Everything to Gain (14 page)

"Darling, you're here!" Diana cried, grasping my arm. "I can't believe it, and it's such a lovely surprise. I'm so happy to see you!"

My smile was as affectionate as hers, and my happiness as keenly felt. "Hello, Diana. You're the best thing London has to offer, aside from your son, of course."

She laughed gaily, in that special warm and welcoming way of hers, and we quickly embraced. Then she led me forward.

"Mal, I'd like to introduce Robin McAllister," she said. "Robin, this is my daughter-in-law, Mallory Keswick."

The man, who was tall, handsome, distinguished, and elegantly dressed, inclined his head politely. He shook my hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. Keswick," he said.

"And I'm happy to meet you, Mr. McAllister," I responded.

Diana said, "Mal, dear, would you please excuse me for a moment or two? I wish to show Mr. McAllister a painting downstairs. I won't be very long, then we can get off to lunch."

"Don't worry about me," I said, "I'll just wander around the shop. I can see at a glance that you have some wonderful things. As you usually do."

Before my mother-in-law had a chance to say anything else, I strolled to the other side of her establishment, my eyes roving around, taking everything in.

I loved antiques, and Diana invariably had some of the best and most beautiful available in London, many of them garnered from the great houses of Europe. She traveled extensively on the Continent, looking for all kinds of treasures, but mostly she specialized in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century French furniture, decorative objects, porcelain, and paintings, although she did carry a few English Georgian and Regency pieces as well. However, her impeccable credentials and reputation as a dealer came from her immense knowledge of fine French furniture, which was where her great expertise lay. But like every antiquarian of some importance and distinction, Diana was extremely learned in other areas, well versed in a variety of different design periods from many countries.

I noticed that she was currently showing a collection of Biedermeier furniture in the special-display area of the shop, and even from this distance I could see that it was superb. I was instantly drawn down to the far end of the store, near the staircase leading to the upper floors. Here a small raised platform held the furniture, which was roped off.

I stood looking at the German pieces in awe, admiring the rich, gleaming woods and the incredible craftsmanship. I was especially taken by a circular dining table made of various light-colored woods, most likely fruitwoods, and inlaid with ebony. This was a combination often used in Biedermeier designs at the turn of the century, when the furniture was at the height of its popularity.

What I wouldn't give for a table like that, I thought. But quite aside from the fact that it probably cost the earth—I was positive it did—I had nowhere to put it. Not only that, Indian Meadows was furnished with a mixture of antique English and French country furniture, and although Biedermeier was versatile and plain enough to blend with almost any period or style, it wasn't quite right for us, either for our country home or our Manhattan apartment. Pity, though, I muttered under my breath as I walked on.

Pausing in front of an eighteenth-century French
trumeau
, which was hanging on a side wall, I admired its beautifully carved wood frame and painted decorative scene set in the top of the frame, wondering what mantelpiece it had hung over, and in which great house? A chateau in the Loire, I had no doubt. Then I took a peek at myself in its cloudy antique mirror.

My reflection dismayed me. I decided I looked a bit too pale and tired, almost wan under the mass of red hair, but nonetheless quite smart in my dark delphinium-blue wool coat and dress. No wonder I'm looking tired, I suddenly thought, recalling last night. Andrew and I had been very carried away with each other. A small smile slid onto my face, and I glanced down at the floor, remembering. My husband and I hadn't been able to get enough of each other, and despite his tiredness in general, his fatigue over dinner, he had been imbued with an amazing vitality, a rush of energy the moment we had climbed into bed. If we hadn't made another baby last night, I couldn't imagine when we ever would.

"Hello, Mallory, how are you?" a voice said, and I gave a little start and swung around swiftly. I found myself staring into the smiling face of Jane Patterson, Diana's personal assistant.

Taking a step forward, I gave her a quick hug. "How are you, Jane?"

"I couldn't be better," she said, "and you're obviously in the best of health and thriving." nodded and told her I was.

She inquired about the twins. I asked about her daughter, Serena. We stood chatting amiably for several seconds.

Out of the corner of my eye, I became aware of sudden movement. I saw Mr. McAllister striding toward the door. He nodded to us curtly as he went out into the street. Right behind him came Diana, hurrying forward on her high heels, throwing a red wool cape around her shoulders with a flourish as she headed in our direction.

"Shall we go, Mal?" she said to me briskly.

Turning to her assistant, my mother-in-law added, "Percy says he'll be happy to hold down the fort whilst you go to lunch, Janey. I should be back around three."

"No problem, Diana," Jane murmured.

She and I said our good-byes.

Diana rushed out into the street, put up her umbrella, and stood on the edge of the sidewalk enthusiastically flagging a cab, ignoring the rain.

Diana took me to the Savoy Hotel in the Strand for lunch.

Even though it was a bit far from her shop, she knew it was one of my favorite places, and she wanted to please me, as she usually did. I protested. Knowing how busy she was, I tried to persuade her to go somewhere closer, but she wouldn't hear of it. She could be as stubborn as her son at times.

We sat at a window table overlooking the Thames in the main restaurant, which I have always preferred to the famous Grill Room where Fleet Street editors, politicians, and theatrical celebrities frequently lunch and dine. It was quieter in here, more leisurely, and anyway, I could never resist this particular view of London. It was superb.

I gazed out the window. There was a mistiness in the air, and the sky was still a strange metallic color, but the heavy, slashing rain had stopped finally. Even the light had begun to change, now casting a pearly haze over the river and the ancient buildings, bathing them in a gauzy softness that seemed suddenly to make them shimmer; the winter sun was finally breaking through the somber clouds. Light on moving water, Turner light, I said to myself, thinking, as I so often did, of my favorite painter.

I lolled back in my chair. I was relaxed and happy, filled with the most extraordinary contentment. How lucky I was—to be in London with my husband, to be here with Diana at the Savoy having lunch, to have my beautiful children. I might even be pregnant again. My life was charmed. I was blessed.

I sipped my wine and smiled at Diana. And she smiled back, reached out, squeezed my hand.

"Andrew's so lucky to have found you, and I'm so lucky to have you, Mal. The daughter I always wanted. You're the best, you know, the very best."

"And so are you, Diana. I was just thinking how lucky
I
am."

She nodded. "I believe we're both rather fortunate." She sipped her wine, continued, "I was so sorry not to be able to come to your mother's wedding. It was simply the worst time for me. I had made my plans such a long time before she invited me. I had to go to a sale in Aix-en-Provence, and then on to Venice. I just couldn't get out of my commitments."

"It was all right, Diana, Mom understood, honestly she did. To tell you the truth, I think she was relieved to keep it small. That's unusual for her, I must admit, since she's such a social animal, but she seemed glad to have just a few people. Us, and David's son and daughter-in-law and grandson. Oh, and Sarah and her mother, of course. Mom's been close to Aunt Pansy ever since Sarah and I were little kids, babies. She didn't even invite her mother, Grandmother Adelia, but then I don't believe
she
was up to it anyway. She's getting a bit senile, poor thing. Such a pity. She used to be so vital."

"She's very old now, isn't she?"

"Ninety-one."

"Oh, my goodness, that is old."

"I wouldn't mind living to that age," I said, "as long as I had all my marbles."

Diana laughed, and so did I.

I said, "David Nelson's a nice man, by the way. I've gotten to know him a bit better over the past few months, and he's very genuine. He really does care for Mom."

"I'm glad Jessica finally got married. She's been so lonely for so very long. Marrying David is the wisest thing she could've done."

I looked across the table at Diana, studying her for a second. And then before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "And
you
must be very lonely too, Diana. After all, you're
alone
."

"I think most women, no, let me correct myself, most
people
who are on their own get extremely lonely at different times in their daily lives," she said, smiling faintly.

There was a slight pause, and I saw a look of sadness creep into her eyes before she said slowly, "In a way, loneliness is another kind of death…" She did not finish her sentence, merely sat gazing at me.

I was lost for words myself, feeling her wistfulness, her sense of loss and regret more profoundly than I ever had before. She touched me deeply.

A silence fell between us. We sipped our wine, looked out the window, and quietly ignored each other for a moment or two, lost in our own thoughts.

Quite unexpectedly, I had a terrible urge to ask her about my father, to tell her what Andrew and I had concocted about the two of them this past summer. Yes, I will ask her, I made up my mind. But when I turned my face to focus on her, I lost my nerve. I didn't dare say a word to her. Not because she intimidated me, which she didn't, but because she was essentially such a private person. I could not intrude on her privacy, nor could I probe into her personal life.

She caught my eye and flashed me the most brilliant of smiles. She said cheerfully, "But my loneliness doesn't last very long, Mal, only an hour or two, and it only hits me every now and then. Let's face it, I'm very fortunate to have the business. It keeps me fully occupied night and day—traveling abroad, going to auctions and sales on the Continent, taking clients and would-be clients to lunch and dinner, seeing and entertaining foreign dealers, not to mention running the shop. I never seem to have a moment to spare these days. I'm always flying off to France or Italy or Spain. Or somewhere or other."

"And haven't you ever met someone
delicious
on your travels?" I asked. "A suave, sophisticated Frenchman? Or a lyrical, romantic Italian? Or perhaps a dashing, passionate Spaniard?" I couldn't resist teasing her.

Giggling like a schoolgirl, her eyes as merry as I've ever seen them, she shook her head. " 'Fraid not, Mal," she said, then lifted her glass to her mouth and took a sip of the wine, a very good Montrachet. She knew her French wines.

At this moment the waiter appeared with our first course. Diana had ordered leek-and-potato soup, "to fight the chill in the air," she had said to me a short while before as we studied the menus.

I had selected oysters, and a dozen of the Savoy's best Colchesters were staring up at me temptingly. They looked delectable. My mouth watered. I said to Diana, "Whenever I'm here in London, I manage to make a pig of myself with all of the wonderful fish, I love it so much. And I'm afraid I'm about to become Miss Piggy again."

"It's the best fish in the world, at least I think so; and don't forget, it's not fattening."

"As if
you
had to worry," I murmured. I had always admired Diana's sleek figure. Not that I was fat, but she was very slender and shapely for her age.

Pushing my small, sharp fork onto the shell and underneath a plump, succulent oyster, I lifted it up and plopped it into my mouth. Instantly, I could taste the salt of the sea and seaweed and the sea itself in that little morsel, all of those tastes rolling around in my mouth at the same time. It was refreshing and delicious. As the oyster slid down my throat, I reached for another without pause, and then another, unable to resist. I was going to have to restrain myself, or I would bolt them all down in the space of a few minutes.

Out of the blue, Diana said, "I wonder if your father will get married, now that he's free to do so?"

My eyes came up from my plate of oysters, and I gaped at her. Putting my fork down, I sat back in the chair, my eyes leveled at her. I felt a tight little frown knotting the bridge of my nose.

Finding my voice eventually, I said slowly, "He'd have to have… someone… someone in his life…
someone
to marry, wouldn't he?" I discovered I could not continue. I leaned against my chair, too nervous to say another word. I wanted Diana to tell me, to break the news about her and Daddy. I felt awkward, tongue-tied, and therefore I couldn't probe.

"Oh, but he does have somebody," she said, and that brilliant smile of hers played on her pretty mouth again.

"He
does
?"

"Why, of course. Whatever makes you think that a man like your father could be alone? He's far too dependent a creature for that." She stopped short, staring hard at me. She must have noticed the expression on my face.

I sat there still somewhat dumbfounded, staring back at her stupidly. I had been rendered mute.

Diana frowned. "I thought you knew… I thought your mother had told you years ago…" Once again, her voice trailed off.

"Told me what?" I asked in a tight voice.

"Oh, dear," Diana muttered, almost to herself. "What have I done now? Gone and put my foot in it, I suspect."

"No, you haven't, Diana, truly you haven't!" I protested, eager to hear more. "What did you mean? What did you think my mother had told me?"

She took a deep breath. "That there have been other women in his life. I mean after your mother and he agreed to separate, all those years ago when you were eighteen, when you went off to Radcliffe. Jess once told me about his—affairs, relationships, whatever you wish to call them. I simply assumed that she had confided in you when you grew older. Especially after your marriage."