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things, out here on the Cape. It’s too late for curlers. I wind the ends around my fingers, hold, release. Repeat. Fluff. The room lies silent around me. Even Percy has dozed quietly off.
    As I finger my way around my head, the face in the mirror seems to be frowning in me. The way my mother—passing me by one evening on her way to someone’s party—warned me never to do, because my skin might freeze that way.
    Wrinkles. The bitter enemy of a woman’s happiness.
    Frank bursts through the door, smiling and wind whipped, at ten minutes to six, a moment too late to fasten my diamond and aquamarine necklace for me.
    “Had a nice sail?” I say icily.
    “The best. Cap joined me. Just like old times, when we were kids. Went all the way around the point and back. Record time, I’ll bet. Goddamn, that man can sail.” The highest possible praise. He blows straight past me to the bathroom.
    “Even with one leg?” I call out.
    “It worked for Bluebeard, didn’t it?” He laughs at his own joke.
    I screw on the last earring and give the hair a last pat. “I’m needed downstairs. Can you manage by yourself?”
    Frank walks out of the bathroom to rummage in his wardrobe. “Fine, fine.” His head pokes around the corner of the door. “Need help with your zipper or anything?”
    My shoes sit next to the door, aquamarine satin to match my dress and jewelry, two-inch heels. I slip my feet into one and the other. The added height goes straight to my head.
    “No,” I say. “I don’t need any help.”
    •   •   •
    O n my way downstairs, I stop to check on Pepper.
    “Come in,” she says in reply to my knock, and I push open the door to find her belting her robe over her body. I have the impression, based on nothing but instinct, that she’s been standing naked in front of the mirror in the corner. It’s something Pepper would do, admiring her figure, which (like that of our youngest sister Vivian) belongs to a different species of figures from mine: tall, curved like a violin, colored by the same honey varnish. It’s the kind of figure that inspires men to maddened adoration, especially when she drapes those violin curves as she usually does, in short tangerine dresses and heeled slippers.
    All at once, I feel flat and pale and straight-hipped in my aquamarine satin, too small, insignificant. A prissed-up girl, instead of a woman: a rigid frigid little lady. What’s happened to me? My God.
    “Aren’t you dressed yet?” I ask.
    “I’ve just come in from the beach. So hard to leave. I haven’t lain out on a beach in ages.”
    “All work and no play?”
    “Oh, you know me.” She laughs. “It’s killing me, this crazy Washington life. It’s so lovely to be idle again. I know you’re used to it, but . . .” She turns away in the middle of an eloquent shrug and looks out the window.
    “Not that idle.”
    “A lady of leisure, just like Mums. I can’t tell you how jealous I am.” She stretches her arms above her head, right there before the window, not jealous at all. Nor in any hurry to dress herself for the party, apparently.
    I cast a significant glance at my watch. “I’m on my way down, actually. Can I help you with anything? Zipper?”
    She turns back.
    “No, thanks. I can manage. There’s not much to zip, anyway.” Another low and throaty laugh, and then a sniff, incredulous. “Tiny! Have you been
smoking
?”
    As she might say
swinging
.
    I consider lying. “Just one,” I say, flicking a disdainful hand.
    “Good Lord. I never thought I’d see the day. Poor thing. I guess this family of yours would drive anyone to debauchery. Don’t worry.” She zips her lips. “I won’t say a word to Mums. Is Major Gorgeous here yet?”
    “Nobody’s here yet. We still have a few minutes.”
    “You sound awfully cold, Tiny. Maybe you should sit out on the beach for a few minutes and warm up your blood. It works wonders, believe me.”
    I gaze at my sister’s playful eyes, tilted