hedge fund husbands and their gala-giving wives, but old Highfield, the people who founded this town, who moved up from Manhattan. The artists, the writers, the actors, together with the handful of old-money names whose families, in some cases, are traceable back to the Mayflower.
This Saturday morning tennis game has been going on for twenty years. Back when they both had living husbands it was a foursome, and now they have revolving spots, different people coming every week, Rose making sure that whoever is invited is interesting, for she always has a luncheon afterward, with more people dropping in, and there is nothing Rose loves more than bringing people together.
For twenty years, Rose and Edie have been bickering like an old married couple themselves. They try not to partner with each other, for Rose spends the entire time muttering that Edie is as slow as molasses, and Edie complains that Rose spends too much time at the net and has a horrible backhand.
Newcomers are always horrified at the way they talk, but the regulars have learned to ignore it. As soon as the games are over, Edie and Rose are back to being best friends, and by the time they all sit down to lunch, you would have no idea that just minutes before they were shrieking at each other.
“Rose!” Edie calls up the stairs.
“Come up!” Rose calls down. “I’m in my dressing room. Anyone else here?”
“Don’t think so.” Edie pushes open the door. “What are you getting so dolled up for? It’s only tennis.”
“This isn’t dolled up. It’s lipstick. That’s tantamount to brushing my hair. So who’s this fellow you invited?”
“Steve Halladay. He’s attempting to woo the lovely Kit, and I don’t trust him. And I know you’re a rather wonderful judge of character, so I thought I’d invite him to join us and see what you think of him.”
“I don’t care about his character,” Rose says. “How’s his tennis game?”
“No idea. Consider this one a favor for me.”
“Of course.” Rose smiles tenderly at Edie, who thinks once again that despite the bristle, Rose is more kindhearted than anyone she has ever known.
“Who’s your contribution?”
“Lovely fellow. Bobbie Bhogal. He’s some sort of hugely successful entrepreneur, lots of businesses in England, and the most delicious English accent. You know how I love an Englishman.”
“So how’s his game?”
Rose laughs. “I don’t really care either. He’s here for a few days on business. He has all these Internet Web sites, and I thought it would be nice to invite him. If he’s hopeless I’ll just have him sit on the side and tell us stories. Honestly, I could listen to him talk for hours.”
“Why, Rose! You sound like you have a soft spot for him!” Edie looks at her slyly.
“Well, I do. Or at least I would, if he was forty years older, or I was forty years younger. Plus he has a beautiful wife and a set of twins. Sadly, it is not meant to be.”
“So how do you know him?”
“George Sullivan told him to look me up if he was ever in New York. He was in New York last week, and he phoned. I took him out for dinner.”
“You old flirt.”
“I know! But isn’t it fun? And George says he’s a good man, so at least we know we won’t have two bad seeds. Oh, isn’t that the doorbell?”
“I’ll go,” Edie says. “You stay and finish troweling on your makeup.”
“Yay, Steve!” Kit claps and roars from the sidelines, Annabel at her side. “You’ve got to admit,” she mutters out of the corner of her mouth, “he’s pretty damn gorgeous.”
“I will say that although he’s an ‘older man’ ”—Annabel makes quote marks with her fingers—“”he”s a damn fine-looking one.“
Kit turns to look at her with a grin. “I keep forgetting you’re twenty-eight. Let me tell you, by the time you hit the ripe old age of forty, men like that are better than damn fine specimens, they’re a dying breed.”
“Aren’t they just a little bit saggy and wrinkly?”
“No more saggy and wrinkly than me. Actually, I’d say Steve’s in pretty fantastic shape. Look at his leg muscles when he runs.”
“Granted, he is pretty fit.”
“So, what did you think of him?”
Annabel laughs. “We only said hello. I didn’t have much of a chance to form an opinion. Anyway, it’s not my opinion you have to worry about, is it? What Rose thinks of him, that’s the million-dollar question.”
“I’m not sure she’s focusing on him.” Kit glances over at Rose. “She’s too