She sent a car to bring me back to Manhattan alone. As the driver arrived, he handed me a note from her. Darling Ellie, I hope you had fun with Charles. I couldn’t resist the opportunity to make a romance—I’m longing to hear all! I can’t bear to go home just yet—would you be a dear and tell everyone that I fell ill over the weekend and am staying on in Jersey for a few days? Just say I’m “with friends,” and if that old spy Flannery interrogates you, you’ll cover for me, won’t you? Love, your friend, Isobel “What do you mean ill?” Mrs. Flannery asked as soon as I arrived back. “Is she in hospital— Did she take a fall?” “I don’t know,” I said. “She just said she felt ill.” “Well, was she vomiting? Did she have a temperature?” “I think it is just a bad cold . . .” “And if you are here, who’s looking after her?” I hated all this lying. I invented wildly, “Her friends have lots of maids. And they have employed a nurse to look after her.”
