Santorini Sunsets (14 page)

“Of course not, Santa Claus would never climb down the chimney if he thought someone was watching,” Brigit insisted. She wore red-and-white-striped pajamas and red felt slippers.

“Then what's wrong? There are a dozen presents under the tree and the cookies and carrots are gone,” Sydney said. “Santa and his reindeer must have been here.”

“I counted the presents.” Brigit's lips trembled. “Daisy got three more than I did. Santa Claus likes her more than me.”

Sydney tried to hide the smile that flickered across her face and looked at Brigit. “That's impossible, maybe Santa left them on the roof. You go back to bed, I'll have your father check.”

*   *   *

Sydney glanced at the brightly wrapped presents and smiled. Ever since then, she was careful to buy an equal number of gifts for Brigit and Daisy. Even now, when they were eighteen and sixteen she checked the American Express bill to make sure Brigit didn't receive an extra cashmere sweater or she hadn't bought Daisy an extra silver bracelet.

She entered Francis's study and flipped through the credit card statements. She liked to pick up Christmas presents all year long—a paisley skirt for Daisy at Bloomingdale's summer sale, boating shoes for Francis from the Ralph Lauren store in Southampton.

She scanned the list and frowned. There was a charge on Francis's card for a three-week African safari. She looked closer and saw the departure date was in March.

Why did Francis book a vacation when she would be home warming baby bottles and folding blankets? And if he planned on going alone, why hadn't he told her?

Maybe he'd realized everything he was missing: attending intimate dinner parties, traveling to exotic places, starting his foundation.

She entered the living room and took a glass ornament out of the box. She couldn't blame him, all their friends were buying apartments in Italy and the south of France. They'd stopped planning their lives around school plays and flew to Rome for the weekend.

She climbed onto the ladder and hung a glass ball. If Francis wanted to go to Africa she wouldn't stop him. She could handle all of it herself: applying to preschools and attending children's birthday parties and making orange cupcakes for Halloween. Francis could play squash at the club and go fishing in Montana or Wyoming.

She perched on the top rung and thought she would talk to him when he arrived tomorrow. He had worked hard for thirty years and now it was time to do what he liked.

She reached up to hang the last ornament and heard a male voice. It was only when she turned and saw Francis wearing a Burberry overcoat and clutching a blue Tiffany's box that she lost her balance.

“Sydney,” Francis called, setting down his briefcase. “I couldn't wait to get to Summerhill so I drove out early. I bought you something special. Do you think the girls will mind if I give it to you before Christmas?”

The ladder tilted and she grabbed the tree. She tried to find the step but there was only air under her feet. She clutched her stomach and heard the clatter of metal. The hard wood smacked her ribs and then everything went black.

*   *   *

Sydney ate the last bite of baklava and shivered. Why was she thinking of that time now? It was so long ago. She pictured all the things she tried not to think about: what happened afterward, the empty spaces in the last ten years, the afternoon at Summerhill eight months ago when suddenly her whole word looked different.

She gazed at the whitewashed buildings and thought she was too busy planning the rehearsal dinner and preparing for the wedding to dwell on old memories. Brigit was perfectly happy; you could tell when she entered a room. Her skin glowed and her eyes sparkled like a young Lauren Bacall.

She pictured Nathaniel standing in the villa's kitchen and remembered all the summers at Summerhill. He always complimented Sydney's hair or her dress and said she had the best-stocked pantry in East Hampton.

Nathaniel and Brigit may be divorced but they had been best friends since kindergarten. Nathaniel wouldn't intentionally hurt Brigit; it wasn't in his nature.

She drained her coffee cup and wondered why she still felt uneasy. She suddenly remembered the young photographer with his silver camera and put her hand over her mouth. She grabbed her purse and hurried down the street.

 

Chapter Ten

B
RIGIT GAZED AT
the tall stone turrets and pink and yellow lights and waiters carrying silver trays. Round tables were covered with gold tablecloths and set with flickering candles. She saw men in silk tuxedos and women in shimmering evening gowns and thought it looked like a movie set.

Brigit had hesitated when Blake suggested holding the welcome dinner in the ruins of Kasteli Castle. The castle was in Pyrgos on the highest point of the island. Their guests had had a full day with the picnic at Kamari Beach and the private tour of Akrotiri. Would the women really want to hike up a gravel path in four-inch stilettos?

Now Brigit gazed at the sky turning orange and purple and the sea like a blue velvet cloak and was glad she'd agreed. They were so high up it was like being on a magic carpet in a Disney movie.

Brigit patted her hair and smoothed her turquoise Givenchy gown. She had felt silly fastening a sapphire pendant around her neck and diamond earrings in her ears. They were going to eat lamb skewers and fava beans in a six-hundred-year-old ruin. The dress code should be sweaters and slacks and comfortable shoes.

But now she inhaled the scent of French perfume and expensive cologne and was glad Blake had insisted on black tie. She felt like a princess and it was going to be an unforgettable night.

“I'd say you were the most beautiful bride in the world but your mother might get upset.” Her father approached her.

He wore a black silk tuxedo and white tie. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back and he wore gold cuff links. “She really was the most beautiful bride I'd ever seen. I stood at the altar of St. John the Divine's and thought I was the luckiest guy in New York.”

“She did pretty well herself.” Brigit grinned. “A Harvard graduate with a family stockbroking firm on Wall Street.”

“But your mother is Old New York,” Francis mused. “Her great-great-grandmother was friends with Edith Wharton and Henry James. Edna used to roll up Fifth Avenue in a horse-drawn carriage.”

“I can't believe how many people flew in from Manhattan.” Brigit nibbled a tomato keftedes. “It looks like the roof deck of the Plaza. I'm glad you invited your old friends.”

“I didn't invite anyone.” Francis shook his head. “You and Blake took care of the guest list.”

“Blake has never met the Forbeses or the Eisenhowers.” Brigit frowned. “Why would he invite them to our wedding?”

“Excuse me, darling.” Francis touched her hand. “I see the consul of Tunisia, I've been trying to obtain a visa for months.”

Brigit accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and saw a familiar figure wearing a black dinner jacket and white bow tie. She swallowed her champagne and ducked behind a stone outcrop.

“I'd say you were avoiding me but that's not the Brigit I know,” Nathaniel said. “Do you remember you asked for Emily Post's book of etiquette for your sixteenth birthday? You said you were lucky to be born into a society where people use a different fork for every course and you didn't want to get it wrong.”

“The rules of etiquette are like brushing your hair or your teeth,” Brigit replied. “If everyone follows them, life is more civilized.”

He gazed at the pastel-colored love seats littering the lawn and the lights twinkling in the olive trees and smiled. “You've done a wonderful job, it looks like a scene from
Sabrina
.”

“It does look lovely,” Brigit agreed. “And everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.”

“I didn't know you invited so many New Yorkers, it's like standing at the bar of the Colony Club.”

“Blake created the guest list.” Brigit suddenly felt queasy, as if the champagne formed a pit in her stomach. “I only invited a few school friends and sorority sisters from Dartmouth.”

“I didn't know Blake was friends with the deputy mayor and the CFO of Payne Whitney,” Nathaniel mused. “I would have thought his pals were more like characters in an
Entourage
episode.”

“Blake is one of the most successful movie stars in the world.” Brigit's eyes flashed. “I'm sure he has friends who are artists and bankers and politicians. Now if you'll excuse me. I'm going to grab a plate of delicious lamb giovesti and eggplant moussaka.”

“I did some background research on Blake for
HELLO!
” Nathaniel followed her across the courtyard. “He grew up in Sandusky, Ohio and his father owned an outdoor furniture store. He dropped out of Ohio State and hitched a ride to Los Angeles with two hairdressers driving a yellow Buick.”

“He didn't drop out, he took a semester off to try his luck in Hollywood.” Brigit turned around. “And he didn't hitchhike, he caught a Greyhound bus. He'd dreamed of being an actor ever since he saw Robert Redford in
All the President's Men
and didn't want to miss his chance.”

“Whichever version you want to believe.” Nathaniel filled a plate with round cherry tomatoes and stuffed grape leaves. He popped a tomato into his mouth and looked at Brigit.

“Do you ever worry you're making a mistake?” he asked. “You've only known each other six months and you come from different worlds. While you were studying advanced Latin and volunteering at the Frick, Blake was learning first-year Spanish and selling lawn chairs to Midwesterners in seersucker suits.”

“I've never been more certain about anything.” Brigit fiddled with her champagne flute. “Blake knows exactly what he wants and he's not afraid to work for it. Not all of his movies are sequels to
The Hunt for Red October
; he's starring in Scorsese's remake of
Metamorphosis
. And we're going to bring computers to villages in Laos and Kenya. In ten years children in Asia and Africa will be able to consider a career in programming.”

“You always were sure of yourself.” Nathaniel ate pork rolled in filo pastry. “Do you remember when you read your first Nancy Drew book and came racing down to the boathouse? You said you'd finished the best book in the world and I had to read it.

“I replied I didn't want to read about a teenage female detective. You pushed the book into my hand and said you weren't interested in Nancy Drew, it was her father, the attorney, who was inspiring.”

“You spent the whole summer flipping through
Mad
magazines,” Brigit murmured. “I was trying to improve your reading.”

“I've only been certain of two things in my life.” Nathaniel stuffed his hands in his pockets. “That all I wanted was to marry you. And that I had to leave.”

“I see Henry Astor.” Brigit's cheeks flushed and she turned away. “I have to go say hello.”

*   *   *

Brigit gazed at the sideboard set with platters of fried zucchini and tomato balls. There were plates of Santorini cucumbers and sausage dressed in olive oil. She ate a bite of grilled octopus and her stomach clenched.

Why had Blake added to the guest list without consulting her? She saw him across the courtyard. He looked incredibly handsome in a black silk tuxedo and shiny Ferragamo loafers. Of course everyone wanted to come to their wedding; he was one of the most famous movie stars in the world.

She poured another glass of champagne and thought she wasn't going to let Nathaniel spoil her evening. He was like a splinter that got stuck under your skin.

“How can the most beautiful woman in Greece be standing by herself?” Blake crossed the courtyard.

“I was admiring the buffet,” Brigit murmured. “The caterers did a wonderful job.”

“Wait until you see the desserts.” Blake grinned. “The chef prepared baklava and chocolate soufflé with vanilla ice cream.”

“I thought we'd completed the guest list together,” she began. “I haven't seen the Rothschilds since my kindergarten graduation and the only time I met the Winthrops was at a debutante ball at the Waldorf.” She stopped and looked at Blake. “Why did you invite them to our wedding?”

“I gave my assistant a few more names last week.” Blake shrugged.

“They're lovely people but we wanted the wedding to be intimate.” Brigit hesitated. “Just our family and closest friends gathered on a magical Greek island.”

“Do you really want to know why I invited them?” Blake asked.

He drained his glass and ran his hand through his hair. “The press have been saying for years that I'm a confirmed bachelor and I'll never make it to the altar. They print stories about me proposing to a model I met in line at Starbuck's. Every month
People
says I jilted some young actress or broke my high school girlfriend's heart.

“I never minded because it was part of the business. But then I met you and I couldn't believe my luck. You're bright and beautiful and I want the whole world to know we're getting married.

“We're going to spend a lot of time in New York and I didn't want the CEO of Sotheby's or the curator of the Guggenheim to think we're another Hollywood couple who shucks oysters with Calvin Klein in Southampton.” He took her hand. “I thought if they were sitting in the church of Panagia Episkopi and saw us recite our vows they would know the truth. That I'm crazy in love with you and I'm going to spend the rest of my life making you happy.”

Brigit gazed at the glass bar lined with brightly colored bottles and felt almost dizzy. She reached up and kissed Blake softly on the mouth.

He kissed her back and she tasted lemon and honey. She felt his hand on the small of her back and wanted to race down the narrow path to the villa. She wanted to unsnap her sapphire pendant and slip off her gown and lie on the canopy bed. She wanted to feel his chest on her breasts and the cotton sheets tangled between their legs.