I don't think I'm going to have dinner with Linus. So there'll be a big stink in the family. What's the matter, darling? You're not worried about us, are you? Because I'm not. Life was pleasant among the Larrabees, for this was as close to heaven as one could get on Long Island. He is now a successful six-goal polo player and is listed on Linus's tax return as a six hundred dollar deduction. His brother, David, went through several of the best eastern colleges for short periods of time, and through several marriages for even shorter periods of time. Linus Larrabee, the elder son, graduated from Yale, where his classmates voted him The Man Most Likely To Leave His Alma Mater Fifty Million Dollars. The town house has since been converted into Saks Fifth Avenue. Maude and Oliver Larrabee were married in nineteen hundred and six, and among their many wedding presents was the town house in New York and this estate for weekends. There were four Larrabees in all - father, mother, and two sons. The Larrabees wouldn't have stood for it. It never rained on the night of the Larrabee party. It was the eve of the annual six-meter yacht races, and as had been traditional on Long Island for the past thirty years, the Larrabees were giving a party. Fairchild was a fine chauffeur of considerable polish, like the eight cars in his care, and he had a daughter by the name of Sabrina. Also on the estate there was a chauffeur by the name of Fairchild who had been imported from England years ago together with a new Rolls-Royce. And there was a man of no particular title who took care of the small pool in the garden for a goldfish named George. There were specialists to take care of the grounds: the outdoor tennis court and the indoor tennis court, the outdoor swimming pool and the indoor swimming pool. There was a boatman to take care of the boats: to put them in the water in the spring, and scrape their bottoms in the winter. There were gardeners to take care of the gardens, and a tree surgeon on a retainer. The estate was very large indeed, and had many servants. Once upon a time, on the north shore of Long Island, some thirty miles from New York, there lived a small girl on a large estate. one day that same cold businessman, high up in a skyscraper, opens a window, steps out on a ledge. No emotions, just ice water in his veins and ticker tape coming from his heart. Oh, yes, the cold businessman behind his marble desk, way up in his executive suite. I thought you could never belong to anyone.

Coming and going, always wearing your black homburg and carrying a briefcase and umbrella. I always thought you walked alone.Īs a child I used to watch you, from the window over the garage. It's so strange to think of you being touched by a woman. Slowly.Ĭertain songs bring back certain memories to me, too.

Suppose you meet someone on the boat the very first day out? A perfect stranger. How am I ever going to get along in Paris without someone like you? Who'll be there to help me with my French, to turn down the brim of my hat? We can't have you walking up and down the Champs Elysees looking like a tourist undertaker! Another thing, never a briefcase in Paris and never an umbrella. Oh, never resist an impulse, Sabrina, especially if it's terrible. All night long I've had the most terrible impulse to do something.

That girl sabrina