Santorini Sunsets

by Anita Hughes

  She glanced across the room and saw a man wearing a light blue blazer and tan slacks. His blond hair was neatly combed and his cheeks gleamed with aftershave. Brigit realized it was Nathaniel and flushed. Even if Nathaniel wore the Barneys cashmere blazer she’d bought for his twenty-fourth birthday he didn’t belong at a luncheon celebrating her upcoming wedding.

  “Blake, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Nathaniel Cabot.” Nathaniel approached Blake. “I loved you in The Silk Road. I haven’t seen an actor display so much angst since Liam Neeson in Schindler’s List.”

  “Spielberg wanted me to buff up for the part but I said, ‘Steven, no one is going to look like they spend every morning at Gold’s Gym if they’re trekking through the Himalayas eating packets of ramen.’” Blake juggled a plate of chickpeas in one hand and a crystal champagne flute in the other. “I lived on boiled rice and seaweed for a month before we started filming and lost twenty pounds.

  “Your name sounds familiar,” Blake continued. “Are you a friend of Brigit’s?”

  “Ex-husband,” Nathaniel corrected. “But don’t worry, Brigit was an exemplary wife. She made the most delicious tiramisu and never mixed the colors with the whites. Think of it like getting a dealer’s car. It’s practically brand new but with a few kinks worked out.”

  Blake put his champagne flute on the glass sideboard and ran his hands through his hair. “This is a very intimate gathering, perhaps you’d better leave.”

  “You invited me.” Nathaniel handed Blake an ivory card engraved with gold letters. “I’m starving, I only had tzatziki yogurt and black coffee for breakfast. The smoked salmon risotto with fennel looks delicious.”

  “Where did you get this?” Blake waved the invitation.

  “Winston sent me an itinerary of events.” Nathaniel popped a stuffed mushroom into his mouth. “Has he ever showed you his signed first edition of Madonna’s Sex book? He only shows it to his closest friends, but for two million dollars he should give you a look. Page fifty-nine is quite extraordinary.”

  “Nathaniel is the writer hired to write our wedding feature in HELLO!” Brigit took Blake’s arm.

  Blake crumpled the invitation and stuffed it into his pocket. “Winston never told me…”

  “Think about all the time I’ll save not having to learn Brigit’s favorite foods or who was her first celebrity crush,” Nathaniel cut in. “Can you believe she had a Justin Timberlake poster above her bed?

  “I do want to congratulate you, it’s rare two generous and intelligent people find each other and I’m sure you will be happy,” Nathaniel finished, holding out his hand. “I read that you’re from Ohio. I’m a big fan of the Cleveland Cavaliers. Cleveland must be quite a city to convince LeBron James to move from a twelve-million-dollar hacienda in Miami back to his hometown.”

  “The Cavaliers made the championships two years in a row and they haven’t begun to reach their potential.” Blake nodded. “But I can’t get Leonardo to attend a game, he still roots for the Lakers even though Kobe is washed out.

  “I have to say hello to the publisher of Vanity Fair.” Blake looked up. “We’re partnering in bringing literacy to children in the Dominican Republic.”

  “You’ve never watched a professional basketball game in your life,” Brigit hissed to Nathaniel when Blake strode across the room.

  “You said watching sports is like collecting Star Wars cards or leaving smelly socks in your gym locker. Guys shouldn’t do it after they leave middle school.”

  “I watch television at the White Horse in Notting Hill.” Nathaniel rolled an olive around his plate. “You’d be surprised how many things I miss about America: seeing the Edward Hopper exhibit at the Whitney and eating dark chocolate pralines at La Maison du Chocolat. I even miss our old Thursday nights at the Empire Hotel, even though the french fries were soggy and the guys wore skinny ties and blue jeans.”

  “That was years ago when everyone watched Gossip Girl.” Brigit flushed.

  “Thankfully you grew out of that phase quickly,” Nathaniel mused. “Though you were more poised than any actress playing an Upper East Side schoolgirl.”

  “If you write one bad thing about Blake you’ll be sorry you ever learned to type,” Brigit said quietly.

  “I told you I called a truce.” Nathaniel gazed at Brigit. “I think you picked very well.”

  “You do?” Brigit asked.

  “I watched the way Blake looks at you, he’s obviously madly in love,” Nathaniel continued. “And he’s a gentleman. He refilled your champagne flute and never interrupted your conversation.”

  “Of course he’s a gentleman,” Brigit said stiffly. “And he’s one of the most hardworking people I’ve ever met. When we return from our honeymoon he’s traveling to East Angola to present an award to Doctors Without Borders.”

  “Do you remember graduation day at Dartmouth?” Nathaniel poured a glass of sparkling water. “The dry cleaner ruined your dress and you had to wear your mother’s pink silk Escada. I found you crying under the rotunda because you said twenty-two-year-olds didn’t wear silk Escada in the daytime; it was something your great aunt would do.

  “I insisted no one would notice under your gown. You retorted you should be wearing something young and carefree: a paisley Alice + Olivia dress or a design by Stella McCartney.

  “Now you’re wearing Escada in the daytime and you look perfect.” Nathaniel ran his fingers over the rim. “You’re all grown up and exactly where you want to be.”

  “How did you know this is Escada?” Brigit murmured.

  “I spent twenty-six years on the Upper East Side.” Nathaniel grinned.

  Brigit opened her mouth and suddenly saw Daisy cross the room. She wore a long, flowing skirt and gold bangles.

  “I’m so glad to see you.” Brigit looped her arm through hers. “I thought Molly’s mother scared you away.”

  “It’s your pre-wedding luncheon.” Daisy smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Nathaniel and Blake were just talking about how much they love sports,” Brigit explained.

  “I thought the only sport Nathaniel played was backgammon while doing shots of Absolut,” Daisy said.

  “I haven’t touched vodka in two years and I play squash twice a week,” Nathaniel replied. “One doesn’t keep in shape at my age by eating his green beans and walking to the tube.”

  A man with dark curly hair stood at the entry and Nathaniel motioned for him to join them.

  “Robbie, you remember Brigit and Daisy. Don’t they look stunning? British girls have that creamy complexion but they always have that pinched look like their stockings are too tight.”

  “Daisy and I have met a few times around the island.” Robbie smiled.

  “Daisy always roamed around East Hampton as a child,” Nathaniel said. “Sydney would send Brigit and me out on search parties because she’d go to White’s Pharmacy for a packet of Mentos and not come back for hours.”

  “I like exploring.” Daisy smoothed her hair. “Santorini is fascinating, I want to see the ancient villages of Pyrgos and Megalochori.”

  “Where is Sydney?” Nathaniel asked. “I brought her a box of Fortnum’s treacle fudge. I remember how she loved British chocolates.”

  “She called and said they’re running a little late.” Brigit glanced at her watch. “You didn’t have to bring her anything, you are not a guest.”

  “It’s only polite to bring a hostess gift,” Nathaniel insisted. “Sydney is one of my favorite people. Sydney and Francis used to invite me over for lobster ravioli when you worked endless hours at the law firm. Francis would open a Napa Valley cabernet and we’d discuss B.B. King and book banning in school libraries.”

  “Until you stopped going because you found lying on the sofa and watching Breaking Bad more interesting,” Brigit murmured.

  “I didn’t think they’d enjoy my company, I didn’t have anything to bring to the conversation.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make su
re we don’t run out of Kessarias pasties.” she turned to Robbie. “It’s nice to see you, please help yourself to some pork filet and white asparagus.”

  Brigit stepped onto the balcony and took a deep breath. She didn’t need to talk to the chef but she wasn’t going to spend one of the loveliest luncheons discussing the months Nathaniel wore a flannel bathrobe and played Pac-Man.

  She turned around and saw the sun glinting on white gauze curtains. The whole room was like a Seurat painting. The mosaic bar was lined with brightly colored bottles and silver candles flickered on the tables.

  Blake caught her eye through the window and his face broke into a smile. He was charismatic and industrious and she was so lucky to be in love. She smoothed her Escada dress and thought Nathaniel was right. She was exactly where she wanted to be and he wasn’t going to spoil it.

  Chapter Seven

  SYDNEY SAT AT THE DRESSING table and dusted her cheeks with powder. She rubbed her lips with Lancôme lipstick and glanced at her Chopard watch. It was almost noon and if Francis didn’t return soon they’d be late for the picnic at Kamari Beach.

  After she ate a breakfast of yogurt and thyme and berries she walked upstairs and ran a hot bath. She leaned against the white porcelain tub and inhaled the scent of lavender and vanilla. She heard footsteps and saw Francis standing in the doorway.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. “You said you had a conference call with Tokyo.”

  He hesitated and Sydney saw a strange look in his eye. For a moment she thought he was going to tell her why for the last eight months he’d seemed as if he was never in the same room even when they sipped their morning espressos or read the New Yorker in the study.

  “I forgot my notes but suddenly I think it can wait,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt and stripping off his shorts.

  “You never ignore a business call.” Sydney gasped as he slid in beside her.

  “Don’t worry, they’ll call back,” he whispered, rubbing her shoulders. “When was the last time I discovered my beautiful wife in the bathtub during the day?”

  His hands moved down her back and she felt the warm water lap her breasts.

  “In that case, I have a better idea,” she suggested, a small moan escaping her throat. “It will be much more comfortable and we won’t get marks on our backs.”

  She stepped onto the tile floor and wrapped herself in a white towel. She led him into the bedroom and drew him down on the canopied bed.

  He entered her quickly and buried his mouth in her hair. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his chest against her breasts. Her body opened and all the doubt was replaced by a pleasure so exquisite she’d forgotten it existed.

  * * *

  Now she picked up a mahogany brush and thought she’d better call Brigit and tell her they were running late. She thought of all the activities Brigit and Blake had planned: a private cruise to the Venetian Lighthouse and cocktails at sunset at Oia Castle. She got exhausted thinking about donkey rides and swimming in the Aegean.

  But the weekend would be wonderful and their guests would never forget it. She remembered when Brigit had appeared at the town house a few days after Brigit and Blake had announced their engagement. This was the first time Sydney and Brigit were alone since Brigit returned from Crete.

  * * *

  “Darling, how lovely to see you. I thought between jet lag and the long hours at the law firm, you would spend the weekend in your apartment with a copy of Martha Stewart Weddings.” Sydney stood at the marble island in the kitchen.

  The kitchen was her favorite room in the Park Avenue town house. The walls were turquoise plaster and the floor was polished wood and the backsplash behind the stove was blue mosaic tiles. The decorator had hesitated when Sydney suggested putting a mirror above the walnut desk but Sydney laughed and said with three females in the family, someone was always fixing their hair or reapplying their lipstick.

  “I’ve only been engaged for five days. I haven’t begun to think about dresses or flowers,” Brigit replied. “It was so sudden, I didn’t expect Blake to propose.”

  “You look like you did before you gave the graduation speech at Spence.” Sydney sipped her coffee. “You entered my dressing room and said you were supposed to talk about the future but you’d been at the same school your whole life and were terrified of what came next.

  “I suggested you speak from your heart and you stood at the podium and said many students attended Spence because it guaranteed they got into Yale or Princeton but you were grateful for the friends and experiences you had along the way.” Sydney paused. “You got a standing ovation and there wasn’t a dry eye in the auditorium.”

  “When Nathaniel and I got married it felt inevitable. We didn’t know what we were doing but we had to do it anyway.” Brigit fiddled with her gold earrings. “Now I’m a grown woman and I don’t want to make a mistake. Blake is handsome and caring but we’ve only known each other for six months.”

  “People think love and passion are the most important parts of marriage but they’re wrong.” Sydney buttered a slice of toast. “Passion can’t survive dirty diapers and late-night feedings and even love is challenged when you discover you can’t stand the way your spouse gargles in the shower. Marriage is like life; it has to move forward. As long as you’re moving in the same direction, you’ll be fine.”

  Sydney dusted crumbs from her slacks and remembered the day she felt she and Francis were moving in opposite directions. She pictured sitting in the paneled study with a cup of chamomile tea and an Architectural Digest. She remembered gasping and knowing something was terribly wrong.

  * * *

  Sydney had placed the cup on the porcelain plate and clutched her stomach. The dull ache that had started in the small of her back was now a jagged pain. She was only five months pregnant so it was too early for contractions and she hadn’t been lifting any boxes or doing strenuous exercise.

  She picked up the phone and put it down. Francis was in an all-day meeting and she couldn’t disturb him just because being pregnant at forty-two meant she had more odd twinges.

  She closed the magazine and flinched. When she was pregnant with Brigit and Daisy, every night she brought color swatches for the nursery or some new toy that was necessary for a newborn. But now she studied photos of nurseries in magazines and didn’t dare suggest turning the upstairs den into a baby’s room.

  At night they sipped tomato juice and talked about parents’ weekend at Dartmouth and Daisy’s latest boyfriend and Francis’s new client in London. She studied his salt-and-pepper hair and the lines on his forehead and knew he was uncertain about having another baby.

  Her face turned pale and the pain dug into her back. She picked up her phone and called the doorman.

  “Oscar, it’s Sydney Palmer. Could you call a taxi? I think it’s an emergency.”

  * * *

  Sydney entered the living room and glanced at the marble bar. She would give anything for a gin and tonic but these days no one drank when they were pregnant except for a glass of champagne to celebrate news and an occasional red wine at dinner.

  She was lucky Dr. Ogden had seen her right away. It was only after he performed the ultrasound and showed her the healthy fetus that her shoulders relaxed.

  She heard the front door open and was glad she hadn’t told Francis. Perhaps they could go to dinner at Four Seasons or the St. Regis. She pictured wide plates of quail breast and pink blush asparagus in hollandaise.

  “You are home early.” Sydney looked up. “I thought we could go out. I’m dying to sit at the King Cole Bar and nibble chicken croquettes and sip a virgin Bloody Mary.”

  “I ran into Robert playing squash at the club,” Francis said. “He mentioned you visited his office.”

  “It was nothing.” Sydney smoothed her hair. “Just normal back pain.”

  “He said you were certain you were losing the baby,” Francis replied.

  “You know how hysterical pregnant women c
an be,” Sydney mused. “Remember when I was pregnant with Daisy and got stung by a bee? I was positive I did some terrible harm to the fetus.”

  “What if it had been something serious?” Francis asked. “I should have gone with you.”

  “I wasn’t sure how you felt,” Sydney murmured.

  “What do you mean?” Francis walked to the bar and poured a glass of scotch.

  “When I was pregnant with Brigit and Daisy you called from work every day to see if I craved Zabar’s lemongrass chicken soup,” Sydney began. “Now the only time we discuss the baby is to talk about whether you’ll be at the economic summit in Davos on my due date.

  “Brigit is at Dartmouth and Daisy is wrapped up in boys and you have conferences all over Europe,” she finished. “I feel like everyone is moving forward and I’m starting at the beginning.”

  “We’re starting at the beginning,” Francis corrected.

  “We can’t go to Aspen after Christmas and we’ll never give dinner parties because I’ll always be listening to the baby monitor.” She paused. “The worst part is I can’t wait to spend my days running baths and folding baby blankets. I adore babies and I feel so selfish.”

  “Robert congratulated me on having a boy.” Francis finished his scotch. He poured another and took a small sip. “He thought I already knew.”

  “You know I didn’t want to find out the sex. But I was so relieved the baby was alright, I couldn’t help looking at the screen.” Sydney flushed. “I was going to tell you tonight at dinner.”

  “I’ll finally get to use those Yankee tickets.” Francis fiddled with his glass. “I’ll teach him how to sail and maybe he’ll go to Harvard and join the Delphic Club.” He looked at Sydney and smiled. “I guess we all want to pass on a little of ourselves.”

  He reached into his suit pocket and handed her a blue Tiffany’s box.

  Sydney unwrapped the gold ribbon and snapped it open. She discovered a diamond-and-sapphire pendant and gasped.

  “You’ve never looked more beautiful.” He fastened it around her neck. “I’m going to get dressed and then we’ll eat prime rib and roasted potatoes and warm chocolate cake for dessert.”