“Spanish!” Carl, Brad’s closest friend and teammate, ordered. “Give him some of that old San Diego flavour.” He punched Brad on the back and added in a whisper, “Get with us, buddy! Where’s your mind?”

In the kitchen, Brad thought, as he watched the chef preparing the omelet. Was that where she was? Best not go back there asking if someone had lost a necklace and, if so, what is your name and where do you live?

Never mind. Later. He would find her. The slender gold chain rested in his pocket...like a promise.

“Nobody knows who she was, but she was dressed as a maid.”

“Maybe she was a maid.”

Paula’s heart lurched, and she stopped in the hall to listen. The sisters’ voices were clear as they discussed last night’s ball from their adjoining rooms where they were dressing for the first game. If they even suspected...

“Don’t be silly. She wasn’t a maid.” Rae sounded sure. “She was a guest. She had a mask on. And—” Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the shout from across the hall.

“Paula! Where’s that girl!” Mamie Ashford demanded somewhat piteously.

“I’m right here,” Paula said, hurrying to her. “Just lie still and allow that bromide to settle.” She adjusted the pillows and replaced the ice bag. “There now. You’ll feel better soon.”

“My poor head. I don’t see how I’ll make that committee meeting.”

“You’ll be fine,” Paula assured her. “Just rest for a little while. I’ll be back in time to help you dress.” She felt sorry for the always-anxious woman. Not easy on her limited budget to buy the proper outfits and maintain the proper social commitments so important to her and her demanding daughters. Seeing that she was about to fall asleep, Paula closed the draperies and tiptoed from the room.

As she emerged, Whitney called, “Paula, where’s my dress?”

“Almost ready.” Paula rushed downstairs to finish pressing the dress. She returned to find Rae in Whitney’s room holding out two outfits.

“Which should I wear?” she asked.

Whitney didn’t answer. She carefully applied eye shadow and stared dreamily into the mirror. “He said my eyes are so expressive.”

“Bet he didn’t look at you like he looked at her,” Rae said a little spitefully. She frowned. “Who could she be? I don’t remember anybody dressed as a maid, do you, Whitney?”

“Plenty of serving maids around.” Whitney peered into the minor to inspect her makeup. “Maybe one of them sneaked onto the dance floor. I wouldn’t put it past that kind.”

Paula gulped, but Rae answered her sister. “I told you. She was a guest. And Brad knew her very well! The way he was holding her—”

“I thought you didn’t see her.”

“Sylvia did. She and Rod were dancing right next to them, and Sylvia said he was staring at her like there wasn’t anybody else in the room, and when he kissed her...”

Paula’s breath caught as Whitney turned to glare at her sister. “Kissed her?”

“Right there on the dance floor!”

Whitney frowned, then shrugged. “Doesn’t mean a thing. Don’t you read the tabloids? He’s always kissing somebody.”

Paula, who had gone rigid, forced herself to relax. Whitney was right. What was a kiss to Brad Vandercamp? And his kiss certainly meant nothing to her!

“Which, Paula?” Rae’s question jerked her to attention. “Should I wear this or the green one?” Rae held a yellow outfit against herself.

Paula advised the green instead while Whitney continued to muse. “So Sylvia saw her. She must know who she is.”

“No. She doesn’t. She said when everybody started unmasking, the woman...well, it was amazing, but she just disappeared. Sylvia asked Rod if he saw her face, but he didn’t. He said he was looking at her legs.”

Paula winced. This kind of talk was making her nervous.

Shucks! They didn’t suspect her. They probably didn’t even know she had been there. They knew she sometimes worked for Harry, often at affairs they attended. But, thank goodness, they were always too absorbed in themselves to notice her. Even when, as now, she was right under their noses.

Whitney didn’t even look at her when she held out the linen she had pressed.

“Here you are,” she said.

Whitney glanced at the dress, shook her head. “No. Changed my mind. Bring the dusky rose with the sexy short skirt.”

Paula fetched it, tied a green scarf becomingly into Rae’s hair and made sure Whitney’s makeup was in her bag, along with the binoculars.

As they made their way out, she heard Rae say, “He’s not playing today. Do you suppose he’ll be among the spectators?”

“Of course, silly. The players always watch the techniques of the other teams. He’ll be there. And I’m sure he’ll linger at our box. He was quite taken with me. He said my eyes...” Her voice faded, and Paula gave a sigh of relief. If she couldn’t hear them talking about him, she could stop thinking about him!

She couldn’t. She stared at the rumpled sheets, the discarded clothing, a dresser cluttered with lipsticks, bottles, crumpled tissues and traces of spilled powder. But what she saw was a man with unruly copper hair and eyes that glinted with mischief. He smiled at her and held out his arms. Had he really held her in a special way? Then, when he kissed her...

Had he kissed her?

Such a fleeting touch. She might have arranged it.

No. No fantasy. Her lips had burned like fire.

Vividly she recalled the dream... music, voices, laughter and the tolling of a clock.

Then the kiss. Light and fleeting, yes. But it had ignited a powder keg of emotion, sending strange and exhilarating sensations exploding through her. For a moment, she was immobile.

The loud “Masks off” broke the spell and jolted her into movement, thank goodness!

She shook her head to clear it. She was far too practical to let a dream interfere with reality. Quickly erasing last night from her mind, she went to wake Mrs. Ashford. By the time Lew returned from depositing the girls, she had their mother dressed and alert, ready to be chauffeured to her committee meeting.

Paula tidied the bedrooms and baths, finished the laundry and vacuumed. Dinner was no problem, as the Ashfords were dining out. Time to retire to her little room in the attic and study.

Two hours later, she had finished the outline for her English term paper and prepared for tomorrow’s chemistry test. She heard the family car coming down the drive and glanced at the clock. Almost six. That would be Uncle Lew returning, and he would be hungry. She hurried to the kitchen.

“Where’s the chow?” Lew asked, as he tossed aside his chauffeur’s cap and popped open a can of soda.

“Coming right up,” she said. “I wasn’t sure when you’d be back.”

“Me, either. Been driving all day. Hauled the old lady to her meeting, the girls out to the polo field, back to pick her up and back to the field.” He sat at the table and took a long swallow from the can. “Waited till the game was over and squeezed out of that mess of traffic to get them into town to where they’re having dinner. Gotta pick them up at ten.”

“Did you see any of the game?” Paula asked as she set leftover meat loaf in the microwave oven and set the timer.

“Wouldn’t waste my time. Bunch of horses with bandages on their legs, all getting in each other’s way. Guys in fancy helmets whacking at a ball.”

“All for sweet charity, Lew! Lots of money,” Paula said. “Anyway, it’s a game. For fun. Like a rodeo.”

“Rodeo’s a hell of a lot more than fun. It’s . . . well, how to rope a calf, break a horse. Teaching people how to do things, not just showing off.”

Paula grinned. “Seems I often saw you showing off. Remember that rodeo where you—”

He gave a satisfied smile. “Yeah, I was good, huh? Expert at that stuff.”

“Sure, sure. I remember,” Paula said, as she fashioned cold mashed potatoes into cakes, sprinkled paprika and set them sizzling in a frying pan. “But I’ll have you know that these polo players are considered experts, too.”