Wakefield College 01 - Where It May Lead by Janice Kay Johnson Read Free Book Online Page B

afternoon,
in addition to giving a second, open lecture this evening after the reception.
Madison had no trouble recognizing him since she’d looked up current images
online.
    Silver at the temples and an overall dusting of silver set off
his styled dark hair. He had a charming smile she couldn’t help returning.
    He shook her hand, his eyes keen on her face. “You wouldn’t be
Guy Laclaire’s daughter?”
    “I am indeed,” she confessed. “Unfortunately, Dad couldn’t be
here this weekend. He’s in Tokyo on business.”
    “He’s done well for himself.” He shook his head admiringly. “I
saw mention of him in the Wall Street Journal the
other day. I’ll make a point of giving him a call.”
    He was clearly making a mental note. She didn’t tell him Dad
was stingy with donations, but in this case he might surprise her. His politics
were more conservative than hers.
    Haywood introduced his wife, a stylish, attractive woman whose
smile was as bright and probably as insincere as her husband’s. Madison chided
herself for being a cynic. She wouldn’t have thought any such thing if she
hadn’t known he was a politician.
    She talked briefly with the senator about his two speaking
engagements and told him how much the students were looking forward to hearing
him. She already knew he and his wife were staying at the home of one of the
college trustees, who owned a good deal of downtown Frenchman Lake, rather than
in a hotel.
    The college president deftly took the senator off her hands and
she turned to greet the next arrivals. The woman’s face looked familiar.
    “Let me think. Marcia Skiles?”
    The woman chuckled. “Very good! Marcia Skiles Armstrong now.
I’ve remarried since that last reunion.” She introduced her husband, after which
they told Madison how excited they were about visiting some of the wineries.
    “We’ve become connoisseurs,” she said, “in our small way.”
    Some of the alumni expressed an intention to play in the
informal golf tournament on Saturday morning, but the greatest enthusiasm was
expressed for the wine tasting tour. Frenchman Lake wines weren’t yet as
acclaimed as Walla Walla Valley wines, but some were beginning to receive high
ratings from Wine Spectator and other sources.
    Madison murmured agreement when people waxed rhapsodic over the
wine, although she never had picked up on hints of licorice or tannin or wild
huckleberry. As far as she was concerned, expensive wines usually tasted better
than cheap ones. Full stop. It was safe to say no one would call her a connoisseur.
    She had the comforting thought that Troy probably wasn’t one
either. He hadn’t seemed at all interested in the wine tasting portion of the
weekend.
    Of course, that might have been because he was focused on
security, impossible to provide when the alumni were driving themselves to the
many wineries throughout the valley.
    “Any relation to Guy Laclaire?” the latest alumnus in front of
her table asked.
    Her gaze dropped surreptitiously to the name tag he’d affixed
to the front of his striped polo shirt. It was embarrassing to have forgotten
his name quite so quickly.
    Del Trzcinski.
    That was even more embarrassing, as
she had also just had him pronounce his name for her.
    She smiled at him. “His daughter.” This was the fifth time
someone had asked and she’d had to explain that no, Dad wouldn’t be here this
weekend. The day had barely begun. Thank God no one had yet assumed she’d know
way more about her father’s acquaintances than she did.
    One man mentioned that he and Guy had been doubles partners on
the college tennis team for two years. She knew her father had played varsity
all four years at Wakefield. He’d been on the debate team, too, which had
reached finals in the national competition his senior year.
    So, okay, she did know something about his years here. More than something—out of pure nosiness she’d looked up
his academic record, and learned that Guy Laclaire had