“So nice to meet you,” I said. “You have a lovely home.”
Hannah tipped her head. “Lakecrest has many impressive qualities, but loveliness is not one of them.”
“Then I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Matthew laughed, and Hannah’s eyes flickered back and forth. Her face remained resolutely blank, but I could tell she had been momentarily thrown off balance. I wasn’t sure if I’d offended her.
“I’ll take you on a tour later,” Matthew said. “Once Mum releases me from my hosting duties.”
“From what I hear, you’ve released yourself from all sorts of duties since Kate came to town,” Hannah said tartly. She offered me a tight smile. “How long are you visiting Chicago?”
My mind swirled with all the things I could say—I’m not visiting; Matthew and I are married—and I glanced at Matthew, expecting him to come to my rescue. Instead, he looked oddly unsure of himself as the silence lengthened. It had been Matthew’s idea to surprise his mother, yet here he was, avoiding the very situation he’d brought about. Standing next to Hannah, my once-confident husband looked somehow diminished. Afraid.
Finally, Marjorie interjected herself into the uncomfortable family tableau. “Matts, tell Mum your big news!”
Hannah looked at Matthew, and Matthew looked at me, and I glanced down at my ring, which had rubbed my finger red with all my fiddling. Hannah followed my gaze and instantly understood. With a few twitches of her lips, her expression shifted from calm to furious. But her body remained motionless, and her voice, when she spoke, was measured.
“Congratulations to you both.”
If Matthew had intended to declare his independence by marrying me, the plan had failed. He looked like a miserable schoolboy, awaiting his punishment.
“Clearly, we have much to discuss, but now is not the time, nor is this the place,” Hannah declared. “Matthew, why don’t you show Kate to the buffet?” She gave me what would have looked like a friendly smile to anyone who couldn’t see the coldness in her eyes. “You look as if you enjoy a good meal. Marjorie and her friends are so keen on staying slender, it’s a novelty to see a girl with meat on her bones. If you’ll excuse me . . .”
She gave us a dismissive nod and turned away. I flushed at the insult, feeling more out of place than ever in the expensive dress I’d once adored. Hannah was right. No matter what I wore, I couldn’t help but look dumpy and ugly next to someone like Marjorie.
Matthew grabbed my hand and squeezed. “She’ll come round.”
I wasn’t at all sure, but I forced a grateful smile.
“I’d say we deserve a drink. Mum keeps Lakecrest dry, but Margie’s friends usually sneak in some booze. Ah—Jack might know.”
Jack turned out to be Jack Turnbull, who’d gone to Yale with Matthew. It wasn’t long before Matthew and I were surrounded by a huddle of Jacks and Jocks and Jims, all of whom were identified by whether they went to Harvard or Princeton or Yale but seemed otherwise interchangeable. Almost immediately, Matthew slipped into the kind of man-about-town behavior I’d never seen from him before, slapping his friends on the back and laughing raucously at jokes I didn’t understand.
The women who had accompanied these men formed their own separate cluster nearby, one I felt excluded from even after Matthew had introduced me and they’d squealed at the news of our marriage. Though I tried to fake an interest in their talk about housekeeping and babies, I couldn’t think of a thing to say, and I felt cut off from their easy camaraderie. I was still an outsider, as I’d been all my life. I glanced around the terrace and saw Marjorie brandishing a cigarette with dramatic self-assurance, surrounded by a rapt group of men. I caught Hannah glaring at me before I turned pointedly away. I felt detached and light-headed, like I’d faint if I didn’t get away from all these strangers and their shrill chatter. I slipped in next to Matthew and told him I wanted to take a walk around the grounds.
“I know I promised a tour, but could it wait?” he asked. “I haven’t seen these fellows in a while.”
“I’ll go on my own. I don’t mind.”
“I’ll find you soon.” Matthew brushed his fingers along my cheek, an unexpectedly intimate gesture. I hoped Hannah had seen it.
I stepped off the terrace, and my heels sank into the thick grass. Ahead, I could see a path running along the bluff that overlooked the lake; to my right was another trail that led into a cluster of pine trees. I set off to the left, toward a white structure in the distance. A stone walkway curved past a fountain surrounded by rose bushes, each at its fragrant peak. I walked on, under trellises and through rows of columns that looked like the remnants of an ancient palace. The terrain became less orderly the farther I went, with dandelions running unchecked through the grass and crowding against a gazebo set atop a hill.
I walked up and stood inside. The building was small—no more than ten feet across—but lavishly constructed, with an intricate frieze carved into the lower portion of the dome that formed the ceiling. It seemed to have been inspired by Greek mythology: figures in flowing dresses and tunics were carrying sheaves of wheat and bunches of grapes. I looked back toward Lakecrest, a ramshackle dollhouse in the distance. The steep bluff dropped down to a private beach, where I could see tiny figures moving around on the sand. A yacht was tied up at the end of a long wooden dock—Matthew had made offhand references to sailing—and the water twinkled with reflected sunlight.
My eyes wandered along the shore, and as I turned my head northward, the bucolic landscape was interrupted by a hulking wall of deep-red brick. The remnants of a path leading toward it were barely visible under a carpet of weeds. Strangled by ivy and crumbling from the pounding of countless harsh winters, the building loomed menacingly over the untended terrain. Except for the drone of cicadas and an occasional birdcall, this part of the estate seemed to be deserted. That is why I was so startled to see a woman appear around one corner of the brick wall and walk toward me. She was somewhere between middle-aged and old, with a plump stomach and wobbly chin, and I could tell by the immaculate white of her shoes and gloves that she had money. Her smile was cautiously friendly.
“I didn’t know anyone else was out here.” She held out her hand. “How do you do. I’m Mabel Kostrick.”
“Kate Moore. That is—Kate Lemont.”
It was the first time I’d said the words aloud, and they suddenly sounded preposterous. How could that possibly be my name?
“Matthew’s wife,” I explained.
“Ah, Jasper’s boy.” Mabel didn’t look taken aback or even particularly interested. Here was one person, at least, who hadn’t been gossiping about me.