As Charlie pushed the long blond ponytail out of the way, worked the Korres Walnut & Coconut Suntan Oil into the sharp shoulder blades, she wondered if Cybill was befriending her because she wanted to be friends, or if Cybill was befriending her because she wanted to neutralize a threat. Whatever Cybill’s reason was, she was glad. She wouldn’t want to have a girl like Cybill for an enemy.

Chapter Eight

Chapter

• EIGHT •

On Friday night, Richard and Maggie hosted a small dinner party. It was for Jock Pollard Jr., the man who ran the Boston Art Institute, the biggest and best museum in the city, and his wife, Susanna. Plans were afoot to build a new wing, and Richard was vying for the high-profile job. After the wedding, he’d taken a two-week “honeymoon” vacation, which ended a few days ago. Alice had assumed that meant he’d be back in New York during the week, only in Serenity Point on weekends. But, of course, Richard didn’t trudge off to an office every day, like some common nine-to-five drone. No, he worked out of the office upstairs, and then only in the mornings. (He was between projects right now, so his duties were light. Plus, he had plenty of minions to delegate to.) Basically, he was, to Alice’s utter, utter dismay, around as much now as he had been on vacation, a largely silent but intensely judgmental presence, one that cast a long, dark shadow across the house.

This dinner, from what she could gather, was a sort of informal job interview, like an audition to get an audition, a high-pressure situation for both Richard and Maggie. She and Charlie were expected to attend, to be charming but not attention-grabbing, to be pretty but not sexy, to be articulate but not chatty, to, in other words, reflect as well on Richard and Maggie as the Chippendale dining chairs did, or the Tiffany lamps, or the crystal chandelier, or any of the tasteful knickknacks scattered about the room.