Regret Not a Moment (12 page)

“Are you going to rename Willowbrook? Its reputation is still pretty decent, even though everyone knows they’ve fallen on difficult times,” said Chase.

Devon turned to John questioningly. “I don’t think we’ve thought of that yet, have we?” Devon loved the sound of the word
we,
loved the vision of a couple, a family, that the word conjured.

“As you say, the Willowbrook name is still good. It’s not called Hartwick’s Willowbrook, so there’s nothing to particularly identify the name with that family. I think we should keep the name if we’re to make a go of the business,” said John.

“When do you close on the deal?” asked Chase, helping himself to another serving of rack of lamb being offered on a silver platter by Meg.

“We’ll close in about a month, I should think,” said John. “Meanwhile, I was hoping that you and Devon would agree to come to New York for a visit. My parents are most eager to meet you all. Besides, Devon will surely have shopping to do for the wedding, not to mention for Christmas.”

“Silly! How can I go to New York with my leg in the cast? It will be several weeks before it’s off. And Christmas is only three weeks away! I have to spend Christmas at Evergreen and… and I thought we would invite your parents to come here.” Devon’s look appealed to the others to come to her aid and convince John that her plan was best.

“I have to be in Paris for Christmas,” said Grace quickly, “so I can go up to New York with you for a week and leave from there. I’m sure I’ll be able to help you with whatever you need. And, of course, we’ll take Alice.”

“But I thought you were going to stay through Christmas,” Devon protested.

“Philip can’t get away, so I have to go back to be with him and the kids,” said Grace with emphasis. Devon studied her a moment. It seemed Grace was trying to send her a message, but she didn’t quite understand what it was. “Why don’t all of you spend Christmas at the town house?” Grace asked, directing her question to her parents.

“I thought I should wait until both my casts are off to go to New York. That way I could be fitted for some new clothes,” Devon said.

“Not to mention your wedding dress,” said John, with another warm look at his fiancée.

“I wish you could come to Paris for the wedding dress. Then you could have one by Vionnet!” said Grace, certain that no one could compare to her favorite French designer.

“But we’re coming there for the honeymoon!” Devon said jubilantly. She loved Paris and was looking forward to spending the month of June there.

“That part is wonderful, but I still don’t see why we have to wait more than six months to get married,” John half grumbled.

“Of course you see why!” exclaimed Laurel. “Your mother would be heartbroken if we didn’t have a proper wedding and so would I.”

“By ‘proper’ I think Mother means big,” teased Grace.

“Certainly not! But we
do
have many friends, as do John and his parents, and I’m certain that you’ll enjoy having them at your wedding,” said Laurel with slightly ruffled dignity.

“Devon, you still haven’t said you’ll come to New York with me next week,” John coaxed. “In fact, why don’t you take Grace’s suggestion and all come. You can open up your town house or you can stay with my parents, whichever suits you best.” He was so proud of Devon that he was eager for his parents and friends to meet her.

“Well…” Devon hesitated. She knew it would be a cumbersome task to travel, but she could not imagine being separated from John. And she was so eager to meet his family. As she hesitated, she saw Grace trying to catch her eye. Looking at her sister, she saw her nod almost imperceptibly.

Devon suddenly understood the message in Grace’s eyes. Now she had John’s obligations as well as her own to consider. She could not very well insist that he spend Christmas away from his family when her own family had a home in New York, she realized.

“I think it would be a good idea to go to New York,” said Devon decisively. “Mother, you always say that Christmas is the nicest time of the year in New York. Why don’t we spend it there with the Alexanders? And then, next Christmas we can all come here!”

Laurel and Chase—understanding Devon’s wish to accommodate her fiancé as well as her new family—agreed.

“It’s decided then!” cried Grace, eager to visit the exciting city she loved. She could not quite understand Devon’s affinity for country life.

“Then you’ll all come?” asked John.

“Of course, dear,” said Laurel. “We look forward to it.”

“Wonderful!” said John. “I’ll be sure our engagement announcement appears in the papers while you’re there. And I promise you the best time you’ve ever had. Why, we’ll be able to bring in the New Year together!”

Everyone toasted the impending New Year, certain that it would be the best ever.

LORETTA stared at the newspaper announcement disbelievingly, fury rising in her like poison.

“That lousy bastard!” she spat.

“Which one, sweetheart, your director or your wardrobe designer?” asked Whitney Ross sleepily, reaching for Loretta’s soft white arm and pulling her down to where he lay among her pink satin pillows. But Loretta shook him off. Whitney sighed lazily and rolled away from her. Although their affair was only a month old, he was already used to her rantings. She was always complaining about her co-stars, or her script, or a myriad of other daily annoyances that he had quickly learned to tune out in order to better concentrate on the sexual satisfaction he invariably derived from her perfect body.

He squinted at the clock on the mantel. It was four o’clock in the morning. That was the problem with having an affair with an actress. One didn’t have supper until at least midnight. That meant no bed until one, which left only a few hours until dawn. Whitney Ross was very strict about reappearing at home by dawn. Or rather, his wife was. She did not mind the relief from her wifely duties that Loretta afforded her, as long as their children did not miss Whitney at the breakfast table. They must never know about his affairs, she had warned him, for if they did, she would be forced to divorce him. She would not allow them to think that she tolerated the humiliation. Well, he certainly did not want a divorce on the grounds of adultery. The woman would walk off with a fortune.

Four o’clock. He had to be home by six. That meant he had time for one more…

“Loretta, my love,” he said, rolling back toward her. He slipped his hand under the sheet and tickled the inside of her thigh.

“Don’t bother me now!” she snapped, slapping his hand away.

“What have we here?” he asked sardonically.

“That bastard friend of yours is engaged!” she almost screamed.

“That… who?” he asked, knowing immediately who she meant.

The one thing that bothered Whitney about Loretta was the knowledge that it was John’s rejection of her that had allowed him to have her.

“I suppose I wasn’t high class enough for him,” Loretta snarled, forgetting, in her anger, her claim that she had dropped Alexander. “He wanted some innocent little fool!”

“Loretta,” moaned Whitney, grabbing the newspaper from her hands and throwing it over the side of the bed, “forget about all that. I have to go soon. And before I go…” He completed his sentence by lightly pinching one pink nipple between his index finger and thumb.

“Look, I’m not in the mood,” said Loretta irritably.

“You know, darling, the word ‘mistress’ is truly a misnomer. It implies that you have some sort of authority over your lover. In fact, the opposite is true. I say we fuck,” he said, deliberately using the vulgarity for its shock value.

“I don’t need you!” she said scornfully. “I can have anyone I want!”

“Anyone you want in show business. And certainly your pick of nouveau riche types who want a glamour girl on their arms. But you want society. And that, my dear, you don’t just run across every day,” he said mockingly as he spread her legs apart with his knee. Her resistance excited him. “You think that if you’re seen with enough society types, eventually one of us will marry you. And you may be right.” He could feel her resistance slipping away with every word he spoke. He risked releasing one of her arms so that he could reach between her legs and caress her. “But you’d better hang on to the one you’ve got while you’re looking for the one you’re going to marry.”

Loretta was dumbfounded. She was an actress, but Whitney Ross, who had never shown any interest in her thoughts, never asked her opinion of anything, had seen right through her as easily as if she had confessed her plan to him. In a way, it was a relief to have someone know the truth. As long as that someone was her friend.

“You conceited ass!” she said, but her tone had a rough affection to it and she rubbed herself against him invitingly.

“There… that’s more like it,” said Ross, lowering his head to her breast and sliding his tongue over her nipple. And when he slipped his erect member into her, he met no resistance.

“There’s a… woman… here to see you, Miss Devon,” said Truitt, the Richmonds’ butler at the New York town house. The vine-covered Georgian Revival residence was in the trendy neighborhood known as Sutton Place, popularized only ten years before by Anne Vanderbilt.

The Vanderbilts, like many other wealthy families—including the Richmonds—had sold their Italian Renaissance mansion on upper Fifth Avenue in favor of the more compact quarters.

Devon looked up from her book inquiringly. She was sitting in the main salon of the house, where she and her mother often received afternoon callers, but it was January 8, and most of their guests had already streamed through the house during the holidays.

“Who is this… woman?” Devon was disturbed that Truitt had carefully avoided using the word
lady
to describe the guest. It alerted her to the fact that the caller was not one of her friends. Indeed, Truitt’s demeanor told her that it was someone of whom he disapproved. She could not imagine why such a person should wish to see her.

“A Miss Morgan. She says she has a personal matter to discuss with you.” Truitt sniffed derisively, certain that no such woman could have something personal to discuss with Miss Devon. Devon thought for a moment. She trusted Truitt’s judgment. The dignified man had worked for the Richmonds since he was a fourteen-year-old stable boy. He had been promoted to the post of butler by the time he was twenty-eight, so now, after forty years of greeting people, first at Evergreen then in the New York town house, Truitt was not mistaken about the person calling, Devon knew.

“A personal matter?” she said, racking her brain as to what it might be. “Well… I suppose there’s no use speculating. Send her in please, Truitt.” Devon’s arm cast had been removed but she still wore the cast on her leg so she did not stand to receive the guest. Seated before the large, white marble fireplace, she made a lovely picture in a floor-length, blush pink dress of the finest cashmere. Her hair was brushed straight back from her forehead and tumbled gracefully to her shoulders in shimmering waves. Her face was no longer marred by bruises.

Devon had a shock when she saw the woman who followed Truitt into the room. She recognized her as the Broadway star she and her parents had seen just two nights before in the most successful play of the season.

“Why, you’re Loretta Morgan!’” she blurted out, pleased and surprised to meet the actress face to face. “I just saw your play two nights ago. You were wonderful!” she said.

Loretta, momentarily disarmed by the warm reception, stood awkwardly staring at Devon. She had dressed with care, wishing to look every bit the successful star that she was. Her ermine coat stunningly highlighted her platinum blonde hair. She had not wanted to give the fur to Truitt at the door, preferring to wear it when she first met Devon. Now she shrugged it off and handed it dismissively to the butler. At a nod from Devon, Truitt retreated from the salon, leaving the two women alone.

Loretta stood before Devon in a beautifully cut yellow silk dress which, though high-necked and long-sleeved, emphasized Loretta’s curvaceous figure. She wore high-heeled black shoes that drew attention to her long legs, a black suede beret, and matching suede gloves, which she now removed. Her lips were painted a bright red, the same as her fingernails. Devon thought she looked smashing. But she understood with amusement the reason for Truitt’s disapproval. Never had a visitor to the Richmond home been quite so… colorful. Yet Loretta Morgan’s glamour was undeniable. She did not look ridiculous, just a bit larger than life.

“Miss Morgan, I didn’t know that my parents knew you,” said Devon, not noticing the other woman’s silence. “I wish they were here, but I’m afraid they’re out. Won’t you sit down anyway?”

Loretta looked around the delicately furnished room. Although she had every luxury in her own penthouse, the understated elegance of the Richmond home bespoke generations of discerning taste. Two long Palladian windows that overlooked the street allowed even the meager winter sun to fill the space with light. The walls were covered with eggshell silk brocade that had mellowed to a rich cream color. Eighteenth- and nineteenth-century French paintings of museum quality were hung casually about the room. The salon was not overcrowded with furnishings, but rather featured damask-covered divans and chairs in airy pastels, strategically placed to promote conversation. Dominating the space was a large Aubusson carpet in subtle shades of cream, rose, and pale blue.

Loretta, awed by an elegance she knew she could never duplicate, settled uneasily into a straight-backed Louis XV chair opposite Devon, but she stood up again almost immediately.

“This isn’t a social call,” she said tersely, pacing in front of the fireplace. “I have something to tell you about a mutual friend.” She stopped and stared into the flames as she uttered the words, not wishing to look Devon in the eye. The warm reception Devon had given her was unexpected and she was not sure how to react. She had come to the Richmond home filled with venom and a wish for revenge, but she now realized that Devon had done nothing to hurt her. Seeing the young woman sitting helplessly, her broken leg propped up, she understood that her grievance was against John, not Devon. For a moment, she softened.