As You Wish Read online

  Elise was the first one to let out her laughter, and the other two joined her.

  “What about Cal?” Olivia asked. “Felicity did a real number on him. How did he feel about such a public humiliation?”

  “I have no idea.” Kathy refilled her wineglass. “He’s not married, if that’s what you mean, and he has a different date for every party. What’s with you and Cal?”

  “He just seems to be the one who gets left out,” Olivia said. “I wonder how he reacted to that night? Anger at Felicity? Understanding? That kind of thing shows the true character of a man.”

  “I don’t know. Like I said, Cal stays away from me. I do know that after that night he liked me even less than he did before. For months afterward, he wouldn’t even stay in the same room with me. At my wedding he said, ‘I hope you get what you want out of life.’ The way he said it made my hair stand on end. Actually, the man kind of scares me.”

  “And now Ray is your life,” Olivia said softly. “More or less.”

  “Maybe Andy was afraid to speak to you because you’re the boss’s daughter. Why didn’t you ask him out?” Elise asked.

  “I’m fairly secure about what I can do in the advertising world. I’ve come up with a few good ideas. But—” she motioned to her body with her hand “—I’m not so secure in a, uh, personal way.”

  “Oh well,” Elise said. “At least your husband knows you have a brain. Mine thinks I’m a not-very-bright child.”

  “And mine thought I was only good for work.”

  “Not if you get the right one,” Olivia said. “If I’d had Kit all these years I wouldn’t have gone after Alan and his son.” She sighed. “They would have had a life with people who made them happy.”

  “I wish I hadn’t thought I was so powerful that I could make Kent love me.”

  “And I wish I’d gone up to Andy and asked him out to dinner.”

  The air in the room had become heavy with their regrets.

  Olivia wanted to lighten the mood. “You think you young chickies have it hard? Let me tell you that when it comes to romance, there is nothing as bad as being an unmarried, older woman who is financially comfortable. You know how on TV and in movies when an older man’s wife dies a zillion women show up with casseroles? What I didn’t know is that people actually believe that what a financially secure widow truly wants is to take on some man to support, feed, and endlessly find whatever he’s lost. ‘A nurse or a purse.’ That’s what they want.”

  She took a drink of her wine. “On the day of Alan’s funeral, three old men hit on me. Each one seemed to think it was his decision whether or not he would move into my mortgage-free house. And when I said no... The anger! None of the men wanted me. They just seemed to think it was my duty to take care of them. Sometimes I think I moved in with my stepson to protect myself.”

  Kathy put down her glass. “I have a big, beautiful husband who has such a raw sexuality that women follow him down the street. He and I are best friends, and genuinely love each other—but he never touches me. He is kind, considerate, and generous—and I’d trade it all for one really great screw.”

  They looked at Elise.

  “Me? I’m a good girl. Obedient always. I never gave my parents any problems. When they pushed me toward marriage with Kent, I agreed. And why not? He’s gorgeous and smart and ambitious. I didn’t grow up fantasizing about rock stars. For me, it was always Kent. When I was eight, I started cutting out photos of the house he and I would have together. I made myself exactly what he liked. Shoulder-length hair with a headband? Check. Preppy clothes? Right. The schools that he said the woman he married should go to are where I went. I did it all. I never even questioned it. But what happened? He married me, he likes me, but he is passionate about Carmen. It’s not possible for me to be more opposite than Carmen.” She gave a pointed look at Kathy’s magnificent bosom.

  “Don’t think these babies would solve your problems!” Kathy said. “I live on lettuce and broiled chicken, but even if I were as skinny as you, I don’t think that spark would be between Ray and me.”

  Elise looked at Olivia, her eyes questioning. Should they tell Kathy that Ray was planning to leave her?

  Olivia gave a curt nod and opened her mouth to speak, but a loud knock on the door startled them. She got up to answer it.

  It was getting dark outside and Young Pete, his wrinkled old face scowling, had on a yellow slicker with raindrops on it. “I told those two to get out. They did, but they left the windows open.”

  Elise and Kathy were behind Olivia and looking at the old man.

  When he saw Kathy, his deeply wrinkled face wadded up into a smile. “Didn’t see you here.” His voice was soft as he looked her up and down in a lustful way. He held out an umbrella. “For you.”

  “Thank you.” Kathy took it and smiled back warmly.

  With that, Young Pete turned away, seeming to be pleased by the encounter.

  Olivia closed the door. “I take it that he told Kevin and Hildy to leave. I better go close the windows.”

  “We’ll go with you,” Elise said. “Someone has to protect Kathy from lecherous Young Pete.”

  “No! Don’t! He’s the best offer I’ve had in years,” Kathy said, and they laughed. Kathy lent Elise a jacket. It was Prada, too big, but the buttery leather felt divine. “Kathy and I will close the windows,” Elise said as Olivia got the house keys out of her handbag. “You don’t have to go in.” She explained that Olivia wanted to wait until Kit was there so they’d be together when they first saw the house.

  “No,” Olivia said. “I think I would like to see it. You two have made me feel good about having a man who actually wants me.”

  When she turned away to the door, Kathy and Elise looked at each other. Maybe Olivia had found the man, but what about the forty-some years she’d missed out on? And didn’t the current problem have to do with that? Kevin and Hildy were part of her late husband.

  But they said nothing. Kathy found a flashlight in a kitchen drawer and they followed Olivia across the drive to the fence that enclosed the River House. Elise made jokes about using the flashlight as a weapon to fight off Young Pete when he came after Kathy.

  “Are you kidding?” Kathy said. “I’m encouraging him. Point out his house so I can sneak away later and meet him. He’ll be my own personal gamekeeper.”

  When they reached the house, they were laughing.

  Olivia had expected that when she first saw the interior of the house she and Kit were to live in, she’d feel only joy. On their long honeymoon they’d bought many lovely things. Laces in Spain, native sculptures in the Marquesas, antiques in China.

  Stacy Hartman, their designer, had told them what was needed. “A chest of drawers for the linens,” she’d written, then given the measurements. She would add a note about the color, a hint of blue or silver, or a red lacquer to go with a rug Kit had bought twenty years before in a market in Egypt.

  It had all been fun as they’d searched for beautiful things. When what they found didn’t fit Stacy’s measurements, they’d send her a photo and ask her to find a place for it. She always did.

  At first, Stacy emailed them photos of the fabrics she thought would work, but she soon found out that Olivia and Kit could get something comparable in whatever country they were in. Their whole trip down the length of Italy had turned into a fabric-buying journey. They bargained for remnants of cloth that had been used in palaces. One day Olivia pulled a piece of brocade off a pile of old rugs and said she wanted it for the headboard in the guest bedroom. The fabric was dirty and faded in spots but there were no holes in it. Kit had bargained—in Italian—and they’d come away with the fabulous piece for a good price.

  Two days later they went back to the store and saw that the wily old owner had tossed another gorgeous tapestry weave over the pile of rugs. Grinning, he told them that anytime he had a piec