Everything to Gain and a Secret Affair by Barbara Taylor Bradford Page B

That’s why she dressed my mother in so much tartan when she was little, and then me.” He chuckled. “She loved me to wear a kilt and a sporan and a little black velvet jacket. She always chose the Seaforth Highlander’s dress tartan. Her father, my great-grandfather, had been in the Seaforths, you see.”
    â€œYes, you’ve told me all about your Scottish ancestry before,” I said, glancing at him over my shoulder.
    He grinned at me. “Oh, sorry. I do seem to have a bad habit of repeating family history.”
    â€œIt’s not a bad habit,” I said, “just a habit, and I don’t mind.”
    Once outside we settled down at the circular table with the big white canvas market umbrella, where we usually ate meals in the summer months. We sipped our drinks and were silent for a while, comfortable in this silence, as happily married people frequently are, content simply to be together. Words were not necessary. We communicated without them, as we always had. Andrew and I usually seemed to be on the same wavelength, and often he would say something I had been thinking only a few seconds before, or vice versa. I found that uncanny.
    It was not as stiflingly hot outside as I’d expected it to be, now that the sun had gone down. Although the air was balmy, there was a soft breeze moving through the trees, rustling the leaves. Otherwise everything was absolutely quiet, as tranquil as it always was up here atop our lovely Connecticut hill.
    The lawn which flowed away from the terrace wall on this side of the house sloped down to a copse of trees; beyond were protected wetlands and a beaver dam. Soaring above the copse and the stretch of water were the foothills of the Berkshires covered with trees densely massed and of a green so dark they were almost black tonight under that midsummer sky now completely faded. Its periwinkle blue had turned to smoky gray edging into anthracite, with wisps of pink and lilac, saffron and scarlet bleeding into one another along the rim of those distant hills.
    Andrew lolled back in the chair and breathed deeply, letting out a long, contented sigh. “God, it’s so great here, Mallory. I couldn’t get back fast enough . . . to you and this place.”
    â€œI know.” I looked at him through the corner of my eye and said in the quietest of voices, “I thought you’d call me from Chicago . . .” I let my voice trail off, feeling suddenly rather silly for even mentioning it.
    A half smile flitted across Andrew’s mouth. He looked somewhat amused as he said, “And I thought you’d call me. ”
    â€œAren’t we a couple of stubborn idiots.” I laughed, and lifting my glass, I took a sip of my drink.
    He said, “I don’t know how my stubborn idiot feels about me, but I adore her.”
    â€œAnd I adore mine,” I responded swiftly, smiling warmly at him.
    He smiled back.
    There was another small silence. After a short interval, I said suddenly, “Sarah’s broken up with the Eastern seaboard’s greatest snob.”
    Andrew chuckled. “Yes, he is that. And I know about it, be—”
    â€œHow?” I cut in peremptorily.
    â€œSarah told me.”
    â€œShe did! When? ”
    â€œToday. I called her this afternoon, just before I left Chicago. I asked her not to come out here tonight, if that was what she was planning to do. I explained that I wanted to get you alone, to have you all to myself for a change, that I was a bit sick of sharing you with the world at large.”
    Leering at me wickedly, he continued, “That’s when she said she wasn’t coming at all, because she had just finished with Tommy Preston that very morning. I’m afraid I couldn’t persuade her otherwise. She was quite adamant about staying in New York for the weekend.”
    â€œI got her to change her mind. She’s going to drive out tomorrow