“Sometimes I’d like to.”
“I know, but you can’t,” he said quietly. “We all have an obligation.” And his were heavier than most now. He had inherited Whitfield, Julian would never have any share in it. He would in the château, which he would share with Isabelle and Xavier, but that was the injustice of the English system. And Phillip had the burden of the title on his shoulders now, too, and all that that carried with it. His father had worn it gracefully and well, and Sarah was not quite so sure about Phillip.
“What about you?” she asked him gently then. “What are you going to do now?”
“The same things I’ve been doing,” he answered hesitantly, and then he decided to tell her something he hadn’t yet. “One of these days there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” It seemed an odd time to tell her, which was why he hadn’t. He had wanted to tell them about Cecily at Christmas, but his father had been so ill, he never mentioned it.
“Someone special?”
“More or less.” He blushed and answered vaguely.
“Maybe we could have dinner together, before I leave England.”
“I’d like that very much,” he said shyly. He was different from the rest of the family, yet she was still his mother.
She reminded him of it again two weeks later, when she was thinking about going back to Paris. Emanuelle had had some problems with the shop, and Isabelle had to go back to school. She had kept her at Whitfield with her, although Julian had returned weeks before, to go back to school.
“What about the friend you wanted me to have dinner with?” she prodded gently, and he was vague.
“Oh that. … you probably don’t have time before you leave.”
“Yes, I do,” she contradicted him. “I always have time for you. When would you like to do it?” He was sorry he had ever mentioned it, but she made him as comfortable as she could, as they made a date to go to the Connaught for dinner. And the girl she met there the following night didn’t surprise her at all, she only wished she had. She was so typically English. She was tall and spare and pale, and she almost never spoke. She was extremely well-bred, and totally respectable and the most boring girl Sarah thought she had ever met. She was Lady Cecily Hawthorne. Her father was an important Cabinet minister, and she was a very nice girl, incredibly proper and well-bred, but Sarah couldn’t help wondering how Phillip could stand her. She had absolutely no sex appeal, there was nothing warm and cozy about her, she was certainly not a person you could ever laugh with. And Sarah tried to mention that to him gently before she left the next morning.
“She’s a lovely girl,” she said over breakfast.
“I’m glad you like her.” He seemed very pleased, and Sarah found herself wondering how serious this was and if she should worry. Here she had a baby in diapers on her hands, and now she had to worry about daughters-in-law, and William was gone. There was no justice in the world, she moaned to herself, as she tried to look casual to Phillip.
“Is it serious?” she asked, trying not to choke on a piece of toast when he nodded. “Very serious?”
“It could be. She’s certainly the kind of girl you’d want to marry.”
“I can see why you think that, dear,” she said, trying to sound calm to him, and wondering if he believed her. “And she’s a lovely girl… but is she enough fun? That’s something to think about. Your father and I always had such a good time together. That’s an important thing in a marriage.”
“Fun?” he said, with a look of astonishment. “Fun? What difference could that possibly make? Mother, I don’t understand you.”
“Phillip.” She decided to be honest with him, and hoped she wouldn’t regret it. “Good breeding isn’t enough. You need something more… a little character, someone you want to jump in and out of bed with.” He was old enough to hear the truth from her, and it was 1966 after all, not 1923 Young people were going to San Francisco and wearing bedspreads and flowers in their hair, surely he couldn’t be that stuffy. But the amazing thing was that he was. He seemed appalled as he looked at his mother.
“Well, I can certainly see you and Father did a lot of that, but that doesn’t mean I intend to choose my wife by those standards.” She knew at that exact moment that if he married this girl, he would be making a terrible mistake, but she also knew that if she told him that, he’d never believe her.
“Do you still believe in a double standard, Phillip? That you play with one kind of girl, and marry another? Or do you really like the serious, well-bred ones? Because if you like playing with the sexy, fun ones, and you marry a proper one, you could be in for a lot of trouble.” It was the best she could do under the circumstances, but she could see he got it.
“I have my position to think of,” he said, sounding very annoyed with her.
“So did your father, Phillip And he married me. And I don’t think he regretted it. At least, I hope not.” She smiled sadly at her eldest son, feeling as though he were a total stranger.
“You were from a perfectly good family, even if you were divorced.” She had told them all long ago, so no one else would. “I take it you don’t like Cecily then?” he asked icily, as he stood up and prepared to leave the table.
“I like her very much. I just think that if you’re thinking about marrying her, you need to think seriously about what you want in a wife. She’s a very nice girl, but she’s very serious, and not very outgoing.” Sarah had always known he had a passion for racier girls “on the side,” from tales she’d heard in London and Paris. He liked to be seen and photographed with the “right” kind of girls, but at the same time, he enjoyed the others. And there was no doubt that Cecily was one of the “right” ones. But she was also a very dull one.
“She’d make an excellent Duchess of Whitfield,” Phillip said austerely.
“I suppose that’s important. But is it enough?” She felt compelled to ask him.
“I think I’m the best judge of that,” he said, and she nodded, hoping he was right, but convinced that he wasn’t.
“I only want what’s best for you,” she told him as she kissed him, and he went into the city then, and she went back to Paris that afternoon with her two younger children. She took them back to the château, and left them with Julian, and then she went back to Paris for a few days to attend to business, but her heart wasn’t in it anymore, and all she wanted to do was go back to the château and visit his grave, which Emanuelle told her was morbid.
It took her a long time to feel like herself again, and it was only that summer that she felt halfway normal. And then Phillip announced to them that he was marrying Cecily Hawthorne. Sarah was sorry for him, but she would never have said so. They were going to live in his London flat, and spend a great deal of time at Whitfield. She would keep her horses there, but Phillip assured his mother that she could use the hunting box whenever she wanted. He and Cecily were taking over the main house of course. He never even mentioned the other children.
Sarah didn’t have to make any wedding plans. The Hawthornes did all that, and the wedding was held at their family seat in Staffordshire. The Whitfields arrived en masse, and Sarah took Julian’s arm. It was a Christmas wedding, and she had worn a beige wool Chanel suit for the wedding breakfast.
Isabelle was wearing a sweet white velvet dress, with a matching coat trimmed in ermine, and Xavier was wearing a little black velvet suit from La Châteleine in Paris. Julian looked incredibly handsome in his morning coat, as did Phillip. And the bride looked very nice in her grandmother’s lace dress. She was a little too tall for it, and the veil sat oddly on her head, and if Sarah had had someone to gossip with, like Emanuelle, who hadn’t come, she would have admitted that she looked awful, like a great dry stick of a girl, with no charm and no sex appeal whatsoever. She hadn’t even bothered to wear makeup. But Phillip seemed very pleased with her. The wedding was the week before Christmas, and they were spending their honeymoon in the Bahamas.