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"People know I'm to be Mrs. Tony Tatterton. They are looking at me more closely, expecting more. I am really in society now, Leigh."
I didn't think her spending all this extra time on herself made any real difference. Her hair couldn't be any softer, her complexion any more peaches and cream. But I didn't say anything to her because I saw how important it all was to her. What made me feel bad was the way she talked about some of her old friends, even someone like Elizabeth Deveroe. I could tell she thought they had been all right to know when she had been married to Daddy, but now that she was to be Mrs. Tony Tatterton, they were just not good enough. After all, Elizabeth Deveroe was someone for whom she had once worked but would now be working for her.
She always hesitated by her name and some of the other names of old friends when Mrs. Walker read down the list.
"I'm a little sorry I invited them," she would say. "They are going to feel so out of place."
On our way to Farthy for the rehearsal, she did cross off one particular couple who had not been mailed their invitation yet and added a new couple, the Kingsleys, because Louise Avery had told her, "Martin Kingsley, publisher of the Globe, has just returned from Moscow and he and his wife are two of the most sought-after dinner guests in town." She would add these little one-sentence explanations whenever she told Mrs. Walker to write a new name, but Mrs. Walker didn't seem to be impressed. Momma didn't notice or care. She was in her own world, happier than I had ever seen her.
As we drove through th
e gates of Farthy, she was reviewing the menu again, wondering aloud if we needed an additional selection of hot hors d'oeuvres. Even though I wasn't really listening while she rattled on and on during our ride to Farthy, I said I thought it sounded as if there was enough of everything. I made the mistake of adding, "There will be more food than on one of Daddy's cruise ships." She squinted and pulled her mouth in as if she had been slapped.
"Leigh, there will be no comparison. We're not preparing just to stuff people to give them the impression they're getting more for their money; I have hired some of the best gourmet chefs in Boston, each with a specialty. Why, the Frenchman who's preparing the lobster bisque is known everywhere, and . ."
"But Ryse Williams is such a wonderful chef, Mommy. Couldn't he have done it all?"
"Done it all?" She laughed and smiled at Mrs. Walker as if I were five years old. "Hardly. There is enough to keep ten chefs of Ryse Williams' caliber busy. Don't you worry about any of this," she said patting me on the knee. "You just worry about looking good in your dress."
I had to admit I was nervous about it. As one of the bridesmaids, I was to wear a light pink strapless chiffon dress with white lace trim over the bodice and a full skirt. All of Momma's other bridesmaids were grown women. None would have my small shoulders, shoulders I still thought looked too bony, and none would be as dependent on a foam-filled bra to give them a womanly shape. I was sure I would look silly in this dress when I stood among the others, but Momma had chosen it herself to complement her wedding gown. None of the bridesmaids were permitted to wear necklaces and earrings either. Momma wanted her own jewelry to stand out and she wanted to be sure no one would upstage her, for some of these women were very wealthy and possessed famous diamonds.
When the limo pulled up to the front steps of Farthinggale Manor, little Troy was outside with Mrs. Hastings, his nanny. She was nice enough, but the few times I had met her, I had had the feeling she was somewhat overwhelmed by the responsibilities. Troy was very clever for his age and had already figured out ways to outsmart her and get his own way. I saw from the way she was standing beside him as he worked on making a snowman that she was trying to coax him back into the house.
But I also saw from the expression of intensity on his face that he was too involved in his creation even to hear her. He wore the same look he had worn while he and I colored in the pictures he had drawn: his eyes fixed, his face as still as the face of a granite statue. He was working on the details of the snowman's face, carving out the features with the back of a silver spoon.
"Leigh!" he cried the moment I stepped out. "Come see my snowman. Come see."
"You have to get right upstairs and get dressed," Momma warned. Mrs. Walker had gone to the car trunk with Miles to gather the garments. Curtis was already coming down the steps to help, little puffs of air popping from his mouth as he stepped down as quickly as I had ever seen him move. He hadn't put on a coat and in his vest, shirt and pants, he looked like an underdressed scarecrow.
"That's the best snowman I have ever seen," it told Troy. He straightened up proudly and glanced at Mrs. Hastings, who had her gloved hands stuffed so deeply into her coat pockets, she looked as though she might tear the pockets out. "But we've all got to go inside and prepare for the wedding rehearsal. You too," I added, Mrs. Hastings' eyes growing warmer and more appreciative with my every word. "You're the best man, remember."
"I know. Tony already told me I have to carry the ring."
"Come on then. Let's get dressed. We'll come out and play in the snow later."
"Promise?"
"I promise," I said holding out my hand. He took it quickly and we followed Momma and Mrs. Walker into the house, Mrs. Hastings right behind us, her face in a wide smile.
The wedding itself was to be held in the great entry hall. Momma would come down the stairway when the pianist played "Here Comes the Bride," and everyone would be forced to look up and watch her descend like some angel. Just under the stairway the minister would take his place and Tony and little Troy would wait. Cushioned folding chairs for the guests were already placed in the hallway. Tony had told Momma that this would be the fourth wedding ceremony held here. His great-grandfather, grandfather, and father were all married in Farthy. The hallway would reek of tradition, the great portraits of Tony's ancestors looking down as he and Momma recited the oaths of love and loyalty to each other.
Tony emerged from his office as soon as our arrival had been announced. He wore his tuxedo pants and white shirt without a tie, his sleeves still open and without cufflinks. It was the first time I had seen him so informally dressed. For some reason, this way he reminded me even more of a movie star--he looked so tall and dashing.
It bothered me that Tony was so handsome. Daddy wasn't an ugly man, but he was so much older, his face filled with wrinkles weathered by hours, days, months at sea. He wasn't as glamorous-looking; he never looked like a movie star, not that I loved him any less for it. But when Tony and Momma stood beside each other, they commanded everyone's attention. It was as if they had stepped off the cover of a fan magazine. It was very painful to admit that they looked so right for each other. It made me think of Daddy as farther and farther away, dwindling like some distant star that had died a million years ago. I desperately hoped that one day would marry a man just like him, except maybe a man who was less obsessed by his business.
"Darling." Tony took Momma's hands and kissed her quickly on the lips. He smiled, his eyes looking mischievous. "Are you ready for the rehearsal?"
"Of course."
"Your dressing suite is all prepared." He turned to me. "Hi, Leigh. I bet you're not as nervous as I am."
"Of course I am," I said sharply. I couldn't help it. How could he think I wouldn't be nervous . . . more than nervous . . upset? I didn't want to have anything to do with this wedding, and in order to keep from screaming this fact at him I swung my eyes away from his.
"I'm not nervous," Troy chirped. That made everyone laugh, except me.
"That's because you're not the one getting married," Tony told him. Troy just shrugged, but held onto my hand tightly. "Well, now is as good a time as any for me to show Leigh her suite of rooms," Tony said, slapping his hands together.
"Yes, that would be wonderful. Won't it, Leigh?"
