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No mystery about that."
"Why not?" I asked, my temples starting to ache in anticipation. "She wonders if its her brother's child."
"What?"
"I'm just passing on what Liana was told. Whitney wonders, because she says Thatcher would never have a child so early in a marriage. She claims he's too smart for that."
"Oh, now he's too smart for that, but according to her, he wasn't too smart with his choice of women," I muttered, then immediately regretted it. Like some sort of self-creating beast, one bitter remark fed on another until it spun out of control.
"Exactly," Manon said. "We thought you should know,"
"Thank you. Mallon,"
"You should come to our next luncheon in two weeks, Willow. We are not your enemies. We're your allies here."
I was silent.
"I'll call you and remind you," she told me. "Oh, and by the way, congratulations."
"Thank you." I said.
The conversation left me feeling a bit depressed. but I scrubbed it out of my mind like some ugly stain and hoped it wouldn't reappear. Of course, the moment I saw Whitney at an event shortly afterward, it all flashed before me in a red sash of fury. Her first remark, which was almost a
compliment, was, "You don't look very pregnant."
"Some,, women don't really show until their seventh or even eighth month. I take it you were not one of those." I said. I wasn't unfriendly, but there was no warmth in my voice. We were standing among nearly a hundred other party guests in a beautiful garden setting.
"No," she said bitterly. "I even hemorrhaged in my third month with Laurel and almost lost her." Her eyes grew small. suspicious. "If you and Thatcher were planning a child so soon, why did you return to college?"
Conversing with someone close by. Thatcher heard her question, and his eyes fixed on me while he waited to see what I would say.
"What difference does that make?" I replied, assuming what I now called my "Palm Beach personality." "We'll hire a nanny and I'll practically not skip a beat. You had a nanny for each of your children until they were twelve. I understand, I don't think I'll need one that long, but if I do. I do." I gave a nonchalant shrug, then smiled at her and added. "After all. Whitney, it's only money. You don't really wonder why it was no concern for us, do you?"
I saw Thatcher's smile widen.
Whitney, who was stone-faced most of the time, actually blanched.
"That's not the point," she stammered.
"What is the point, Whitney?" I asked, looking as if I really wanted to know.
"I didn't think you were the sort who would delegate those responsibilities to someone else."
"What sort is that, Whitney?" I pursued, stepping closer to her.
"Never mind."
"No, I'm curious. What sort is that, Whitney? More responsible, caring, loving. what?" I asked, my face in her face.
She was flustered now and in retreat, her eyes shifting from side to side, looking for some avenue of escape, someone else to engage in conversation, but no one was close enough.
"You don't mean neurotic, do you?" I pursued.
Finally, she hoisted those shoulders of hers, giving her the look of another two inches of height, and looking down at me said. "If you must know, I didn't think you had the social background to tolerate so many servants in your life. It takes some getting used to when you're not born to it.'"
"Oh, don't worry about that," I said with a hollow laugh that was loud enough to draw attention. "When it comes to being spoiled. I'm just as much a socialite as you are."
Thatcher was unable to contain his laugh now. Whitney glared at him, looked arrows at me, and then walked away. "You're getting the hang of this thing," Thatcher whispered.
