Abigail expertly feigned puzzlement. “Carolyn, I don’t know what all this is about, and I do wish you’d explain it to me. Whatever has happened, I’m sure we can straighten it out. Now, why don’t you just start at the beginning—”
“No, Abigail. I’ve already taken care of it. I was just in the kitchen, where I told Hannah that Tracy’s party will be on Sunday afternoon, as planned. I do hope it won’t inconvenience Tracy, having to call all her friends again.” Now Carolyn saw the cold fury in the old woman’s eyes, which Abigail made no attempt to hide.
“Except that Tracy will not be calling them again,” Abigail rasped. “The fact that I failed to mention the change to you is my fault. There’s no reason why Tracy should suffer. All the plans have been made, and Hannah has everything under control. I really fail to see the problem.”
“The problem is that Beth will be with her father on Saturday afternoon, as she always is. A fact both you and Tracy are perfectly aware of.”
“Are we?” Abigail replied, allowing her voice to turn venomous. “I think you lend your child’s activities an importance they don’t deserve, my dear.”
Carolyn smiled benignly, betraying none of her inner fury. “The same might be said of your attitude about Tracy, Abigail. At any rate, that’s not the issue. The fact of the matter is simply this: Tracy’s party will take place on Sunday afternoon, or it will not take place at all.”
Abigail’s eyes flashed with pure hatred now. “If that’s what you and Phillip have decided, I’m sure there’s nothing I can do about it,” she said. “Perhaps you’d better tell Tracy about the change in plans. I believe she’s outside playing tennis.”
“I’ll tell her,” Carolyn replied. “And I’ll be sure to be as careful about telling her as you were about telling me.”
“I had intended to tell you!” Abigail fumed.
“All right,” Carolyn sighed. “Have it your own way, if it’s so important to you. But you’re wasting your time, and making life harder for all of us.”
“Am I?” Abigail asked, her voice icy. She rose to her feet and, grasping her cane, started toward the French doors. “Perhaps I am. But perhaps I’m not. I don’t know why Phillip married you, Carolyn, but I do know that he is still my son, and still a Sturgess. In time, he will come to his senses. As to the party, I shall explain things to Tracy myself, and we shall deal with the situation. And hereafter, I shall do my best to protect Tracy, and bring her up in a manner of which Lorraine would approve.” Leaving Carolyn still sitting in her chair, Abigail swept regally out of the room.
Like so much of the furniture in the old house, the overstuffed wing chair needed reupholstering. Nothing had been repaired or refurbished here for years, for Abigail refused to see how threadbare it had all become. The old woman saw only the splendor of her youth, when the house had been staffed by a butler, five maids, a cook, and a gardening staff.
Now all that was left were Hannah and Ben Smithers, who did their best to cope with all the work that had to be done, aided occasionally by a few people who came in part-time when things could be put off no longer.
But Abigail wouldn’t see it. Sometimes, as now, when she was feeling dispirited by the constant battle, Carolyn thought that nothing would change until the day Abigail finally died.
And sometimes Carolyn was certain that Abigail would live forever.
Abigail flung open the French doors, stepped out onto the terrace, and looked down toward the tennis court, where Tracy, dressed in spotless whites, was playing with Alison Babcock. Abigail watched the game for a few minutes, remembering the days before concrete courts, when the young ladies and gentlemen of her own generation had played genteel lawn tennis here — days long ago that Abigail still missed sorely. How much more civilized life had been then. Life went on, some things never changed. That was what Carolyn would never understand. She would never understand that being a Sturgess was something special, with rights and privileges that had to be protected. To Carolyn, the Sturgesses were just like anyone else.
Abigail knew better, and always had.
And Tracy knew it, too.
The game ended, and Tracy, grinning joyfully, was running toward her.
“Three sets, Grandmother,” she crowed. “I won three straight sets!”
“Good for you,” Abigail told her. “Why don’t I have Hannah bring us some lemonade, and we can sit for a while?”
Tracy’s face immediately crumpled. “But Alison and I wanted to go to the club. Her mom’s picking us up.”
“Well, I’m sure a few minutes won’t matter, and I want to talk to you about something.”
“What?” Tracy asked. “Why can’t we talk about it later?”
“Because I think we’d better talk about it now,” Abigail replied in a tone that warned Tracy not to push her luck too far. Reluctantly, the girl accompanied her grandmother to a small wrought-iron table surrounded by four chairs, and sat down.
“I’m afraid our little plan didn’t work out quite the way we intended,” Abigail began. “Carolyn has changed your party back to Sunday.”
Tracy’s eyes flared dangerously. “But she can’t do that! I’ve already told everyone it’s Saturday!”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” Abigail replied. “But there doesn’t seem to be anything we can do. Beth is going to be here. And,” she added, smiling tightly, “I shall expect you and your friends to treat her exactly as I would myself.”
Tracy’s eyes clouded threateningly, but then, as she began to understand, a smile spread over her face. “We will, Grandmother,” she replied. A horn sounded from the front of the house, and Tracy leaped to her feet. “Is it okay if I go now, Grandmother?”
“Of course,” Abigail replied. Tracy bent over, and the old woman gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “You have a good time, and don’t worry about the party. I’m sure you know exactly what to do.”
When Tracy was gone, Abigail suddenly had a sense of being watched, and turned.
Standing at the French doors, looking at her thoughtfully, was Carolyn.
It doesn’t matter, Abigail told herself. Even if she heard, she won’t know what I was telling the child. The woman doesn’t even speak our language.
Beth retreated to her room right after dinner that evening. The meal itself had been horrible — her mother hadn’t come down at all, and she’d had to sit at the table, picking at her food, while Tracy glared at her and old Mrs. Sturgess ignored her. Uncle Phillip had been nice to her, but every time he started to talk to her, Tracy had interrupted him. Finally, pretending that she didn’t feel well, she’d asked to be excused.
Now she lay sprawled on her bed, trying to read a book, the radio playing softly in the background. Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and Beth rolled over and guiltily switched the radio off. A second later the door opened. With relief, Beth saw that it was not Tracy this time.
Phillip stuck his head inside. “Okay if I come in?”
Beth nodded. “I’m sorry the radio was too loud. I didn’t think anyone could hear it.”
Phillip’s brow knit into a frown. “It isn’t even on, is it?”
“I turned it off. I was afraid Tracy—” Then she fell silent, suddenly embarrassed.
“Tracy’s downstairs, listening to the stereo in the music room,” Phillip replied. “If you want the radio on, turn it on.”
“I don’t want to bother anyone.”
Phillip hesitated, then crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “How come it’s not all right for you to bother anyone, but it’s all right for everyone else to bother you?”
Beth regarded her stepfather shyly. “But it’s Tracy’s house.”
“It’s your house too, Beth,” Phillip told her. “And it seems to me you ought to be sticking up for yourself a little more. Your mother can’t fight all your battles for you.”
