Vance shrugged. “By watching my elders and betters, I suppose. My mother was always good at making the vicarages we lived in very homey, and that wasn’t always easy. We lived in everything from a run-down thatched cottage to a large, but very seedy Georgian house. I learned a lot by going to the movies, too; the movies were my second home and my university.”
Stone listened gratefully as Vance spun out the story of his childhood in England, happy to have the attention of the group off him.
Finally, the party broke up. Lou and Lola said good night and disappeared upstairs, Dolce went to the powder room, and Vance went to dismiss the cook and butler for the n
ight. Stone found himself alone with Arrington on the front porch.
“It was a lovely evening,” he said.
“I’m so glad you could come”, she replied. “Stone…”
“Yes?”
She seemed to he struggling to speak.
“Are you happy, Arrington?”
She nodded. “In my way. I want you to know that I would have been happier if…”
“Shall we go?” Dolce said, coming out the front door. “This country air is making me sleepy.”
Vance joined them, and they made their good-byes. Arrington held Stone for a moment longer than she should have, but her husband didn’t seem to notice. Dolce, however, did.
On the way home, she said, “Well, that was nice, wasn’t it? You got to see your inamorata again. Was it fun?”
“Dolce,” Stone said, “you and I have known each other for only a few days, and it may surprise you to learn that I had a life before we met. I still have a life, and your place in it is tentative. You embarrassed me tonight, and you frightened my friends. There was absolutely no need to go into my current problems.”
“I’m sorry, Stone,” Dolce said sheepishly. “I apologize; it won’t happen again.”
That night they slept without touching each other. Stone’s mind was elsewhere.
47
S TONE WAS HAVING AN EROTIC DREAM; then he opened his eyes and found that he was not dreaming. Sunlight was streaming through the bedroom windows, and, lifting his head from the pillow, he found himself looking at the top of Dolce’s head. His head fell back, and he emitted a small noise, taking her attention from her work.
She climbed on top of him, taking him inside her, and bent over to kiss him. The sunlight disappeared behind her falling hair, and he gave himself to the moment, which turned out to be longer than a moment. They had christened the house.
Stone lay on his back, sweating, breathing hard, while Dolce went into the bathroom and came back with a warm face cloth and tended to him.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Yes, indeed,” he replied. “I think I’m ruined for the day; I’ll never get out of bed.”
“You rest, and I’ll fix us some breakfast”, she said, then went away.
Stone lay staring at the ceiling, then drifted off. He was awakened by Dolce getting back into bed and by wonderful smells. He sat up and built a backrest of pillows, and Dolce set a tray in his lap. He stared down at scrambled eggs, sausages, English muffins, orange juice, and a thermos of coffee. The Sunday New York Times was on the bed beside him.
“I could get used to this,” he said, buttering or muffin. He looked over, and Dolce was having melon and coffee. “You fattening me up for something?” The eggs were delicious.
“You don’t gain weight,” she said. “I know all about you; you eat and eat, and stay the same size. How do you do that?”
“I chose my parents well; they were both slim all their lives.”
“If I ate everything my aunt Rosaria put in front of me, I would weigh four hundred pounds,” she said.
“Are you named for her?”
“Yes.”