Lucy (21 page)

“Yes, Hester, dear.”

Hester! Lucy peered from under the cover of her parasol. It was indeed Hester, but a Hester who had jumped into middle age with both feet— in fact with her whole body. Her figure, finally free of diets and stays, bulged comfortably under a loose tea gown. Her hair, free of dye, was pulled back in an iron-gray knot. Her eyes had grown smaller and her chin larger. And her voice held a decidedly militant note.

The couple began to move away.

“In fact, dear boy,” Hester was saying, “it is time we moved away from this bustle to the quiet of home, where we will be in more
intime
surroundings.”

Jeremy winced and drew away but was firmly anchored to Hester’s side. She had developed an arm like a stevedore.

Lucy winced as much as Jeremy had done.

“How terrible for him, Andrew. Do you think our marriage will ever become like that?”

He drew her close to him and began to kiss her passionately to convince her of how ridiculous her idea was.

The French promenaders carefully averted their eyes.

But the couple were English after all. And the English had no sense of decency.

An outraged Frenchwoman dragged her husband hurriedly past the disgraceful couple and overtook Jeremy and Hester.

“Imagine,” said the Frenchwoman, “kissing
your wife
in public!”

Jeremy looked at Hester.
Or anywhere else
, he thought sadly.

Damn MacGregor!