Neither Daisy nor Gatsby asked me to tell him the third story.
“They honeymooned in Hawaii for three months, and then they returned to Santa Barbara just after Christmas. By that time, I was living with Aunt Justine, and she could never bear a New York winter. We were out in Santa Barbara too, so she could catch up with her California friends, and all by chance, we were at the same hotel where Daisy and Tom were staying.
“You never saw a girl so in love, or I hadn’t, anyway. She would sit on the beach with him by the hour, his head on her legs, petting his face as if he were the dearest thing. She never liked to let him out of her sight, and I thought they were on their way to becoming one of those couples joined at the hip and the lip.”
“Jealous?” Nick asked, and I gave him my best withering glance.
“Never of Tom,” I said. “Aunt Justine wanted to go on to Colorado after Santa Barbara, so we left, and I had it by way of Denver Post that Tom had been in a wretched smashup, his car against a wagon on the Ventura Road. They named him, and they named Pilar Velazquez as well.”
“Who’s—”
“The girl who worked at that hotel where he and Daisy were staying.”
Nick shifted, looking uncomfortable.
“Surely he was just taking her home?”
I gave him a long look, and he colored, shaking his head.
“I sound like a fool, don’t I?”
“Of all the people in the world to defend without question, I should think that Tom would not be very high on that list,” I said archly.
“You’re … likely right about that.”
“I am. About nine months after that, in April, little Pammy was born. Then they were off to France for a year, and then it was back to Chicago to set up housekeeping close by Tom’s people. And that … didn’t last, though I don’t know the details of it.”
I frowned at that, and Nick chucked me lightly under the chin.
“Though not for want of digging?”
I smiled at him, wrinkling my nose.
“You’re getting to know me a little better. I never heard much about it, except from Daisy. She never drank like she did that night again, you know, and Chicago’s a hard-drinking town. I know they were planning to stay and then suddenly came East. I know that Tom doesn’t want to go back, but Daisy maybe does. But they’ve settled in the East now, and they’re as snug as oysters in a bucket. Or at least, they were until you showed up.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You and Gatsby.”
He went as pale as paper at that statement, and I made a face, reaching over to squeeze his hand.
“No, not like that. Gatsby’s in love with Daisy. He wants you to invite her over to your house so he can meet her there.”
Nick’s face took on a wondering look.
“He wants to … have an affair with my cousin at my house? My house?”
“Oh … Oh no. No one wants to have an affair there. No. He wants you to bring her over so he can meet her there. Since you’re right next door, you know? He wants it to be … I don’t know. Some kind of beautiful happenstance. A chance meeting where they meet each other through luck and fate.”
“Luck and fate that he asked us to set up.”
I lifted my champagne glass to him in acknowledgment.
* * *
He convinced me to go for a ride in a victoria around Central Park before I returned home to prepare for dinner with Aunt Justine. I would have said no, but after lunch and the morning I knew he must have had with Gatsby, I was feeling closer to him. The privacy of the covered carriage driving through the shady paths of Central Park was more appealing than I had ever found it to be before.