had to pinch herself when Jack had begun to pay court, singling her out at the usual round of drinks parties, insisting she partner him at tennis and showering her with compliments and gifts that bemused and thrilled her in equal measure. Her parents had watched with predictable satisfaction from the sidelines, no doubt whispering behind their hands about a possible engagement. Jack had finally proposed in September, ironically during the dreadful hurricane that had hit Long Island with almost no warning. She recalled that terrifying afternoon, when Jack and his family and servants had turned up ashen-faced at the Huntley-Morgans’ house, seeking shelter from the violent storm. The Hamblins’ house in Westhampton Beach was being lashed by huge angry waves and was in danger of flooding completely, whereas her own family residence was located further inland on higher ground, and had a large cellar to boot. As they’d all cowered inside it while the wind raged above them, ripping shingles from the roof and toppling trees, Jack had drawn her to one side and held her close.
‘Cecily, my darling girl,’ he’d whispered as she’d trembled in his arms, ‘times like this remind us of how damned short life can be . . . Marry me?’
She had looked up at him in bewilderment. ‘You can’t be serious, Jack!’
‘I assure you I am. Please, darling, say yes.’
And, of course, she had. She should have known somewhere deep inside that it was all too good to be true, but the astonishment that he had chosen her, coupled with the intense love she’d always felt for him, had clouded her judgement and removed all sense. Only three months later, the engagement was off and now here she was, sitting alone on New Year’s Eve, feeling utterly humiliated.
‘Cecily! Why, you came! I never thought you would.’
Cecily was broken out of her reverie by the sight of her youngest sister Priscilla standing in front of her clad in a gorgeous rose-coloured silk gown, her blonde hair falling in perfect coiffured ripples to her shoulders. She resembled Carole Lombard – her heroine – and made sure she adopted Miss Lombard’s style. Sadly, Priscilla’s husband Robert was no Clark Gable. In her high heels, his wife towered over him. He held out his small and rather sweaty hands towards Cecily.
‘Dearest sister-in-law, commiserations on your loss’ – Cecily fought the urge to tell him that Jack wasn’t actually dead – ‘but happy New Year all the same.’
Cecily let him take her by the shoulders and kiss her wetly on both cheeks. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand how Priscilla could bear to get into bed every night with this ugly, thin man whose pasty complexion reminded her of day-old porridge.
Perhaps she lies there and counts his dollars in the bank, she thought cruelly.
Following behind Priscilla was their middle sister Mamie. At twenty-one, she was only thirteen months younger than Cecily. She’d always had a flat chest and boyish proportions, but seven months of pregnancy had transformed her. The blue satin dress subtly emphasised her newly full breasts and the gentle swell of soon-to-be-born baby.
‘Hello, darling.’ Mamie kissed her on both cheeks. ‘You’re looking quite wonderful, especially given the circumstances.’
Cecily wasn’t sure whether this was actually a compliment or an insult.
‘Isn’t she, Hunter?’ Mamie turned to her husband, who, unlike Robert, towered above them all.
‘She’s looking just swell,’ Hunter agreed as he wrapped his arms around Cecily and gave her a hug that felt more like a football tackle.
Cecily liked Hunter enormously – in fact, when Mamie had first brought him home last year, she’d developed rather a crush on him. Fair-haired and hazel-eyed, with a perfect set of white teeth, he’d gotten a summa cum laude from Yale and followed his father into the family’s bank. Hunter was clever and personable and at least he worked for a living, although Mamie said that he did seem to spend an awful lot of time taking lunch at the Union Club with his clients. Cecily hoped she was sitting next to him tonight at dinner; she could pick his brains on the effect that Herr Hitler’s annexing of the Sudetenland was having on the American economy.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, would you kindly take your seats for dinner,’ came a booming voice from somewhere at the front of the ballroom.
‘Just in time, Papa,’ Cecily said as Walter Huntley-Morgan II strode towards the table.
‘I got caught in the lobby by Jeremiah Swift – possibly the most boring man in Manhattan.’ Walter