To Have and to Hold Page 18

  “What does that mean?” Alice looks up at James, who watches her closely as she reads. “Was Jackson her husband?”

  “You should read the book, it will tell you everything. It’s basically her autobiography very thinly disguised as fiction. Her husband in the book is completely based on her real husband, and just in case you’re interested, my grandparents in the book are Jean and Eddie.”

  “Your grandfather’s name was Eddie?”

  “No. He was actually Andrew Rollingford the Third, but in The Winding Road he appears as Edward Rutherford the Third.”

  Alice laughs. “Oh. Rather too close for comfort I would think.”

  “That’s the point. It was completely obvious who everyone was.”

  “Did anyone sue?”

  “Believe it or not, once upon a time America wasn’t the litigious society it is today.”

  “In other words people didn’t drive into a tree and sue the tree for dangerous planting?”

  James laughs. “Exactly. So no, nobody sued, but nobody spoke to her for years either, which in a small community like this was just as bad, if not worse.”

  “So what did she do?”

  “Eventually she moved farther north, out to Old Saybrook.”

  “She ran away? I’m surprised.”

  “Surprised? Why?”

  “I know this sounds bizarre, but living here in the house, knowing that she lived here, sometimes I just sort of feel that I know her, know what she was thinking.”

  James raises his eyebrows.

  “Oh God. I told you it was bizarre. I suppose it’s just that I’ve been restoring the house, and every time I discover something, like that wainscoting on the wall that was hidden since the sixties, I think, yes. Rachel Danbury would have liked that.”

  “No. That makes sense. But enough about Rachel Danbury. I’d love to hear more about you. It’s not often we get such a glamorous and beautiful neighbor, not to mention one with such a wonderful accent. How on earth did you come to be living out here?”

  Glamorous and beautiful. Alice cannot help but smile. Flirtatious? No, not yet, but she can tell from the way he’s looking at her that he definitely finds her attractive, and even though Alice would never ever flirt with anyone, nor encourage anyone to think she might possibly be interested in any kind of liaison whatsoever, there’s no harm in enjoying a coffee with an attractive man who finds her both glamorous and beautiful. After all, if Kay had popped in to find Joe sitting here, Alice has no doubt the pair of them would have had coffee.

  At the very least.

  “It’s a long story,” she smiles. “Would you like some cake to go with your coffee? It’s a homemade coffee crumb.”

  His eyes widen? “A homemade coffee crumb? My goodness, you cook too. Is there anything you can’t do?”

  “Don’t tell anyone”—Alice grins and lowers her voice—“but I’m a terrible ironer.”

  “I think that’s allowed,” James says with a wink. And Alice, despite herself, is surprised to feel her cheeks redden as a hot flush springs upon her face.

  “So how was your day?” Alice curls her feet underneath her and sinks back into the cushions as she puts her book down.

  “Exhausting.” Joe leans back in his chair and closes down his computer screen. “I swear to God that five-thirty train is a killer. Thank God I’m in the city tonight. Early night for me.”

  “You say that every night and then you force yourself awake for Seinfeld.”

  “Not tonight. Tonight I’m planning on being asleep by ten. So what have you done today?”

  “Not much. Snoop and I went to the beach this morning, I dropped a note into Sally and Chris’s mailbox to thank them for last night, and I found a lovely old breakfront at the consignment—”

  “What’s a breakfront?”

  “A dresser. For the kitchen. To put plates in. They call it a breakfront over here, although I had no idea what the woman was talking about at first. Anyway I’m going to paint it and stencil some roses on.”

  “Sounds lovely.” Joe is distracted.

  “And I had coffee with James this morning.”

  “James who?”

  “James, Kay’s husband.”

  That got his attention. “What? What do you mean?”

  “I mean he dropped the Rachel Danbury book off and he had coffee here, told me some of the local gossip.”

  “Oh? Anything interesting?” Joe waits to hear if Kay will be mentioned, but Alice merely talks about Rachel Danbury for a while until Joe grows bored.

  “All right, darling, I have to go now, I’m incredibly busy.” Joe signals to a colleague who’s waiting patiently for Joe to pack up and come out for a drink.

  “Where are you off to?”

  “A client meeting. I should be back at the apartment by nine. Are you coming in tomorrow?”

  Alice sighs. “Yes. I should be in the city by lunchtime.”

  “Great. Don’t forget we’ve got that charity thing at the Met tomorrow. What are you going to wear?”

  Alice snorts. Back in London Joe wasn’t the slightest bit interested in what she was going to wear, as long as she looked beautiful. “Don’t worry,” she says, knowing how much it bothers him that she spends most of her time now in jeans and boots. “I won’t be wearing jeans and a gray sweatshirt if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Don’t be silly, I know you wouldn’t, that’s not what I meant.” But he breathes a sigh of relief. “Black suits you,” he adds, just in case she was thinking of chinos.

  “I know, I know, and everyone in New York wears black. I thought maybe a Ralph dress.”

  Joe has no idea what the dress is like but he hears Ralph Lauren and relaxes. “Perfect,” he says. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

  18

  Joe buries his face in the towel, wiping the sweat from his eyes, and grins up at Kay. “Great game.”

  “You played well today too.” She smiles, undoing her ponytail and shaking her dark hair onto her shoulders, then turning to wave good-bye to their doubles partners.

  “We’ll meet you up at the clubhouse,” they shout, as Joe and Kay nod their assent and wave them off.

  “I’m surprised I played so well.” Joe stands up and starts to gather his things, zipping his rackets into their covers and tucking his tennis balls into his bag. “Given that there were so many distractions.”

  “There were?”

  “Those, for starters.” Joe looks pointedly down at Kay’s smooth legs and raises his eyes slowly to meet hers, daring her to flirt with him, to take this further, hoping that she’ll take responsibility for whatever might happen between them in the future.

  Kay smiles seductively and walks off with a flick of her hair. “We aim to please,” she says with a pout over her shoulder as she crosses the court. “I’ll see you at the clubhouse.”

  This happens every time they play tennis. For the last few weeks they’ve gradually become more and more flirtatious, and he’s quite sure she’s up for it, yet every time he dares her to take it further, she just smiles and seems to back down.

  Not that he’s even sure he wants to take it further. Naturally he’d like to have sex with her, what red-blooded male wouldn’t, but Joe is not stupid, and Highfield is a small town, and he is fully aware of how people like to talk. His father may have dirtied his own doorstep with his regular affairs with neighbors, but Joe has never been particularly turned on by the prospect of being discussed by everyone in town.

  However, too much freedom can be a very dangerous thing, and Joe is finding that the more time he spends in the city without Alice, the more he feels like the bachelor of days of old, and the less point he sees in remaining faithful.

  And, Christ, the women here are something else. The women he knew in London were beautiful, but not a patch on the women he sees every day walking down the streets of Manhattan.

  Groomed beyond perfection, their hair is glossy, their lips are shining, their bodies
are taut, and their heels are high. In other words, they are exactly his type. And you can hardly blame him for being tempted, he figures. After all, it’s not as if Alice is keeping up her side of the bargain. Alice, who was the perfect companion in London, is now slopping about in old clothes and Timberland boots. Every time she accompanies him to a restaurant or a charity event, he holds his breath, terrified she’ll make a sartorial error of judgment and turn up in jeans or a plaid shirt.

  So far she’s managed to make the effort, but even so, he can see the other women looking at her, assessing her clothes, dismissing her when they realize it’s not this season’s Givenchy or the latest Galliano. Joe has had to drag her to Bergdorf Goodman and practically force her to try on a confectionery of clothes.

  Alice, who used to be so excited by shopping, now appears as if she couldn’t care less.

  In fact, Alice, bewitched by her love of the country, her charming little house, her fulfillment of a lifelong dream, is discovering that she is no longer under Joe’s spell. Of course she still loves him—he is her husband, after all—but she no longer has to pretend to be something she’s not in order to please him, to please his friends.

  The insecurity and need to be loved, to be accepted, has left her somewhere along the journey from London to Connecticut, and her newfound happiness is not the only fundamental change in Alice. Alice has a confidence that was missing before. She finally looks like a woman who is comfortable in her skin.

  Even the fact that Joe is in Manhattan by himself for a part of each week (gradually becoming a longer and longer part as each week goes by, for the more time Alice spends in the country, the more reluctant she is to leave) no longer fills her with fear.

  The days when she would accuse him of having affairs, felt sick when he wasn’t answering his mobile phone, feel like a lifetime ago. Now she barely thinks about Joe when he isn’t around, phones him only when she remembers or when she needs him to pick up a lamp or a cushion from Gracious Home.

  And Joe, used to Alice needing him, is starting to feel neglected. The women he passes in the streets assess him coolly, smile invitingly, and occasionally start up a conversation. Up until now he has smiled in return and entered into a brief conversation if pushed, but has never taken it further.

  Despite his vows, Joe is not sure how much longer he can remain abstinent. The women are perhaps that bit too beautiful, too persistent, and his wife that bit too absent.

  Alice has fallen in love again, with her life in the country. Isn’t it only fair that Joe should find a new interest of his own too?

  “Hello? Is anyone home?”

  Alice puts The Winding Road back on her bedside table—is she ever going to have time to read this book?—and clatters down the stairs to find Sandy standing in her living room, Snoop leaping up to try to give her a kiss hello.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Is this a bad time?”

  “Don’t be silly. Come in and sit down.” Alice gestures to the kitchen stools, delighted to have some company. As happy as she is, when Joe and Gina are in their respective apartments in the city, Alice is beginning to find that she is growing lonely on her own. Her days are filled with projects—painting, restoring, shopping—but when the projects are over she is forced to admit that she could do with some friends.

  “But I thought you were meeting people?” Emily had said on the phone when Alice confessed her loneliness.

  “I am, but at this moment I’d say they were still acquaintances.”

  Emily had shrugged. “You can’t expect instant friendships, it takes time. But it will happen.”

  Alice tries to go out every afternoon. If not shopping, then to the park or down to the beach to give Snoop a long walk. She does talk to people, Snoop being the perfect conversation-starter, but having a quick chat with someone about her dog is not the easiest way to segue into inviting someone over for a coffee and instant friendship.

  Sandy sits down on the stool and places a folder on the kitchen counter. “I brought these for you. Newcomers’ Club.”

  “Newcomers what?” Alice picks up the folder, intrigued.

  “It’s the Newcomers’ Club. Almost every town has one, and I know it sounds cheesy, but you wouldn’t believe the number of people I know who met their oldest and dearest friends at the Newcomers’ Club when they first moved here.”

  “But what is it?”

  “It’s an organization for people who have recently moved here, and every week there’s something going on for people new to the neighborhood. Look.” Sandy picks up the current issue and flicks through. “See here? Next Friday is the Dinner Club. Every month we meet up and go to different people’s houses for dinner. There’s a different theme each month, and everyone brings a different dish. So next week it’s Spanish, and Julie and Brad, who are hosting, will make a paella, and the rest of us are bringing assorted tapas.”

  “It sounds lovely,” Alice lies, thinking it sounds unbearably parochial.

  “I know, I know,” Sandy laughs. “Sally told me what you’d say. And when I first moved here I thought I’d never do something as dreadful as join Newcomers, but how do you think I found friends?”

  “Really? But normal people? People you would have been friendly with otherwise?” Alice is still dubious.

  “Absolutely. How do you think I met Sally and Chris?”

  “You’re not going to let me say no, are you?”

  “Actually . . .” Sandy makes a face. “Not only am I not going to let you say no, I need a partner to help me run HomeFront, and I’ve decided you’re the woman.”

  “Well, thank you. I’m very flattered,” Alice says in an extremely dubious tone, “but what exactly is HomeFront?”

  “Every month we do something to do with the home. Like a few months ago we visited an interior designer’s house and studio, and she gave a really interesting talk about putting a room together. And then one time we visited a paint effect expert who gave us a demonstration on how to crackle-glaze a table.”

  “Oh God.” Alice can’t help herself. “That sounds exactly my kind of thing.”

  “Exactly! See, it’s not awful. I thought you’d like it, so how about getting involved in running it with me?”

  “Do I have to stand around and make small talk with people I don’t know? Because I’m not very good at that.”

  “Rubbish. You look like you’re perfect at that. But this is the bit where I get presumptuous.”

  “Go on.”

  “Next Tuesday we’re having a florist who’s going to give us a demonstration of really fun flower arrangements for dinner parties. It was going to be at someone else’s house, but she’s busy, and I’m having my living room painted so I can’t do it at mine . . .”

  “So you want to have it here?”

  Sandy grimaces. “Could we?”

  “Of course! Although it’s pretty small. How many people do you think will come?”

  “At the moment I’ve had four replies, but I would think around twelve probably.”

  “That sounds fine. And what do I need to do? Drinks? Food?”

  “Oh no, maybe just some sodas and snacks, but don’t go crazy. Oh, I’m so glad you’re going to do this, and you’ll meet so many nice people.”

  “You know what, Sandy, it’s exactly what I need right now.”

  “Good. That’s what I was hoping. And if you hate absolutely everyone there I promise I won’t make you do it again.”

  At six o’clock on Tuesday evening Alice’s house is gleaming. Bowls of roses perch prettily on polished cherry tables, and Alice, who couldn’t possibly have people over and serve them merely bowls of chips and peanuts, has spent the morning preparing elaborate hors d’oeuvres.

  Her pork and ginger wontons are fanned out on a large platter, sticks of chicken satay are waiting in the fridge, and homemade California rolls are sitting next to bowls of soy and small pyramids of wasabi.

  Snoop has been banished to the bedroom—the wontons on the coffee table are far too
much of a temptation for him—and Alice has lit perfumed candles that are just starting to fill the air with the smell of oranges and cinnamon.

  Now that November is under way, it’s cold enough for a fire, but the fire gives off so much heat so quickly, Alice doesn’t want twelve women to suffer heatstroke. Instead she lights three huge candles and puts them in the fireplace instead.

  At 6:15 Sandy is the first to arrive. “Good Lord,” she says, walking in carrying a large cake box. “It looks beautiful in here. I still cannot believe what you’ve done to this house.”

  “Thank you.” Alice feels a rush of pleasure as she looks around at her home.

  “I swear, I would never have believed this house could look the way it does today when I first showed it to you.” She smiles at her. “You’re clearly so much more than a pretty face.”

  “I should hope so!” Alice is indignant, but pleased. “So how many people are coming?”

  “Ah. A few more than I thought. I think there’ll be seventeen, and there are a couple of people who usually come but who didn’t reply, so it’s going to be a bit cozy but . . . oh my goodness!” She tails off as she notices the food. “Alice, look at all the trouble you went to. Look at all this delicious food! Where did you get it? Oh my.” Sandy puts a hand on her chest. “Now I feel guilty. I’m supposed to be your partner, and all I did was bring a cheesecake and you’ve provided a feast. Oh no.”

  “Oh, don’t be so ridiculous. I made it all this morning in about an hour.”

  “You made it? All this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even the sushi?”

  “Yes. Trust me. It’s much easier than it looks. In a former life I used to be a caterer, so this was nothing.”

  “Now isn’t that interesting? You meet people here and think that they’re wives and mothers and you never think about the possibility of them having a career as well, then all of a sudden you discover they had these fantastically interesting lives before moving here. You’re obviously one talented lady.”