Santorini Sunsets (16 page)

“You could run in Central Park and Joe Coffee serves better espresso than anything you find in East Hampton.” Sydney studied Brigit's pale cheeks. “You haven't taken a full day off since you sprained your ankle at the company tennis tournament and the CEO insisted you stay home and keep your foot up.”

“When Nathaniel left I was so relieved it felt like a holiday,” Brigit began. “I didn't have to worry if he liked the James Bond movie I chose on Netflix or remembered to order takeout from Up Thai on Seventy-Third Street. The living room was spotless and I kept fresh daisies on the dining room table.

“I love working at the law firm and it's heavenly to come home and slip on socks and curl up with a paperback book.” She took a deep breath. “But sometimes I feel like I boarded the wrong train and I can't remember the name of the station. We always knew exactly where we were headed and now my whole future is different.” Brigit bit her lip. “I'm not unhappy, but I'm afraid I will be tomorrow.”

Sydney took Brigit's arm and led her into the kitchen. She poured two cups of fresh coffee and added cream and sugar. She handed one to Brigit and sat on a suede stool.

“When you and Daisy were babies I was so happy, even though each day was torture. I barely had time to shower and brush my hair before you needed a bottle or bath. But when you took your afternoon nap and I had two hours to myself it was like having a seaweed wrap at an Elizabeth Arden spa.

“But when Daisy started kindergarten and I had the whole afternoon to myself I didn't know what to do. Those free hours needed to be filled with volunteering at the Met or St. Luke's hospital. Instead of falling into bed at night, sometimes I couldn't sleep.

“Focus on the things you have to do: preparing a deposition or buying a gift for Daisy's birthday. Eventually something will change, that's the way life is.” She clutched the porcelain cup and her cheeks were pale. “Then you might wish things had stayed the way they are now.”

*   *   *

Sydney arranged lilies in the crystal vase and placed them on the glass coffee table in the town house's living room. She glanced at the high plaster ceilings and dark wood floors and plush Oriental carpets. She stood at the window and saw women in bright spring dresses and the lush green of Central Park and wondered what it felt like to be happy.

It was six months since she fell off the ladder and lost the baby. Dr. Ogden had explained it was a terrible accident: if the baby's lungs had been more developed or if something other than the hard metal ladder had broken her fall …

She knew she only had herself to blame. She'd noticed the trip to Africa on Francis's American Express statement and decided to hang the Christmas ornaments herself. If she'd known he had booked the safari before she was pregnant and forgot to cancel it, she would have waited until Francis came home to help.

She had been determined to prove that nothing would change because they were having a baby. It was stupid to climb that ladder and she wished she could do it all over again.

Every morning Sydney made Francis fresh coffee and poached eggs and fruit. She waited until he left and then she sat in her sitting room of the Park Avenue town house and reread
The Age of Innocence
and
Anna Karenina.

She kept vases filled with lilacs and orchids and bought pumpkin soup and baked chicken at Zabar's. She never allowed herself more than one glass of wine at dinner and tried to make interesting conversation. Francis usually pulled out his briefcase after dessert and said he had to catch up on work in his study. She murmured she'd left her paperback book on the bedside table and climbed the stairs to their bedroom. Then she slipped under the beige satin bedspread and wondered how she could do it again tomorrow.

Brigit came home for spring break and they went shopping at Saks and Bloomingdale's. She listened to Brigit talk about her new relationship with Nathaniel and suddenly felt lighter. Then they walked along Fifth Avenue and saw a mother pushing a stroller. The baby had wispy blond hair and was wrapped in a soft blue blanket.

Tears streamed down Sydney's cheeks and she rushed into the store. It wasn't fair to let Brigit or Daisy or Francis see her grief, she had to be a good wife and mother.

*   *   *

Now it was June and they would spend the summer in Summerhill. She imagined making endless turkey sandwiches and jugs of lemonade in the sunny kitchen. Brigit and Daisy would drift in and out, gathering sunglasses and towels and suntan lotion.

How could she be around Brigit and Daisy for two months without them noticing her despair? How could she pile Swiss cheese on whole wheat bread knowing if it weren't for her stubbornness, a baby would be asleep in the nursery?

She would concentrate on the things she had to do: call White's pharmacy and order Daisy's acne prescription and Francis's cholesterol pills. Remind the housekeeper to keep the town house stocked with milk and bread for the nights Francis spent in the city.

The front door opened and Francis entered wearing a pin-striped suit and black tasseled shoes. His salt-and-pepper hair was smoothed back and he clutched a leather briefcase.

“You're home early.” She looked up. “Would you like a gin and tonic?”

“I saw Harley Adams at the club.” He set his briefcase on the sideboard. “His daughter got accepted to the Royal Ballet's summer program, and his wife thinks she's too young to be on the other side of the Atlantic. They're renting a flat in Belgravia for the summer.”

“That's terrific, Sally is a wonderful dancer.” Sydney filled a glass with gin. “Tell them we'll miss them on the Fourth of July.”

“They weren't going to spend the summer in East Hampton.” Francis loosened his tie. “Margot rented a house in Provence but they're not going to use it.”

“Why don't they stay in Provence while Sally is in London?” Sydney handed him the glass.

“Harley wasn't very keen. There's no decent Internet and he's on a diet, so he can't eat crepes or soufflés. He convinced Margot she'd be happier shopping at Harrods and attending Wimbledon and Ascot.” He sipped his drink and looked at Sydney. “He wondered if we would like it.”

“A villa in Provence?”

“The house has stone floors and a pool and tennis court. The girls could practice their French and we could visit wineries and galleries.”

“Brigit just started seeing Nathaniel and Daisy has a new boyfriend. They'd be miserable if we carted them off to France.” Sydney twisted her hands. “You never spend more than four nights at Summerhill in a row and if the Internet is spotty you couldn't work.”

“I thought it might be better…” Francis began.

“If we didn't go to Summerhill this summer?” Sydney asked. “Do you really think it will be different if we're cooped up in a villa in a foreign country?”

Sydney turned away so he couldn't see the tears in her eyes. She filled a glass with soda water and took a small sip.

“Why don't you go by yourself,” Francis said suddenly. “Not for the whole summer, but for a couple of weeks. You could collect recipes and go for long walks.”

“Leave Brigit and Daisy at Summerhill?” Sydney hesitated.

“Brigit is a college student, she's perfectly capable of grilling a burger. And I'd keep an eye on Daisy, she can't get into too much trouble without a car or license.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I played squash with Robert the other night and he thought it might be good for you to go somewhere new.”

“You spoke to my doctor about me?” Sydney started.

“I watch you fold laundry and do dishes as if you're completing a military exercise,” Francis said softly. “Daisy would be fine without her school shirts perfectly pressed and I can grab a coffee and a bagel on the way to work.” He touched her hand. “What we need is you.”

Sydney bit her lip and whispered, “I'm not sure that's possible.”

“You adore France,” Francis urged. “Robert said a change of scenery is healthy.”

Sydney pictured a gabled cottage in Provence. She imagined bicycling on gravel paths and nibbling croissants at outdoor cafés. She smoothed her skirt and turned to Francis.

“I think I'd like to go.”

“That's wonderful!” Francis beamed. “I'll have my secretary book you a first-class ticket to Paris. Maybe you can spend a night at the Ritz on the way home and go shopping at Chanel.”

“I have a million things to do.” Sydney straightened a pile of magazines. “I have to make sure the freezer at Summerhill is stocked and the gardener knows when to pick the peaches.”

“I'll go upstairs and change and then we can open a bottle of champagne.” Francis paused and his voice was low. “Maybe when you come home, we can share a bedroom.”

*   *   *

Sydney stood on the balcony and gazed at the whitewashed houses and sparkling blue Aegean. Why was she remembering all that now? It was so long ago.

Perhaps it because she was somewhere new and it was exciting to explore the quaint villages of Santorini. Or maybe it was because in the last eight months everything they'd accomplished in the last decade seemed to be slipping away.

She glanced down and saw a tall man open the gate. She realized it was Nathaniel's friend, Robbie, and frowned. She walked inside and thought maybe she was remembering it for a different reason altogether.

 

Chapter Twelve

B
RIGIT SAT ON THE BALCONY
of Café Classico and gazed at the silver cruise ships lining the harbor. It was midmorning and the ocean was a sheet of diamonds. Waiters carried enamel plates of mushroom omelets and sliced melon.

She sipped dark coffee and thought she should have known Nathaniel would humiliate Blake; he had been too pleasant. Then she pictured Blake lunging toward Nathaniel and shuddered. Journalists would always ask intimate questions; Blake couldn't threaten them because they commented on Brigit's blue eyes or slender neck.

She moved fava beans around on her plate and wished she and Blake had spent the night together. If only they had been able to talk about the wonderful parts of the evening: the spectacular location and elegant centerpieces and Blake's speech to all their friends.

But Blake had to return to his villa and make sure the groomsmen didn't play poker all night and miss today's cruise to the island of Therasia. She remembered him pulling her close in the taxi and whispering he'd see her in the morning and wanting to tuck herself against his chest.

She stabbed a pineapple wedge and saw a familiar figure leaning against the railing. He wore a short-sleeved shirt and navy shorts and leather sandals.

“There you are.” Nathaniel approached her. “Daisy said you'd gone out. I searched every café in Fira.”

“I'm having a quiet breakfast by myself.” Brigit turned away. “Please leave me alone.”

“You don't want to turn into one of those brides who only cares about herself.” Nathaniel pulled out a chair. “Daisy made you an egg-white omelet and fruit salad. You left without telling her.”

“She did?” Brigit asked. “I'll have to apologize, I needed some fresh air.”

“It's a fantastic view.” Nathaniel shielded his eyes from the sun. “If I didn't feel like I was trampled by a donkey, I would appreciate it.”

“Of course you're hungover. I told you not to drink whiskey.” Brigit's eyes flashed. “How dare you start a fight in front of our friends?”

“I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to cause trouble.” Nathaniel fiddled with a sugar packet. “We may not be married, but I'll always want to protect you.” He paused. “I didn't accept the assignment just for the money. I wanted to make sure Blake was good enough for you.”

“When you walked out the apartment door and took off your wedding ring I stopped being your responsibility,” Brigit retorted. “And how dare you question if Blake is good enough for me? He's one of the best people I've ever met.”

“Blake might be a movie star, but you're Brigit Palmer,” Nathaniel said. “You're like one of those priceless jewels they keep in a special room at Tiffany's.

“But then I read his article in
GQ
about poverty in Cuba and realized he's not just a prettier Sean Penn. He understands third world crises,” he continued. “Most importantly he was ready to punch a guy to defend his fiancée's honor.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I think you're making the right decision.”

“You do?” Brigit looked up.

“You can't stay single, that would be like covering the Statue of Liberty in a shroud. Your name should be on a plaque at the New York Public Library and Carnegie Hall.

“You have so much to offer and it's impossible to accomplish it alone,” Nathaniel finished. “I approve, you and Blake are going to be very happy.”

“Of course we're going to be happy. I told you I was in love, he's everything I dreamed of.” Brigit looked at Nathaniel and her cheeks flushed. “And I don't need your permission to get married. Blake and I worked for months planning the perfect wedding in Santorini. If you do anything to ruin it, I'll never forgive you.”

“You have my word. From now on I'll do everything to make it the best weekend of your life.” Nathaniel picked up the menu. “God, I'm starving. The best cure for a hangover is eggs and sausage and bacon.”

Brigit blinked in the bright sun. She sprinkled pepper on her eggs and pushed the plate toward him. “You can share mine, I'm not really hungry.”

*   *   *

Brigit turned onto Ypapantis Street and gazed at the jewelry stores with their lacquered front doors and brightly colored awnings. It was nicknamed “the gold street” and was one of the most famous shopping streets in Greece.

She remembered Nathaniel saying he'd searched every café in Fira for her and thought she should be happy. He had apologized and promised not to cause trouble. But there was still an uneasy pit in her stomach, as if she'd drank too much dark coffee.