Regan noticed that only Mario and Immaculata seemed to think it was a wonderful idea. She had a vision of a succession of Christmas cards featuring Mario the Third and Concepcione standing before a fireplace, Christmas stockings dangling over their heads.

Chapter 39

THURSDAY, JUNE 25

“REGAN, IT’S TIME to get up!” Veronica sang as she lifted Regan’s blanket and tickled her feet.

What did I do to deserve this? Regan wondered futilely as she struggled to open her eyes. No matter how hard she tried to become a morning person, Regan had never been able to turn herself into one of those early risers who bound out of bed with glee. I should get a job working the night shift somewhere, she thought.

“I’m so glad we didn’t stay in the casino for very long last night. Coming up here and reading in bed was such a joy, although I stayed up later than I wanted to with your mother’s book. You had already fallen asleep, Regan, and I had to force myself to turn out the light at one o’clock. I can’t wait to tell your mother that when I finally meet her.”

“Oh, that’s nice, Veronica. She’s always glad to hear people like her books.” Regan rolled over, pulled the covers around her and contemplated how wonderful it would be to sleep for another hour or two. “What time is it?”

“Seven-thirty. We have to go down, have breakfast and be at the beauty parlor by nine o’clock.”

“You’re not going to exercise class this morning?”

“No time. We’re having the works done today and then have to get ready for our soiree.”

Regan sat up on her elbows. “We?”

“Of course. I’ve signed us each up for a manicure, pedicure, anti-aging facial, massage, seaweed treatment, blow-dry and a makeup application.”

“Are you sure we’ll be out of there by the time we get to New York?” Regan asked as her feet hit the floor. But she admitted to herself that it certainly sounded better than going to any more financial or poetry seminars.

“Of course.” Veronica zestily flung open the sliding glass door to the terrace and breathed in the salt air. Regan decided that the cilia in Veronica’s nose got more of a workout than the bristles on an industrial-strength vacuum.

“They’ll serve us lunch there,” Veronica explained. “Unfortunately we’ll have to forgo any lectures today. I suppose it goes with the territory of being a charming, beautiful hostess.” Veronica walked out onto the deck singing, “What I did for love ...”