Marjorie, not surprisingly, made straight for Billy when she joined us later for drinks.
“Shame you didn’t bring your saxophone,” Marjorie told him. “Wouldn’t that be a hoot, jazz in the sitting room?”
“I’m glad to have the night off for a change,” Billy said.
Despite Marjorie’s flirtatious banter, Billy stuck by Blanche’s side as the rest of the guests trickled in. A good sign. The group Hannah had assembled was a ragtag assortment of East Ridge society and Lemont Industries managers and their dowdy wives, none of whom did much to liven up the conversation. Blanche and Billy were the only guests younger than forty until the final couple arrived, not long before supper was announced. A husband and wife, cheeks flushed from the cold, apologizing as Hannah made quick introductions.
“Mr. and Mrs. Victor Monroe. Our new neighbors.”
Matthew extended his hand. “So you’re the ones who bought the old Finley place. How’s it suiting you?”
“It’s a palace!” Victor said, his voice as powerful as his handshake. “You get so much more land for your money here, compared to New York.”
I looked at his wife. Small frame, mousy hair, delicate features. I remembered the woman I’d seen standing forlornly in the snow from the road. She didn’t seem to recognize me, but why would she? I’d been so far away.
“Kate Lemont,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Eva. Thank you for having us.”
“How are you settling in?”
Eva spoke quietly but precisely, like someone who carefully considered each word. “All right, I guess. We’ve got three little ones, and our old nanny didn’t want to move, so I’ve been busy hiring a new staff. Training the maids how we like things done. You know how it is.”
Did I?
“Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” I offered. I couldn’t imagine she’d ever need anything from me, what with all that staff, but it seemed like the polite thing to say.
Before I could come up with any more stilted conversation, I saw Hannah beckon me over and excused myself.
“Kate, this is Dr. Westbrook,” she said, indicating an elderly bearded man. “He’s a specialist in obstetrics at Northwestern.”
Obstetrics? Hannah had told me not to talk about the baby, saying it was bad form to acknowledge my condition so early.
“An old friend of my father’s,” Hannah explained.
Nodding at me, the doctor said, “You’re too young to have known Dr. Rieger, of course.”
“Oh, I’ve heard a great deal.” I’d let Hannah wonder what I meant by that.
“A giant in his field,” Dr. Westbrook said. “I wonder what he’d say about all the nonsense that’s taken over in recent years.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The blather about dreams. Blaming all psychoses on terrible mothers.”
“So you don’t subscribe to Dr. Freud’s theories?”
“They’re quite dangerous!” Dr. Westbrook exclaimed. “Anxiousness, melancholy—these conditions have a physical cause, and they demand a medical solution. It’s very dangerous to suggest otherwise.”
“Dr. Westbrook,” Hannah interrupted, “given our families’ long friendship, there’s something I wanted to ask. Dear Kate recently informed us she is expecting”—the last word whispered, with a conspiratorial raise of the eyebrows—“and I hope you’d do us the honor of looking after her.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Dr. Westbrook said.
“I already have a doctor.”
“Nonsense,” Hannah admonished. “Dr. Westbrook has delivered hundreds of babies. You’re a very lucky girl.”
Dr. Westbrook reached into his jacket and pulled a calling card from the inside breast pocket. “Phone my office on Monday to make an appointment.”
“Don’t forget,” Hannah told me. “I want you to receive the very best care.”
After all, I was carrying the next Lemont.
At supper, I was seated next to Luanne Handleman, the ancient president of the East Ridge Ladies’ Club. Luanne, who was nearly deaf, kept asking me to repeat what I said, leaving me little time to get to know Billy, who was seated on my other side. Occasionally I’d hear Marjorie’s laugh float above the general monotone of conversation, giving the night a charge, a sense that anything might happen.
Hannah liked to run her parties the traditional English way, with the ladies and gents separating after the meal. As the maids cleared the dessert plates, Hannah rose from the table, but instead of escorting the women out, she walked over to Matthew and put her hand on his shoulder.
Matthew stood up. “I’m afraid I must excuse myself,” he announced. “I have some pressing business to attend to. Harry, Jerome—come with me to the office, and the other fellows can have their cigars in the billiards room. Ladies, if you’ll excuse us?”
Business? On a weekend? Even more surprisingly, Hannah followed Matthew, leaving the hostess duties to Marjorie and me. Eva Monroe asked to use the phone to check on her children, and I escorted the rest of the women to the sitting room, wishing I could trudge upstairs to bed instead.
Most of the ladies gathered at card tables to play bridge, while Luanne and another old biddy settled into armchairs across the room and looked half-asleep. Marjorie stood by the fireplace, smoking and flicking the ashes over the grate. Blanche was nowhere to be seen; most likely, she’d snuck off with Billy. I couldn’t blame her.
I watched a few hands of cards, trying to look interested. If only I could pick up a book instead.
Eva came in, her lips pinched tight.
“I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid we’ll have to be going,” she said. “My littlest has so much trouble settling down if I’m not there, and it’s possible she has a touch of fever.”
“Of course, I understand,” I said. “I’ll pass on your regrets to Matthew and his mother.”
She smiled gratefully and hurried off. I sank down onto a sofa, and Marjorie tossed the end of her cigarette into the fire and came over to join me. She crossed one slim leg over the other and slid a finger in her hair, pulling a straight blonde chunk back and forth against her jawline.
“That’s what you have to look forward to,” she said.
“What?”
Marjorie smirked and eyed my stomach. “Mothering. Worrying about Junior having a touch of fever.”
I glanced around, but no one seemed to be paying attention.
“I do find it strange,” Marjorie said. “I’d have thought you’d be happier about the baby.”
“Maybe I’m still getting used to the idea.”
“Well, it’s gotten you in Mum’s good graces. Isn’t that what you wanted? Even Matthew seems pleased, though I can’t imagine why. I never thought he was much for children.”
“Who’s not much for children?” Matthew had walked into the room so quietly that I didn’t hear him until he was perched on the arm of the sofa.
“You, dear brother,” said Marjorie.