it was a match, the kind of match I insist on when I sell a horse.”
“But Mr. Denver—” said Deborah.
“
Mom
,” said Lisa, coming in on cue. “This is the one. I just know it! I have to have her! I promise she’s perfect, and anybody can see she’s in great health! Please, Mom?”
Deborah sighed. “Well, if you say so, darling,” she began. “But we did make a deal. Remember?”
“I remember,” Lisa said, relenting. Then she turned to explain to Mr. Denver. “Mom and I promised Dad that we wouldn’t make any snap decisions. Even when I know I have exactly the perfect horse, I promised that I would wait for two days to be sure. You can understand that, can’t you?”
Mr. Denver shrugged. “It’s up to you,” he said. “I know a good match when I see one, but if you need to wait a few days, you wait a few days. However, I’m tellingyou—if somebody else comes along with cash in hand before you do, well, I’m just going to have to sell her.”
“Mom!” Lisa wailed.
“It was our deal,” Deborah said firmly.
Reluctantly, and poorly, Lisa dismounted. She made a display of hugging the horse and promising she’d be back. Mr. Denver smiled insincerely. Then he held the car door open for Deborah.
“See you in a few days,” he said.
“I suspect you will,” Deborah said. “I’ll call you first.”
“Right,” he said.
He closed the car door smartly and waved to the girls as they drove away.
“Don’t say a thing until we are out the gate of this place,” Deborah said through clenched teeth. “I don’t know if he can read lips.”
Lisa and Carole remained silent for a whole thirty seconds. As soon as they were off Mr. Denver’s property, they both began howling with laughter.
“Boy, are you right! This man is a crook through and through!” Lisa said.
“I thought so. It was a giveaway when he said he didn’t want me to have a vet check the horse. Right?”
“Right for starters,” Lisa said. “No legitimate dealerwould ever try to talk a client out of getting a horse vet-checked.”
“But what would a vet find wrong with that sweet mare anyway?” Deborah asked.
“Oh, not much,” said Carole. “Unless you count blindness.”
M RS. DI A NGELO LEANED FORWARD and reached for the little silver bell that rested on the mahogany dinner table in front of her. She picked it up and rang it gently. The maid appeared from the kitchen and began serving dinner to Veronica and her parents.
“Did you have a good day, dear?” Mrs. diAngelo asked her husband.
“It was difficult, as usual,” he said, sighing. “I had to fly to Richmond and meet with the state banking lobbyists. Then, on the way back, there was a storm system we had to let pass before we could take off. We were an hour late getting back to Dunstable.”
“That was no worse than my day,” said Mrs. diAngelo. “I had a terrible row with a woman at the dry cleaner’s. They delivered my silk blouse with a note saying they couldn’t remove one of the stains. Imagine!”
“Oh dear,” said Mr. diAngelo. He took a sip of his consommé. “And what about you, Veronica? How are you progressing with your photographic project?”
“Not too well,” she admitted. “I’m having a lot of trouble finding a worthy subject.”
“Veronica, you have a very expensive camera. I’m sure you can take a really good photograph with it.”
Veronica swallowed a taste of her soup. She knew her father was right, in a way. He’d bought her the best camera available. Anything she took a picture of seemed to come out well. But it wasn’t just the technical quality of the photograph that counted.
“It’s not so much the photograph as the subject matter, Daddy,” she said. “I spent a lot of time last weekend at Pine Hollow trying to find something worthwhile, but all I got was a girl falling off her horse. That’s hardly an example of skill, and that’s what the photograph is supposed to show. It all seems so silly to me.
“But Mr. Denver—” said Deborah.
“
Mom
,” said Lisa, coming in on cue. “This is the one. I just know it! I have to have her! I promise she’s perfect, and anybody can see she’s in great health! Please, Mom?”
Deborah sighed. “Well, if you say so, darling,” she began. “But we did make a deal. Remember?”
“I remember,” Lisa said, relenting. Then she turned to explain to Mr. Denver. “Mom and I promised Dad that we wouldn’t make any snap decisions. Even when I know I have exactly the perfect horse, I promised that I would wait for two days to be sure. You can understand that, can’t you?”
Mr. Denver shrugged. “It’s up to you,” he said. “I know a good match when I see one, but if you need to wait a few days, you wait a few days. However, I’m tellingyou—if somebody else comes along with cash in hand before you do, well, I’m just going to have to sell her.”
“Mom!” Lisa wailed.
“It was our deal,” Deborah said firmly.
Reluctantly, and poorly, Lisa dismounted. She made a display of hugging the horse and promising she’d be back. Mr. Denver smiled insincerely. Then he held the car door open for Deborah.
“See you in a few days,” he said.
“I suspect you will,” Deborah said. “I’ll call you first.”
“Right,” he said.
He closed the car door smartly and waved to the girls as they drove away.
“Don’t say a thing until we are out the gate of this place,” Deborah said through clenched teeth. “I don’t know if he can read lips.”
Lisa and Carole remained silent for a whole thirty seconds. As soon as they were off Mr. Denver’s property, they both began howling with laughter.
“Boy, are you right! This man is a crook through and through!” Lisa said.
“I thought so. It was a giveaway when he said he didn’t want me to have a vet check the horse. Right?”
“Right for starters,” Lisa said. “No legitimate dealerwould ever try to talk a client out of getting a horse vet-checked.”
“But what would a vet find wrong with that sweet mare anyway?” Deborah asked.
“Oh, not much,” said Carole. “Unless you count blindness.”
M RS. DI A NGELO LEANED FORWARD and reached for the little silver bell that rested on the mahogany dinner table in front of her. She picked it up and rang it gently. The maid appeared from the kitchen and began serving dinner to Veronica and her parents.
“Did you have a good day, dear?” Mrs. diAngelo asked her husband.
“It was difficult, as usual,” he said, sighing. “I had to fly to Richmond and meet with the state banking lobbyists. Then, on the way back, there was a storm system we had to let pass before we could take off. We were an hour late getting back to Dunstable.”
“That was no worse than my day,” said Mrs. diAngelo. “I had a terrible row with a woman at the dry cleaner’s. They delivered my silk blouse with a note saying they couldn’t remove one of the stains. Imagine!”
“Oh dear,” said Mr. diAngelo. He took a sip of his consommé. “And what about you, Veronica? How are you progressing with your photographic project?”
“Not too well,” she admitted. “I’m having a lot of trouble finding a worthy subject.”
“Veronica, you have a very expensive camera. I’m sure you can take a really good photograph with it.”
Veronica swallowed a taste of her soup. She knew her father was right, in a way. He’d bought her the best camera available. Anything she took a picture of seemed to come out well. But it wasn’t just the technical quality of the photograph that counted.
“It’s not so much the photograph as the subject matter, Daddy,” she said. “I spent a lot of time last weekend at Pine Hollow trying to find something worthwhile, but all I got was a girl falling off her horse. That’s hardly an example of skill, and that’s what the photograph is supposed to show. It all seems so silly to me.
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