ball?
4
The Copleyâs rococo Oval Room, complete with cloud ceiling, had been partly transformed into a winter wonderland. The rosy-pink walls were decked with holly, and each round table sported a seasonal centerpiece. A nearsighted person taking off his or her glasses would have seen a warm blur of green, gold, silver, and white with flashes of red. Alberta balsams in large tubs were decorated with small twinkling white lights and scattered throughout the room. The balsams mixed pleasantly with the other scents emanating from the hors dâoeuvres buffet and the napes of female necks.
Faith had no trouble spotting Charmaine. She had obviously decided to combine the time of the year with the spirit of the place and looked like a Watteau shepherdess
who had come across a bolt of cloth of gold and tinsel trim while keeping watch over her flock by night. Her gown started as a sparkling bustier and ended as layers of filmy white net. She wore a pair of enormous white satin leg-oâ-mutton sleeves halfway down her arms and unaccountably carried a small silver basket containing one red rose. Long earrings of tiny silver bells dangled almost to her shoulders, and she was tinkling her way merrily across the dance floor greeting one and all. She had probably wanted to appear in the enormous scallop shell the Copley kept on hand for brides, Faith thought, but even tan, tawny Charmaine couldnât justify that at the Holly Ball.
âAre we going to try to find our tableâitâs number twenty-fourâor do you want to stand here and check out what everybodyâs wearing a little longer?â Tom asked her.
âLetâs find our table, then dance and check out what everybodyâs wearing.â
Faith herself had opted for a deceptively simple Isaac Mizrahi silk gabardine sheath. It was short, demurely covered her collarbones with a ruffle, then plunged almost to the waist in back. It was red, and sheâd bought it for the holidays. She hadnât expected to get an opportunity to wear it around Aleford much, and it was another reason she was pleased about the ball.
They found their seats, and Faith could see from the place cards that they were indeed at Deniseâs table, but Denise herself was nowhere in sight. It would have been difficult to spot anyone other than Charmaine in the crowd. There were about four hundred peopleâvolunteers, Hubbard House residents, and benefactors eating, drinking, chatting, and/or kicking up their pumps. The din was uproarious, and the proper Bostonians (and those from outlying suburbs) were having a grand old time. Sylvia Vale floated by swathed in scarlet tulle with an elaborate matching turban that might have led some observers to believe she either had read the invitation incorrectly and thought it was a costume ball or was part of the entertainmentâ
Madame Glenda and her Magic Doves. Sylvia waved to Faith and mouthed âSee you laterâ with her Cupidâs-bow lips.
âAnd I thought I might not have fun,â Tom commented. âFirst lead me to the goodies, then lead me to the band.â
They inched their way across the dance floor to the food. Faith cast a professional eye on the buffet. There was a nice assortment of hot and cold hors dâoeuvres, and waiters were constantly bringing more, so none of the trays had either a ravaged look or the forlorn lack of appeal a full tray presents when others are emptyâleading to the inevitable question of why no one wanted to eat whatever was on it. (This tended to happen with the fish-paste cocktail sandwiches at certain local functions Faith had reluctantly attended.) They filled their plates, got some champagne, and sat down to watch the action from the pretty little gold bamboo chairs the Copley had thoughtfully placed along the sidelines.
Dr. Hubbard galloped by, and presently Faith spotted Denise.
âThereâs my friend Denise,â she told Tom. âThe woman in
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