apart and then closed shut behind us.
The house itself was nearly a mile from the road, and we were quiet as Jane carefully steered along the narrow drive. I listened to our wheels crunching on the loose gravel. The thick woods on either side contributed to a sense of isolation that had always felt peaceful when I’d visited before. The crisp northern air with its scent of pine brought to mind unbidden memories of long-ago evenings as a child at summer camp, an unfortunate experiment initiated by my parents in the vain hope of instilling in me a love of nature.
We rounded the last turn and the house came into view. From this angle it looked deceptively modest. Every time I came here I wondered how Mrs. Furlong managed to maintain the wooden shingles in exactly the same state of shabbiness, not quite dilapidated but dangerously close. In this case, however, looks were completely deceiving. There were five bedrooms in the house, along with a number of rooms for sitting and lounging, all luxuriously appointed in a manner that was so discreetly expensive that only the most finely trained eyes could appreciate the value of the well-worn rugs, the graceful lines of the Early American antique furnishings, and the sheer scale of investment required to maintain such a lavish household in this simple but elegant comfort.
Light spilled from an upstairs window onto the wide circle before the house. Jane parked the truck next to the line of cars that had accumulated in the clearing along the edge of the drive. I recognized Mrs. Furlong’s aged Mercedes convertible, Mr. Furlong’s even older Volvo, Richard’s spanking new BMW, and Matthew’s battered Saab. Only family members and family equivalents were staying at the house tonight.
The front door was unlatched—the gate at the drive and the high fence around the property made locks unnecessary—and we passed through it single file just in time to catch Lily Furlong ascending the stairs to the second floor. Hearing us come in, she paused and turned to greet us, stifling a ladylike yawn in a delicate fist.
“Oh, there you are, girls,” she said, giving us all a warm smile. “We were getting worried that you’d gotten lost. The roads up here can be so confusing. Did you all have a nice time at the dinner? And, Rachel, what a lovely toast you gave! It was very charming, dear. I know Emma was touched by it.”
“I’m glad you liked it,” I said. Somehow, even when I knew I was saying the right thing, Mrs. Furlong always made me feel gauche.
“Well, I was just about to turn in. We have such a big day ahead of us tomorrow. I think the boys are all sitting out by the pool having a nightcap if you want to join them. The seamstress is coming early in the morning to put some final touches on Emma’s dress, and the poor child was exhausted, so I sent her to bed.” I was sad to hear this; I was impatient for some time alone with Emma before she became Mrs. Richard Mallory. I toyed with the idea of following Mrs. Furlong upstairs and waking Emma up but resolved instead that I would sit her down for a long talk in the morning, seamstress notwithstanding. Besides, I doubted if Mrs. Furlong would appreciate my interfering with Emma’s mandated beauty sleep.
Lily smiled tiredly in our direction. “You all know which rooms you’re staying in, don’t you?” We nodded our acquiescence. “Good, good. Well, don’t stay up too much longer,” she called over her shoulder. “I don’t want any of you ladies dozing off tomorrow during the ceremony. Everything must be perfect for Emma’s big day.”
We bid her good-night, and I led the way toward the back of the house. I’d spent so many summer vacations as a guest here that I knew nobody would begrudge us taking a bottle of champagne from the kitchen refrigerator and borrowing four plastic tumblers from a cupboard.
We’d decided in the car that some private time was in order, so we let ourselves out the kitchen door and tiptoed down the path that led to the lake. I could hear the low rumble of male voices from around the corner of the house, but we continued toward the dock. One by one we removed our shoes and padded out along the planks that stretched over the water.
We lowered ourselves down to sit side by side at the end of the dock, dangling our legs over the edge. The icy water was soothing, and I waggled my toes with pleasure; my feet had had a rough evening, between the three-inch heels I’d worn and the damage Emma’s great-aunt had inflicted. A promising lump was beginning to rise on my instep. I peeled the foil off the top of the champagne bottle and gently worked the cork free. It came loose with a subdued but satisfying pop, and I poured some of the sparkling wine into each of our glasses and passed them down the row.
“Should we toast?” I asked when everyone had a drink in hand.
“Toast what?” asked Hilary. “The wedding?” She made no effort to disguise the sulky tone in her voice.
“No, I’m definitely not in the mood for that,” said Jane. Things were bleak indeed if even Jane couldn’t find a way to put a positive spin on the situation.
Luisa didn’t say anything, but I heard the familiar sounds of her cigarette case opening and the swoosh of her lighter. I wondered idly how many cigarettes she’d smoked that day. Her cigarette case seemed, magically, to be always full of imported Gauloises.
“God,” said Hilary, taking a big gulp of her drink. “I can’t believe Emma’s actually going through with this. If only there were some way to talk her out of it.”
Jane had stretched out on her back to observe the night sky, but now she struggled back up into a sitting position and turned to face us. “You know, I’ve tried to talk to Emma about Richard and the wedding and everything. More than once. I thought that coming from me, since I’ve already been married for such a long time and everything, it might have some weight. But she shuts down as soon as you try to talk to her about him. She just gets really tense and says that everything’s fine and then changes the subject.”
“It’s true, Hil. I’ve tried to talk to her, too,” I said. “And it’s pretty much a guaranteed way to end a conversation of any depth with Emma. I don’t understand it at all. I mean, it seems so obvious that she’s not really happy with him. She’s clearly not eating enough or sleeping well, and she can’t get any work done. But she also seems determined to go through with this.” The argument she’d had with her father had made that all too clear.
“I know all that,” answered Hilary, exasperated. “The last time I was in New York I kept her up half the night haranguing her about all the rumors I’d heard about Dicky when we both lived in Los Angeles, after college. All of the sleazy business deals and random affairs. He was notorious when he was there, he really was. And Emma didn’t bother to deny any of it, or to defend him. In fact, she didn’t even get upset. I sort of thought it would piss her off, my saying all of those things. But she just nodded her head and didn’t say anything except that she’d be fine and not to worry about it. It was like talking to a wall.”
Luisa exhaled an impatient stream of smoke. “Look, Hilary, I’ve spoken to Emma about Richard as well. When she came to me about the prenuptial agreement—”
“What? Emma signed a prenup? Why? She’s the one with all of the money!” Hilary was incredulous. So was I. This was the first I’d heard of a prenuptial agreement.
“Mierda. I thought you all knew. Forget I mentioned it.”
“The cat’s out of the bag on this one, Luisa. You might as well tell us the whole thing now,” said Jane.
“Did Emma’s parents make them sign one? To protect her in some way from Richard?” I asked. That would have been a relief.
“No, no. Nothing like that. It was all Richard’s idea. Apparently he insisted on it.”
“Richard’s
