Original Sin (5 page)

‘Nice building,’ said David, peering through the car’s tinted windows.

‘The average New York bride spends one hundred thousand dollars on her wedding,’ smiled Brooke. ‘He has money.’

‘At last! My two favourite people in New York,’ gushed Alessandro as he clambered into the passenger seat next to the driver. ‘And I’m so glad to finally have you both together. There is such a lot to talk about.’

Snapping open his briefcase, Alessandro pulled out a spreadsheet and pulled on a pair of black horn–rim reading glasses. ‘I can only look at this for a second because reading and travelling makes me feel sick,’ he said in an aside.

David’s lips twitched with amusement.

‘I had an early start at the studio,’ he whispered to Brooke, settling back in his seat. ‘I might just grab a little shut–eye.’

Brooke jabbed him in the ribs. ‘No you don’t!’

Alessandro looked up, oblivious to their whispering.

‘Now, I know everyone is keen to set a date as quickly as possible, but you’ve said no to The Pierre. No to The Plaza, St Regis, the Yale Club and the Frick.’ He turned round and eyed Brooke and David carefully. ‘Do you know how many strings I had to pull to even put the Frick as a option?’

‘The problem is we all want somewhere new,’ said David, turning on the charm. ‘Somewhere we haven’t been before.’

Alessandro peered over the top of his glasses. ‘Between the two of you, you must have been to every wedding, funeral, benefit, and Bar Mitzvah in the Tri–State area.
New
is presenting something of a challenge.’ He sighed, pushing out his tanned cheeks.

‘Are you sure you don’t want it at Belcourt or Cliffpoint?’

Belcourt was the Billingtons’ magnificent family estate in Westchester County, and Cliffpoint was their forty–five–roomed summer house in Newport. There were, of course, other properties the family owned: a villa in Palm Beach, a ranch in the Santa Ynez Valley, and a palazzo in Venice, but the reason for not hosting the wedding at one of the Billington–owned properties was the same.

‘Ahem, how shall I put this?’ said Brooke. ‘It’s important to my mother to have the hosting responsibilities.’

‘And you’ve definitely ruled out Parklands?’

Parklands was the Asgill family home. Three years ago it had been the venue of a large and rather overblown wedding for her sister Liz, who was divorced from her husband twelve months later.

‘Mother doesn’t like the omens.’

Alessandro took off his glasses and sighed. ‘Lord save me from the mother of the bride. Well, never fear, Toots, I’ve got a good feeling about this one.’

The car slipped out of Manhattan, crossing the George Washington Bridge and heading up into New York State, the metropolis quickly thinning out into villages and then fields. Brooke was glad to escape the city. She had always loved New York, she was born and bred there, but lately the Big City had started to shrink. It wasn’t that she disliked the attention, but the constant intrusions – people she didn’t know calling out her name in the deli, teenage girls pointing and giggling; she’d even had a death threat – it was all starting to wear her down. It had been nine months to the day since she had met David Billington; despite also being a native of the Big Apple, Brooke had had to go all the way to Europe to meet him. She had been in the Alsace region on a nostalgic trip to France to visit a family with whom she had done a summer exchange in her junior year at Spence. Three days into the trip, her host Mrs Dubois had discovered her husband was having an affair. Brooke supposed this might not be a problem for the chic Frenchwoman, but Mrs Dubois kicked him out. Politely withdrawing, Brooke hadn’t wanted to go home, so on a whim she’d headed down to Biarritz. A Park Avenue girl, she had always been athletic and outdoorsy, and she wanted to go surfing on the legendary beaches down there. When she first saw David, she was being swallowed by a huge wave.

He had come over to the shore to check she was okay; she remembered thinking he looked vaguely familiar, but she had not been expecting to meet New York’s most eligible bachelor in a wetsuit on a cloudy, blowy day on the Atlantic coast. The attraction between them was instant, although Brooke suspected that David’s interest in her went up a notch when he discovered she was also from a very wealthy New York family. If she was honest, some of that was true for her too. Like most little girls, growing up Brooke had always dreamt of marrying a handsome prince, but in her case it had almost come true.

Not that it had been exactly a fairy tale; back in New York, the first three months of their relationship had been conducted in secret. Dates were either dinner at unfashionable restaurants in Brooklyn, or ridiculously luxurious hotels in remote locations like the Hudson Valley – sometimes it felt like having an affair with a rich married man. David didn’t explicitly say that he was testing her out before he went public with their relationship, but Brooke knew the rules of dating were just not the same for men like David Billington. Last month, on Valentine’s Day, he had whisked her off to Paris. Well, it wasn’t exactly the fourteenth of February. It had been ten days later, thanks to work commitments in Beirut and Uzbekistan, but it was wonderful nevertheless. The penthouse suite at the Bristol, shopping on Rue Cambon, where David had treated her to armfuls of gifts from Saint Laurent, then dinner at Le Voltaire. Back at the hotel, he had popped open vintage champagne on their terrace overlooking the city, which had been studded with hundreds of glowing tea–lights. Even so, Brooke hadn’t expected it when he had pulled a ring out of his pocket and dropped down on one knee. They’d been dating less than a year, but the night had been so perfect, it had been impossible to resist.

It was almost seven by the time they arrived in Duchess County. Light was falling out of the sky, the dipping sun casting an orange glow over the lake. Brooke had been there before to visit the Rhinebeck Antiques Fair for its lovely old chests and gilt mirrors, and loved the area’s raw natural beauty.

‘This place certainly smells good,’ laughed Brooke, breathing in a cool fresh scent of mist and freshly mown grass through the open window. They came off the road and through a pair of white gates, down a long gravel drive curling around the lake, framed by horse chestnut trees bursting with their long white flowers. At the end of the drive was a short pier where a small motor launch was moored.

‘Is it across the lake?’ asked Brooke, excitement in her voice. They all climbed out of the cars and up onto the pier, David taking Brooke’s hand to help her on. It smelt of linseed oil. The boat took ten minutes to chug across the lake, finally turning into a bay dominated by a huge white colonial house. Brooke gasped.

‘Isn’t it spectacular?’ grinned Alessandro, spreading his arms dramatically. ‘Now, when we get there you’ll see it’s a little run–down, so I want you to use your imagination.’

‘I quite like the fact it’s not too perfect,’ said David as they swung into the dock.

Brooke gave a small laugh. ‘Is that how your mother will see it?’

‘She’ll like it if we do,’ he said, not sounding entirely convinced with his statement. ‘Anyway, I love the location. It’s private.’

Alessandro clapped his hands together. ‘My thoughts exactly, darling. The paparazzi are going to be all over this wedding, so we have to do what we can to keep everything
secure
. This is the ideal solution. I’ve even had a word with the local sheriff, who has kindly agreed to enforce a no–fly zone over the lake for the wedding, so paparazzi helicopters can forget it. Now, David, I know your mother wanted a church wedding … ’

‘Cathedral,’ smiled Brooke.

‘
But
, I’ve already spoken to Reverend James, the pastor from your family’s local church. He baptized two generations of your family, I believe? Well he’s happy to officiate here, which should please your mother.’

Alessandro turned to Brooke and touched her arm. ‘And you, my darling, I know you wanted something intimate, but–’

‘But it’s beautiful,’ interrupted Brooke. ‘Big, but beautiful.’

They walked up through the gardens from the jetty and into the house. The building was even more impressive close to, and the entrance hall was huge, with vaulted ceilings soaring forty feet about them.

‘Wow,’ said David simply.

Alessandro held Brooke’s shoulders and turned her around towards the lake. It was glowing a rippling orange as the sun sank.

‘Look over to the west side of the lake,’ said Alessandro, pointing to the lawns next to the formal gardens. ‘See how it slopes down? It’s a natural amphitheatre. I was thinking very simple cherry–wood pews, a carpet of petals as an aisle, and the vows being exchanged looking out over the water.’

Brooke was silent for a moment, picturing the scene.

‘What do you think, Brooke?’ asked David. When she turned towards him, there were tears in her eyes.

‘It’s just incredible.’

David pulled her close. ‘The bride gene it surfaces,’ he whispered.

Alessandro walked a little way off, continuing his commentary like a tour guide. ‘The house used to belong to a very wealthy Manhattan family, in mining or something, I think. Now it belongs to an educational trust, but it’s been used for films in the past, one featuring Johnny Depp, can’t remember which. Anyway, don’t worry about the slightly tired exterior. My ex–boyfriend is a Hollywood set designer and we still speak. I think he can do something very special.’

David and Brooke exchanged a small smile at his rapid–fire monologue.

‘We don’t want to go too high concept, Alessandro,’ said Brooke. ‘No
Gone with the Wind
fantasy, okay?’

‘Well, if we’re thinking left–field with all this, I was wondering about a dusk wedding? We could line the path around the lake with torches and ferry you over to the ceremony in a little boat covered in iceberg rose petals.’

‘Alessandro,’ said Brooke, gently admonishing. ‘No drama, remember? Although, I do like the idea of getting married at this time of day. When is it available?’

‘Pretty much whenever,’ said Alessandro, flapping his hands vaguely. ‘A fall wedding
would
be magnificent. Can you imagine those trees over there glistening with scarlet leaves? Oh, but realistically a September wedding is way too tight. I mean, your dress is going to take three, four months minimum, more if we’re thinking lots of Lesage beading. I know one bride who had to put her wedding
back
because the embroidery was taking so long.’

‘Which leaves us with next spring or summer,’ said Brooke thoughtfully. ‘Winters will be vicious up here and I don’t want to make it too difficult for people to travel.’

‘We definitely wanted the wedding within the year,’ said David, looking at Brooke. ‘I don’t want this one to get away from me.’

Alessandro coughed politely. ‘Maybe I’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes,’ he said.

‘So what do you think?’ asked Brooke when Alessandro was out of earshot.

‘I love it.’

‘Oh honey, I’m so glad you said that,’ she gushed, her face lit up like a little girl’s. ‘It’s the perfect spring venue, isn’t it? I mean, smell that air. New beginnings.’

She could see David stifle a wry smile. He was too polite to laugh. He wrapped his arms around Brooke’s waist. ‘It’s perfect.’

‘It’s big though, isn’t it?’ said Brooke, biting her lip. ‘All that talk about amphitheatres.’

‘We have a lot of guests.’

‘Your parents have got a lot of guests,’ she said.

Brooke was a Pisces, a romantic; perhaps that’s what drew her to books. In her mind her wedding would have all the trappings of the fairy tale – the beautiful white dress, the huge cake – but she’d always thought of it as a private ceremony, conducted in front of people she knew and loved. The last thing she wanted was a circus.

‘Should we just run off to City Hall and just do it?’ said Brooke impulsively.

David shook his head slowly. ‘You know we can’t do that.’

She looked at him and saw sadness in his eyes; it was the weight of expectation, and most of the time he wore it well. David might be a television reporter right now, but that was not where his future lay. Already he was being touted in serious magazines as a White House hopeful, despite having not a jot of political experience to his name. Their wedding would be talked about and written about for years to come; in many ways, it
needed
to be a circus, even if it not a three–ring circus.

‘Honey, are you sure you’re ready for this?’ he asked softly.

She looked at his dark blue eyes and couldn’t believe that out of all the women in the world he had chosen her.

‘Do you mean have I passed the point of no return?’ she asked.

‘No, I mean are you ready to be a Billington wife?’

Brooke felt a shiver run through her and wondered if it was the chill in the air.

‘Is anyone ever ready to be a Billington wife?’ she sighed. ‘I don’t know if I am. Who could? But what I do know is that I’m ready to marry you.’

David’s face lit up in a broad grin.

‘That’s good enough for me,’ he laughed, and pulled her down into the grass.