“That doesn’t mean I’m lazy,” Archie replied. “I like to read in bed, not that you’d know about reading. I’ve never seen you actually crack a book.”
“I get enough of this guy at Princeton. I’m glad you’re here.” Owen leaned forward to Pandora conspiratorially. He had the same warm look in his eyes as when he had invited Pandora to walk by the river after a tennis lesson last month. “I hope you’re staying for the whole weekend.”
Pandora could hardly keep the elation from her expression. But she didn’t want to appear too obvious in front of the other guests.
“It’s lovely that your mother invited me,” she replied, searching for Mabel Winthrop. “I’d love to thank her in person . . .”
It was important that Pandora make a good impression on Owen’s mother. Owen would never be able to marry her if she didn’t. And now, wearing her loveliest dress and feeling like she almost fit in, was the perfect moment for Pandora to meet Mabel for the first time.
“There’ll be time for that this evening,” Owen cut in. “Where’s your bag? You should get changed.”
“Changed?” Pandora repeated, puzzled.
She was dressed as appropriately as any of the young women who had started spilling from the balcony into the drawing room. They milled around in small groups, gossiping and finishing each other’s sentences the way girls did when they’d known each other since nursery school.
“For our tennis match,” Owen said, prompting her. “You’re my mixed doubles partner. We’re playing Gordon Mott and his date, Susan. Gordon is on the tennis team at Harvard.”
Pandora tried to keep the disappointment out of her eyes. She should be happy that Owen wanted to play doubles with her. They’d be together on the tennis court for hours. But she’d imagined strolling around the grounds on Owen’s arm, Owen introducing her to his parents and friends.
A girl about her age appeared beside Owen. She was very pretty. She wore her brunette hair in long curls, and her brown eyes peered out from underneath a broad-brimmed hat.
“Owen, I couldn’t find you,” she said, making a little pout. “You deserted me before you finished showing me the boathouse.”
“There’s time to see the rowboats later,” Owen replied. “I’ve got an important tennis match.”
The girl stood directly opposite Pandora.
“You haven’t introduced me to the new arrivals.” The pout formed on the girl’s lips again.
“Archie, Virginia, Pandora.” Owen waved at the group. “This is Lillian Clarkson; we met in Europe last summer. The Clarksons have a townhouse near ours in Sutton Place, and her father’s steel company does business with Winthrop Motors.”
“Why do men always mention what our fathers do?” Lillian rolled her eyes at Virginia while smiling flirtatiously at Archie. She completely ignored Pandora.
“Your tennis match better be over, and you better be showered and shaved, by the start of cocktails.” Lillian turned back to Owen. She moved closer and touched his arm.
Virginia waited until Owen and Lillian wandered off. Pandora tried to shake the fear that gripped her. Owen hadn’t mentioned Lillian before. What if he didn’t have feelings for Pandora? What if he liked Lillian instead?
“Don’t worry about Lillian Clarkson,” Virginia whispered to Pandora under her breath. “She’s pretty, but she has no brains. She’s as thick as her ankles.”
Virginia was the only person who knew about Pandora’s romantic interest in Owen.
“I didn’t notice Lillian’s ankles,” Pandora said dully. She was still smarting from Owen only talking to her about tennis and then walking off with Lillian.
Virginia took Pandora’s arm and guided her to the staircase.
“That’s because you were busy wondering how to poke her eyes out.” Virginia grinned. “Forget about Lillian, go and change into your tennis clothes. Once you get onto the tennis court, he’ll forget all about Lillian Clarkson and her daddy’s millions.”
Pandora was about to protest that she wasn’t going to use tennis to win Owen; instead, she’d charm him with her wit and intelligence. But she changed her mind. Pandora didn’t have the advantages of Lillian or the other girls. She’d use anything she could to make sure no one stole him away.
The tennis match had started well enough.
Pandora and Owen won the first three games, and Pandora basked in Owen’s praise. Then he played poorly three games in a row and blamed Pandora for distracting him. Pandora was so upset she was tempted to claim a headache and run upstairs. But at that moment, Lillian Clarkson appeared, and Pandora wasn’t about to leave Lillian alone with Owen.
Pandora gritted her teeth through the next two sets, and they ended up winning the match on the strength of her serves. Owen apologized for his behavior, and Pandora convinced herself she didn’t mind. She liked competitive men, and it meant Owen had ambition and drive.
Just as Owen suggested they take a dip in the swimming pool, Lillian brought out a pitcher of orange juice and a bottle of champagne. She told a story about visiting the champagne growers in France the previous summer, and the others told similar vignettes about vineyards in Tuscany and Spain. Even Virginia told a short anecdote about visiting London last July. Pandora had never traveled outside the state of New York; she had nothing to add to the conversation. She drank one glass of champagne, and her imaginary headache became a pounding in her temples that forced her to excuse herself and escape to her room.
The guest room was as magnificent as the public rooms downstairs, and Pandora couldn’t believe she was going to sleep there. The walls were painted sky blue and decorated with a gold leaf motif. A gold-framed mirror took up one wall, and two armchairs faced each other in front of the marble fireplace.
An hour before dinner and dancing would start, Pandora lay on the bed in her guest room, a damp washcloth pressed to her forehead. She had been dreaming about this night for weeks: Owen claiming her and introducing her to the other guests, dancing the first dance together, the stars twinkling down as if they were giving them their blessing. Now she couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm to take a bath and get dressed.
There was a knock followed by Virginia flinging open the door. “There you are.” Virginia flopped into an armchair.
She wore a white pleated skirt and a yellow blouse with Mary Janes and white socks, her dark hair tucked under a straw hat.
“You can’t let Lillian Clarkson upset you because she’s been to Europe. She certainly didn’t soak up any culture. She didn’t mention a single painting at the Louvre.” Virginia took off her hat.
“At least Lillian has been to Europe.” Pandora sat up. “She has something interesting to talk about.”
“Your father was in the semifinals at Wimbledon,” Virginia reminded her. “There’s nothing more interesting than that.” She waved at the books Pandora had placed on the bedside table. “And you’ve read every book on fashion design. Lillian probably hasn’t picked up a book since her nanny read her the Pollyanna books as a child.”
“I was practically a baby when my father played Wimbledon; I don’t know much about it.” Pandora sighed. “And men don’t care about women’s fashion.” She removed the washcloth from her forehead. “All these months, I thought Owen and I were growing close. That by the end of the weekend he might . . .” She couldn’t even admit to her closest friend that she hoped Owen would propose—she might jinx it. “Declare his feelings for me,” she said instead. “Now I’m afraid he only likes me for my serve.”