Wellesley Wives (New England Trilogy) (5 page)

“Well, good for you, Sandy, and I’ll support you whatever you decide to do.”

“Will you start by driving me to a hotel in Marlborough before we get to Jenny’s? I have some major makeup repair work to do before I meet those girls.” She snapped the sun visor back up. “Come on, let’s get going.”

Popsy started the car up. “Sir, yes sir.” She gave a mock-military salute.

“I didn’t plan to dump all of that on you, Popsy. I’m sorry.”

“No problem. That’s what friends are for. In fact, do you want to skip Jenny’s thing and go for a long lunch in that gorgeous little coffee shop in Marlborough? We can find a quiet table and you can tell me everything.”

Sandra shook her head. “What? And miss the unveiling of the new Renoir? No way. My marriage will still be in trouble after Jenny’s lunch. Much more sensible to go and enjoy ourselves first.”

Popsy didn’t know what to make of their conversation. In all the years she’d known Sandra, she’d never heard her speak like this. Perhaps she was exaggerating. She and Jack may have simply had a fight or something.

She decided she couldn’t do much else until her friend wanted help, so she patted Sandra’s hand and agreed. “How very sensible you are. We can talk any time you feel like it, but for now, tell me all about the new Renoir.”

~*~

Jenny Lennox was a consummate hostess. Because she’d chosen to live farther out of town, she had more land. In Wellesley, where Popsy lived, real estate was at its priciest. To have a pool at the end of the garden, which of course she had, was considered an achievement. But living just fifteen miles west meant tennis courts and swimming pools were the norm. The paddocks and the helipad were the new “must haves,” and now Jenny had a Renoir to top it all off.

Popsy couldn’t help but be a little envious as she glided up the perfectly landscaped, one-mile driveway. She watched a chopper take off just as they arrived at the front of the house.

Sandra, it seemed, felt likewise. “Who would be so tacky as to arrive in a chopper?”

“We would, if we could,” Popsy said, thinking about the Ferrari she’d test-driven only a few hours earlier.

The Victorian-style house looked exquisite in its country setting, and at this time of year, it was festooned in a blaze of deep crimson Virginia creeper. Enormous oaks flanked the house, magnificent in their autumn color. It was impossible to look at it and not long to live in the country. As the thud-thud-thud of the chopper faded into the distance, a flock of crows cawed overhead, reclaiming their territory in the large and ancient trees along the front driveway. The house had perfect symmetry with three windows on the right and three on the left of the grandiose front door. Steps swept up to the door, which for today’s event was left open. Popsy took a moment to admire the huge urns on either side.

Pyracanthas had been clipped to look like a giant ball and were in full bloom; they were covered in bright orange berries. These were under-planted with variegated ivy, which spilled out of the urns and down to the ground. It gave a feeling of understated opulence with a Halloween twist. Popsy made a mental note to do something similar in twelve months’ time.

Once inside, they were greeted by beaming caterers offering a choice of sparkling water or even more sparkling champagne. Both women went for the champagne.

Jenny Lennox descended upon them in a flurry of air kisses and exclamations of how good everybody looked. Popsy gave her the flower arrangement she’d brought, and Sandra presented her with a jar of limited-edition caviar. As usual, Jenny insisted that they “shouldn’t have” but took the gifts with grace.

Checks were deposited into an aquamarine objet d’art that was stationed just inside the front door. It was, doubtless, a terrifyingly expensive piece of glasswork, but Jenny was blasé.

“Just toss the donations into the vase there and come in to where all the fun is.”

Stripped of their checks and armed with a champagne flute each, they were ushered into the drawing room. Popsy got the distinct impression that they were being herded like cows.

“Cheers, to your health and future decisions.” She winked and clinked glasses with Sandra, and they headed into the fray.

Popsy and Sandra had a way of working a party. They would arrive together, then drift apart to mingle, but then they would drift back together again at regular intervals when either one of them needed moral support. This way they got to meet interesting new people but had each other as backup if they were a little lost. This method had worked well for them over the last thirteen years.

It didn’t take long before Popsy was standing in front of the much-discussed Renoir. It was larger than she expected, almost two feet by two feet, and the frame made it look even bigger. It was hardly surprising then that it took pride of place over the mantelpiece in Jenny Lennox’s enormous drawing room.

“Exquisite, isn’t it?” the lady beside Popsy inquired.

“It is beautiful. Isn’t she lucky? A genuine Renoir.”

“It better be genuine. Eddie paid a cool $100 million for it.”

It was enough to make Popsy snap around to face the lady she was talking to as opposed to admiring the painting. “I’m sure it can’t have been that much. $100 million? That’s too expensive, isn’t it?”

“Cheap at the price.” The lady sniffed.

Popsy wondered if perhaps her companion had drunk a little too much champagne. “How do you work that out?”

“That’s what Jenny told him it would cost to stay in the marriage.” The redhead moved closer to whisper. “I understand that poor Eddie was caught being a naughty boy, and when Jenny discovered it, she threw him out. He begged her to take him back, which of course she did, but for a price. This little token of affection.”

Popsy was incredulous. “That’s a lot of affection,” she said and looked back at the painting.

“Yes, I hear it is a really good painting—
La Petite Fille
. Jenny tells me it’s a charming and irreverent portrayal of the hedonistic life and subtlety of lust in the late 1800s.”

“Ah.” Popsy felt the need for more champagne. “Good to know.” As far as she was concerned, it was just a really pretty painting done by a very famous artist. But wasn’t art full of hyperbole like that?

Before she had to expand on her views, mercifully her art critic companion took her leave, which gave Popsy a few moments to admire the painting by herself. It was a true gem, beautiful, but how in tarnation did anything get to a value of $100 million? She understood how it could happen with diamonds and precious stones, but art? Wasn’t that subjective?

“So what do you think?” Sandra asked as she came up beside her.

“I think it’s gorgeous, and did you know that it was a ‘charming and irreverent portrayal of the hedonistic life and subtlety of lust in the late 1800s’?”

Sandra looked at Popsy, arching her eyebrows. “I never would have guessed.”

Popsy nodded. “I also heard that Eddie Lennox paid $100 million for it.”

“In fact, I had heard a rumor, but I wasn’t sure that it was true. Nice round figure. You know, in all likelihood it’ll be worth double that in twelve months. Do you get taxed on fine art appreciation?”

Popsy pulled her friend closer and glanced around to ensure that nobody was within earshot. “Yes, but did you hear why he bought it? I heard Jenny discovered he was having an affair. This is the peace offering, his ‘get out of jail free card,’ if you will. A frigging Renoir.”

Sandra said nothing and studied the painting.

“Did you hear me, Sandy? Did you know about this? Was Eddie Lennox offside? Evidently he had a mistress. Well, I assume it’s
had
and not
has
if he’s bought the painting and the Lennoxs are all happy family again.

At last, Sandra tore herself away from the painting and looked at her friend. “Who told you this?”

“That woman over there. The tall, striking strawberry-blonde.” Popsy gestured discreetly.

“Figures.” Sandra sighed.

“Why?”

“Because she’s the mistress.”

Chapter 4 

Sisters with Secrets

It was late Saturday afternoon before Rosie got up the nerve to visit her sister. She’d accepted the fact that there was no way Lily would babysit for her at this stage, but of bigger concern now was the consideration that her sister might try to get their mother involved. The last thing Rosie wanted was Popsy getting wind of her vacation plans.

    This time she had the good sense to bring her daughter with her. Lily adored little Natasha and spent a fortune on pretty dresses for her. Rosie again wondered why her sister didn’t make a bigger effort to find a man and have a few kids.

Lily lived in one of Boston’s most exclusive waterfront developments in the heart of the city. There were humungous gates and a security guard at the entrance, but Rosie knew the code number, as well as most of the security guys. Tonight the guard on duty seemed to recognize her, or perhaps her red BMW, because he gave her a cursory nod and opened the gate. This was a relief because the weather had turned bad as the day progressed and the rain was now relentless.

Some weeks earlier, Lily had given Natasha a beautiful little canary-yellow rain coat. The hood was in the shape of a duck’s head, and the rim at the top jutted out like its bill. There were little brown boots to match, the tops of which were the same bright yellow, and they were painted to look like webbed feet. Natasha loved the ensemble, and at the first sign of rain, she would put it on and wear it all day, even indoors. When Rosie suggested they go visit Aunt Lily to show her how pretty she looked in it, Natasha didn’t have to be asked twice.

Again and again, Rosie went over what she might say. The truth was she knew she would have to do a complete U-turn with her sister. Somehow she would have to convince Lily that she’d seen the error of her ways. She would say that Lily was right, and she and Marcus were going away alone to focus on each other. She might even say that it was a direct result of their fight, but that might be going a bit too far.

All of this, of course, was complete nonsense. The truth was Marcus was determined to have an “alternative” getaway. He was dying to try something new and a little risky, but Rosie had been having serious second thoughts. It was correct to say that Lily’s attitude had swayed her, and she was back to being unsure about what to do.

Of course, it would’ve been wonderful if she and Marcus could work things out alone, but he was adamant that everybody was “doing it,” and at least they were being open and honest. Marcus talked about all the guys he knew that were having affairs behind their wives’ backs.

“And what about the women?” he’d asked. “My pals aren’t having affairs by themselves.”

He was insistent that there were as many women out there being unfaithful as there were men. Rosie tried to argue that a lot of married men ended up with young, single girls, but he laughed and said those days were gone. Just as many married women were getting with younger single guys.

It was much better for a couple of intelligent, mature people in a stable marriage to jump in together and have some fun in a crazy resort that facilitated this sort of thing. Then they come home and are contented. When he said it like that, it did seem to make sense, but the truth was that Rosie still wasn’t convinced.

In fact, she knew she didn’t want to have sex with another guy. She would hate to be with a stranger. But it seemed Marcus wanted a little variety, so she may as well go into it with her eyes wide open as opposed to turning a blind eye as so many wives did.

“One crisis at a time,” she said to herself, and Natasha looked up at her, so she smiled. “Isn’t that right, honey? One thing at a time.”

Natasha nodded but didn’t look too interested.

Under normal circumstances, she would’ve had to buzz the front door to get into Lily’s building, but there was a couple coming out as she arrived and they held the door open for Rosie and Natasha. As she walked through the lobby, she tried to come up with the right words to use on her sister.

Being five, Natasha loved elevators. She liked to push the buttons, and the distraction made Rosie happy. She still didn’t have her little speech thought out. She’d only gotten as far as “I’m sorry,” but she decided that it was a good start.

The elevator chimed all too soon.

“Bing!” Little Natasha mimicked the sound as she skipped out.

There were only two penthouses on the top floor, one to the left and another to the right, and the hall area was small. Natasha saw her Aunt Lily standing at the already-open door, and she lunged toward her. Rosie followed a pace behind.

“I’m sorry,” Rosie blurted as she noticed her sister in a tiny bathrobe and quite obviously nothing else on underneath. Natasha was clinging to her auntie’s bare knee with great affection. The man who must have had his arms wrapped somewhere very different took a hasty step back. He, at least, was dressed. It was quite clear that he’d been leaving but was lingering with his good-byes.

“Oh!” Lily gave a guilty gasp. In that same moment Rosie felt a surge of relief as she realized she wasn’t the only girl in the family with dirty little secrets.

“Hello, Uncle Jack.” She took a step forward and kissed Jack Hoffman on his very flushed cheek.

“Uh, sorry I came unannounced, Lily,” he muttered. “I should have called to see if it was a good time.” It was a pathetic attempt to cover his guilty tracks. Jack had sandy blond hair with just a scattering of silver through it. He was a fit and good looking man, but he was old!

“Me, too, Lily,” Rosie said. “Sorry I didn’t buzz before I came up. You know, to give you some time. There was a couple at the door downstairs and they let us in.” She smiled wickedly, looking between her sister and Jack Hoffman.

After her little sister’s nauseating high moral stance just a few days earlier, it was good to see her squirm. Everybody knew that Jack wasn’t their
real
uncle, but he did feel like family. Evidently more so to her than to Lily.