plus a few points in between." Drew had lowered his voice and Luz could barely catch his words. "And Hopeworth Farm was the start of the family fortune. The first Kincaid to come to Virginia arrived shortly after the Civil War and bought the former plantation for back taxes. In those days, I believe they called such people 'carpetbaggers.' He bought more land, started a bank, and ended up making a lot of money from the South's misery."

Everything Drew said was public knowledge. No dark family secrets had been related. Yet Luz was surprised that he told the story so freely, with no prompting for information. He spoke as if he were an outsider repeating gossip instead of a member of the family, albeit through marriage.

A whistle sounded across the arena. "What does that mean?" Claudia Baines asked when the play continued without a break in action.

"It's a warning to the players that only thirty seconds are left to be played in the chukkar," Drew replied just ahead of the announcer's explanation.

"I might as well ask: What's a chukkar?" The admission of ignorance carried refreshing candor and a trace of self-mockery.

"A polo game is divided usually into six periods-or chukkars-each seven minutes long. Like quarters in football and basketball." The whistle was blown again, signaling the end of the first period of play.

"Now what happens?" She watched the riders trotting their blowing horses off the field toward their respective picket lines, where the fresh mounts were tied.

"The players change ponies and tack, if they don't have an extra saddle and bridle. There's usually time for a quick conference and something to drink before the next chukkar starts. There's a longer rest break between the third and fourth chukkar-halftime, I guess."

The scoreboard indicated Black Oak had the lead over the blue team by four to one. Luz removed the binoculars from the case by her feet and held them up to her eyes. After locating Rob's picket, she adjusted the focus to zero in on her son.

With methodical and meticulous care, he checked the tack on the sorrel horse, all saddled and waiting for him. Then he went over his equipment with the same deliberation, ignoring -the chestnut-haired girl impatiently waiting for him to drink the Gatorade from the cup in her hand.