summer?”
“Where is it?” Ben Carruthers reached out and took the invitation from his wife. “The Plaza. And for the Earl of Ashbrook.” He raised an impressed eyebrow. “Liz has been busy. He’s Britain’s new UN representative. How ever does she know him?”
“His wife went to school with us,” Pat replied simply. “She was Anne Netherfield.”
“Ah.” He handed her back the card. “Well, I’ll bet you anything that Liz gets all acceptances. You know how Americans love a lord.”
“I know,” replied Pat. “But why, I wonder, didn’t Liz wait until September?”
* * * *
Gilbert Archer was as surprised as the Carruthers when Liz’s invitation arrived at The Birches. He did not comment, however, but passed it on to Cecelia with the remark, “We’ll have to go. Better put it down on your calendar.”
They were having a drink together this Friday evening, one of the rare evenings Gil was home for dinner. Jennifer was upstairs doing her homework and the two of them were alone together in the living room. Cecelia looked up from the invitation and said, “I know Lord Ashbrook is England’s new UN representative—I read that in the paper. But who is Liz Lewis?”
He regarded his martini with interest and answered, “A friend of mine. Both our marriages broke up at the same time and we went around together for a bit. She’s rather a hotshot hostess type.”
“I see,” replied Cecelia slowly. And indeed, with her newfound maturity, she did see. Gil was not the sort of man who had platonic friendships with the opposite sex. She felt a sharp pang of jealousy and forced herself to say calmly, “Do you know, I’ve never met any of your friends?”
At that he turned to look at her. “Well, you’ll meet a lot of them at this party, baby.” He grinned. “And believe me, they’ll be anxious to meet you.”
“Oh dear,” said Cecelia, half comically, half nervously. Then, “What shall I wear?”
“A gown,” he replied positively. He looked at her, head a little to one side. “Why don’t you come into New York on Monday and I’ll take you shopping.”
“That would be lovely,” she replied fervently. “You’ll know much better than I what’s appropriate.”
“You have excellent taste in clothes,” he said, surveying her with approval. She wore a soft jacquard shirt-dress in a pale garden-flower print and apple-green strappy sandals. Her long dark hair was held off her temples by two tortoise-shell combs and fell, sheer and shining, past her shoulders.
Cecelia smoothed the full skirt over her knee. “Thank you,” she said softly, “but I’m sure we dress more casually in Connecticut than is customary in New York.”
He smiled at her and held out his hand. “I like the casual look,” he told her. “I’d like a more casual life, too. It seems as if I’ve hardly seen you these past weeks.”
It was true. The crisis in the Mid-East had blown up as predicted, and Gil had spent most of his waking hours in the office, topped off by a quick trip to Cairo to talk to a source who had proved valuable in the past. Cecelia had missed him terribly. She put her hand in his now and smiled up into his eyes. Those eyes narrowed at her response and took on a heavy-lidded look that she recognized. Her heartbeat accelerated and he made as if to raise her hand to his lips.
Nora appeared in the living room doorway and announced, “Dinner is ready.” Gil dropped Cecelia’s hand and the two of them walked sedately into the breakfast room where Nora’s famous beef burgundy awaited them.
* * * *
Later that evening, as Cecelia, dressed in a champagne-colored nightgown, was sitting before the lovely antique dressing table that Gil had provided for her, her thoughts went once again to the upcoming party. She regarded her reflection in the mirror critically, frowned, and said over her shoulder to Gil, “Maybe I should get my hair cut. This style isn’t very sophisticated.” She was still
“Where is it?” Ben Carruthers reached out and took the invitation from his wife. “The Plaza. And for the Earl of Ashbrook.” He raised an impressed eyebrow. “Liz has been busy. He’s Britain’s new UN representative. How ever does she know him?”
“His wife went to school with us,” Pat replied simply. “She was Anne Netherfield.”
“Ah.” He handed her back the card. “Well, I’ll bet you anything that Liz gets all acceptances. You know how Americans love a lord.”
“I know,” replied Pat. “But why, I wonder, didn’t Liz wait until September?”
* * * *
Gilbert Archer was as surprised as the Carruthers when Liz’s invitation arrived at The Birches. He did not comment, however, but passed it on to Cecelia with the remark, “We’ll have to go. Better put it down on your calendar.”
They were having a drink together this Friday evening, one of the rare evenings Gil was home for dinner. Jennifer was upstairs doing her homework and the two of them were alone together in the living room. Cecelia looked up from the invitation and said, “I know Lord Ashbrook is England’s new UN representative—I read that in the paper. But who is Liz Lewis?”
He regarded his martini with interest and answered, “A friend of mine. Both our marriages broke up at the same time and we went around together for a bit. She’s rather a hotshot hostess type.”
“I see,” replied Cecelia slowly. And indeed, with her newfound maturity, she did see. Gil was not the sort of man who had platonic friendships with the opposite sex. She felt a sharp pang of jealousy and forced herself to say calmly, “Do you know, I’ve never met any of your friends?”
At that he turned to look at her. “Well, you’ll meet a lot of them at this party, baby.” He grinned. “And believe me, they’ll be anxious to meet you.”
“Oh dear,” said Cecelia, half comically, half nervously. Then, “What shall I wear?”
“A gown,” he replied positively. He looked at her, head a little to one side. “Why don’t you come into New York on Monday and I’ll take you shopping.”
“That would be lovely,” she replied fervently. “You’ll know much better than I what’s appropriate.”
“You have excellent taste in clothes,” he said, surveying her with approval. She wore a soft jacquard shirt-dress in a pale garden-flower print and apple-green strappy sandals. Her long dark hair was held off her temples by two tortoise-shell combs and fell, sheer and shining, past her shoulders.
Cecelia smoothed the full skirt over her knee. “Thank you,” she said softly, “but I’m sure we dress more casually in Connecticut than is customary in New York.”
He smiled at her and held out his hand. “I like the casual look,” he told her. “I’d like a more casual life, too. It seems as if I’ve hardly seen you these past weeks.”
It was true. The crisis in the Mid-East had blown up as predicted, and Gil had spent most of his waking hours in the office, topped off by a quick trip to Cairo to talk to a source who had proved valuable in the past. Cecelia had missed him terribly. She put her hand in his now and smiled up into his eyes. Those eyes narrowed at her response and took on a heavy-lidded look that she recognized. Her heartbeat accelerated and he made as if to raise her hand to his lips.
Nora appeared in the living room doorway and announced, “Dinner is ready.” Gil dropped Cecelia’s hand and the two of them walked sedately into the breakfast room where Nora’s famous beef burgundy awaited them.
* * * *
Later that evening, as Cecelia, dressed in a champagne-colored nightgown, was sitting before the lovely antique dressing table that Gil had provided for her, her thoughts went once again to the upcoming party. She regarded her reflection in the mirror critically, frowned, and said over her shoulder to Gil, “Maybe I should get my hair cut. This style isn’t very sophisticated.” She was still
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