The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters #6) - Lucinda Riley Page 0,247

love happy, because before you know it, your life – and theirs – is over and gone. Don’t waste it, Cecily, will you? Work out what and who is important to you and hold fast to them. Promise me?’

‘Of course I do, Kiki. Are you sure you’re okay? I know a great doctor—’

‘Oh, don’t worry about me. Now, you come here and give your godmother a big hug.’

Cecily bent forward and let Kiki embrace her, her godmother’s long red talons sticking into her ribs.

‘Merry Christmas,’ Kiki said as she released her grip, her eyes yet again full of tears. ‘Be happy, won’t you?’

‘I will. Merry Christmas, Kiki.’

Lillian escorted Cecily to the door.

‘Are you sure she’s okay?’ Cecily spoke in a low voice as she stepped out into the hallway. ‘She seems . . . out of sorts.’

‘She’s just low about her son,’ Lillian whispered. ‘And also she hates Christmas; it reminds her of all the people who are no longer here to celebrate it. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll feel better once it’s over. Goodbye now.’

‘Goodbye.’

The following morning, Cecily remembered with childish excitement that it was Christmas Eve. She was surprised to find an invitation card addressed to her on a silver salver in the hall.

MRS TERRENCE JACKSON REQUESTS THE PLEASURE OF

AT THE VASSAR REUNION.

AT HOME ON TUESDAY, JANUARY 3RD 1947

RSVP

18 JORALEMON STREET

BROOKLYN

NEW YORK 11021

Cecily was surprised at the invite; Rosalind had been part of a group of girls who’d shared political and intellectual anecdotes rather than lipsticks in their dorms. Cecily felt Rosalind had always cultivated an air of aloofness, and she’d never quite felt good enough to be a part of her clique.

‘Oh my! You’ve been honoured! Rosalind and her husband’s soirees are considered some of the most sought-after tickets in town. Apparently Mrs Roosevelt herself attended the last one,’ said Mamie, who had arrived in the hallway with a large bag of presents to drop off. ‘She’s quite the feminist, by all accounts,’ she added. ‘You should attend.’

‘You know what, Mamie? I just might,’ Cecily smiled at her before she went upstairs to give Lankenua her injection.

Having left Stella in the kitchen with Mary and Essie, the cook, making all sorts of tasty Christmas treats, Cecily shut herself in the bedroom to prepare Lankenua’s and Stella’s stockings, and to wrap up the smaller version of the cuddly Bloomingdale’s lion that she’d had delivered to the house yesterday. Reminding herself to put a call through to Bill – who had said he would spend Christmas Eve at Muthaiga Club with some of his army pals – Cecily thought through the knotty problem of how she could persuade her parents that Stella should join them tomorrow for Christmas lunch, rather than eating in the kitchen with the servants.

A sudden rapping on her door brought her out of her reverie.

‘Who is it?’ she asked.

‘It’s your mother and I have to speak to you now!’

‘Come in!’

Her mother entered the room, utter shock spread across her face.

‘What on earth is it, Mama? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘Oh Lord, oh Lord, Cecily!’ Dorothea drew in a deep breath. ‘Kiki . . . she’s dead!’

‘Dead? But she can’t be, Mama. I saw her just last night and she looked fine, if a little low . . . What’s happened?’

Dorothea walked over to an easy chair and slumped into it. ‘Her mother just called a few minutes ago. Kiki was found lying in a courtyard at the back of the Stanhope. She . . .’ Dorothea gulped. ‘Apparently, she jumped out of her window. She was wearing her pyjamas when they found her.’

‘Oh my! Oh my! Are you sure it was Kiki?’

‘Of course I’m sure! Helen would recognise her own daughter, wouldn’t she?!’

‘Forgive me, Mama, I’m just so shocked.’

But was she? Cecily thought as she put her arms around her own mother and held her as she wept. It was almost as if last night Kiki had been saying goodbye . . .

‘They’re keeping it quiet over Christmas, but it won’t be two minutes before all the newspapers get hold of the story and dig into Kiki’s life, so that the whole of America can read about her scandals over their breakfast! Oh my, Cecily, I adored her; we go back such a long way, and she was so very kind to you, wasn’t she?’

‘She was, Mama, yes,’ said Cecily, desperately trying to hold back her own tears.

‘And the worst thing is, she wouldn’t see me, one of her oldest friends. If I’d