Spencer saw faces from the past, players from her mother’s generation. For them it was a reunion, nostalgia, tradition. There were people she had entertained in Grosvenor Square. For them it was a social event. The dress was summer-garden-party chic—picture hats and pastels. Because yesterdays had to be faced, Spencer greeted former acquaintances.

"Spencer, how lovely to see you again…"

"What a sweet little outfit—"

"How strange it is not to see you at the club anymore—" There was speculation thinly manners. She dealt with it calmly, as she had during her three years of marriage.

"Where’s that mother of yours?"

Turning, Spencer clasped two large hands warmly. "Chris Evert, you haven’t changed a bit."

Of course she had. When she’d first tickled Spencer’s chin, she’d been thirty. Her face had been unlined, her hair untouched with gray. She’d won nearly every major championship there was to win twice around. Though she was still tall, and nearly as

lean as she had been in her prime, the twenty years showed on her face.

"You always told a lie beautifully." Grinning, she kissed her cheek. "Where’s Paula?"

"In the States," she answered, keeping her smile bright. "How have you been?"

"Just fine. Got five grandchildren and a nice string of sporting goods stores on the East Coast." She patted her hand. "Don’t tell me Paula isn’t going to be here? She hasn’t missed it in forty years."

It was a struggle not to show the pain, much less not to feel it. "As far as I know, she won’t be. I’m awfully glad to see you again. I haven’t forgotten that you taught me the dump shot."

Pleased, she laughed. "Use it on Ashley today," she advised. "I love to see you win at Wimbledon. Tell your mother hello for me."

"Take care, Chris." Her smile evaded the promise she couldn’t give. With a parting kiss, she moved away.

Turning, Spencer found herself face to face with Lady Daphne Evans. The striking brunette had been one of Eric’s more discreet dalliances, and one of Spencer’s more difficult trials. Her eyes automatically cooled, though her voice was scrupulously polite. "Daphne, you look exquisite."