Everything to Gain (6 page)

"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 I 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."

CHAPTER FIVE

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After 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."

"No, it was mine," I protested, genuinely meaning this.

"Mine," he insisted.

We pulled apart, looked at each other knowingly, and burst out laughing.

Bending toward me, Andrew kissed me lightly on the mouth, then taking hold of my arm, he said, "Let's have a drink, shall we?" And so saying he propelled me in the direction of the kitchen.

"What a good idea," I agreed and looked up at him, smiling broadly, happy that all was as it should be between my husband and me and that he and I were about to spend an evening alone together for once.

When we got to the kitchen, Andrew slipped off his jacket, undid his tie, and threw both on a chair. I took ice out of the refrigerator and made two tall glasses of vodka and tonic with wedges of lime, and handed one to him.

"Cheers, darling," he said, clinking his drink against mine.

"Cheers," I answered, and I couldn't resist ogling him over the rim of my glass. Then I winked.

He laughed, gave me a quick peck on the cheek, and said, "Shall we sit on the terrace?"

"It's a bit hot out there," I answered, then seeing his face drop in disappointment, I added, "Oh, but why not, the garden's so pretty at this time of day."

"My grandmother used to call this hour the gloaming," he remarked as we walked through the sunroom heading for the terrace beyond the French doors. "It's an old north-country word, I think. Or perhaps it's a Scottish term. You know my mother's mother was originally from Glasgow, before she went to live in Yorkshire, after her marriage to Grandfather Howard. That's why she dressed my mother in so much tartan when she was little, and then me." He chuckled. "She loved me to wear a kilt and a sporan and a little black velvet jacket. She always chose the Seaforth Highlander's dress tartan. Her father, my great-grandfather, had been in the Seaforths, you see."

"Yes, you've told me all about your Scottish ancestry before," I said, glancing at him over my shoulder.

He grinned at me. "Oh, sorry. I do seem to have a bad habit of repeating family history."

"It's not a
bad
habit," I said, "just a habit, and I don't mind."

Once outside we settled down at the circular table with the big white canvas market umbrella, where we usually ate meals in the summer months. We sipped our drinks and were silent for a while, comfortable in this silence, as happily married people frequently are, content simply to be together. Words were not necessary. We communicated without them, as we always had. Andrew and I usually seemed to be on the same wavelength, and often he would say something I had been thinking only a few seconds before, or vice versa. I found that uncanny.

It was not as stiflingly hot outside as I'd expected it to be, now that the sun had gone down. Although the air was balmy, there was a soft breeze moving through the trees, rustling the leaves. Otherwise everything was absolutely quiet, as tranquil as it always was up here atop our lovely Connecticut hill.

The lawn which flowed away from the terrace wall on this side of the house sloped down to a copse of trees; beyond were protected wetlands and a beaver dam. Soaring above the copse and the stretch of water were the foothills of the Berkshires covered with trees densely massed and of a green so dark they were almost black tonight under that midsummer sky now completely faded. Its periwinkle blue had turned to smoky gray edging into anthracite, with wisps of pink and lilac, saffron and scarlet bleeding into one another along the rim of those distant hills.

Andrew lolled back in the chair and breathed deeply, letting out a long, contented sigh. "God, it's so great here, Mallory. I couldn't get back fast enough… to you and this place."

"I know." I looked at him through the comer of my eye and said in the quietest of voices, "I thought you'd call me from Chicago…" I let my voice trail off, feeling suddenly rather silly for even mentioning it.

A half smile flitted across Andrew's mouth. He looked somewhat amused as he said, "And I thought you'd call
me
."

"Aren't we a couple of stubborn idiots." I laughed, and lifting my glass, I took a sip of my drink.

He said, "I don't know how my stubborn idiot feels about me, but I adore her."

"And I adore mine," I responded swiftly, smiling warmly at him.

He smiled back.

There was another small silence. After a short interval, I said suddenly, "Sarah's broken up with the Eastern seaboard's greatest snob."