Flashback by Justine Davis (reading e books .TXT) 📗

tone she heard all too much of at these gatherings. That much, at least, hadn’t changed since she’d sworn them off years ago, the moment she turned twenty-one and could say no to her mother without feeling as if she was sassing her. “But there’s no place like home, is there?”

The woman smiled, clearly without a clue that Alex hadn’t meant it as a compliment. She still thought of the farm, and not D.C. and Alexandria and this crowd as home.

G.C. had been right, of course. She’d realized the moment she thought about it that to get this done, she was going to have to resort to something she rarely used, something she had spent most of her life refusing to trade on.

Her name.

The Forsythe name was a point of pride to her, showing that she belonged to G.C. and the line of ancestors who had helped build this country, who in less than four centuries had made it more powerful, wealthy and strong than many civilizations that had been around for thousands of years, so much so that it could generously help less fortunate neighbors.

It was a point of pride to her mother because—and sometimes Alex thought only because—it bought her access to gatherings like this, which was being held at one of the most exclusive country clubs in the entire country. You had to be sponsored by an active member and seconded by three other members to even be considered for membership.

“You look wonderful, dear,” Mrs. Garfield assured her, as if Alex had asked. “I’d quite forgotten how lovely you are. Who did your dress?”

It was a sleek, silver-blue column of satin knit that even Alex had to admit did wonders for her figure and made her blue eyes pop.

She also had to admit she had one person to thank for it.

“Actually,” Alex said, figuring she owed the sop for the help, “it’s Mother’s. Isn’t it exquisite?”

Veronica Forsythe blushed with practiced ease. “Thank you, Alexandra. I do think it’s so much fun that we can share clothes.”

“And a tribute to you,” Alex said. It was only half syrup; she knew her mother worked hard at staying fit and trim, and Alex knew what a battle that could be.

Clearly quite pleased with her newly sociable daughter, Veronica took Alex’s arm and began to lead her around the crowded reception room, reintroducing her to people Alex hadn’t seen in years. Anyone who read the gossip columns, or looked at the high-society photos, would recognize the names and faces.

Alex did neither, in fact had worked hard to put this side of her world out of her life. Except for the occasion when G.C. would ask her to hostess a small party for him—G.C., thankfully, never threw soirees like this one—she rarely even thought about this aspect of the world she’d left behind.

The shoes, she thought as she flexed feet that weren’t used to three-inch heels for long hours anymore. That’s what I’d really like to leave behind.

She told herself to quit whining and pretend she was working undercover. Then she saw her mother was zeroing in on Clarice Pennington, and she forgot all about her feet. This was one of the reasons she was here, and she snapped back to full attention on the task at hand.

“Clarice!” her mother exclaimed. “You remember my daughter, Alexandra?”

Alex plastered her best—she’d been practicing the long-lost art—social smile on her face. It was a fine line between welcoming and gushing, and she hadn’t walked it in a long time. But it seemed to work, for with a little effort she was able to get Clarice talking enough to steer the conversation the way she wanted.

Of course, the fact that Clarice was always glad to remind people of her marriage to a powerful politician didn’t hurt. The fact that, according to his beaming wife, said husband was about to happily retire to join the board of directors of an international corporation—a job that would likely pay him much more than his current public service—bumped him down on her list.

As her mother and their hostess diverged into a discussion of new applicants for the country club, she managed to extricate herself. She wandered a bit, waving as if she were delighted to be here, yet never stopping long enough to get sucked into conversations she was certain were similar to the one she’d just escaped.

“Alex?”

The female voice from behind her tickled something in her memory, and she turned around. She stared at the pretty brunette for a moment before it came back to her.

“Pepper?”

“I thought that was you! What are you doing here? I thought you swore off these things forever.”

For the first time tonight Alex was able to greet someone with genuine happiness. During her childhood, Alex had been as close to Patricia Anderson—nicknamed Pepper after her sadly unimaginative choice of Salt as a name for her white horse—as to anyone before she’d gone to Athena. They had shared a distaste for—and probably fear of—the world they would be expected to be part of when they grew up.

But when the time had come, Pepper had taken to it like Charm had taken to the desert, while Alex felt going to Athena had rescued her. They’d gone their own ways since, and lost touch except for the annual Christmas-card-guilt confession. Alex had wondered about her now and then, sadly contemplating the very real possibility that Pepper had been eaten up by that world and had become a carbon copy of her socialite mother.

“It’s been so long,” Pepper said. “And I know I’ve been awful about—”

She stopped when Alex held up a hand. “That road runs both ways. Shall we admit we’ve both been bad about keeping in touch and go from there? It will save a lot of time and excuses.”

Pepper laughed. “That’s what I always loved about you, Alex. Cut right to the chase.”

She didn’t seem at all offended, and Alex didn’t miss the impish glint in her warm-brown eyes. Perhaps there was some of her