They rehearsed for thirty minutes. Pandora enjoyed reading the lines; it reminded her of the plays she and Virginia and Archie performed as children. Then Preston said he was hungry.
“Would you like to join us?” Harley asked. “We’re going to raid the kitchen.”
“Isn’t there food by the swimming pool?” Pandora wondered.
Harley leaned forward conspiratorially. “Preston tells everyone he’s too pale to go in the sun, but the truth is, he can’t swim,” he confided. “I promised I’d stay with him. Our cook is protective of her kitchen. She doesn’t like guests rearranging the dishes.”
Harley had an infectious smile. She found herself smiling back at him.
“I’ll remember that if I want a cup of warm milk at night.”
She was tempted to join them, but she had to face Lillian and Owen sometime.
“Thank you, but I’ll go out to the pool,” she said.
Harley held out his hand. His expression was playful as if they now were members of some secret club.
“It was nice to meet you, Pandora Carmichael. If Preston’s play gets produced, I’ll be sure to send you a ticket.”
The swimming pool was at the end of the gardens, overlooking the Hudson River with a pool house and a large area for sunbathing. The grounds were stunning. A walkway lined with statues led down to a marble pergola. Stone benches were scattered around a manicured lawn, and clipped hedges framed a clock garden made entirely of pink carnations.
If only the weekend was about to unfold the way Pandora had imagined when Owen had first mentioned it. She and Owen would have been planning their honeymoon. After everyone had gone to bed, they would have strolled through the clock garden. It wouldn’t matter if anyone saw them; they’d be engaged.
“Pandora, come join us.” Owen’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Lillian and I were talking about you. We’re planning on putting in a tennis court at our new house. Could your father advise us?”
Owen stood with Lillian and a few other young people in front of the pool house. They all wore bathing suits and held French 75 cocktails. Pandora was glad she was wearing her new bathing suit. She had paired it with one of Virginia’s scarves, and she felt stylish and confident.
“Owen wants a clay court, but I prefer grass,” Lillian put in. “Grass courts are more attractive, and you can use them for outdoor parties.”
Lillian’s tone was as sugary as the penny bags of candy Pandora used to buy at the pharmacy, but Pandora saw through her. Everything about Lillian—the casual way she linked her arm through Owen’s, how she waved her left hand in the air—claimed her victory.
“You already found a house?” Pandora asked, hoping her voice didn’t show the pain that welled up inside.
“We started looking,” Lillian corrected her. “Not for anything in Manhattan. Daddy is buying us a townhouse on Park Avenue. We want a place in New York so we can expose our children to museums and theater. The summer estate is where they can run and swim and be with their friends.” Her mouth formed its signature pout. “Owen speaks so fondly of his summers at Rosecliff and Riverview; I almost feel left out.”
If Virginia were there, she would whisper that Lillian had probably never stepped foot in a museum, and the only reason she attended the theater was to show off a new dress. But Virginia was at Byrdcliffe, and Pandora had to face Lillian alone. She wasn’t going to play Lillian’s game anymore. It was time she stood up for herself.
“I’ll ask my father to help you once you find a house,” Pandora offered. She brushed an imaginary thread from her scarf. “That is if he’s not in the South of France.”
“The South of France,” Lillian repeated, as if Pandora had announced her father was taking a boat to Antarctica.
“Didn’t I mention it?” Pandora asked sweetly. “His old pupil Suzanne Lenglen wrote and begged him to visit. She spends the winters at Beaulieu-sur-Mer on the Riviera. She won Wimbledon six times. They call her la Divine, that’s French for ‘the goddess.’ She’s more popular in Europe than Marlene Dietrich.”
Lillian’s face turned as pale as the creamy stone flanking the swimming pool.
“My parents tried to get her autograph at Wimbledon years ago, there was too much of a crowd,” Lillian said. “I didn’t know your father knew her.”
Pandora took her time answering. She wanted to make sure she had everyone’s attention.
“He coached her when he was living in the South of France. She sends a telegram before every tournament to thank him.”
Pandora didn’t mention that Willie had been in a rehabilitation hospital when he worked at the tennis club in Nice. His shoulder hurt so much from the gunshot wound he received during the war that sometimes he could barely hold a racquet. But he had no choice. He had to send money home to Laura and Pandora. It didn’t do any good, though. Laura left him days after his ship docked in New York.
Lillian took Owen’s arm. This time it seemed more out of fear than possession.
“We’ll find a house before Christmas,” Lillian said firmly. “Or we could build one. Then it would be exactly the way we want.” She turned to Owen. “Don’t you agree?”
For the first time, Owen seemed slightly hesitant.
“I’m not sure, architects are expensive, and my father gave us a budget.”
Lillian squeezed Owen’s arm more tightly. Pandora could see the veins on his wrist.
“Don’t be silly, your father will do anything we ask,” Lillian persisted. “I’ll talk to him about it tonight.”
Pandora took a sip of her drink, content.
Pandora spent the rest of the afternoon sitting by the pool by herself. Archie played Marco Polo with some of the other guests, and Pandora watched them. In the early evening she returned to her guest room to get ready for dinner.
The guest room reminded Pandora of an illustration of a Renaissance palazzo in Italy. The floor was black and white marble squares, and the velvet wallpaper had a gold-and-silver pattern. A ceramic pitcher stood on a stand next to a little sink, and the bed had a heavy wooden headboard.
Outside the window, cars came and went in the driveway. Two men emerged from the house that Pandora recognized as Harley and Preston. Preston got into the driver’s seat of a red car. Harley leaned into the window, and they had an animated conversation.
Pandora was about to turn away when a woman caught her attention. It was Adele Enright, hurrying from the side of the house to the driveway. She linked her arm through Harley’s, and they walked up the steps. They paused for a moment at the door, and Adele looked up at Harley’s face.
Adele had spoken so fondly of Harley, Pandora expected to see love and affection in her expression. Instead, she saw something different, something peculiar. It was worry mixed with fear.
Chapter Six
July 1926, Hyde Park, New York
Pandora descended the staircase to the living room for cocktails. Tonight, nothing about her gown was understated. She was determined to outshine Lillian.
She was very proud of her dress. She’d gotten her inspiration from one of Jeanne Lanvin’s earlier designs, a robe de style, which she was famous for. The pink satin bodice had cap sleeves shaped like oysters, and the narrow waist and dropped skirt complemented her slim figure. The skirt was fuller than the popular flapper gowns, almost like a ballerina’s tutu. Pandora added a gauze sash around the waist and gold appliqués to the skirt. The finished effect was worth every penny that the fabric had cost her. Just a touch of lipstick offset her creamy complexion. She glowed.