“I still can’t see a free spirit like her married to a stuffed shirt like Ned Marsden. Or maybe it was her premature death that turned him into such a turnip.”
“I’m afraid Neddie Marsden was always a turnip,” Mary admitted. “His second wife is much better suited to him. He’d probably prefer to forget all about Tallulah.”
“His lost love,” Susan murmured. “It’s so romantic.”
“I was a nine-year-old who lost her beloved older sister,” Mary said. “I didn’t find it the slightest bit romantic.”
Susan bit her lip. “I’m sorry. Mother. I’m not usually so self-absorbed. I know you still miss her,”
“Never mind, dear.” Mary came and stood behind her, staring down at the dress with a faraway expression. “It’s in the past, where it belongs. But how extraordinary that Louisa would have this dress.”
“You told me she was Aunt Tallulah’s best friend. That was why you made me her goddaughter, even though she’s never even seen me.”
“Exactly,” Mary said. “So it shouldn’t come as any surprise, really.” She touched the thick satin. “Are you going to try it on, then?”
Susan hesitated, torn. “I shouldn’t...”
“Of course you should. I think you’re right—it’s a sign. Why else would it show up today of all days? If it fits, you have my blessing. I’m sure it’s what Louisa had in mind, the old devil.”
“But what about the rest of the family?”
“No one will remember. Most everyone at that wedding is dead by now—after all it was fifty years ago. And I think Tallulah would want you to wear it.” She reached down and picked it up, shaking out the folds. “I don’t think it even needs pressing.”
It slid over her body like warm water, accentuating her slender curves, Sowing down her long legs. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, and she looked like a lost princess, wistful and serene. She looked like someone she’d known, long ago, a secret girl inside her woman’s heart.
“It fits,” she said. She picked up the soft drape of the skirt and let it fall through her fingers. “I’m wearing it.”
And she imagined, somewhere in heaven, her wild aunt Tallulah laughed.
Two
The tumbledown garage was all that was left of the once-sprawling Abbott estate that had dominated the small, elite town of Matchfield. The mansion and most of its outbuildings had burned in the early sixties, and the rest of the acreage had been developed into tasteful little town houses and a few select enclaves for the very wealthy. The garage had been off at a distance, and it remained, on its island of land, deserted and abandoned in the overgrown forest that bordered the neatly landscaped lawns of Matchfield Commons.
Jake Wyczynski was used to roughing it, and this was the height of elegance compared to some places he’d stayed recently. The roof was mostly intact, as were the windows, there were only a few steps missing on the stairs, and the few pieces of furniture seemed basically sturdy. He threw open the windows, beat several pounds of dust off the thin mattress on the old iron bed and tossed his sleeping bag on top of it.
It would do for the next week He’d promised Louisa, and he was a man who kept his promises. Besides, he owed Louisa more than his life, and he’d walk through fire for her. Attending a society wedding was almost as torturous, but for Louisa he could endure it.
He wondered what she would have thought of her goddaughter. Jake himself had been reluctantly impressed, which made his short exile in society both easier and more difficult Susan Abbott was an amazon, tall and strong and graceful, even in that monstrosity of a dress. He would have been half tempted to rip the thing off her even if she’d professed to love it Such a piece of tasteless fluff was an affront to his sense of beauty. Susan Abbott was a magnificent creature, and she needed magnificent clothes to show her distinctive looks to advantage. Magnificent clothes, or nothing at all.
She’d had smooth, creamy skin beneath that silly dress. He wondered what her fianc6 was like, whether he would appreciate her, or whether he’d want her in polyester and ruffles. She looked a little like a sleeping beauty, chaste, elegant, unawakened. He couldn’t imagine a red-blooded male who wouldn’t want to waken her with something a lot more potent than a kiss.
It wasn’t his business, of course. He was here for Louisa, here as a messenger boy. As soon as the wedding was over he could get back to wherever the spirit moved him. He wondered if cool, straitlaced Susan Abbott bad ever done a spontaneous thing in her entire life.
He was passing judgment, something he hated. People made their own choices, lived their own lives. It wasn’t up to him to decide whether they were doing a good job of it or not.
Still, she looked as if there might be fire beneath her still exterior. She looked as if all her passion was carefully banked within that long, leggy body of hers. Maybe she was just waiting to be awakened.
Dangerous thoughts, and once again, none of his business. He didn’t need to get emotionally involved with the Abbotts, and he certainly didn’t need to get physically involved with a woman on the verge of her wedding.
He’d never been particularly interested in poaching on other people’s relationships. But there was something about the calm clarity of Susan Abbott’s eyes that called him.
He wasn’t a man who noticed tiny physical details, but her vivid green eyes lingered in his mind. As did the small mole just below her shoulder blade, just above the lacy band of her skimpy bra.
He shook his head in disgust Louisa would be sorely disappointed in him, for letting himself be distracted by her little goddaughter.
Except there was nothing little about Susan Abbott And Louisa knew him too well to be surprised by anything. She had always had a healthy respect for natural human lust.
He threw himself down on the cot, and a cloud of dust rose beneath his sleeping bag, gold-flecked motes floating peacefully in the late-afternoon air. Sooner or later he’d go find himself some good old American fast food, maybe a beer as well. He might as well enjoy his exile for the short time it would last Society had a few things to offer, including burgers and fries.
