The Keeper of Happy Endings(57)

Before Rory could protest, she was being steered toward the dining room. “Look who I found, ladies,” Camilla announced as they sailed into the room. “She stopped by to return a leftover container, but when she heard you were here, she just had to come in and say hello.”

Rory managed a smile. Vicky Foster and Hilly Standridge were members of the Women’s Art Council and held prominent positions in Camilla’s entourage.

Hilly smiled at her with sad eyes. “It’s lovely to see you, dear. We were awfully sorry to hear about your young man, but we’re keeping a good thought. Will you be joining us for dessert? I believe your mother’s gone to bring it in.”

As if on cue, Camilla reappeared with the dessert tray. “Your timing is perfect, Aurora. I made your favorite. Apple spice cake with brown-butter frosting.”

“Thanks, but I really can’t. I just stopped by to bring back your soup container. I’ve got tons to do, and traffic—”

“Oh, sweetheart, stay for cake at least. I’m sure you can spare a few minutes—and give your mother a chance to brag a little to her friends.”

Rory shifted awkwardly, keenly aware of Hilly and Vicky looking at her with indulgent smiles. For a sickening moment she was eight again, wearing a yellow chiffon party dress, being hoisted up onto a piano bench at one of her mother’s dinner parties, expectant faces all turned in her direction. Her little hands hot and sticky, frozen on the keys. Her mother’s voice, high and tight from behind her camera. Come now, Aurora, you don’t want to embarrass Mommy in front of her friends.

The photo now sat in a silver frame in her mother’s curio cabinet in the living room, her humiliation captured for posterity. And here she was again, being called on to do her party piece.

Her vision began to smear as she stared at Camilla. It’s just the perfume, she told herself, Shalimar and White Shoulders, mixed with her mother’s Chanel No. 5. She blinked the moisture away and dropped her eyes to the cake. Perfection, as usual.

“Here, sit by me,” Camilla said, pulling out a chair. “And I’ll cut you a nice big slice.”

Rory dropped into the chair obediently, watching as Camilla wielded the cake knife with the skill of a surgeon. Vicky filled four of her mother’s pretty china cups. Four cups, not three. Her mother had known all along that she would get her way.

“Your mother mentioned an internship in Paris when you finish school,” Hilly said, spooning sugar into her coffee. “You must be looking forward to that. We sent all our girls after graduation, though not for anything so exciting as an internship at the Musée d’Orsay.”

“I’m afraid that’s on hold for now,” Camilla answered for Rory. “Aurora has decided to pursue interests closer to home.”

Vicky nodded. “Oh, yes. Of course. But it’s a shame to pass up such a wonderful experience after you went to so much trouble arranging it for her.” She paused for a sigh. “But I suppose school can wait, and Paris isn’t going anywhere.”

Rory had been fiddling with her cake, content to let the conversation go on without her, but listening to her mother being painted as the real victim was a bridge too far. She put down her fork and turned to Vicky. “Actually, I’ve decided not to finish school, Mrs. Foster. I plan to open a gallery instead. With any luck, this fall.”

“A gallery?” Hilly’s mousy brows shot up. “Why, that’s wonderful. Camilla, why didn’t you tell us about this?”

Camilla lifted her coffee cup and sipped before offering a tight smile. “It’s all still in the planning stages. I didn’t want to jinx it.”

“Well, this is exciting. Your very own gallery. You found a good location, I hope. You know what they say—location, location, location.”

“As a matter of fact, I did. I found a wonderful row house right next to DeLuca’s.”

“On Newbury? How perfect—”

“Wait,” Vicky interrupted, waving her fork. “Isn’t that where the bridal shop was? The French woman with her magic dresses. Guaranteed all her brides a happy ending. Hilly, your daughter bought her dress there, didn’t she, back before it burned? What was it called? Something catchy.”

“The Charmed Needle,” Hilly replied. “The woman did stunning work, and all by hand. Though I can tell you, we paid for every last stitch.”

Rory leaned forward in her chair, cake forgotten. “Did it work? The magic, I mean.”

Hilly smiled serenely. “Three grandbabies later, I suppose it must have. The doctors said she couldn’t after she fell off that beast of a horse, but I am thrice a grandmother.”

Vicky rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you actually believe those silly rumors.”

“I’m saying it never hurts to hedge your bet, darling. If I had to do it over again, at twice the price, I’d pay.”

Vicky sniffed at her. “Whatever floats your boat, as they say. But it was a lovely shop. I remember the owner, I think. French and absolutely gorgeous. I seem to remember her being tapped to do a dress for one of the Kennedy girls. A cousin or niece or something. I can’t remember which one, but I remember it being a very big deal. Heaven knows the Kennedys need all the luck they can get. And she certainly had the reputation for it. Whatever happened to her?”

“Died when the shop caught fire, I think,” Hilly replied, fingering the strand of pearls at her throat. “My daughter was terribly upset when she saw it in the papers. They said she was asleep when it started. I’m trying to remember her name.”