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bound for the country. She would never be seen at a social occasion with Jamal’s mother. That would have automatically made the woman socially acceptable, and in Emily Dean Stanton’s eyes she simply was not. Jamal and his father … well, that was a different thing. One of her relations, Theodore Roosevelt, her mother’s great-uncle Teddy, as President had sent the troops into Morocco over an incident involving a relation of Jamal’s. An American woman and her two children had been kidnapped. Politics, power and blackmail made an admirable connection, especially because there had been a happysolution to the international incident. America had emerged with honour. Such things were acceptable, they made a social connection – as history, if nothing else. But a married woman, once the Parisian mistress of a Russian archduke, who ran off with an Arab – that, to Emily Dean Stanton, was not history. That was dirty linen.
    During discussion of the weekend, it appeared that all the cars going to the country would be full, and David’s plane fully occupied. They realised that Lara, who had planned to go with Sam, had not been taken into account. Now that her plans had changed, transport to the country had become a problem. The train was suggested, and rejected. A car and driver would return for her.
    ‘Not necessary,’ offered Jamal. ‘Remember, I’m driving out late this evening, and I have room for Lara.’ Jamal gave her one of his most charming smiles and said, ‘I’d be pleased for the company, La,’ using his and the family’s childish nickname for her. ‘And, if you like, I will allow you to practise your most outrageous acts of flirtation on me. Last night, at dinner, you hardly got going.’
    Lara, rising to the bait, was quick to say in a sassy retort, ‘If that’s all you have to offer Jamal, I’ll take the train.’ Everyone began to laugh. Jamal and Lara had been playing flirtatious games since she was six years old. He was always teasing her, and claiming that when she was grown up he would elope with her to show her the world.
    ‘No, you won’t, Lara,’ Emily insisted. ‘You will accept Jamal’s invitation, and be thankful to him for sparing you that tiresome train ride.’
    Emily disliked Lara travelling alone on the train. Evenings were the worst. In things like that she was over-protective. And, never having been allowed to travel onpublic transport when she had been a girl, she saw no reason why her children should. Emily Dean Stanton was of the Lindbergh kidnapping generation. She remained, even now, as paranoid about kidnapping as all the wealthy society families had become after that episode. Her paranoia served her well. It allowed her to sidestep yet another one of life’s public unpleasantnesses: travelling with the masses. Chauffeur and car were
de rigueur
for Lara most of the time, and always when commuting between Cannonberry Chase and the Manhattan house. It had been that way for all the children until they were adult and able to make their own arrangements. Emily was therefore relieved when Jamal made the gesture. Less so when Jamal’s mother mentioned the box at the opera again, suggesting that Lara accept the empty seat, and that she be allowed to attend a supper-party afterwards. It would be a late night, but more fun than having to wait until midnight for her ride to Oyster Bay.
    Emily consented, much relieved that Lara would travel safely with Jamal, and not least because she had not in any case expected Lara at Cannonberry Chase that evening for dinner. Her daughter’s presence would have upset her seating arrangement. Emily never allowed thirteen, or seventeen at her dinner parties. And tonight they were sixteen. So Lara was bound for the opera, and that was the end of it. No one ever opposed Emily’s decisions.
    However convenient for Emily, the invitation extended by Chantal Ben El-Raisuli was resented. The Stantons’ box was one of the more coveted seats in the