“You mustn’t believe that.” Virginia squeezed her hand. “Think of when you first fell in love with Owen. You wouldn’t have fallen for him if there hadn’t been something special between you.”
Pandora let her mind wander to the summer four years ago when she was sixteen. It was the first week of June, and the Van Luyens were hosting a picnic.
Pandora’s mother left when she was ten, and Pandora and her father, Willie, lived in a cottage on the grounds of Riverview. Pandora really never got over her mother’s leaving. It colored everything she did. But she was fairly happy living at Riverview. Willie became the Van Luyens’ private tennis instructor, and after school and during the summers, Pandora helped Esther, the cook. The afternoon she met Owen, she had chopped the potatoes for the potato salad and cut the watermelon into wedges.
She had planned to go back to her room to read the copy of Vogue that Virginia had loaned her. It had an article about one of her idols, the French fashion designer Jean Patou. Instead, she found herself gazing out the window at the young people gathered on the lawn. They were playing croquet, and someone had set up a badminton net.
The back door opened, and Owen entered. He seemed to be around Archie’s age, a year older than Pandora. He looked debonair in striped suspenders and a panama hat.
“Pandora,” he said in greeting. “I was sent in to get lemonade and more of that potato salad.”
Pandora quickly turned from the window, hoping Owen hadn’t noticed that she had been staring. She walked to the icebox and took out a large bowl.
“I helped Esther with the potato salad; she makes the mayonnaise herself,” Pandora said. “She uses double the amount of egg yolks as in the recipe.”
She didn’t know why she was discussing potato salad; she had no interest in cooking. For some reason, she didn’t want Owen to leave. She had seen him at Riverview before, but he was always with Archie. There was something about his smile and the easy way he carried himself that made her want to talk to him.
“Tell Esther it’s delicious,” Owen said companionably. He gathered the bowl. “Perhaps you can carry the lemonade. It’s too much to carry by myself.”
“Of course,” Pandora said, chiding herself for not offering.
Owen waited while she took the pitcher of lemonade from the icebox.
“Why don’t you join us,” he suggested. “I could use a badminton partner.”
“I wasn’t invited to the picnic,” Pandora answered.
If Virginia were there, Pandora might have joined them. But Virginia was at a friend’s sweet-sixteen party. And Archie was too busy fending off the advances of a group of girls to notice that Pandora wasn’t there.
“I’m sure the Van Luyens wouldn’t mind,” Owen said encouragingly. “Archie always tells me they treat you as part of the family.”
Pandora’s face flushed with pleasure. Archie and Owen had been talking about her.
“I’ve never played badminton, but I could try,” she said, hugging the lemonade pitcher a little too tightly.
“Excellent!” Owen beamed. “Afterward you can tell me more about Esther’s potato salad recipe. I’m always hungry.”
At that moment, with the sun making diamond shapes on Owen’s hatband and his smile pointed directly at her, she felt as if something special had passed between them. No one had ever paid much attention to her before, and Owen was so handsome and assured. Yet it went deeper than that: she felt it in her heart. She had to be falling in love; there was no other explanation for how she felt.
The image dissolved, and Pandora brought her mind back to the present. She flopped back on the bed.
“It’s no use. The Winthrops want Lillian Clarkson, with her knowledge of French champagne, as their daughter-in-law. They don’t want the daughter of their neighbors’ tennis instructor.”
“Don’t worry about that. What are you going to wear tonight?” Virginia asked. “It has to be something stunning so Owen can’t take his eyes off you.”
Pandora took a dress from the hanger. She had been working on it for weeks.
The dress was white lace with butterfly sleeves. The floor-length skirt was threaded with silver beads, and it had an appliqué bodice, which she had topped with a lace wrap decorated with pink and yellow flowers.
Pandora had used the fabric from a dress that Virginia had given her from her season. Pandora’s allowance paid for the beads, and she found the flowers for the wrap in a chest of dress-up clothes in the Van Luyens’ nursery.
Virginia held it up to the light and made a low whistle.
“It’s breathtaking. It deserves to be on the runway in Paris.”
“Do you really think so?” Pandora inquired.
“Who needs Owen Winthrop,” Virginia declared. “You’re so talented.”
“I can be a fashion designer and raise a family too,” Pandora replied. “Women have more options now.”
“I agree about love, especially sex. It’s the marriage part I’m not sure about,” Virginia said naughtily.
Pandora smiled to herself. She and Virginia were different in so many ways, but they adored each other and were as close as sisters.
“Anyway, this isn’t the time to discuss it,” Virginia said. “You get dressed and I’ll do your makeup. Dark kohl under your eyes and red lipstick.”
“I’ve never worn lipstick before,” Pandora objected.
“Well, it’s time you started. All the young women in New York use lipstick,” Virginia commented. “I wish we were the same shoe size; you could wear the pumps Mother bought for me in London. Hand-painted satin from Stead and Simpson.”
“If I did, what would you wear?” Pandora frowned.
Virginia twirled the straw hat. Her expression changed and she looked slightly guilty.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I won’t be at dinner. I hoped you could cover for me.”
Pandora’s eyes opened wide.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not doing anything wrong.” Virginia fiddled with the hatband. “But you’re right, my parents wouldn’t approve. I’m going to borrow Archie’s car and drive to Woodstock. I’ll be back before midnight.”
“What’s in Woodstock?”
“A writers’ colony called Byrdcliffe. I learned about it from an English professor at Smith. I’m going to have dinner with the couple that founded it. They’re considering hosting literary salons and opening them to the public.”
Pandora had heard about writers’ colonies in the Hudson Valley. They were more like communes. The residents grew their own food and dined together in one large dining room.
Pandora still thought Virginia wasn’t telling her something.
“Wouldn’t it be safer to do that during the day? You’re not an experienced driver.”
Virginia stood up. She put on her hat.
“I know how to steer and brake, what else is there to know? Don’t worry about me,” she said. “We need to focus on getting you ready. I’ll be right back.”
She returned a few minutes later with a black velvet jewelry case. Inside was a diamond-and-sapphire choker necklace. She fastened it around Pandora’s neck and stepped back to admire it.