Chapter 14 Geraldine
Geraldine
Geraldine slid a final jeweled hairpin into place, hoping that her hasty toilette would do in the purported sophistication of the dining room.
Her self-guided tour of the resort had taken far longer than she had bargained for, and she barely had time to change into a silk evening gown and matching slippers if she had any hope of arriving before the meal commenced.
She glanced at the dressing table with a feeling of discomfort.
It was not her habit to leave her jewelry case unlatched.
It was even less like her to leave various bracelets, rings, and necklaces scattered like fallen flower petals over the surface of the table.
She was a tidy woman by nature, and it distressed her to appear to be slovenly, especially before the staff learned such behavior was an exception rather than the rule.
Still, it couldn’t be helped. What little time she had once she had found her way back to the main building had been gobbled up by deciding which of her evening gowns to wear and wrestling her unruly abundance of gray hair into submission.
The grounds had been lovely to view, but the steady breeze off the lake had whipped her hair into the sort of shape her mother had likened to a rat’s nest after she had spent the day playing out of doors as a child.
A wave of weariness washed over her as she pulled the door to her room closed behind her and slipped along the corridor as swiftly as she could manage.
She prided herself on her health and stamina—as well she should—but the day had been a long one and, truth be told, a bit draining.
However, she was seventy-three rather than the fifty-year-old woman she so often told herself she felt like.
She grasped the banister of the gracious stairway with more gratitude than she would have done had she not spent the day wrestling with irritation at the arrival of Anselm’s family.
She wasn’t at all sure that dinner was a good idea.
After all, what would they serve at a place rumored to be in not only the pampering business, but one of weight loss as well?
She held her head high as she descended the stairs and made her way along the wide hallway towards the chatter of feminine voices and the clatter of cutlery.
As she paused at the threshold, the dining room was already almost filled with women of all ages and sizes, from elderly ladies dressed in formal taffeta gowns that rustled as they shifted slowly in their seats to middle-aged women wearing tea-length gowns with fitted bodices and full skirts like those made popular by Grace Kelly.
The vast majority of them were chattering away with other women seated next to them.
She swept her gaze across the room, evaluating the possibilities.
She recognized a clutch of politicians’ wives claiming the table with the most commanding view of the dining room and determinedly avoided eye contact with any of them.
She had no interest in spending time with women such as them, considering the way the wind was being gusted about by Senator McCarthy and his cronies.
The seats of other well-positioned tables overlooking the lake were completely filled with women smiling and speaking animatedly with their dining companions. It would feel awkward to horn in on already established groups.
She peered deeper into the room and spotted a plump woman sitting alone at a table set for two. At first glance, she appeared to be suffering from a sort of rhythmic twitch. With a jolt of surprise, she realized the woman was knitting. Intrigued, Geraldine crossed the threshold.
“You won’t mind if I join you, will you?” she asked as she stopped next to the table and rested a bejeweled hand on the smooth back of a polished wooden chair.
The woman smiled and shook her head. She bent to the side, and when she straightened, her knitting had vanished.
Geraldine looked about for a waiter. She wasn’t about to pull out her own chair.
In an instant, a handsome youth appeared at her side and eased her into her seat before draping a snowy linen napkin across her lap.
She nodded her thanks, then returned her attention to her dining companion.
“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Geraldine Putnam,” she said.
The other woman let out a slight gasp of recognition and drew harsh glances from two older ladies at the neighboring table.
“Marjorie Billings. It’s lovely to make your acquaintance. Are you the Geraldine Putnam?”
“I suppose it depends on which of us you refer to. I am not under any illusion that there is no one else by that name in the world.” Although, truth be told, Geraldine expected she was the Geraldine Putnam in most anyone’s book.
“Do say that you are the artist.”
“Guilty as charged. Are you familiar with my work?”
“Yours are amongst my favorite paintings. I was an art history major in college and worked at a gallery in Boston for a bit before my marriage. We sold more than a few of your paintings during my time there.”
“Are you an artist yourself?” Geraldine asked. Although she was quite certain she knew the answer. If she had felt compelled to keep her hands busy, a fellow artist would have brought a sketchbook to the table rather than a ball of yarn.
“I’m afraid that I am merely an admirer of the work of others. Are you here on a painting retreat?”
“Let’s just say that I find a change of scenery is a good way to stay inspired.” There was no need to discuss her creative block, or Anselm’s relations with anyone else. It was time to move the subject away from herself. “Is this your first time at the Maine Chance?” Geraldine asked.
She took a moment to evaluate her tablemate’s appearance.
Marjorie appeared to be in her early thirties and had a round face and sparkling brown eyes.
The wavy dark hair framing her face added to its full appearance, and in Geraldine’s opinion, the ruffles across the bodice of her dress only served to make her ample bust appear larger.
Even the color of her garment was not flattering to her vivid complexion.
With her dark features and pale skin, more vivacious tones would have suited her far better than the coral color of her dress.
She had applied her makeup with real skill, however.
Her artistic taste could be witnessed there, even if it did not extend to her choice of clothing.
Marjorie nodded. “There really was no point until recently,” she said. “My husband said I might as well wait until I’d finished packing on the pounds with each of our babies. Now that we aren’t planning to have any more, he said it was high time I sorted myself out,” she said.
Geraldine felt a hot spurt of outrage, like a bout of heartburn searing her chest. For all his faults, Anselm had never criticized her appearance.
He had, for the most part, not bothered to compliment her on it, either, but it had made little difference in their marriage.
They had both understood that theirs was a practical arrangement, and neither depended on the other for their sense of self.
From the look on Marjorie’s face, the same could not be said of her own partnership.
“How many children do you have?” Geraldine asked, hoping that was the right way to steer the conversation. It must have been, as Marjorie’s face lit up with another beaming smile.
“Three. The littlest one is four months old now. Donald said I’m overdue to shed the baby fat,” she said with a sigh.
Before Geraldine could think of a response, a waitress appeared at their table and placed a mound of shredded lettuce topped with a shimmering dome of tomato aspic in front of each of them.
Marjorie reached for her fork and lifted a bite to her lips.
Geraldine reached for her cutlery and sliced off a bit of the quivering red mass.
Just the sight of it made her feel vaguely nauseated; she had always been a picky eater.
She pushed it about her plate in an effort to make it appear as though she had consumed at least a part of it. Marjorie was not so easily fooled.
“No wonder you’re so slim. Aren’t you just about famished?” she asked after swallowing the last bite of her aspic.
“Not for something like that, I’m not. Besides, I’ve never been particularly interested in food,” Geraldine said with a shrug.
And it was the truth. She had always been the child whose mother tried to force additional servings of potatoes or pieces of bread on her.
She had been made to stay at the table until she cleared her plate, night after night, and it was always a sore trial to her to do so.
“I wish that I were less interested. Being slim is a requirement in my life, but I don’t seem to be as naturally inclined to do so as you. Some women have all the luck,” Marjorie said without rancor.
“Why is it a requirement?” Geraldine asked, her interest piqued.
“I’m the wife of a wealthy man who gives to charity organizations and attends high-profile society events. He cannot be seen with an unattractive wife on his arm when the newspaper flashbulbs go off, as both he and his mother are quick to point out,” Marjorie said.
“But you’ve just had a baby. They don’t expect you to have returned to your pre-pregnancy size so quickly, do they?”
“They most certainly do. My mother-in-law told me that if I don’t manage to slim down, it will be my own fault when Donald begins seeing other women.” Marjorie shrugged again. “Maybe your attitude and habits will rub off on me and my stay here will be a success.”
“How long have you been here?” Geraldine asked.
“Two weeks. I don’t mind telling you, they’ve been the longest of my life.” Marjorie looked around as if she had said too much.