Mallory laughed and pulled a flat, rectangular box from the tote she’d set at the side of her chair. The package was professionally wrapped in paisley paper tied with a burgundy bow. Lilly opened it to find an exquisite antique shawl of gold lace.

Her eyes stung with sentimental tears. “It’s beautiful. Where ever did you find it?”

“A friend of a friend who deals in rare textiles. It’s Spanish. Late nineteenth century.”

The symbolism of the lace made it hard for her to speak, but there was something she needed to say, and she reached across the table to touch her friend’s hand. “Have I ever told you how dear you are to me?”

“Ditto, sweetie. I’ve got a long memory. You held me together through my first divorce, through those awful years with Michael …”

“Don’t forget your face-lift.”

“Hey! I seem to remember a little eye job you had a few years ago.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

They exchanged smiles. Plastic surgery might seem vain to much of the world, but it was a necessity for actresses who’d built their reputations on sex appeal. Although Lilly wondered why she’d bothered with an eye job when she couldn’t manage to lose even twenty pounds.

The waiter set a gold-rimmed Versace plate in front of Lilly with a tiny square of aspic containing slivers of poached lobster surrounded by a trail of saffron sauce that had been whipped into a creamy froth. Mallory’s plate held a wafer-thin slice of salmon accented with capers and a few transparent slices of julienned apple. Lilly mentally compared calories.

“Stop obsessing. You worry so much about your weight that you’ve lost sight of how gorgeous you still are.”

Lilly deflected the well-meaning lecture she’d heard before by reaching behind her chair and coming up with the gift bag. The waterfall of French ribbon she’d tied around the handles brushed her wrist as she handed it over.

Mallory’s eyes lit up with delight. “It’s your birthday, Lilly. Why are you giving me a present?”

“Coincidence. I finished it this morning, and I couldn’t wait any longer.”

Mallory tore at the ribbons. Lilly sipped her kir as she watched, trying not to show how much Mallory’s opinion meant.

Her friend pulled out the quilted pillow. “Oh, sweetie …”

“The design might be too strange,” Lilly said quickly. “It’s just an experiment.”

She’d taken up quilting during Craig’s illness, but the traditional patterns hadn’t satisfied her for long, and she’d begun to experiment with designs of her own. The pillow she’d made for Mallory had a dozen shades and patterns of blue swirling together in an intricate design, while a trail of delicate gold stars peeped out from unexpected places.