Santorini Sunsets (26 page)

She heard the front door open and looked up. Brigit entered the foyer and placed her purse on the side table. Her hair was tousled and her mascara was smudged.

“Are you alright?” Sydney asked. “You look like you saw a terrible accident.”

“I just came from Blake's villa.” Brigit bit her lip. “Everything is ruined.”

“Nothing can be that horrible,” Sydney insisted. “Tell me from the beginning.”

“I met Blake's banker on the yacht.” Brigit perched on a floral love seat. “He told me Blake invested two million dollars in the Palmer Foundation. I asked Dad and he admitted Blake sent him a check.

“I was worried that it had something to do with us so I looked through the accounts.” She paused. “He sent the check even before we met. But there was another check for three million dollars dated the day after Blake proposed.”

“I don't understand.” Sydney frowned.

“This morning I was having coffee in Fira and Nathaniel showed me an old article in the
Los Angeles Times.
He discovered it while he was researching a background piece on Blake.”

“Nathaniel!” Sydney interrupted. “I didn't know you were seeing him.”

“I wish Nathaniel had never shown up in Santorini. All he's done is cause trouble and I never want to talk to him again.” Brigit sighed. “But that doesn't change the facts. The article was about Blake's rise to fame and how he wasn't happy being a movie star.” She fiddled with her gold earrings. “What he really wanted was to be part of New York society.”

“Every college kid who reads F. Scott Fitzgerald wants to be Jay Gatsby.” Sydney shrugged. “That doesn't mean anything.”

“I asked Blake and he said he envied men who controlled the world from their private clubs, but it had nothing to do with our falling in love,” Brigit replied. “I'm the most amazing woman and he is the luckiest guy in the world.”

“Of course he is! Newspapers make up stories every day. Nathaniel shouldn't have shown it to you.” She hesitated. “Perhaps he doesn't want you to marry Blake.”

“I thought so when he arrived, but I don't anymore.” Brigit shook her head. “All he wants is for me to be happy and I believe him.”

“I wouldn't give it another thought.” Sydney smiled. “You and Blake are going to be incredibly happy. I can't wait to spend summers at Summerhill with our grandchildren.”

“I haven't told you the worst part.” Brigit took a deep breath. “Dad accepted Blake's donation because he made some bad investments and the foundation is in trouble. If he doesn't turn things around he'll lose Summerhill.”

“What did you say?” Sydney gasped.

“He's already taken out a second mortgage on the Park Avenue town house. Summerhill is all he has left,” she explained. “He's afraid he'll have to sell it and you'd never forgive him.”

“He can't sell Summerhill, it's been in my family for a hundred years.” Sydney stood up. “There must be a simple explanation. Your father would tell me if there was anything wrong.”

“What if it's all true?” Brigit twisted her hands. “What if Blake agreed to marry me so that Dad could save the foundation and Blake would get his entrée into New York society?”

“You sound like a character in an Edith Wharton novel,” Sydney scoffed. “It's the day before your wedding. The only thing you should worry about is whether you want to wear peonies in your hair and if you chose the right shade of lipstick. I'll talk to Francis and clear everything up.” She walked to the door. “He could never sell Summerhill, it's part of the family.”

*   *   *

Sydney hurried down the narrow path towards Fira. She couldn't let Brigit see how upset she was; it was the day before her wedding.

She suddenly remembered Francis standing on the porch of Summerhill with the young woman with long dark hair and thick mascara. Perhaps there were other things she didn't know about Francis. He had a whole secret life she knew nothing about.

She slipped on her sunglasses and gazed at white sailboats bobbing in the harbor. The sun glinted on mosaic roofs and there were beds of pink and purple anemones.

Whatever Francis had done, she couldn't let it spoil their time in Santorini. Their daughter was getting married tomorrow and it was going to be the happiest day of their lives.

She pictured Summerhill with its white stone porch and thick green ivy. Brigit had to be wrong about everything, or she really couldn't bear it.

*   *   *

Daisy opened the front door of the villa and slipped off her espadrilles. The hot springs had been spectacular but now she desperately wanted a cool glass of lemonade. She entered the kitchen and saw Brigit nibbling a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“What are you doing here?” Daisy walked to the fridge. “I thought you would be soaking in lavender bubbles and getting ready for the rehearsal dinner.”

“I found a jar of peanut butter in the pantry and realized I was starving. Do you remember when we were children and begged to eat with the grown-ups at a dinner party?” Brigit asked. “Mom finally said yes and we were determined not to eat all afternoon so we'd be hungry. By five o'clock we were hungry and made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Then we sat at the dining room table and gazed at prime rib and roasted potatoes and couldn't eat a bite.”

“Mom was furious.” Daisy giggled, pouring a glass of lemonade.

Brigit put the sandwich on her plate and looked at Daisy.

“Remember last winter when we had brunch at Sarabeth's and I told you Blake and I were engaged? You asked if we were rushing and I said he was charming and handsome and we wanted the same things.” She paused. “What if I was wrong, what if we're getting married too soon?”

“Every bride thinks she's getting married too soon the day before her wedding. She spends so much time choosing the perfect dress; she doesn't want it be over,” Daisy said. “But you're going to honeymoon in Paris and Aix-en-Provence and have the life every woman dreams of.”

“It all happened so quickly.” Brigit hesitated. “What if Blake isn't in love with me?”

“How could he not be in love with you?” Daisy asked. “You're Brigit Palmer.”

“That's the thing.” Brigit's eyes were bright. “What if he loves me for my name instead of who I really am?”

“You don't understand, you're not Brigit Palmer because of our Park Avenue address,” Daisy said. “You're Brigit Palmer because you make everyone feel special. Ever since I was a child, I've watched you charm guests on the lawn at Summerhill. There's something about the way you listen that makes people feel important. Everyone falls in love with you, it's impossible to resist.”

“Blake is a movie star.” Brigit sighed. “He doesn't need me.”

“He may be one on the red carpet or at Spago,” Daisy mused. “You make him feel like a star when he's standing at the fridge wearing striped boxer shorts.”

“Blake would never wear striped boxers.” Brigit giggled. “Even his underwear is monogrammed Ralph Lauren.”

“You're going to be the most glamorous couple I know.” Daisy smiled. “I can't wait to be an aunt and buy up Dylan's Candy Store.”

“I've been so busy with the wedding, there are so many things I want to tell you.” Brigit dusted crumbs from her skirt. “I saw your sketches on the dining room table. I think they're gorgeous.”

“You do?” Daisy asked.

“They're stunning, the colors remind me of Santorini.” Brigit nodded. “And Nathaniel came over yesterday. He thinks Robbie is in love with you.”

“He told you that?” Daisy gasped.

“He said Robbie asked you to go to Mykonos and Crete,” Brigit continued. “Something must have happened because you won't talk to him.”

“He's wrong, Robbie and I are just friends.” Daisy flushed. “I should go up and shower, I smell like sulfur from the hot springs.”

Brigit gave Daisy a small hug. “The best part of getting married in Santorini is the family being together. I'm so glad you're here.”

“I am too,” Daisy agreed.

“You better catch the bouquet.” Brigit grinned. “Or Gwen Hastings will catch it and her boyfriend will be furious.”

*   *   *

Daisy tossed her orange skirt onto the bedspread and slipped on a cotton robe. She had wanted to ask Brigit what she had been crying about earlier, but she didn't want to upset her.

She remembered what Nathaniel had said about Robbie and knew he was wrong. Robbie couldn't be in love with her, he had invited another woman to Mykonos and Crete.

She gazed out the window at white stone churches and beds of purple lavender. It didn't matter anyway. In two days the wedding would be over and she wouldn't have to think about Robbie anymore.

 

Chapter Nineteen

B
RIGIT SLIPPED ON HER SUNGLASSES
and ran down the stone steps of the villa. She remembered when she first saw Nathaniel and Robbie in the garden and shuddered.

Instead of hiding in the rosebushes she should have confronted him and sent him away. She should have told Blake she didn't care if they had to pay
HELLO!
two million dollars, Nathaniel wasn't going to spoil their wedding weekend.

She smoothed her skirt and knew she was being silly. Nathaniel wasn't the reason Blake had invested in the foundation without telling her. He had nothing to do with her father getting into financial trouble and having to sell Summerhill.

But if Nathaniel hadn't shown up with his short blond hair and backpack she wouldn't have known anything was wrong. She would be sitting at her dressing table deciding which diamond earrings to wear.

She had made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to calm her nerves. But then Daisy had appeared and she wasn't ready to tell her they might lose Summerhill. She remembered Daisy's expression when she said Robbie was in love with her and smiled. Maybe the one good thing that came out of Nathaniel's arrival was the young British photographer.

She opened the gate and walked up the narrow path to Imerovigli. She just needed to sit by herself and think about everything Blake had said.

She suddenly remembered when she was at Dartmouth and had a Shakespeare exam. Nathaniel insisted they study together, even though it was impossible to concentrate when he kept asking for a bite of her Subway sandwich.

She'd crept back to the library after Nathaniel went to bed. She reread the whole textbook until she memorized the names and dates of Shakespeare's tragedies. She remembered Nathaniel pouting when she got a hundred on the exam and he managed a B-plus.

*   *   *

Now she perched on a stone bench and gazed at silver cruise ships. It was late afternoon and in a couple of hours their friends and family would gather at the restaurant on Amoudi Bay. She imagined platters of grilled octopus and tomato keftedes. There would be strings of yellow lights and a harpsichord.

She thought about the article in the
Los Angeles Times
and knew her mother was right. Journalists had to create a story. What could be better than a small-town boy from Ohio craving to be accepted into the elite drawing rooms of New York?

But then she thought of the guests he'd invited to the wedding and his donation to the foundation and her shoulders tensed. Why did Blake keep secrets unless he wasn't sure of his intentions? Maybe he did see her as the key to memberships into private clubs and friendships with the most important families in America.

She remembered all the wonderful moments of the last few months: being caught in a spring rain shower and running back to her apartment. Undressing in the living room and ending up in bed. Gazing at Blake's wide shoulders after they made love and wondering how she could be so happy.

They attended cocktail parties and movie premieres but they also ate at cafés on the Upper East Side. She remembered Blake stepping into the kitchen of an Italian bistro and donning a checkered apron. He'd ladled spaghetti onto wide plates and served them to the patrons. The owner kissed Blake on the cheek and exclaimed he was the greatest movie star.

She pictured the check dated the day after he proposed and felt like a pawn in a nineteenth-century marriage contract. How could her father accept Blake's donation without telling her? Then she imagined Summerhill's vast kitchen and sloping lawn and knew he would do anything to protect it.

She heard footsteps and turned around.

“I've had more exercise in the last few days than when I was preparing for the sequel to
The Hunt for Red October.
” Blake appeared beside her. He wore leather loafers and his sunglasses were propped on his forehead.

“What are you doing here?” Brigit asked. “I thought you were visiting the hot springs.”

“I told my groomsmen to go without me.” Blake shrugged. “I stopped by the villa and Daisy said you went out. I need to talk to you.”

“It's not a good time.” Brigit hesitated.

“Ever since I was in my early twenties and arrived in Hollywood everything was simple. I bought shiny cars and dated pretty girls and won bigger roles,” he began. “But I realized I wanted to do more than entertain teenagers eating buttered popcorn. Then I met you and it all made sense. You are beautiful and intelligent and want to change the world.

“But I went about it all wrong. I don't need the CFO of Sotheby's or the curator at the Guggenheim to see us recite our vows. Let's elope and not tell anyone we're married. Or run off to Portugal and live on a sailboat. I don't care where we are, as long as I wake up beside you.”

“We can't elope, all our friends flew to Santorini.” Brigit gulped.

“I want to show you something.” Blake pulled her up.

“I don't need any more jewelry and you already bought a catamaran.” Brigit tried to smile.