Suddenly, she realized I was there and spun on me. "What are you wearing tonight? Not that same black dress?"
"It
's the only formal thing I have. Bunny."
"Oh, dear. dear. I should have asked you earlier and taken you to Monique's for something just out of Paris. At least wear my best pearls. You don't have to worry about them. You're only going to be on the grounds."
"Okay," I said. relenting more to escape than anything.
She didn't forget. Ten minutes later. a maid delivered them to my room,
While I rested for the party. I called home. The phone rang and rang, but Miles didn't answer. I hated bothering Mr. Bassinger. I should have gone home by now and checked everything for myself. Perhaps Miles had just left to do some shopping, or perhaps he was sleeping. I made a mental note to call again in an hour or so.
I didn't. however. I became too engrossed in my preparations for the party, and then Thatcher came by to see how I was doing, and soon after that, he and I descended and began to meet people who were arriving in their limousines and Rolls Royces and Mercedes. The music had started. The servants were circulating with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Women in very expensive-looking designer gowns and dazzling jewelry were everywhere. These people all acted as if they hadn't seen each other for years. when I knew from what I overheard that many had seen each other at least twice this week alone.
Finally. I met Thatcher's sister. Whitney. and her husband. Hans, who looked every bit of twenty years older than she was. He was stout and bald with just a trim patch of pale yellow hair along his freckled skull. Whitney was taller than Hans, even an inch or so taller than Thatcher, with a longer, leaner face. Her thin lips pursed together into a fine line when she wasn't talking or eating or smiling what I thought was a forced smile. Her eves were darker. more critical and unforgiving. albeit nicely shaped. Her posture was stiff. and as she perused the guests, her head moved almost as if it were totally independent of the rest of her body. How did someone so stern-looking come from two such fluffy parents?
"My mother has told me a great deal about you." she said when she took my hand. Hers felt cold, but she held mine as firmly as would a man. "Most of it ridiculous. I'm sure," she added.
"Well, I don't know what she told you. but I'll try to live up to the good things," I said. and Thatcher laughed, She raised her eyebrows at him and then looked at me with more curiosity.
I thought Hans was polite and nice enough, but he was quickly distracted by the food and some friends he recognized. Standing behind them during the introductions were their two children. Thatcher's niece Laurel and nephew Quentin. They were like two well-trained puppies. Fortunately, while Quentin was nearly a clone of Hans. Laurel looked as if she had inherited the softer features of Thatcher and Whitney's side of the family. As I would expect, they looked as if they had been forced to come and were bored the moment they stepped into the house. It was painfully obvious to them that they were the only teenagers attending.
I was introduced to so many people so quickly my head began to spin. Asher seemed as eager to bring me around as did Thatcher or Bunny, stealing me away to hold onto his arm as if he had discovered me. They made me feel a bit like Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady, the poor girl who was changed into a sophisticated princess. Bunny even embarrassed me a bit by announcing that I was wearing her pearls. Out of the corner of my eye. I saw Whitney shaking her head in disapproval and whispering into some woman's ear, turning her expression into a mirror of her own critical one. It was as if her words were eardrops that could make all the women at the party of one face.
Thatcher finally rescued me and took me out onto the dance floor they had created over the pool. Under the streaming lights and the blazing stars, with the twenty-six-piece orchestra seemingly playing for us and us alone. I felt swept up in his arms. When I looked about. I saw that most eyes were on us. Whitney's the most envious of all. perhaps. Asher and Bunny were standing by, looking like the duke and duchess who had found and even created the proper woman for their prince. Eventually, other people joined us. and I didn't feel as self-conscious about every step and turn we made.
The food was as extravagant as could be: fresh lobster and prawns, prime rib and filets with sauces that came directly off menus from France's best restaurants, vegetables so dressed and seasoned I didn't recognize carrots and peas, and tables of fish dishes from Dover salmon to octopus. The Viennese dessert table seemed a mile long, with pastries and cakes that reeked of calories.
"You can gain weight just looking at it." I told Thatcher.
He looked so handsome, happy, and lighthearted. I didn't think it was possible to give him a better gift than the gift of truth I had given him earlier. He as much as said so when he leaned over to whisper. "Willow, you are the first girl I have been with who makes me feel safe and with whom I don't have to put on airs or be defensive. Thanks for trusting me."
His words lifted me. We stole a quick kiss and then danced again. I didn't think I would enjoy such an opulent, ostentatious party. but I wished it would never end. that Thatcher and I would somehow get stuck in time, that the earth itself would stop spinning, and we would be like the figures on John Keats's famous urn, whose beauty would never fade, whose love would never wilt. I'd willingly surrender forever to this wonderful night. I thought.
But nights do end, and stars do sink into the light of day.
When Thatcher and I twirled to the corner of the dance floor, I was able to see beyond the stream of lights and the party. I could see the dock.
My mother was standing there, holding her lantern.
My heart skipped a beat. and I squeezed Thatcher's arm so tightly he paused.
"What is it?"
"Something's wrong," I said. "Grace." I nodded toward the dock, and he looked at me with concern.
Quietly, we slipped away and hurried down to her.
"Grace," he called as we hurried onto the dock. "What's wrong?"
"Linden," she said, turning to me, her eyes blood-red with worry.
She didn't have to say it. I said it for her.
"He hasn't come back."
16