She tried to put the best possible face on what she'd done, but she knew she was failing when she saw loathing narrow his eyes and twist his normally relaxed mouth. When it was all out, when she'd admitted she'd almost taken Mont Royal away from her own family, he reminded her of his warning after she murdered the senora's brother-in-law in Santa Fe.
"I said I'd never tolerate meanness like that again. I love you, Ashton, old fool that I am. But I'll be cursed if I'll live with someone so low. I want you packed and out of here by noon tomorrow."
Villers said, "A disagreement, you say. You divorced him, did you?"
Ashton shook her head. She hated the feeling of sentimental longing this conversation was generating. It was a feeling all too familiar. "It's possible he divorced me, though. I don't know."
"He hasn't that I know of," Villers said. "Does he know where you are?"
"No, but I don't expect he cares. I'm perfectly happy," she lied. "If a woman has her health and her beauty and some regular income, what more does she need?" Why had Will been so damned upright? Often, in the middle of the night she desperately missed cozying up to his skinny old body under a thick comforter.
Her dark eyes widened in her powder-white face. Villers was studying her in a way she didn't like. "What is it, LeGrand?"
"Just thinking. I appreciate that you and Will must have had a good reason for the split-up. But he was your husband. Maybe he still is. He's going to be mighty sorry to hear what's become of you."
Her heartbeat quickened. "You wouldn't be a snake and tell him about me."
"You care about the old bastard's feelings?"
"Why, no, I — I just want to preserve my privacy."
"I'll preserve it." Villers eyed her. "In exchange for a little taste of the old times."
Ashton's fine bust lifted like a ship's prow heaving from the water. All outraged gentility, she said, "I own the Carolina Club. I am not one of the workers."
He unfolded himself from the chair. "All right, then I can't promise to hold my tongue."
She seized his hand and rubbed the palm with her thumb. "Of course I can always change my policy for an evening."
Villers licked his lips. "No charge?"
She wanted to hit him. She wanted to weep. She smiled, tossing her head back; her elaborately pinned dark hair shimmered.
"Why, of course not. Never a charge for a friend."
Later, while the notes of Princess Lou's "Hail, Columbia" drifted upstairs — aside from some patriotic bunting on the portico, it was the club's sole acknowledgment of Independence Day — LeGrand Villers finished for the third time, not having roused her once.
As he rolled away, he accidentally touched the soft rounded ridge of fat that kept growing and growing above her mons, no matter how little she ate. The Fenway sales manager wasn't so rude as to say anything, but she felt his fingers hesitate before he drew them from her stomach.
Somehow that touch destroyed her. She was a strong woman, and a successful one, but there was nothing left for her except decay, the slow ruin of her beauty, death. And every once in a while she was forced to confront that.
Soon Villers was snoring. Ashton lay on her side, hands tucked under her chin, knees drawn up to her breasts, wide-eyed and wishing she were a child playing with Brett at Mont Royal once again.
On Thursday night, twenty-nine members of the Main and Hazard families gathered in the private dining room set aside for them by the hotel. At the open end of the horseshoe table, an easel displayed the architect's rendering of the white-columned facade of the new Mont Royal plantation house. Madeline described the house, then invited everyone to come visit whenever they could. She sat down to warm applause.
George rose, proper and polished. The room was quiet except for the rustle of Willa's skirts; she was holding little Alfred and gently bounding him up and down to soothe his fussiness. He began to drowse, thumb in his mouth.
George cleared his throat. Charles lit another of the cigars whose smoke hung heavy in the airless room.
"I am glad we are together on this momentous anniversary. We share so much that is important, though, unfortunately, I cannot include good Republican politics in that statement."
Everyone laughed, Champ Nevin as heartily as anyone. A cigarette balanced on the edge of his coffee cup sent off smoke in an ascending corkscrew. Two places away, Stanley coughed into his napkin, making a show of it and shooting looks at Patricia's husband. Earlier, Stanley and the young newsman had had a row over Grant's 1869 treaty of annexation of Santo Domingo, which the President's emissaries had negotiated without the knowledge or consent of Congress or the cabinet. The Senate had killed the treaty, and the whole affair had started the defection of important Republicans such as George from the regular wing to a new reform wing of the party. Champ Nevin had nearly given Stanley a seizure when he called Grant's behavior "criminal."
George continued: "I was trying to organize some appropriate remarks when I thought of the city of Philadelphia's Independence Day poster. Have you seen it?" Several of them nodded. "Allow me to quote from it." He consulted a note, reading the words about 1776 and 1876. He dropped the note beside his water glass.
"That is an expert summation of our country, and our own lives. Since the Mains and the Hazards were first drawn together by a friendship forged at the Military Academy, we have all changed, and so has the nation. We will never again be as we were, be what we were, except in one regard. Our affection, one family for the other, is immutable."
Never again as we were, Madeline thought. How right he is. Constance was gone. Cooper had not been invited, though everyone keenly regretted Judith's absence. Ashton was presumably in Chicago with her millionaire husband — no loss. Charles and Billy, whose lives had diverged on such different courses, showed no clear signs of awkwardness with one another, despite their strong ties from West Point and the war period.
Over there, bored and blank, Stanley sat beside his churlish son, no doubt puzzling as to why either of them had agreed to attend George's reunion.
And, most important, her dear Orry was gone.
"That affection has carried us through a time of national crisis and testing," George said. "Through dark days of warfare and political strife, the bond has grown thin but it has never broken. It remains strong to this day.
"My mother believed the mountain laurel has a special strength that enables it to withstand the ravages of the seasons. She said only love and family could generate a similar strength in human beings, and I believe it's true. You are the proof. We have grown from two families into one, and we have survived. That strength and closeness, born of friendship and love, is one of Orry Main's great gifts to us, and the reason he is very much with us tonight. I loved my friend Orry, and I love every one of you. Thank you for coming to Philadelphia to reaffirm — to —"
He cleared his throat again, bowed his head. He quickly rubbed a finger in his right eye.
"Thank you," he said in the silence. "Goodnight."
Charles and Willa were the first to leave the dining room. Charles noticed a peculiar hush in the lobby. Guests conversed in whispers, or stood reading newspapers. He patted Gus's shoulder and strode to the desk.