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"Yes, my mother had similar ideas." I said.

She did? There, you see? How old does she look?" She died a few years ago in a car accident," I said.

"Oh, dear. How dreadful for you. Anyway." she said, bouncing out of a dark thought as quickly as it had come on. "she was right-- and looked young right up to the day she died. I bet. Now, sit right here and put this cream on immediately." she ordered, getting up. "We live in the Sunshine State, but we have to avoid the sun. I have some wonderful hats with wide brims for you to wear."

She opened her closet door, which she had done when she had given me the tour. It was as long and as wide as most people's bedrooms and filled with clothes, shoes, and hats. It had its own sitting area, mirrors, and even a television set.

"Feel free to borrow anything you want, my dear. In fact, I want you to think of this whole house as your home, too, while you're here. okay?"

"Thank you."

"Good. Rub that cream in evenly."

We heard a gentle ding-dong and then Jennings's voice. "Madam?"

Bunny went to her intercom and pressed a button, "Yes. Jennings?"

"Your guests have arrived." he said.

"Oh. wonderful. Since Isabel has eaten. I was afraid I'd have to nibble on something alone. Tell them we'll be right there." she said, and turned to me. have some people for you to meet. Thatcher said not to invite anyone to dinner, but he didn't say anything about high tea," she declared, and clapped her hands.

"High tea?"

"Well, it isn't exactly high tea the way the English think of it. This is more like the high tea at the Empress Hotel on Vancouver Island or

something-- finger sandwiches, biscuits. The Carriage sisters and I have our tea times once a week like clockwork. They are great gossips. Somehow, they know where to look to find everyone's dirty laundry. Aren't I clever? You'll love these two women. They are core Palm Beach. Their husbands were big developers here. brothers. Two brothers married two sisters. Isn't that a good story?

"The brothers died two years apart. and I swear. Thelma and Brenda Carriage won't marry again unless they find two brothers who are suitable. Come right down." she concluded breathlessly. "You can get wonderful information from them, I'm sure."

She hurried out of her bedroom, leaving me gaping stupidly after her, wondering if this whole place wasn't a private mental clinic after all.

I looked at myself in the mirror and then rubbed in her cream. Five hundred dollars for a four-ounce jar? Maybe it worked, or maybe it was just snake oil for the rich. Every class of society had its con men. Those who preyed on Palm Beach society were probably just better educated, more sophisticated, and better dressed. It didn't hurt if they came with a French or other European accent. either, I supposed.

Anyway, I had to go downstairs to meet her friends and play the part I had cast myself in for my contrived drama. Soon. I assured my troubled spirit, soon I'd be able to step off the stage and be in the real world, the world of truth. Just for now, just for a little while. I would put on the makeup and the costumes and stand in the lights.

Bunny held her high tea in the sitting room where I had first met her and Thatcher's father. Asher. When I entered, one of the Carriage sisters was standing up, modeling her outfit as if she were on a fashion runway. She had short platinum hair, very curly in front. Her sister, a dark brunette, also had short hair but straighter and styled so severely it looked like a hat. Even though it was difficult to tell which one was older, they both looked as if they were in their early sixties.

"Oh. Isabel, you're just in time to see Brenda's fashion show," Bunny said. laughing.

Both sisters turned to me. Brenda's eves softer. bluer. Thelma's more gray and steely. I thought Brenda had a softer face altogether, although they both had hard, sharp features, thin noses, tight lips that looked like slashes when pressed together, and taut cheeks wrapped so firmly around their facial bones their skin looked absolutely translucent, tissuepaper thin. Thelma's chin was rounder and her neck a bit longer.

"Thelma. Brenda. this is our houseguest, Isabel Amou."

"How do you do," Thelma said first. She said it with such clipped pronunciation it almost sounded angry. Brenda laughed and shot forward to extend her hand.

"Hello," she said, and returned to their conversation as though my entrance, my very existence, was truly insignificant. "Despite what Thelma thinks, this is the rage," she declared.

"For a teenager, perhaps." Thelma muttered,

"What do you think, Isabel?" Brenda asked, turning back to me. "It looks comfortable." I said.

She was wearing a long, light, white tunic-style shirt over a pair of black cropped pants and leather flip-flops. I noticed her toenails were painted a bright silver. Both of the Carriage sisters were full-figured women. Thelma was in a more conservative slenderizing sweater and skirt outfit and did look more her age.

"Oh, it is comfortable. It's a chic Maharani, the modern Indian woman look. I don't know why my sister is so critical. If we don't experiment with style occasionally, what will we experiment with? We're past the time when we experimented with sex." she added.

"Brenda!" Thelma said sharply.

"Well, we are. aren't we? Or, at least, I am. I can only speak for myself. I suppose there are women our age still on the hunt, so to speak."