“Each of the four seasons,” Adelaide explained as she showed me the carved marble figures. “And look, their pedestals are inscribed with the names of your many friends.”
“And what’s this?” I looked at a marker embedded in the middle of the patio and read aloud the inscription: Friendship outstays the hurrying flight of years and aye abides through laughter and through tears.
“Words spoken by Tsarina Alexandra, the last empress of Russia,” Eleanor explained. The woman who had perished along with her husband the tsar and their five young children; the woman whose family treasure filled my home.
Dina came close and handed me a rolled paper. “From your friends, Mother.”
“So many,” I said, uncurling the list—an endless catalog of names.
“Almost two hundred gave to help make your Friendship Walk,” Adelaide answered. Through laughter and through tears, my inscription said. At that moment, surrounded by my girls, presented with the love of so many at a place they’d seen fit to label Friendship Walk, I felt myself filling with both.
Chapter 47
Washington, D.C.
Fall 1957
The fact of the matter, plain and simple, was that I enjoyed being in love.
My heart was not yet too tired or unwilling to try it again, even after the aches it had suffered. So when I met a charming, attractive man by the name of Herbert May at a luncheon at Adelaide’s home, it happened that my heart began to swell with new excitement.
I arrived that afternoon feeling relaxed and happy, dressed in a one-shoulder gown of navy, stunning blue diamonds formerly owned by Napoleon and his empress at my neck and ears. The luncheon, which was to raise money for my alma mater, the Mount Vernon Seminary, was for about fifty people, and Adelaide had set up tables and chairs in her drawing room. As the meal was announced, my daughter whisked me toward my seat and introduced me to a tall, well-dressed man who was assigned to the same table. “Mother, please meet Mr. Herbert May. He’s been very generous to the school.”
I smiled at the gentleman, momentarily taken aback by his trim appearance, his well-tailored suit of dark charcoal and neatly combed gray hair. As Adelaide walked away, he reached forward and took my hand. “Mrs. Post, how are you?”
“Mr. May, thank you for supporting our efforts today. It’s lovely to meet you.”
He cocked his head, a kind, affable smile creasing the skin around his dark green eyes. “Actually, Mrs. Post, we’ve met once before.”
I stood back on my heels. “We have?”
He nodded. “Years ago. You were hosting a party for the hospital in Palm Beach.”
“Ah,” I said with a nod. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember.”
“I don’t blame you,” he said, waving his hands. And then he leaned toward me, and I caught a whiff of his clean, soapy scent as he said, “But of course I didn’t forget you.”
“Please, everyone, take your seats,” my daughter said to the room, and Mr. May hastened to pull my chair out for me. As I accepted this cordial gesture, I noted with delight that he was in fact seated beside me.
“What do you do, Mr. May?” I asked, stealing a sideways look at him as I spread my linen napkin across my lap.
“A little bit of everything, and yet nothing nearly as important as the things you do,” he answered.
“He’s being modest,” Adelaide said as she flitted around our table, greeting guests, ensuring that the settings were all in order—she truly was my daughter.
I arched an eyebrow toward Mr. May. “I’m vice president at Westinghouse,” he said.
I sat up a bit straighter in my chair, staring at Mr. May with increasing admiration—and interest. Not only charming, this man, but also intelligent and successful, from the sound of it. Was this attractive charmer married? I stole a quick glance toward his hand as he sipped his water; I didn’t see anything on his finger to indicate that he was.
“There you are.” Just then, a young woman with a shapely physique and a bob of glossy, dark auburn hair slid into the vacant seat on Mr. May’s other side. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Ah.” Mr. May turned and greeted the young woman with a familiar smile before placing a kiss on her round, rouged cheek. I tried not to let my features sag, even as my heart did.
Mr. May turned back to me and said, “Mrs. Post, please meet my lovely Margot.”
This Margot was young, early twenties I guessed. Well, that settled it. Of course a man as attractive and finely mannered as Mr. May was not unattached. And what interest could he possibly have in someone like me when he could have this woman, decades my junior? I did my best to summon a smile as I said, “Margot, it’s so nice to meet you. My name is Marjorie.”