Santorini Sunsets (19 page)

“East Hampton has quaint shops and it's only two hours from Manhattan,” Sydney replied. “Brigit and Daisy adore the beach and my husband loves being close to the office.”

Oliver put his napkin on his plate and leaned back in his chair. “If it's perfect, why did you come to Provence?”

Sydney gazed at the platter of sliced capers and soft cheeses. There was a plate of fig tarts and white nougat.

“I had a craving for ratatouille and nougat.”

*   *   *

Sydney strolled through the outdoor market in Gordes and ate a juicy plum. She was going home in two days and wanted to buy a silk scarf for Brigit and hoop earrings for Daisy and a bottle of burgundy for Francis. She tossed the plum pit in her basket and thought she would miss the Tuesday market with its jars of preserves and slices of pork.

The mistral had lasted two days and then the Luberon valley was bathed in sunshine. She spent the week swimming and riding her bicycle. Sometimes she gazed at the fields of purple lavender and felt a pleasant warmth. Then she would remember losing the baby and double over in pain.

She selected a patterned scarf and handed it to the vendor. She heard a male voice behind her and turned around.

“There you are,” Oliver said. “I haven't seen you in days, you're all brown.”

“I did a lot of walking.” Sydney smiled. She reached into her purse and took out a fifty-euro note. “I'm leaving in a couple of days and wanted to pay for the window.”

“It's been fixed but you can do something for me,” Oliver replied. “My roommate is the line cook at Hotel Les Bories, it has one Michelin star and overlooks the whole valley.

“It usually takes months to get a reservation but he got a table for tonight. If I go alone, I won't be able to sample all the dishes. Will you join me?”

“I'm sure you can find a more suitable dinner partner,” Sydney mused.

“All my friends are in Nice or Paris for the summer,” Oliver pleaded. “You can't leave Provence without eating at Les Bories. The guinea fowl with amandine mashed potatoes is delicious.”

“I'll go if you let me pay for dinner.” Sydney put the euro note back in her purse. “It's the least I can do for breaking the window.”

“It's a deal.” Oliver grinned. “I'll pick you up at seven p.m.”

*   *   *

They sat at a table on the terrace overlooking the rolling hills. It was almost sunset and the sky was a muted orange. Sydney saw stone farmhouses and green hedges and felt like she was in a Monet painting.

The restaurant had wood floors and plaster walls and a long marble fireplace. The booths were covered in white damask and littered with purple silk pillows.

The waiter brought duck liver pâte and stuffed artichoke with yellow egg. There was lamb in honey and mustard and summer vegetables. Sydney sipped a Château Sainte Marguerite and thought it was the best rosé she'd ever tasted.

“This is delicious but you should have brought a date,” Sydney said, after they'd ordered lemon meringue for dessert. “You must have a girlfriend.”

“All the girls in Provence either get married when they're twenty or go to Paris and never return.” Oliver shrugged.

“Why do you come back?” Sydney asked.

“When I started university, I couldn't wait for the train to leave Gordes,” he replied. “My mother had just died and I never wanted to return. But I sat in my flat in Paris and knew being away wasn't the cure. It sounds silly but Provence is like a warm blanket.”

“It doesn't sound silly at all.” She ate a bite of meringue. “I know exactly what you mean.”

*   *   *

They drank shots of Pastis and talked about Oliver's plans and Brigit and Daisy. Sydney opened her purse to pay the bill and realized she'd left her credit card at the château.

“Don't worry, I'll take care of it.” Oliver reached into his pocket and took out two fifty-euro notes.

“I'm terribly embarrassed.” Sydney flushed. “I'll pay you when we reach the château.”

Oliver went to pay the check and a young man approached the table. He couldn't have been more than twenty and wore a white linen apron.

“I'm not usually allowed to leave the kitchen but I wanted to make sure you enjoyed your meal,” he said.

“You must be Oliver's roommate.” Sydney held out her hand. “It was delicious, I've never tasted such sweet vegetables.”

“I'm glad you like it,” he replied. He had dark hair and a British accent. “Oliver said he had a very important date and the ratatouille had to be perfect.”

*   *   *

Sydney opened the door of the château and entered the kitchen. She took two fifty-euro notes out of a drawer and heard footsteps behind her.

Oliver crossed the stone floor and touched her shoulder. He pulled her toward him and kissed her on the mouth.

“What are you doing?” Sydney spluttered.

“You're like a photo in a fashion magazine but you're completely real,” Oliver said. “I can't stop thinking about you and I've never wanted a woman more in my life.”

“I'm married,” Sydney exclaimed. “I've never cheated on my husband.”

“But you forgot your credit card.” Oliver ran his hands through his hair. “I thought you did it on purpose, you wanted me to come here.”

“I had a wonderful time.” Sydney smoothed her skirt. “But you have to go.”

“Could I have a cup of coffee?” Oliver asked.

“I don't think that's a good idea.” Sydney held out her hand. “Thank you for everything, I had a lovely stay in Provence.”

Sydney waited until the front door closed and sat in the living room. She heard a door open and looked up. Oliver stood in the entry, clutching a bouquet of lilies.

“I forgot to give these to you.” He entered the living room. “They would have wilted in my car.”

She tried to stand but suddenly her legs were unsteady. Oliver sat beside her and took her face in his hands. He kissed her slowly, tasting of sugar and liqueur.

He took her hand and led her up the wooden staircase. She glanced at the canopied bed and was seized by a terrible panic. She started to say something but his hand reached under her dress. His fingers brush her thighs and she gasped.

“Come here,” he moaned. “I've wanted this since the first moment I saw you.”

She unzipped her dress and slipped off her sandals. He drew her onto the bed and she opened her legs and guided him inside her. She clung to his back and suddenly thought of everything she was giving up. Then her whole body opened and she thought she would die of pleasure.

Oliver clasped her shoulders and buried his mouth in her hair. He pushed faster until he came with a terrible force. He groaned and collapsed against her breasts.

“I knew you were beautiful,” he whispered, pulling the sheet over them. “But I never thought anything could be so exquisite.”

“Neither did I.” Sydney felt his slick thigh on top of hers. “It was almost too good.”

She waited until he fell asleep and then she pulled on a cotton robe and sat at the dressing table. She glanced at her pale cheeks and tousled hair and shuddered. Losing the baby had been an accident and Francis had already forgiven her.

She picked up a wooden hairbrush and brushed her hair. He could never forgive what she'd done now. If he found out she would lose everything.

*   *   *

Sydney pushed away the plate of risotto and gazed at the whitewashed houses and deep blue Aegean. Of course she recognized Robbie, he was Oliver's roommate! She pictured him standing at the table of the restaurant in Gordes and could barely swallow.

It had been ten years; she must look different. Her hair wasn't as blond and she had new wrinkles on her forehead. Why would he remember an American tourist he'd met for a few moments?

Then she thought of Oliver saying he couldn't stop thinking about her. Oliver was like an eager puppy; he wouldn't keep secrets from his roommate.

She'd spent the last two days around Robbie and he hadn't said a word. He probably didn't remember anything about it and she had nothing to worry about.

She put a twenty-euro note on the table and stood up. Her legs were shaky and she felt almost dizzy. What if Robbie thought he recognized her but couldn't quite place her? If he suddenly remembered, everything she loved would be taken away.

 

Chapter Fourteen

B
RIGIT GLANCED AT THE YACHT'S
mosaic tile floor and sleek wood paneling and thought it was like something in a James Bond movie. The plush sofas were creamy leather and the coffee tables were rich walnut and there was an ivory chess set.

She saw ceramic bowls filled with mangoes and a marble bar lined with brightly colored bottles and had never been more excited. They were going to cruise to the ancient island of Therasia and tour the volcano.

Brigit had selected a turquoise shift dress that matched Blake's pink and blue diamond bracelet. She remembered eating breakfast with Nathaniel at Café Classico and bumping into Blake at Poniros jewelry store and thought now she could relax. Nathaniel had promised he wouldn't cause any trouble and he would keep his word.

Her mother stepped on board wearing a patterned dress and gold sandals. Her cheeks were dusted with powder and she wore a sapphire necklace. Her father wore a pin-striped blazer and they both looked relaxed and happy.

Brigit saw Daisy in a yellow caftan and white espadrilles. She wore the topaz earrings Brigit had given her and her auburn hair was tied with a yellow silk ribbon. Her arms were golden brown and Brigit thought she'd never looked so beautiful.

“You are more stunning every day.” Blake approached her. His dark hair was slicked back and he wore suede loafers. “I can't imagine how you'll look on our wedding day.”

“I feel like a Greek shipping magnate.” Brigit grinned. “I've been on yachts all my life, but I've never seen one with a casino.”

“The yacht belongs to Johnny Depp, he usually docks it in Monaco. He couldn't be here for the wedding but he wanted us to have it for the cruise to Therasia.”

“I'm going to have to send him a big thank you.” Brigit giggled.

“Maybe we'll have to buy one.” Blake kissed her on the mouth. “I like to see you so happy.”

“I'm just excited everyone is here.” Brigit sighed. “My parents look so in love and Daisy's cheeks are glowing. It's going to be a wonderful weekend.”

“There are only fifty-two hours and thirty six minutes left.” He glanced at his black TAG Heuer watch.

“Until what?” Brigit asked.

“Until the priest pronounces us husband and wife.” Blake tucked Brigit's hair behind her ear. “People told me for so many years I'd never get married, I started to believe them. I see now I would have missed out on the most important thing in the world. Johnny can keep his yacht and Leonardo can have his plane, as long as I have you I don't need anything else.”

“You can repeat that to me on our wedding night,” she whispered. “Now we should welcome our guests.”

Blake drifted off to chat with a producer and Brigit saw two men leaning against the railing. Nathaniel wore a short-sleeved shirt and held a plate of steamed mussels.

“This is quite a boat, it must have cost Blake a fortune.” Nathaniel whistled. “The fixtures have more gold than Tutankhamun's tomb.”

“It belongs to a friend of Blake's.” Brigit turned to the other man and held out her hand. “I'm Brigit Palmer, I don't believe we've met.”

“It's a small world, this is Peter Martin. We were in Miss Chadwick's fifth grade English together,” Nathaniel explained. “We both had a crush on her and held a duel with our light sabers. It was a tie and we agreed to give her up and save our friendship.” He smiled. “Now he's Blake's banker in California.”

“My parents were horrified when I moved to Malibu,” Peter said. “They think everything that is destroying society comes from California: Facebook and Twitter and iPhones.”

“It's lovely to meet you,” Brigit replied. “I don't know enough of Blake's friends.”

“I'll leave you to get acquainted,” Nathaniel cut in. “I want to make sure Robbie photographs the van Gogh in the salon.”

“Have you known Blake long?” Brigit asked.

“I've been Blake's personal banker for two years. Most movie stars just hand you their paychecks and tell you to invest them. Blake is very opinionated. I was nervous when he insisted on investing two million dollars in the Palmer Foundation,” Peter mused. “But with his face on the foundation and your father's connections I think it will be a success.”

“What did you say?” Brigit asked.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't talk business.” Peter sighed. “I've always been terribly boring, I only know how to discuss statistics and capital returns.”

“You're not boring at all,” Brigit replied. “Why don't I find you a glass of Veuve Clicquot and a small plate of chickpea meze.”

Brigit ran down the steps to the main cabin. She closed the door and tried to stop her heart hammering in her chest.

Blake and her father had never mentioned he'd invested in the foundation. And her father had plenty of money; he didn't need anyone else's funding.

She poured a glass of scotch from a crystal decanter and thought she would have to ask Blake. But then she remembered asking him whether he knew her father before the St. Regis gala and why he'd invited people he hardly knew to the wedding. He had an answer to everything and it all made sense.

She heard a male voice and turned around.

“Brigit Palmer drinking scotch in the middle of the afternoon.” Nathaniel whistled. “If I didn't see it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it.”

“What are you doing here?” Brigit demanded.

“Taking notes on the yacht,” Nathaniel replied. “The wine cellar has a bottle of 1956 Château Lafite Rothschild, and there's a sushi station serving sashimi. Why would you eat raw fish flown in from Japan when you're sailing on the Aegean?”