Everything to Gain and a Secret Affair (6 page)

Jamie and Lissa had come to love these stories of mine; they can't get enough of them, in fact, and I have to repeat them constantly. In order to satisfy my children, I'm forever inventing new adventures, which entails quite a stretch of the imagination on my part.

It's struck me several times lately that perhaps I should write down the stories and draw pictures to illustrate them. Perhaps I will, but only for Jamie and Lissa. This idea suddenly took hold of me. What a wonderful surprise it would be for the twins if I created a picture book for each of them, and put the books in their Christmas stockings.

I groaned inside; how ridiculous to be thinking of Christmas on this suffocatingly hot summer's day. But the summer will soon be drawing to an end; it always does disappear very quickly after July Fourth weekend. Then Thanksgiving will be upon us before I can blink, with Christmas not far behind.

This year we are planning to spend Christmas in England. We will be staying with Diana at her house in West Tanfield in the Yorkshire dales. Andrew and I are really
looking forward to it, and the children are excited. They are hoping it will snow so that they can go sledding with their father. He's promised to take them on the runs he favored when he was a child; and he is planning to teach them to skate, providing Diana's pond has frozen solid.

I was ruminating on our winter vacation ten minutes later when Nora poked her head around the sunroom door. “It's Sarah on the phone,” she called.

“Thanks,” I called back, but she had already disappeared.

I slid off the wall and went inside. Flopping down on a chair, I picked up the phone, which sat on a nearby end table. “Hi, Sarah. When are you coming out here?”

“I don't think I will be coming,” she replied.

I thought she sounded woeful, a little glum for her; she was normally so cheerful.

“What's wrong?” I asked, gripping the phone a bit tighter, instinctively aware that all was not right.

We had been best friends all of our lives, ever since we were babies in prams being walked on Park Avenue by our mothers, who were also friends. We had attended the same kindergarten and then Miss Hewitt's. Later on we had gone off to Radcliffe together, and we have always been extremely close, inseparable. I know Sarah Elizabeth Thomas as well as I know myself, and so I understood that she was upset about something.

Since she had remained totally silent, I asked again, more insistently, “What's the matter?”

“It's Tommy. We had a foul row last night, the worst we've ever had, and he's just informed me, by phone no less, that it's over between us. Finished, terminated, kaput. He doesn't want to see me . . . ever again. And he says he's going to L.A. this afternoon. To be succinct, Mal, I've been dumped.
Dumped! Me!
Can you imagine that! It's never happened to me before.”

“I know. You've always done the dumping. And I'm sorry you're upset. I realize you cared about Tommy. On the other hand, I've always felt—”

“You don't have to say it,” she cut in softly. “I know you never liked him. You were always a bit wary of him. I guess you were right. As usual. How come you know men better than I do? Don't bother to answer that. Listen, recognizing that Tommy's a bit of a louse doesn't make it any easier for me. I sort of—liked him.”

Her voice had grown tiny, and I knew she was on the verge of tears.

“Don't cry, it'll be all right, Sash,” I soothed, using the nickname I had given her when we were children. “Admittedly it's cold comfort, but it
is
better this way. Honestly. Tommy Preston the third isn't worth weeping over. The break was bound to happen sooner or later. And preferably now than later. Think how awful it would be if you married him and then this kind of thing happened—”

“He did ask me,” Sarah interrupted. “Half a dozen times, to be exact.”

There was a sniffling sound, and then I heard her blowing her nose.

“I know he proposed. You've told me about it—numerous times, actually,” I muttered. “And I'm glad you were cautious and didn't plunge. But why aren't you coming for the weekend? I don't understand.”

“I can't come by myself, Mal. I'll feel like a spare wheel.”

“That's ridiculous! You'll be with me, your very, very best friend, and Andrew, who loves you like a sister. And your godchildren, who adore you. And Diana, who thinks you're the greatest thing since Typhoo tea.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, but then, you know that,” she said, and I heard the laughter surfacing in her voice. “However, I think I'll stay in Manhattan and lick my wounds.”

“You can't do that!” I protested, my voice rising. “You'll only pig out on ice cream and all those fattening things you love to eat when you're upset. And just think of the hard work you've put in, losing ten pounds. Besides, it's going to be hotter than hell in Manhattan. Nora told me they predict a hundred and twenty degrees in the shade.”

“I'm afraid J take Miss Nora's weather forecasts with a grain of salt, Mal.”

“Honestly, it is going to be hot in the city. I heard it on television myself. Last night. Just think how much cooler it will be out here in Sharon. And then there's the swimming pool, some shady corners in the garden. You know how much you love it here. This is your second home, for heaven's sake.”

“Nevertheless, at the moment I think I prefer the blistering sidewalks of Manhattan, the lonely confines of my stifling apartment. At least I can wallow unashamedly in my memories of Tommy,” she intoned dramatically. “My lost love, my greatest love.”

Her theatricality, such an integral part of her personality, was coming through all of a sudden, and I was relieved. It told me she wasn't quite so heartsick as she had first made herself out to be at the outset of our conversation. I began to chuckle.

“Don't you dare laugh at me, Mallory Christina Jordan Keswick. Stop laughing, I tell you!” she cried indignantly. “I'm heartbroken.
Heartbroken.
”

Still laughing, I whooped, “That's a load of cod's wallop! “This was one of Andrew's favorite expressions, and I had made it my own over the years. “You're no more heartbroken about him than I am. Your pride's injured, that's all it is. I'll tell you something else, I bet if the truth be known, that . . . that . . . that little creep was always intending to go off to the West Coast for the July Fourth weekend. To see his family. You've always said he dotes
on his mother and adores his sisters and constantly complains about their recent move to California.”

“Oh.” She said nothing more for a moment, then she murmured thoughtfully, “I must admit, I hadn't thought of that.” There was another brief pause. I could visualize her digesting my point. “But we
did
have a terrible row, Mal.”

“No doubt one he manufactured,” I replied sharply. I had never liked Thomas Preston III. An Eastern seaboard uptight WASP, he was tight with a buck as well as his emotions, high on snobbery and low on brains. He was employed by a famous private merchant bank as a vice president only because the bank bore his family name and was run by his uncle. My beautiful, generous, talented, loving Sarah deserved much better; she deserved the best. Personally, I thought Tommy Preston was the worst, a poor excuse for a man. He wasn't even all that good-looking; at least I could've understood it if she'd fallen for a pretty face.

I took a deep breath. “So, when are you coming out to Connecticut? Tonight or tomorrow?”

“I've just arranged to take one of my buyers to dinner tonight. I'll come sometime tomorrow, is that okay?”

“It sure is, Sashy darling. July Fourth wouldn't be quite the same without you.”

A
fter Nora had left for the day, I toured the house as I generally do on Fridays, checking that everything was in order in all of the rooms.

I was happy with the way things looked, and even though I say so myself, the house
is
beautiful; I stood in the doorway of each room, admiring what I saw, taking the most intense pleasure and gratification from our home.

In the sitting room, the antiques I had so lovingly waxed and polished that morning gleamed in the soft, early-evening light, the smooth wood surfaces darkly ripe and mellow with age. The pieces of old silver on display in the small dining room glittered brightly on the sideboard, and everywhere there was the sparkle of mirrors, the shine of newly cleaned windows. The many flowering plants and vases of cut flowers, which I had placed in various strategic spots throughout the house, added splashes of intense color against the cool, pale backgrounds, and their mingled fragrances filled the air with sweetness.

There was a lovely feeling of well-being about the house tonight. It was completely ready for the holiday weekend, comfortable, warm, and welcoming, truly a home. All that was missing was my family. But they would be with me tomorrow morning, to enjoy the house and everything in it and to fill it with their happy voices and laughter. I could hardly wait for Andrew, the twins, Diana, and Jenny to arrive. Andrew was going to drive them out very early,
at least so he had said before leaving for Chicago at the beginning of the week.

After a few more moments of wandering around scrutinizing everything, I ran upstairs to our bedroom. Stripping off my clothes, I took a quick shower, toweled myself dry, put on a pair of white cotton trousers and a clean white T-shirt, then tied my hair in a ponytail with a red ribbon.

Later I would make myself a bowl of spaghetti and a green salad, but right now I wanted to relax after my hard day's work. I would call Diana to check on her and the twins and then settle down with a book.

There is a long, low room opening off one end of our bedroom, and I went into it now. I had made it mine right from the beginning when we first bought the house. It is such a peculiar shape and size, I can't imagine what it was ever used for before, but I have turned it into a comfortable sitting room, my private inner sanctum, where I sit and think, listen to music, watch television, or read.

Because of its odd shape and size, I painted it white with just the merest hint of green in the paint mix. The pale, apple-green carpeting I chose matches the green-and-white plaid I found for floor-length draperies, the sofa, and armchairs. There are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along one wall; pretty porcelain lamps grace two tables, skirted in pale-green silk, which stand on either side of the sofa. Some of my watercolors line the walls, and above the sofa hangs the portrait in oils of the twins I painted two years ago. Another oil, this one of Andrew, takes pride of place above the mantelpiece, and so my husband and children keep me company here the entire time, smiling out at me from their gilded frames.

All in all, it's a charming room, pleasant and inviting, with its wash of white and pale greens, a room which benefits from a great deal of sunshine in the afternoons because of its southern exposure. Yet it has a restful feeling to it, especially at this hour of the day when the sun has set and twilight begins to descend. It is one of my favorite corners of Indian Meadows, and as with the rest of the house, decorating it was a labor of love on my part.

Sitting down at the country French
bureau plat
, I pulled the phone toward me and dialed our apartment in New York. After speaking briefly to Diana, I wished my children a loving good night, told them I would see them tomorrow morning, and hung up.

Rising, I crossed to the sofa, stretched out on it, and picked up the book I was reading. This was two novels in one volume,
Cheri
and
The Last of Cheri
by Colette; I had always had a love of her books, and lately I had begun to read her again. And so quickly I found my place, looking forward to becoming a captive of this author's imagination once more.

I had read only a couple of pages when I heard the sound of a car in the driveway. Putting the book down, I got up and hurried to the window, glancing at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece as I did, asking myself who it could be. Very few people came calling on me unannounced, especially at night.

Although the bright summer sky had dimmed considerably, it was still light, and much to my surprise, I saw Andrew alighting from the back of the car, his briefcase in his hand. I dropped the lace curtain, flew out of the room, and tore down the staircase at breakneck speed.

We met, he and I, in the long entrance gallery and stood staring at each other.

He had his luggage with him, and I exclaimed, “You
came straight from the airport!” My surprise at his sudden unexpected arrival was quite evident.

“That's right, I did,” he answered, eyeing me carefully.

I gazed back at him, searching his face, trying to determine his frame of mind; I wondered if he was still angry with me. I saw nothing but love and warmth reflected there, and I knew instantly that everything was all right between us.

My eyes remained fixed on his face as I asked, “But what about Jamie and Lissa, and your mother and Jenny? How are they going to get out here?”

“I've arranged for a car and driver to pick them up tomorrow morning, very early,” he explained, and moving toward me, he took hold of me, drew me into his arms, and embraced me tightly. “You see, I fancied an evening alone with my wife.”

“Oh, I'm so glad you did,” I exclaimed, clinging to him harder.

We stood holding each other like this without speaking for a second or two. Eventually I said quietly, “I'm sorry for being petty about Jack Underwood, or rather, about his girlfriend. I don't mind if they come for the Fourth, really I don't, Andrew.”

“I was petty too, Mal. Anyway, as it turns out, Jack can't come after all. He has to fly to Paris on business, and Gina wouldn't dream of coming alone. Listen, I'm sorry we quarreled. It was my fault entirely.”