Emerald Coast

by Anita Hughes

  “You said in your last letter that I should look you up if I’m ever in San Francisco,” he stammered. “But if you’re going out, I can come back another time.”

  “What are you doing in town?” Lily demanded. “You never told me you were coming.”

  “Giuseppe closed the restaurant for August. His cousin, Guido, offered me a job in San Francisco.”

  “Giuseppe has a lot of cousins.” Lily laughed. “Are you sure that’s why you came?”

  “There is another reason.” Oliver shifted his feet. “I want to ask you on a date.”

  “You rescued me from the train station in Naples and we spent the night at a hotel in Florence,” Lily answered. “Aren’t we past going on a first date?”

  “We haven’t been on a proper date,” Oliver insisted. “I want to take you to dinner.”

  “You came all the way from Naples to ask me to dinner?” She took off her sunglasses.

  “I had to,” Oliver said and smiled. “A letter would have taken too long, and I didn’t have your phone number.”

  * * *

  “I had a lovely time,” Lily said, biting into a crepe suzette. “How did you know all my favorite things?”

  Oliver sipped a black Muscat and thought it had been a spectacular day. They’d started the morning with espressos in North Beach and climbed to the top of Coit Tower. They rode bicycles in Golden Gate Park and saw the collections at the Asian Art Museum. Now they sat at a bistro on Union Street and ate steamed mussels and lamb stew Provençal.

  “In your letters you described the Chinese lacquerware at the Asian Art Museum and Pearls on a String exhibit so clearly, I felt like I had already seen them.”

  “I do ramble in my letters.” Lily laughed. “I’m surprised you didn’t crumple them up and toss them in the garbage.”

  “I loved your letters. But there’s one thing you didn’t tell me.” Oliver traced the rim of his glass. “That your parents’ house is at the top of Pacific Heights and takes up a city block.”

  “Would that have stopped you from coming?” she asked.

  “Mansions like that usually come with memberships to the country club and marriages arranged at the cotillion,” Oliver continued. “Your parents aren’t going to be thrilled that you’re seeing a struggling waiter.”

  “For your information, my family has a history of ignoring the restraints of polite society. The house was built during Prohibition and the cellar was crammed with bootleg liquor,” she said sharply. “And just because I misplaced my credit cards and live at home, doesn’t mean I’m a child. I can see whomever I like.”

  “I’m sorry.” Oliver stumbled. “I just…”

  “I put my earnings into a savings account and I’m going to open my own store by the time I’m twenty-five.” Lily fumed. “Who are you to talk? You won’t achieve your ideal life by being a waiter. And what happens when you run out of Giuseppe’s cousins?”

  “I just wrote my first restaurant review,” Oliver retorted. “The San Francisco Chronicle is going to print it.”

  “That’s wonderful news!” Lily said and laughed. “We had our first argument before we finished dessert. I’m sure you think this is the worst date ever; you should probably take me home.”

  Oliver swallowed the wine, and a warmth spread through his chest. Lily wore a silk cocktail dress and diamond earrings and she’d never looked more beautiful.

  “You’re radiant when you get angry.” He touched her hand. “Like a shooting star falling to earth.”

  “Sometimes I say the first thing that comes into my head.” She flushed.

  “It’s my fault.” He put his napkin on the plate. “I was afraid your parents would ask about my prospects.”

  “Do you want to meet my parents?” Lily asked.

  Oliver inhaled her floral perfume and desperately wanted to kiss her.

  “Yes,” he gulped. “I’d like that very much.”

  * * *

  They climbed to the top of Pacific Avenue, and Lily opened the gate. A fog had settled over the bay and the sky was a velvet tapestry.

  “I completely forgot. My parents are at a party and won’t be home for hours.” She fumbled in her purse. “I can’t find my key, it must be in my other bag. I’ll have to wait until they return.”

  “You can’t sit in the driveway. When the fog rolls in, you’ll freeze to death!” Oliver exclaimed. “Surely there’s a key hidden under a flowerpot.”

  “My mother doesn’t believe in spare keys.” She shook her head.

  “I’m staying at Guido’s, and his wife is a devout Catholic.” He hesitated. “She won’t be happy if I bring home a girl.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can call a friend and ask her to come get me.”

  “What if you can’t reach anyone? I can’t leave you.” Oliver looked up at the house. “There must be an open window.”

  “Sometimes my father opens his study window,” she remembered. “My mother gets furious. She thinks it’s an invitation for thieves to steal the artwork.”

  “I was a pole-vaulter in high school.” He smiled. “This will be a piece of cake.”

  * * *

  Oliver nudged open the window and clambered inside. The room was dark, and he walked to the hallway. He found a light switch and gasped.

  Crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, and a Chinese cabinet held a Fabergé egg. The floors were black-and-white marble, and the walls were lined with Impressionist paintings.

  He descended the circular staircase and discovered salons with Oriental carpets and damask curtains. There was a library with leather-bound books and a Steinway piano.

  “I was so worried that you’d fall,” Lily said when he opened the front door. “How can I thank you?”

  “A shot of brandy would be nice,” Oliver said. “Unless there’s a Doberman pinscher lurking in the hallway.”

  “We can’t have a dog. My father is allergic.” Lily poured two shots of cognac. “My mother does keep a pistol in the safe. But it’s been there for decades and doesn’t have any bullets.”

  “Your mother sounds more terrifying than any attack dog.” Oliver shuddered. “Maybe I should leave.”

  “I told you they won’t be home for hours.” Lily handed him the glass. “Unless you want to go.”

  Oliver had never wanted anything more than to wrap his arms around her. But he could hardly make love to her on the daybed or carry her upstairs to her bedroom.

  “I’d love to stay. But what if they come home early?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Lily conceded.

  “There is one thing I’d like before I go.” He hesitated.

  “Oh, really.” She looked up, and her eyes were the color of amber. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I was thinking of this.” He kissed her. She kissed him back and tasted of chocolate and raspberries.

  “I had a lovely time,” Lily said when he released her.

  “So did I.” He walked to the entryway and smiled. “Perhaps we can do it again tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Oliver finished his glass of pineapple juice and glanced at the harbor. It was late afternoon and yachts were teeming with men wearing dark sunglasses and women in bright tunics. The sun glimmered on the water, and it was like a glossy postcard.

  Why was he thinking about his first date with Lily when he was sitting on the balcony of his suite on the Emerald Coast? There were still a few hours until dinner. He should go swimming at Liscia Ruja Beach. The water was like a bath, and you could see the green hills and sailboats breezing across the bay.

  Or maybe he’d wander down to the marina. He could sit outside at Nikki Beach and have a predinner snack of bruschetta topped with buffalo mozzarella and arugula. After all, he was in Sardinia to write a restaurant review. It would be a good idea to sample the competition.

  “Oliver,” a female voice called. “What are you doing out there? I thought we were going to take a nap.”

  Oliver pe
ered through the sliding glass door and saw Angela propped against the pillows. The sheet was drawn around her waist, and she rubbed her lips with ChapStick.

  “You were asleep when I got back from the gift shop.” He walked inside. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I suppose I did fall asleep. I had a wonderful dream, and you were in it.” She sighed. “Do you want me to show you what happened in my dream?”

  Oliver put his glass down and stripped off his shirt. The beach would be there tomorrow, and if he had a snack before dinner, he’d ruin his appetite.

  “I’d like that very much.” He climbed into the bed. Her skin was smooth, and she smelled of shampoo and lavender soap.

  “It started with me under the covers.” She slid under the sheet.

  He felt her mouth against him and stiffened. The sun made patterns on the bedspread, and a yacht’s horn sounded in the distance. He let out a moan and felt young and bold and happy.

  Chapter Five

  LILY WALKED DOWN A COBBLESTONE alley past stands selling olive oil and jars of honey. There were leather shops displaying soft purses and jewelry stores with cases of gold bangles. She inhaled the scent of perfume and cut flowers and thought her first full day on the Emerald Coast was better than she had imagined.

  She started the morning at a café, with poached eggs and tea with milk thistle. Then she entered the Lily Bristol store and studied the bright artwork and ceramic pottery and lacquered furniture. Seeing it all come together—the linen chairs where shoppers could sift through piles of fabric, the coffee bar with cappuccino and pastries—made her heart race. The grand opening was in five days, and she hoped it would be a huge success.

  Now she had an hour until she met Ricky for lunch. She adjusted her sunglasses, and her heart beat a little faster. It didn’t matter that Ricky was a complete stranger; they were just going to share a plate of pasta and a bottle of mineral water. Anyway, she couldn’t sit in her hotel room and not talk to anyone except Enzo when he came to refill the ice bucket.

  She thought of Oliver and Angela in the adjoining suite, and her stomach clenched. They weren’t the reason she’d left the hotel so early. She wasn’t in the least bit jet-lagged, and there was so much she wanted to do: pick out a few items for the store; buy Louisa a pretty dress, sample the local fruits and cheeses.

  But whenever she entered the hallway she had a prickly feeling, as if a bug had crawled under her skirt. She even brought a paperback book, so if she ran into Angela in the lobby she could pretend she was reading.

  Now, for the first time since Oliver had crouched down to help her find her key, she felt relaxed and happy. Sea air was always invigorating; it had nothing to do with being away from Oliver and Angela. And Porto Cervo was charming, with its quaint fishermen’s cottages and sleek galleries; she didn’t have time to think about anything else.

  Lily entered a children’s boutique and sifted through the girls’ clothing. There were sailor dresses and satin slippers and drawers filled with hair ribbons. She looked up and saw a familiar figure examining a glass bracelet. His hair was freshly washed, and he wore a striped shirt and khakis.

  “Oliver!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

  “Of course I didn’t follow you,” he answered. “Did you follow me?”

  “Don’t be silly.” Lily took off her sunglasses. “I wanted to buy a present for Louisa. I spoke to her last night and realized how much I miss her.”

  “I called her yesterday, and she said I must bring her a bracelet like she saw in a magazine.” He smiled. “She sent me a picture from the computer.”

  “You do buy her lovely things,” Lily agreed and gasped. “You didn’t tell her that we…”

  “Are practically sharing a hotel suite?” He shook his head. “I can’t believe it myself. She’s only a child; she wouldn’t understand how we ended up in the same place. I just said I was having a good time but miss her very much.”

  “We aren’t sharing anything; I just don’t want her to get the wrong idea and think we’re together. I miss her too.” Lily sighed. “It was easier when I traveled and left her with you. Louisa adores my parents, but if I ask my mother what they had for dinner, she accuses me of not trusting her cooking.”

  “I’d rather not talk about your mother before lunch,” Oliver said stiffly. “It will ruin my appetite.”

  “Oliver, you know she likes you now. She thinks you’re a good father.”

  “She’s impressed that I’m the restaurant critic for the New York Times.” He bristled. “All those years, she hated telling her friends what I did, and now she drops my name like I’m Anthony Bourdain.”

  “It was nice to see you, Oliver.” She turned away. “I have to go.”

  “You can’t walk away as if I’m a stranger you met in line for gelato,” he insisted. “Your Italian is better than mine; we should explore Porto Cervo together. Do you remember when we were in Pisa, and I said the wrong thing to a few thugs and almost got us involved in a drug ring?”

  “I knew we shouldn’t ask them for directions.” She laughed. “How could they afford Gucci loafers unless they were doing something illegal?”

  “They could have been knockoffs,” he countered. “Join me for a coffee. I already drank two cups at the hotel. If I order regular instead of decaf I’ll swing from the trees like Tarzan.”

  Lily still had time before she met Ricky, and it would be nice to rest her feet. And they weren’t doing anything unusual. She and Oliver had drunk coffee and read the newspaper together every morning for years.

  “I could use a cold juice,” she relented. “But I have an appointment in an hour.”

  * * *

  They sat at an outdoor table at La Briciola, and Lily drank sweetened grapefruit juice. Window boxes overflowed with pastel-colored pansies, and the pavement was lined with shiny sports cars. A red Ducati motorcycle gunned its engine, and her face lit up in a smile. She was sitting at a café on one of the most famous coastlines in the world, and the sun warmed her shoulders.

  The view from the outdoor café was one of the most beautiful she had seen. When you looked up, you saw emerald hills scattered with juniper trees, and tall pines and beds of wildflowers. In front of her was the ocean, which was almost translucent. It was some exotic jewel from a page in a Sotheby’s catalog. You couldn’t stop staring at the priceless pink diamond earrings or sapphire necklace owned by a famous movie star.

  “In America, a bread basket means a few plain rolls.” Oliver handed her a woven basket. “In Sardinia, it comes with goat cheese and sausage and homemade honey. It’s a wonder anyone has an appetite for an entrée.”

  “No thank you,” Lily shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

  “What do you mean, you’re not hungry?” he asked. “Do you remember when we met in Naples? You accused me of only dating models because I was staring at you eating a croissant.”

  “That was ten years ago.” She sipped her juice. “I’ve changed.”

  “You haven’t left a thing on your plate our entire marriage. And we’ve only been divorced for a week.” He studied her white dress and gold earrings. “Though you do look different. You look single.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “You have that air that women have when they know they’re beautiful, and men are watching,” he explained.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She flushed. “Anyway, you saw me a week ago at the attorney’s office.”

  “I wasn’t paying attention,” he admitted. “Signing those papers was like entering the Bastille. It’s too dark to notice your surroundings, and you’re certain you’ll never see the sun again.”

  “Oliver,” she said sharply. “We agreed on a divorce because we both wanted to be happy.”

  “I didn’t think it would be this difficult.” He sighed. “The dryer shrinks my clothes because I never have a full load, and I eat too much cholesterol because if I don’t make
a six-egg omelet, the carton will expire.”

  “Set the dryer to warm instead of hot, and hard boil the eggs and put them in the fridge,” Lily replied. “They last for weeks.”

  “You see, I miss the instructions you always taped to the fridge.” Oliver beamed. “Even when you were in San Francisco or Milan, I knew how long to heat up the lasagna or where Louisa kept her guinea pig pellets.”

  “This isn’t helping, and you’re hardly alone.” Lily looked away. “I’m sure Angela knows how to preheat an oven.”

  “Angela has never cooked in my apartment.” He stirred his coffee. “I haven’t even shown her where I keep the coffee beans.”

  “It’s none of my business what she does in your home.” She hesitated. “I thought since you brought her to Sardinia that…”

  “We were on the verge of domesticity?” he finished. “I don’t blame you for being upset. I’d be furious if you brought someone on vacation.”

  “You can bring whomever you like.” Lily paused. “It was just a shock. Louisa never told me.”

  “We met a couple of months ago, and I enjoy her company.” Oliver shrugged. “Her boss was angry because she lost a big client, and I felt sorry and invited her.”

  “But you do like her?” Lily asked.

  “Of course I like her, I wouldn’t have brought her otherwise.” He brushed crumbs from his slacks. “But there’s a long way from like to…”

  “To what, Oliver?”

  “To what we had,” he said.

  “What we had was ruined because we didn’t trust each other. You lied to me, Oliver.” Her cheeks flushed.

  “It was a stupid lie.” He fumed. “You knew me better than that. You should have trusted my judgment.”

  “You can’t trust someone who lies,” she explained. “How many times have we gone over this? I have to go, I’m meeting someone.”

  “How many new friends have you made? You’ve only been here for twenty-four hours.”

  “This was a bad idea.” She stood up. “From now on, let’s grunt if we pass each other in the hall. I’m sure Angela wouldn’t approve of you having coffee with your ex-wife.”

  “Don’t go,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to end every conversation with a fight.”