The Life She Wanted: A Novel(62)
It struck Pandora that Millie could be a perfect fit for Riverview Press. She told Virginia about Millie and her sharp secretarial skills.
“She sounds like exactly what we need,” Virginia said excitedly. “I could pay her more than she’s earning now. If she’s good, in a year we could make her a part owner. That’s the best way to win an employee’s loyalty.”
Pandora smiled at her best friend.
“You sound like a proper businesswoman.”
“I’m not going to stop there,” Virginia reflected. “We’re going to publish books of literary criticism written by women. The literary critics at the New York Times and the New Yorker are men, so of course they review books written by men. I’m going to change that.” Virginia adjusted her hat. “Before I forget, Archie sent a present. I’m supposed to tell you what it is if it hasn’t arrived.”
A few months earlier, Lucy’s father had become ill, and Lucy had moved back to St. Louis to take care of him. Archie was still in London, and the wedding had been postponed until Lucy’s father recovered.
Archie wrote to Pandora saying he was enjoying London more than he imagined. He spent his weekends at Oxford and his evenings attending concerts and lectures. Pandora missed him, but she was pleased that he was happy. It reassured her that she had done the right thing by not telling him that he was Esme’s father.
“We haven’t gotten any packages from England,” Pandora said to Virginia.
“It’s the new Winnie-the-Pooh book, The House at Pooh Corner,” Virginia answered. “It was released a few months ago; Archie got a signed copy.”
“Esme will adore it,” Pandora replied, picking up her rag. “I’ll have to write and thank him.”
Guests began to arrive, and Harley still wasn’t home. Pandora called the townhouse again, but there was no answer. She tried the bank even though it was Saturday, but the switchboard confirmed that the offices were closed.
Harley had been so excited about Esme’s birthday party. He’d planned to make pitchers of gin Rickeys, which were all the rage since F. Scott Fitzgerald described them in The Great Gatsby. Milton would have to fix the drinks when he arrived.
Pandora wore a dress she designed especially for the party. Pink wool with a white bow-tie neckline and pleated skirt. She surveyed the living room. The nanny, Sally, stood in the corner, holding Esme’s hand. Just seeing Esme—her round blue eyes, the blond ringlets that framed her face—made her feel better. She was about to go over to them when Owen and Lillian approached her.
“There’s our hostess,” Lillian remarked. “We were beginning to worry that neither you nor Harley were here.”
Lillian wore a drop-waisted velvet dress with a green shawl. Her diamond ring sparkled on one hand and a sapphire ring on the other.
“Harley got held up in the city,” Pandora said, hoping she sounded convincing. “There’s plenty to eat and drink. Milton is going to make a pitcher of gin Rickeys when he gets here.”
“Gin Rickeys remind me of Princeton,” Owen reflected. His skin was more pallid than the last time Pandora saw him, and his trousers were snug around his waist. “Someone was always making a pitcher of some kind of cocktail.”
“Owen is always talking about Princeton,” Lillian chided. “He spends almost as much time at the Princeton Club as he does at home. I suppose all young husbands are the same. I heard that Harley practically lives at the townhouse in New York.”
Pandora wished she had a drink. “Harley has to be in New York. His father made him vice president of the bank.”
“You must be proud of him; our husbands work so hard,” Lillian gushed. She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I just came from Dr. Bancroft. We’re going to have another baby. It’s quite soon, Owen Jr. is only six months old.” Lillian patted her stomach. She flashed a smile. “Owen and I love children, and I suppose this is what happens when we can’t keep our hands off each other.”
Pandora took Esme from Sally and greeted the other guests. Everyone cooed and aahed over Esme, and Pandora willed herself to enjoy the party. Willie arrived with a teddy bear almost as big as Esme. Adele never appeared. Pandora called Blythdale, and the maid told her that Mrs. Enright was lying down. Pandora tried not to think about how strange that was or how lonely she felt at the party without Adele or Harley.
Finally, the party was over, and the last guests drove away. Pandora was about to go upstairs when a car pulled into the driveway. It was Milton. Milton and Harley must have come together. Pandora was filled with relief. But only Milton was in the car; the passenger seat was empty.
“Pandora,” Milton said, climbing the steps. “Can I come in?”
“Of course. You missed the party,” she said. “The last guests just left.”
“I’m terribly sorry.” He followed her inside.
“Where’s Harley? Did something happen?”
“Why don’t we go into the living room,” Milton suggested. “I wouldn’t mind a brandy.”
Pandora sat across from Milton on the sofa. Her father-in-law was usually so relaxed and confident. This afternoon, everything about him seemed out of character. He wore a business suit even though it was Saturday, and his tie was askew. His brow was creased into a frown, and there were deep lines around his mouth.