late, dressed to the nines, as we all were, crisp and sleek and deeply tanned. He grabbed a coupe of champagne from a nearby waiter, caught my eye, smiled, and wandered over.
“I thought I might find you here,” he said.
“Wouldn’t miss it. How was the hunting?”
“Terrible.”
“I didn’t realize you were such friends with the Oakeses.”
Freddie pulled out a cigarette case and tilted it toward my neck. I shook my head. He pulled out one of his strong, brown-papered cigarettes and ejected a flame from his gold lighter, the one his ex-wife had given him for a wedding present. “I like Oakes,” he said. “I like the way he is his own man, the way he stands up to these Bay Street fellows.”
“Yes? Anything else you like?”
He glanced to a nearby cluster of guests. “How lovely you look this evening, Mrs. Randolph. That dress is very much becoming to you.”
“Why, thanks. My housekeeper recommended it.”
“Your housekeeper has an excellent eye.”
“So do you, I hear.”
He opened his mouth. I smiled. We had come to a certain understanding, Freddie and I, landlord and tenant. I think he had made the offer of the cottage with certain hopes, and maybe Veryl was right. Maybe I should have entertained those hopes, maybe I should have put on my red dress and perfume and invited him over for cocktails, put on a record or two, lit some candles, all those things. But I had not. I couldn’t say why. Freddie was a good bet, a gentleman, someone I could like enormously and never fall in love with. Ideal, really. And now he had caught the attention of Miss Nancy Oakes, who always got what she wanted, and I wondered if the twinge I felt in my ribs had something to do with regret or something else.
“Just remember, she’s only seventeen,” I said. “She’s got a hell of a lot to learn, even if she’s the last one to admit it.”
“Ah, Lulu—”
But the commotion was already starting, the entrance of Miss Nancy Oakes on her father’s stocky arm. We turned to the entrance of the ballroom and shuffled back respectfully, while the orchestra made important noises. I remember Miss Oakes wore a green silk dress that perfectly suited her slender figure, and turned her auburn hair especially bright beneath the incandescent lights. I remember how her smile consumed her face and lit her skin from underneath; the way you smile when you’re thrillingly conscious of everyone’s gaze, when you’re experiencing the admiration of every single person in a ballroom like that, when you’re drinking it all in one gulp.
I remember the enchanted expression on Alfred de Marigny’s face, and how I thought, with remarkable detachment, He’s a goner.
Sir Harry Oakes claimed the first dance with his daughter, of course, but when he returned her to the table she grabbed de Marigny’s hand and said something to him, I don’t know what. Whatever it was, it acted as a signal. He stubbed out his cigarette, rose and led her to the floor, or maybe she led him, I don’t recall exactly. I returned to my champagne and drank it all in one marvelous gulp. Across the room, the duke drew his wife from her seat and led her to dance. I checked my watch and saw that the supper wasn’t going to be served for at least another couple of hours.
I knew I should turn to my left-hand companion and strike up some kind of conversation. I knew I should engage with my fellow man, cadge a dance or two from my fellow man—why, it was part of my job, wasn’t it? I was on duty. The social event of the season, don’t you know, and a breathless America awaited my account of the evening. The violins sang, the trombones slid up and down, up and down. The air stank of cigarettes and perfume. Thank God it wasn’t July, I thought. I opened my evening purse and pulled out my Kodak 35. The duchess wore a long, beautifully draped Mainbocher gown of sapphire blue; the duke swept her around the edge of the dancers. She was smiling, had her head tilted back. How she loved to dance, that woman. I lifted the camera and waited patiently until they came into profile through the split finder, aligned, and snap. And again. Next to me, a stoutish, pink-faced man in a wilted collar glanced my way and stubbed out his cigarette, as if he meant business. I excused myself and