The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters #6) - Lucinda Riley Page 0,54

fine, really.’

‘Oh, I’m so glad. It must be hard for you with Jack and all.’

‘Well, it’s not the best situation, no, but hey, I still breathe. I was thinking I hadn’t heard from you in a while. How about we get together tomorrow? Treat ourselves to high tea at the Plaza. The scones there are the best in town.’

‘Oh, I’m afraid I can’t. Rosemary is having a little get-together at her place. Apparently, her English friend is over to stay for a while, and we’re all going to learn how to play bridge!’

Cecily swallowed hard. Rosemary Ellis was without a doubt the society queen of their generation, and up to now had been a friend of Cecily’s.

‘I see. Oh well, maybe next week?’

‘I don’t have my diary with me right now, but why don’t I call you Monday and we can see how we’re both fixed?’

‘Good idea,’ Cecily said, trying not to let her voice quaver. Nothing about New York society was spontaneous. Every hair appointment, dress fitting and manicure, let alone a get-together with a friend, was planned and documented weeks beforehand. Charlotte would not be calling her back next Monday.

‘Okay, great,’ Cecily managed. ‘Bye now.’ She slammed the receiver down, then burst into tears.

An hour later, she was lying on her bed staring at the ceiling, because she couldn’t even contemplate reading a book, when Evelyn tapped on her door.

‘Excuse me, Miss Cecily, Mary sent me up as there’s a lady and a gentleman downstairs in the hallway. They were asking to see your mother so she told them she was away. But the lady said she wanted to see you too.’

Evelyn walked across the room and handed Cecily a card.

Cecily read it and sighed. Her godmother Kiki was apparently downstairs. She contemplated feigning illness, but knew her mother would never forgive her if she didn’t receive her old friend in her stead.

‘Take them into the drawing room and tell them I’ll be down in ten minutes. I need to freshen up.’

‘Oh, but the fire isn’t lit, Miss Cecily.’

‘Well, go light it then, Evelyn.’

‘Yes, miss.’

Cecily rolled off her bed and checked her reflection in the mirror. After giving her annoyingly curly hair a brush and deciding she looked more like Shirley Temple than Greta Garbo, then straightening her blouse and skirt and donning her shoes, she added a touch of lipstick before walking downstairs to greet Kiki.

‘Darrrling!’ Kiki purred as she embraced Cecily. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m just fine, thank you.’

‘Well now, you don’t look it, sweetheart. You’re as drawn and pale as the Manhattan sky.’

‘Oh, I’ve been suffering with a cold, but I’m getting over it now,’ Cecily lied.

‘I can’t say I’m surprised. Why, Manhattan is a refrigerator this time of year, and an empty one too!’ Kiki laughed as she shivered and pulled her mink coat tighter around her while walking towards the newly lit fire. She pulled out a cigarette in its holder from her purse. ‘I must say, I can only admire your mother’s bold taste in design. Art deco isn’t for everyone.’ She gestured around the drawing room, one wall of which was clad entirely in mirrored glass. ‘You remember Tarquin, don’t you?’ she asked, obviously only now reminded of the presence of the handsome man Cecily had danced with on New Year’s Eve two weeks ago. He was still wearing his thick tweed coat – even with the fire, the temperature in the drawing room wasn’t much above freezing.

‘I sure do,’ Cecily smiled. ‘How are you, Tarquin?’

‘I’m very well, Cecily, thank you.’

‘Can I offer you any refreshments? Tea? Coffee?’

‘You know, I think some brandy might be just the thing to warm us all up. Tarquin, would you be so kind?’ Kiki indicated the decanters on the sideboard.

‘Of course,’ Tarquin nodded. ‘One for you too, Cecily?’

‘I . . .’

‘Oh, come now, brandy is medicinal, especially for a cold, wouldn’t you say, Tarquin?’

‘I most certainly would, yes.’

But maybe not at two thirty in the afternoon, thought Cecily.

‘So, where has your mother flown off to? Warmer climes, I hope?’ Kiki asked.

‘No, actually, she’s gone down to Chicago to visit her mother – that is, my grandmother.’

‘And what a completely ghastly woman Jacqueline is,’ Kiki said, perching herself on the leather-topped fender in front of the fire. ‘Rich as Croesus, of course,’ she added as Tarquin handed both her and Cecily a glass of brandy. ‘She was related to the Whitneys, you know.’

‘Means nothing to me,’ said Tarquin, offering the armchair by the fire to Cecily before