I noticed that she was currently showing a collection of Biedermeier furniture in the special-display area of the shop, and even from this distance I could see that it was superb. I was instantly drawn down to the far end of the store, near the staircase leading to the upper floors. Here a small raised platform held the furniture, which was roped off.

I stood looking at the German pieces in awe, admiring the rich, gleaming woods and the incredible craftsmanship. I was especially taken by a circular dining table made of various light-colored woods, most likely fruitwoods, and inlaid with ebony. This was a combination often used in Biedermeier designs at the turn of the century, when the furniture was at the height of its popularity.

What I wouldn't give for a table like that, I thought. But quite aside from the fact that it probably cost the earth-I was positive it did-I had nowhere to put it. Not only that, Indian Meadows was furnished with a mixture of antique English and French country furniture, and although Biedermeier was versatile and plain enough to blend with almost any period or style, it wasn't quite right for us, either for our country home or our Manhattan apartment. Pity, though, I muttered under my breath as I walked on.

Pausing in front of an eighteenth-century French trumeau, which was hanging on a side wall, I admired its beautifully carved wood frame and painted decorative scene set in the top of the frame, wondering what mantelpiece it had hung over, and in which great house? A chateau in the Loire, I had no doubt. Then I took a peek at myself in its cloudy antique mirror.

My reflection dismayed me. I decided I looked a bit too pale and tired, almost wan under the mass of red hair, but nonetheless quite smart in my dark delphinium-blue wool coat and dress. No wonder I'm looking tired, I suddenly thought, recalling last night. Andrew and I had been very carried away with each other. A small smile slid onto my face, and I glanced down at the floor, remembering. My husband and I hadn't been able to get enough of each other, and despite his tiredness in general, his fatigue over dinner, he had been imbued with an amazing vitality, a rush of energy the moment we had climbed into bed. If we hadn't made another baby last night, I couldn't imagine when we ever would.

"Hello, Mallory, how are you?" a voice said, and I gave a little start and swung around swiftly. I found myself staring into the smiling face of Jane Patterson, Diana's personal assistant.

Taking a step forward, I gave her a quick hug. "How are you, Jane?"

"I couldn't be better," she said, "and you're obviously in the best of health and thriving." nodded and told her I was.

She inquired about the twins. I asked about her daughter, Serena. We stood chatting amiably for several seconds.

Out of the corner of my eye, I became aware of sudden movement. I saw Mr. McAllister striding toward the door. He nodded to us curtly as he went out into the street. Right behind him came Diana, hurrying forward on her high heels, throwing a red wool cape around her shoulders with a flourish as she headed in our direction.

"Shall we go, Mal?" she said to me briskly.

Turning to her assistant, my mother-in-law added, "Percy says he'll be happy to hold down the fort whilst you go to lunch, Janey. I should be back around three."

"No problem, Diana," Jane murmured.

She and I said our good-byes.

Diana rushed out into the street, put up her umbrella, and stood on the edge of the sidewalk enthusiastically flagging a cab, ignoring the rain.

Diana took me to the Savoy Hotel in the Strand for lunch.

Even though it was a bit far from her shop, she knew it was one of my favorite places, and she wanted to please me, as she usually did. I protested. Knowing how busy she was, I tried to persuade her to go somewhere closer, but she wouldn't hear of it. She could be as stubborn as her son at times.

We sat at a window table overlooking the Thames in the main restaurant, which I have always preferred to the famous Grill Room where Fleet Street editors, politicians, and theatrical celebrities frequently lunch and dine. It was quieter in here, more leisurely, and anyway, I could never resist this particular view of London. It was superb.

I gazed out the window. There was a mistiness in the air, and the sky was still a strange metallic color, but the heavy, slashing rain had stopped finally. Even the light had begun to change, now casting a pearly haze over the river and the ancient buildings, bathing them in a gauzy softness that seemed suddenly to make them shimmer; the winter sun was finally breaking through the somber clouds. Light on moving water, Turner light, I said to myself, thinking, as I so often did, of my favorite painter.

I lolled back in my chair. I was relaxed and happy, filled with the most extraordinary contentment. How lucky I was-to be in London with my husband, to be here with Diana at the Savoy having lunch, to have my beautiful children. I might even be pregnant again. My life was charmed. I was blessed.

I sipped my wine and smiled at Diana. And she smiled back, reached out, squeezed my hand.

"Andrew's so lucky to have found you, and I'm so lucky to have you, Mal. The daughter I always wanted. You're the best, you know, the very best."

"And so are you, Diana. I was just thinking how lucky I am."

She nodded. "I believe we're both rather fortunate." She sipped her wine, continued, "I was so sorry not to be able to come to your mother's wedding. It was simply the worst time for me. I had made my plans such a long time before she invited me. I had to go to a sale in Aix-en-Provence, and then on to Venice. I just couldn't get out of my commitments."

"It was all right, Diana, Mom understood, honestly she did. To tell you the truth, I think she was relieved to keep it small. That's unusual for her, I must admit, since she's such a social animal, but she seemed glad to have just a few people. Us, and David's son and daughter-in-law and grandson. Oh, and Sarah and her mother, of course. Mom's been close to Aunt Pansy ever since Sarah and I were little kids, babies. She didn't even invite her mother, Grandmother Adelia, but then I don't believe she was up to it anyway. She's getting a bit senile, poor thing. Such a pity. She used to be so vital."

"She's very old now, isn't she?"

"Ninety-one."

"Oh, my goodness, that is old."

"I wouldn't mind living to that age," I said, "as long as I had all my marbles."

Diana laughed, and so did I.

I said, "David Nelson's a nice man, by the way. I've gotten to know him a bit better over the past few months, and he's very genuine. He really does care for Mom."

"I'm glad Jessica finally got married. She's been so lonely for so very long. Marrying David is the wisest thing she could've done."

I looked across the table at Diana, studying her for a second. And then before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "And you must be very lonely too, Diana. After all, you're alone."

"I think most women, no, let me correct myself, most people who are on their own get extremely lonely at different times in their daily lives," she said, smiling faintly.

There was a slight pause, and I saw a look of sadness creep into her eyes before she said slowly, "In a way, loneliness is another kind of death…" She did not finish her sentence, merely sat gazing at me.

I was lost for words myself, feeling her wistfulness, her sense of loss and regret more profoundly than I ever had before. She touched me deeply.

A silence fell between us. We sipped our wine, looked out the window, and quietly ignored each other for a moment or two, lost in our own thoughts.

Quite unexpectedly, I had a terrible urge to ask her about my father, to tell her what Andrew and I had concocted about the two of them this past summer. Yes, I will ask her, I made up my mind. But when I turned my face to focus on her, I lost my nerve. I didn't dare say a word to her. Not because she intimidated me, which she didn't, but because she was essentially such a private person. I could not intrude on her privacy, nor could I probe into her personal life.