Rules of Civility (29 page)

—It's Katey, isn't it?

I turned to find a prim brunette at my side—Wyss from the little state of Connecticut. If I had been asked to speculate on Wisteria's style for an afternoon in August, I would have guessed Garden Club of America; but I would have been wrong. She was dressed in perfect elegance with a cobalt blue short-sleeved dress and a matching asymmetric hat.

At Tinker and Eve's dinner party, we hadn't exactly hit it off, so I was a little surprised that she'd bothered to approach me. As we exchanged pleasantries, her demeanor was welcoming and her eyes almost twinkled. Naturally, the conversation turned quickly to their European holiday. I asked how it went.

—Lovely, she said.
Perfectly
lovely. Have you ever been? No? Well, the weather in July in the south of France is
ravissant
, and the food is not to be believed. But it was such an added pleasure to be with Tinker and Evelyn. Tinker speaks such beautiful French. And being a foursome provides that extra spark to every hour: the early morning swims on the strand . . . and the long lunches overlooking the sea . . . and the late night jaunts into town . . . Though of course (
light laugh
), Tinker adds a little more spark to the early morning swim and Eve to the late night jaunt.

I was beginning to understand why she had approached me, after all.

That night at the Beresford, she had been the odd girl out. But like a seasoned evangelist, she'd put up with the fast talk and the occasional wisecracks at her expense, confident that the Good Lord would one day reward her for her patience. And here it was: redemption day. The Rapture. The unexpected chance for a little table turning. Because when it came to the south of France, we both knew exactly who was the odd one out.

—Well, I said, winding down the conversation. It's good to have you all back.

—Oh, we didn't come back
together. . . .

She stayed me with the gentle touch of two fingers on my arm.

I could see that the color of her fingernail polish matched the color of her lipstick precisely.

—We intended to, of course. Then just before we were scheduled to sail, Tinker said he had to stop in Paris on business. Eve said she just wanted to go home. So he bribed her (
conspiratorial smile
) with a promise of dinner on the Eiffel Tower.

(
Conspiratorial smile returned.
)

—But, you see, continued Wyss, Tinker wasn't going to Paris on business at all.

?

—He was going to see Cartier!

To Wyss's credit, I could feel a slight burning sensation on my cheeks.

—Before they left for Paris, Tinker pulled me aside. He was in an absolute state. Some men are hopeless when it comes to these things. Ruby bracelet, sapphire brooch,
sautoir de perles
. He didn't know what he should get.

Naturally, I wasn't going to ask. But it didn't make a difference. She was already extending her left hand languidly to show a diamond the size of a grape.

—I just told him to get her one of these.

 

When I got back downtown, still reeling a bit from my encounter with Wyss, I finally went to the grocer to restock the pantry of my routines: a new deck of cards, a jar of peanut butter, a bottle of second-grade gin. Trudging up the stairs, I was a little stunned to smell that the bride in 3B had already perfected her mother's Bolognese, maybe even improved upon it. I turned the key while balancing the groceries in the crook of my arm, crossed the threshold, and almost stepped on a letter that had been slipped under my door. I set the bag down on the table and picked the letter up.

It was in an ivory envelope embossed with a scallop shell. On the front, there was no stamp, but it was addressed in perfect calligraphy. I don't think I had ever seen my name so beautifully inscribed. Each of the Ks stood an inch tall, their legs sweeping elegantly under the other letters, curling at the end like the toe of an Arabian shoe.

Inside, there was a card edged in gold. It was so thick I had to rip the envelope to set it free. At the top was the same image of the scallop, while below were the time and date and the requesting of the honor of my company. It was an invitation to the Hollingsworths' sprawling Labor Day affair. From a few hundred miles at sea, another act of grace by the right fine Wallace Wolcott.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Fortunes of War

This time when I arrived at Whileaway, I didn't have to take a detour through the garden—I got to go right through the front door with the rest of the invited guests. But having let Fran convince me to buy a dress from the Macy's bargain bin that looked better on her figure than mine, I couldn't shake that nagging feeling that I should have been pushing my way through the hedge. As if to make the point, two college boys brushed past me at the door. They sloughed off their coats into the hands of a footman and took glasses of champagne from a waiter—making eye contact with neither. With no achievements behind them, they already looked as self-assured as the flyboys would at the end of the Second World War.

At the entrance to the great room, exactly where you couldn't avoid them, representatives of the Hollingsworth family had formed an impromptu receiving line: Mr. & Mrs., two of the boys, one of the wives. When I gave my name, Mr. Hollingsworth welcomed me with the polite smile of one who has long since quit keeping track of his children's acquaintances. But one of the older sons leaned over.

—She's Wallace's friend, Pop.

—The young lady he called about? Why of course, he said—adding quasi-confidentially: That call caused quite a stir, young lady.

—Devlin, chastened Mrs. Hollingsworth.

—Yes, yes. Well, I've known Wallace since the day he was born. So if there's anything you'd like to know about him that he wouldn't tell you himself, come and find me. In the meantime, make yourself at home.

Outside on the terrace, the breeze was temperate and wild. Though the sun had yet to set, the house was lit from stem to stern as if to assure arriving guests that should the weather take a turn for the worst, we could all stay the night. Men in black tie conversed casually with the rubied and the sapphired and the
sautoir de perles
-ed. It was the same sort of familiar elegance that I had seen in July, only now it spanned three generations: Alongside the silver-haired titans kissing the cheeks of glamorous goddaughters were young rakes scandalizing aunts with wry remarks sotto voce. A few stragglers from the beach with towels on their shoulders were making their way toward the house looking fit and friendly and not the least ill at ease for running late. Their shadows stretched across the grass in long, attenuated stripes.

A table at the edge of the terrace supported one of those pyramids where overflowing champagne from the uppermost glass cascades down the stems until all of the glasses are filled. So as not to spoil the effect, the engineer of this thousand-dollar parlor trick produced a fresh glass from under the table and filled it for me.

Whatever Mr. Hollingsworth's encouragements, there wasn't going to be much chance of my feeling at home. But Wallace had made such an effort, I was just going to have to splash some water on my face, trade up to gin, and throw myself into the mix.

Inquiring for a powder room, I was directed up the main staircase, past a portrait of a horse, down a wainscoted hall to the end of the east wing. The ladies' dressing room was a pale yellow parlor overlooking a rose garden. It had pale yellow wallpaper, pale yellow chairs, a pale yellow chaise.

There were two women already there. Sitting in front of a mirror I pretended to tinker with an earring as I watched them in the reflection. The first, a tall brunette with short hair and a cool expression, had just come up from the dock. Her bathing suit was at her feet and she was drying her naked body unself-consciously. The other, in teal tafetta, was sitting at a well-lit vanity trying to repair mascara after a bout of tears. Every thirty seconds or so she let out a whimper. The swimmer wasn't showing her much sympathy. I tried not to show her any either.

Uncomforted, the girl gave a sniff and left.

—Good riddance, the swimmer said blandly.

She gave her hair a final rub with the towel and tossed it in a pile. She had an athlete's body and a backless dress that she was going to wear to great advantage. As she moved her arms you could see her muscles articulate around her shoulder blades. She didn't bother to sit when she put on her shoes. She slipped her feet into them and wiggled her heels until they wedged their way in. Then she extended her long thin arm over her shoulder and zipped her own dress.

In the mirror, I saw a glimmer on the carpet under the settee where her shoes had been stowed. Crossing the room, I got down on my knees and reached for the object. It was a diamond earring.

The brunette was watching me now.

—Is this yours? I asked, knowing it wasn't.

She took it in hand.

—No, she said. But it's quite a piece.

She looked around the room indifferently.

—These normally travel in pairs.

As I checked under the settee, she shook the wet towels. We looked around for a minute more and then she handed the earring back.

—A fortune of war, she said.

The swimmer was more right than she knew. Because I was fairly certain that this particular earring—with its baguette-cut diamonds and its clasp in white gold—was one of the pair that Eve had found in Tinker's bedside table.

 

Descending the curved front stair I felt off my balance, as if the one glass of champagne had gone straight to my head. Whatever news Tinker and Eve were bringing home from Paris, I wasn't ready to hear it—not in a setting like this. I slowed my pace and shifted to the outer edge of the staircase, where the steps were widest and the banister was close at hand.

Crowding the lobby was a parade of new arrivals—more flyboys and self-zipping brunettes. Jolly glad to see one another, they were blocking the exit with their fashionably lateness. But if Tinker and Eve were at Whileaway, they wouldn't be stuck in the lobby; they'd be adding sparks to the hour in the company of friendly foursomes. As I reached the bottom stair I figured it was twenty steps to the door and half a mile to the train.

—Katey!

A woman marching out of the great room caught me off guard. But I should have known who it was from the pace of her approach.

—Bitsy . . .

—Jack and I are positively rotten about Wally rushing off to Spain.

She had two glasses of champagne and thrust one in my hand.

—I know he's been saying for months he intended to join up, but no one thought he'd go through with it. Especially after you came along. Are you beside yourself?

—I'm doing all right.

—Of course you are. Have you heard from him?

—Not yet.

—Then no one has. Let's figure out when we can lunch. You and I are going to be fast friends this fall. That's a promise. But come say hi to Jack.

At the entrance to the great room Jack was having a good laugh with a girl named Generous, who appeared anything but. Even at ten feet you could tell she was spinning a yarn at a friend's expense. As Jack introduced me, I wondered how long I'd have to chat before I could extricate myself politely.

—Go back to the beginning, Jack told Generous. It's priceless!

—All right, she said with expert weariness—as if boredom had been invented the day she was born. Do you know Tinker and Evelyn?

—She was in the car wreck with them, Bitsy said.

—Then you're definitely going to want to hear this.

Freshly back from the Continent, Generous explained, Tinker and Eve were spending the weekend at Whileaway in one of the guesthouses. And that morning, while everyone was having a dip, Tinker had admired
Splendide.

—That's Holly's yawl, Jack explained.

—His
baby
, Generous corrected. He leaves it bobbing on its buoy so everyone can ooh and aah. Anyhow. Your friend was going on and on about the boat and just like that, all nonchalant, Holly says,
Why don't you two take her for a spin?
Well, you could have burned us to the ground like Atlanta—Holly lending his boat! But he and Tinker had planned the whole thing, you see—the swim on the dock, the on and on, the nonchalance. There was even a bottle of bubbly and a stuffed chicken stowed on board.

—What does that tell you? asked Jack.

—That someone's thrown in the towel, said Bitsy.

There it was again. That slight stinging sensation of the cheeks. It's our body's light-speed response to the world showing us up; and it's one of life's most unpleasant feelings—leaving one to wonder what evolutionary purpose it could possibly serve.

Jack held up an imaginary trumpet and gave it a
bah bup bup baah
as everyone laughed.

—But here comes the best part, said Jack, egging Generous on.

—Holly assumed they'd be out for an hour or two. Six hours later, they still hadn't come back. Holly began worrying they'd made a run for Mexico. When up to the dock come two brats in a dory. They say they came across
Splendide
—run aground on a sandbar. And the man on board promised them twenty dollars if they could find him a tow.

—God save us from romantics, said Bitsy.

Someone ran up wild-eyed, choking with laughter.

—They're coming in. Towed by a lobster boat!

—We've got to see this, said Jack.

Everyone made for the terrace. I made for the front door.

I suppose I was in a state of modified shock; though God knows why. Anne had seen it coming for months. Wyss too. The whole crowd at Whileaway seemed prepped and ready to gather on the dock for the impromptu celebration.