Her Father's House by Belva Plain Read Free Book Online Page B

borrowed jewelry was tacky. It was funny how a man who seldom gave thought to his old life anymore could suddenly find a quirky memory like that one popping into his head.
    Nevertheless, the necklace was an enhancement, drawing the eye to the pure curve of Lillian's chin, to the red of her plump lips and the blue of her eyes. Men would look at her this evening; they always did. Well, let them look. He reached over and for a moment or two held her hand.
    The house that they reached was enormous and obviously quite new. White Corinthian columns gave it the look of a Southern plantation; the huge, double front doors, heavy and dark brown, were definitely Victorian, while from each side of the main building there jutted a flat-roofed wing that could easily be mistaken for a storage warehouse, he thought, except for its vast plate-glass windows.
    Pretty awful, he thought. His work had taken him to some great mansions here and abroad, and none of them had ever looked like this.
    At the rear of the house on a wide open space that apparently had been cleared out of the surrounding woodlands, a colorful crowd moved about, while waiters in contrasting white moved among them carrying trays.
    â€œWhat a picture!” Lillian cried. “They've invited two hundred fifty people, I heard. Oh, Donald, look at that—”
    That,
to their right down a gentle slope, was a sizable pond near the edge of the woodland. At its center rose a quaint gazebo of wooden filigree such as one may see in an old-fashioned garden.
    â€œDo you swim out to it?” she wondered.
    A man, passing and overhearing, replied, “No, it's just for water lilies and for beauty.” Laughing, he added, “For algae, too. But everybody wants a pond these days. They've already had their pools forever. By the way, am I supposed to know you? I'm Roy Fox, Tommy's brother.”
    Introductions were made, hands were shaken, and the three walked on toward the enormous tent in the distance.
    â€œWe're very close old friends of Chloe and Frank,” Lillian said.
    â€œAre you? Then we must have met before. I'm a people person, and yet I've got a bad memory.”
    â€œOh, there you are,” Chloe Sanders called out. “I said to Frank, those are the Wolfes in that stunning little Italian number. When did you get it?”
    â€œWe didn't. We rented it,” Donald said.
    â€œTo try it out,” Lillian explained. “To see whether we like it enough to buy it.”
    Something trickled down Donald's neck. It was so warm that it could well have been a few drops of water, but it was not; it was shame. Why did she say things like this as if people couldn't see right through her remark? On the other hand and for all he knew, perhaps they didn't see.
    Frank Sanders now came up. “Place is jumping. I never knew I knew so many people. Take two steps and there's old Ray, or Charlie, or somebody. It's a great crowd. They've got two top bands—I forget the names—but later on there's going to be entertainment by the Dig Down Wheezers. They cost a dime or two!”
    â€œI'm starved,” said Chloe.
    The crowd was drifting toward the tent. It was a huge construction whose walls were of sheer white silk. Losing touch with the only couple they knew, as the Sanders were immediately surrounded by friends, Donald and Lillian found themselves at a table with strangers. They were all strangers to one another.
    Not the top echelon, he thought with some amusement. They're on the fringe, like us. They're the leftovers.
    Lillian was perplexed that they were not sitting with any of the women with whom she had become acquainted at the charity luncheons, and he saw that she was hurt. She did not understand that status here was assigned according to net worth, but since this was neither the time nor the place to explain that, he merely said that it was nice to be meeting new people. A pretty young woman across from them was telling everyone that they