“Naughty, naughty. Did you book it under Mrs. Robinson?”
They were all laughing now.
Old husband, young lover—there was a certain poetry to it. Amber had what she needed, so she jumped into the shower, then rushed back to the office, excuse at the ready to explain her long absence.
Later that day, she got to the bar early and sat with her book and a glass of wine at a table near the back. As it began to fill up, she tried to guess which one he was. She’d settled on the cute blond in jeans when McDreamy walked in. With jet-black hair and bright blue eyes, he was a dead ringer for Patrick Dempsey. His camel-colored cashmere jacket and black silk scarf were meticulously sloppy. He ordered a beer and took a swig from the bottle. Bunny came in, eyes laser-focused on him, and, rushing to the bar, she flung her arms around him. Standing so close a matchbook wouldn’t have fit between them, they were obviously besotted with each other. They finished their drinks and ordered another round. McDreamy put his arm around Bunny’s waist, pulling her even closer. Bunny turned up that adorable little face to him and locked her lips against his. At that precise moment, Amber turned her iPhone to silent, raised it, and snapped several photos of their enraptured display. They finally pulled apart long enough to gulp down the second drink they’d ordered and then leave the bar arm in arm. No doubt they were not going to waste any more time at the bar when the hotel across the street beckoned.
Amber finished her drink and scrolled through the pictures. She was still laughing as she walked to her car. Poor old March would be getting some very enlightening photographs tomorrow. And Bunny—well, Bunny would be too distraught to continue with her duties as Daphne’s cochair.
Nine
Amber had been counting the days until Friday. She would finally get to meet Jackson at dinner, and she was giddy with anticipation. By the time she rang the doorbell, she felt ready to burst.
Daphne greeted her with a dazzling smile, taking her by the hand. “Welcome, Amber. So good to see you. Please, come in.”
“Thanks, Daphne. I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” Amber said as she entered the large hallway.
“I thought we might have a drink in the conservatory before dinner,” Daphne said, and Amber followed her into the room. “What will you have?”
“Um, I think I’d like a glass of red wine,” Amber said. She looked around the room, but Jackson was nowhere in sight.
“Pinot noir okay?”
“Perfect,” Amber said, wondering where the hell Jackson was.
Daphne handed her the glass and, as if reading her mind, said, “Jackson had to work late, so it’ll just be us girls tonight—you, me, Tallulah, and Bella.”
Amber’s exhilaration evaporated. Now she’d have to sit and listen to the mind-numbing chatter of those kids all evening.
Just then Bella came tearing into the room.
“Mommy, Mommy,” she wailed, thrusting herself forward onto Daphne’s lap. “Tallulah won’t read to me from my Angelina Ballerina book.”
Tallulah was right behind her. “Mom, I’m trying to help her read it by herself, but she won’t listen,” she said, sounding like a miniature adult. “I was reading way harder books at her age.”
“Girls. No quarreling tonight,” Daphne said, ruffling Bella’s curls. “Tallulah was just trying to help you, Bella.”
“But she knows I can’t do it,” Bella said, her face still in Daphne’s lap and her voice muffled.
Daphne stroked her daughter’s head. “It’s all right, darling. Don’t worry, you will soon.”
“Come on, ladies,” Daphne addressed them all. “Let’s go out to the deck and have a nice dinner. Margarita made some delicious guacamole we can start with.”
Summer would be coming to an end soon, and there was a slight breeze that held just a hint of cooler days to come. Even a casual dinner on Daphne’s deck took on an air of style and sophistication, Amber thought. Triangular dishes of bright red sat on navy blue place mats, and napkin rings decorated with silver sailboats held blue-and-white-checked napkins. Amber noticed that each place setting was identically placed. It reminded her of the British films about aristocracy, where the waitstaff actually measured every item placed on the dining table. Couldn’t this woman ever relax?
“Amber, why don’t you sit there,” Daphne said, pointing to a chair directly facing the water.
The view, of course, was stunning, with a velvety lawn gently sloping to a sandy beach and the water beyond. She counted five Adirondack chairs clustered on the sand, a few yards back from the water’s edge. How picturesque and inviting it looked.
Bella was eyeing Amber from across the table. “Are you married?”
Amber shook her head. “No, I’m not.”
“How come?” Bella asked.
“Darling, that’s a rather personal question.” Daphne looked at Amber and laughed. “Sorry about that.”
“No, it’s okay.” Amber turned her attention to Bella. “I suppose I haven’t met Mr. Right.”
Bella narrowed her eyes. “Who’s Mr. Right?”
“It’s just an expression, silly. She means she hasn’t met the right one for her,” Tallulah explained.
“Hmph. Maybe it’s ’cause she’s kind of ugly.”
“Bella! You apologize this minute.” Daphne’s face had turned bright pink.
“Why? It’s true, isn’t it?” Bella insisted.
“Even if it’s true, it’s still rude,” Tallulah offered.
Amber cast her eyes downward, trying to appear hurt, and said nothing.
Daphne stood up. “That’s it. The two of you can eat by yourselves in the kitchen. Sit there and think about the proper way to speak to others.” She rang for Margarita and sent the girls off, amid protests. She came over to Amber and put an arm around her shoulder. “I am so, so sorry. I’m beyond embarrassed and appalled by their behavior.”
Amber gave her a small smile. “You don’t need to apologize. They’re kids. They don’t mean anything by it.” She smiled again, buoyed by the thought that now they could spend the rest of the evening unfettered by the little brats.
“Thank you for being so gracious.”
They chatted about this and that and enjoyed a delicious dinner of shrimp scampi over quinoa and a spinach salad. Amber noticed, though, that Daphne had barely taken two bites of the scampi and not much more of her salad. Amber finished every bit of hers, not about to waste this expensive food.
It was beginning to get cool, and she was relieved when Daphne suggested they go back in the sunroom for coffee.
She followed Daphne until they reached a cheerful room decorated in yellows and blues. White bookcases lined the walls, and Amber lingered in front of one set, curious to see what Daphne liked to read. The shelves were lined with all the classics, in alphabetical order by author. Starting with Albee all the way to Woolf. She would bet there was no way Daphne had read them all.
“Do you like to read, Amber?”
“Very much. I’m afraid I haven’t read most of these, though. I’m more into contemporary authors. Have you read all of these?”