Read Online Everybody Rise by Stephanie Clifford - Free Book Online Page A

time, you’ll recall; while the Astors and Belmonts and Vanderbilts were building European-style houses in Newport, these hunting lodges promised something quite different. Inside, you’ll see a real tour de force of architecture, with spruce beams made of a single tree supporting the great-room ceiling. And look at this exterior—this is white cedar. It’s more than a hundred years old and it still looks fine. It’s really expert craftsmanship.” Mr. Hacking explained that the Rutherford house had been built in 1880, though it had burned down twice, as every house worth living in on the lake had, and that this version dated from “’aught-nine.”
    â€œWow,” Scot intoned. “And the croquet green?”
    â€œThat’s a story. It would’ve been, let’s see, the great-grandmother, I think, Frances Henning, of course the main heiress to the Beech-Nut fortune. She was the doyenne of the place until her death in 1950—what was it, ’fifty or ’fifty-one? She insisted her guests arrive by sleigh in winter, even after the other private islands were using cars to drive across the ice. She was a serious croquet player, as you can see. Of course, it’s a terrible croquet green, but she knew all its bumps and proclivities and would handily beat anyone who dared to play against her.”
    Evelyn could see all of it in front of her—the croquet games, the sleighs with fur blankets atop, the era when everyone knew who they were supposed to be. She heard a shriek of laughter as a tall girl loped up from the water with a croquet mallet in hand, and Evelyn wondered for a moment whether the ghost of Frances Henning had decided to attend. As the girl got closer, though, Evelyn saw Nick approach and kiss her cheek, and Evelyn knew that she knew that long caramel hair, and she recognized that voice, sun-soaked and deep gold.
    â€œCamilla,” she said quietly, watching as the girl threw herself over a red Adirondack chair at the side of the croquet green.
    â€œWe have to check out this house,” Charlotte said, starting to head for the door. “This is seriously historic-preservation status.”
    Evelyn’s eyes were fixed on the croquet green. The light was strange, silvery and still, and the air smelled rich and wet, of cinnamon and dirt and leaves. Camilla was now playing croquet with Nick.
    â€œThey know each other?” Evelyn asked.
    â€œWho? Nick? Oh, shit, that’s your girl?”
    â€œCamilla, yeah. Do you know how Nick knows her?”
    â€œEv, I barely know who this girl is. I definitely don’t know how Nick knows her. I want to go to check out the inside. Mr. Hacking was saying it was awesome.”
    â€œGreat,” Evelyn said, watching Camilla lean on her mallet. It was not so much Camilla Rutherford’s looks, which were pretty, or her body, which was toned and long limbed and moved elegantly. It was that Camilla Rutherford was eminently comfortable. She had not thought twice about what to wear or what to say, Evelyn could tell, unlike her.
    Evelyn heard a rattle of ice cubes behind her. Preston was surveying the croquet with amusement. “Fine romance, eh?” he said.
    â€œYou mean Nick?” Evelyn said.
    â€œOui. Et Mademoiselle Rutherford.”
    â€œThey’re not…”
    â€œThey’re doing the dance of love, et cetera.”
    â€œNick and Camilla Rutherford? Really? How did they meet?”
    â€œAt a benefit. Kidney Cares, I think. Or Liver Cares. Whichever is the popular organ that all those girls are involved in.”
    â€œIs the liver an organ?”
    â€œDo I look like an anatomist?”
    â€œSo they’re hooking up? Or dating?”
    â€œGood God, woman, I don’t know. Do you think you should have The Talk with them?”
    Evelyn took Preston’s drink and sipped from it; then, when he cried out in protest, handed it back. She followed Preston indoors