The author is the editor of Fairchild Publications, although all of this reads much more like Conde Nast and we submitted grudgingly to a glut of decorator details, fashion touches, floral arrangements. Blue silk walls, Louis XVI coucheuses. Even our heroine, one of the beautiful people here, never loses her Elsic de Wolfe cool, and in tending a dying man (her best friend's husband; her husband's rival) rejects a deep burgundy red wool blanket for an ivory white one. He dies, anyway, leaving Fiona to face the emptiness of her marriage to Michael--""a new young Kennedy""--money, breeding, Princeton and Yale.... There's not much more to say about this; perhaps it's just as well.