Santorini Sunsets

by Anita Hughes

  Chapter Twenty

  SYDNEY PACED AROUND the living room and wondered where Francis could be. She had checked every tobacco store and newsagent in Fira. She debated sitting at a café and waiting for him to appear but she could hardly accuse her husband of seeing another woman and selling her grandfather’s estate in front of tourists carrying plastic buckets and ice cream cones.

  She walked back to the villa and entered the foyer. Daisy was upstairs getting ready and Brigit had gone out. She patted her hair and wished she could go upstairs and take a bath. But she glanced at her watch and knew she had to speak to Francis first.

  * * *

  Now she poured a double scotch and thought she really should be drinking soda water. But if she was going to lose her husband and her family home, she needed a cocktail before she welcomed their closest friends to the rehearsal dinner.

  She heard the front door open and turned around.

  “I was afraid I’d be late, I had to stand on a cliff to get phone reception.” Francis entered the living room. “The Greek afternoon sun is hotter than when we visited the pyramids in Egypt.” He loosened his collar. “A stone farmhouse in Provence sounds very inviting.”

  Sydney pictured the villa in Gordes and flinched. She poured another scotch and handed it to Francis. “I have to talk to you about something.”

  “An ice-cold scotch and a cool shower and I’ll feel almost human.” Francis glanced at Sydney. “I thought you’d be getting dressed.”

  “I saw Brigit earlier, she was very upset,” Sydney began. “Blake donated two million dollars to the foundation without telling her.”

  “Brigit came to me and I explained the whole story.” Francis nodded. “It will be good to have Blake involved. He’s young and energetic and we share the same vision.”

  “You didn’t tell her he invested another three million dollars the day after he proposed.” Sydney’s voice shook. “And you didn’t tell her you’re in financial trouble and might have to sell Summerhill.”

  Francis’s face clouded over and he sank onto the sofa.

  “I didn’t want to worry you,” he said. “I thought I could handle it.”

  “You didn’t want to worry me about selling the cottage that has been in my family for a hundred years?” Sydney demanded. “Do you remember the first time we drove to East Hampton? We had been dating for two months and I said I couldn’t be involved with anybody who didn’t love Summerhill.

  “We pulled up the driveway in your Jaguar. You jumped out and I thought you were going to say you imagined it would be much grander or it was too quiet without the noise and excitement of Manhattan.

  “You plucked a pink rose from the garden and said it was the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen. If I’d let you, you’d make sure the pond was always full of goldfish and the vegetable garden had baby carrots and sweet peas. All you wanted was to spend your life with me at Summerhill.

  “We’ve celebrated every Christmas and Fourth of July there since we were married. Daisy kept her pony in the stables and Brigit and Nathaniel got married on the lawn.” She stopped and her eyes were bright. “I still don’t understand how you could do such a thing. What other secrets are there? I want to know everything.”

  “I made some bad investments with our capital after I started the foundation. I took a second mortgage on the town house and thought that would be enough.” Francis downed his scotch. “But then the school we are building in Haiti flooded and we had to start from scratch.

  “I’ve landed on airstrips no wider than a Band-Aid but I’ve never been as frightened as when I brought an appraiser to Summerhill,” he mused. “She walked around examining Daisy’s drawings in the nursery and Brigit’s tennis trophies in the den and I wanted to call and tell you everything.” He paused. “But I knew you’d never forgive me and I couldn’t risk it. I promised myself I’d do whatever it takes to save Summerhill.”

  “You brought an appraiser to Summerhill?” she exclaimed, her heart pounding in her chest.

  Sydney remembered the young woman on the porch wearing a navy suit and beige stilettos.

  “It was on a Friday afternoon when I thought you were in the city,” he continued. “But then Myrna left a message saying you went to East Hampton early and I panicked.

  “You asked if I’d just left Manhattan and I said I’d been at the office all day. That’s the only time I lied to you except for the cotillion where we met.”

  “What happened at the cotillion?” Sydney asked.

  “You thought your date had food poisoning but I paid him to leave.” Francis’s face broke into a smile. “I saw the most beautiful girl wearing a white satin gown and silk gloves and had to ask her to dance.”

  Sydney walked to the french doors and gazed at the garden. She turned around and her eyes glistened.

  “I pulled into the driveway and saw you on the porch with a young woman with long dark hair and thick mascara,” she admitted. “I got terribly flustered and drove away. When I returned you were gone.”

  “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Francis asked.

  “The last ten months you’ve been so distant.” She hesitated. “I was afraid if I asked questions, I couldn’t bear the answers.”

  “I was so ashamed.” Francis clutched his shot glass. “I wanted to provide children in Africa with computers but didn’t put aside enough to fix Summerhill’s roof after a wet winter.” He paused and his eyes were dark. “I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror when I shaved. What kind of a man puts his family’s well-being in jeopardy to help strangers?”

  “You’re hardly putting your family in jeopardy.” Sydney twisted her hands. “Brigit earns an impressive salary and Daisy has more talent than she knows. We have rooms full of important artwork, we’re not going to go hungry.”

  “Summerhill is part of you,” Francis replied. “I see you when we’re out there. Your smile is wider and your step is lighter. You’re like a flower in full bloom.”

  “I love Summerhill, but you should have told me. We could have solved it together.” Sydney paused. “In the end all I need is you and Brigit and Daisy. We could move to a fifth floor walk-up in the East Village and be perfectly happy.”

  “I don’t think anything drastic will happen. With Blake’s involvement things are turning around.” Francis gazed at Sydney’s slender cheekbones and small waist. “Though I would like to see those gorgeous legs climb five flights of stairs.”

  Sydney felt the tension and fear of the last eight months dissolve. Suddenly she pictured Oliver and the château in Gordes and thought if she didn’t tell Francis now, she never could. She fiddled with her scotch glass and took a deep breath.

  “There’s something else we have to talk about,” she began. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for years, but I haven’t known how.”

  “Whatever it is, maybe it can wait until after the rehearsal dinner.” He grinned. “I thought we could take advantage of a quiet villa and sneak upstairs.”

  “It can’t wait.” She jumped up and walked to the bar. “We have to talk about it now.”

  “That sounds serious,” Francis said.

  Sydney looked at the man she had loved for thirty years and her courage disappeared. But then she thought of all the years they had ahead of them and her shoulders tightened.

  “When I went to Provence after I lost the baby, I’d never been so miserable,” she began. “No matter how I tried, the pain wouldn’t go away. I’d see people sipping espresso in the village square and wondered if I would ever be happy. And I didn’t just feel bad for myself; I couldn’t be the wife I wanted to be for you or a good mother to Brigit and Daisy.

  “I met a young man, the son of the owner of the château. It was perfectly innocent, he helped me get in the house when I locked myself out and brought me groceries during the mistral.

  “The last night I was there, he asked me to dinner. I don’t know why I said yes, but he was barely twenty-two, it was like dining with one of
Brigit’s or Daisy’s friends. He drove me home and came into the château.” She stopped and bit her lip. “Somehow we ended up in bed.”

  “I see.” Francis’s cheeks were pale and he looked like he’d seen a ghost.

  “The minute it was over I knew it was a terrible mistake,” she said. “I’ve wanted to tell you a hundred times, but I was terrified you would never forgive me.”

  “I never would have thought…” Francis stumbled.

  “It made me realize that even though losing the baby was heartbreaking, there was something much worse.” Sydney looked at Francis and her lips trembled. “Losing the man I love most in the world.”

  Francis clenched his hands and paced around the room. He poured another glass of scotch and took a long gulp.

  “I have to admit this is terribly hard, but life is full of twists and turns. Sometimes you are on top of the world and things happen that you can’t imagine. But as long as you have the most important thing, you can get through the rest.” He walked over to Sydney. “You are beautiful and gracious and the best wife and mother I could ask for.” He paused and a small smile lit up his face. “We have two daughters to marry off and grandchildren to look forward to, and I couldn’t do any of it without you.”

  “Neither could I.” Sydney felt the air leave her lungs.

  “We still have time before the rehearsal dinner.” He touched her arm. “Why don’t we go upstairs and try to forget about my bad knee and the new gray in our hair?”

  “And be late to Amoudi Bay?” Sydney asked.

  “We won’t be late,” he whispered. “I’ll take a very quick shower.”

  * * *

  Sydney sat at the dressing table and brushed her cheeks with powder. She rubbed her lips with red lipstick and dabbed her wrists with Chanel No. 5 perfume.

  She gazed at the rumpled bed and towels strewn on the wood floor and shivered. It had been wonderful to climb into bed with Francis. It had been glorious to feel his thighs between her legs and not wonder about the young woman in the navy dress.

  But as soon as Francis got up to put on his dinner jacket, Sydney remembered Robbie and Oliver and the villa in Provence. Even if Francis knew the truth, what about Brigit and Daisy? Their trust in Sydney would be ruined if they discovered she’d had an affair.

  She’d told Francis she couldn’t find her favorite earrings and to go ahead to the rehearsal dinner without her. Now she straightened the bedspread and wondered if she should confront Robbie and beg him to keep her secret.

  She walked down the circular staircase and heard a knock at the door.

  “Robbie!” She opened the door. “This is a surprise, Nathaniel isn’t here. Everyone is at Amoudi Bay.”

  “I wasn’t looking for Nathaniel,” Robbie said.

  He wore a white dinner jacket and tan slacks. His hair was neatly brushed and his silver camera was slung over his shoulder.

  “You weren’t?” Sydney stammered. She walked into the living room and began straightening magazines and arranging flowers.

  “I was looking for Daisy,” Robbie explained, following her into the living room.

  “Daisy!” Sydney exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were friends.”

  “She showed me her sketches.” He nodded. “She’s quite talented.”

  “Do you think so?” Sydney asked. “I think they’re gorgeous, she has a wonderful eye for color.”

  “Daisy is very special,” Robbie said. “She’s beautiful and intelligent and self-effacing.”

  Sydney looked at Robbie and her heart raced. Could Robbie be attracted to Daisy? What if he told Daisy he’d met Sydney ten years ago and she’d had an affair with his roommate?

  “Have you and Daisy become close?” Sydney asked.

  “She’s focused on the wedding.” Robbie shrugged. “I took some photos of her at the hot springs and thought she might like to see them.”

  “It must be wonderful to travel to different places and take photographs for a living.” Sydney twisted her hands.

  “I studied history at Oxford. I love to read but I have a terrible memory,” Robbie explained. “I memorized the names of Henry VIII’s wives for hours and couldn’t remember them when I took the test.”

  “Is that so?” Sydney looked up.

  “I’ve always been that way.” Robbie grinned. “But with photography all your memories are stored in the camera. I hope I help people remember important moments with my photographs.”

  “It’s getting late.” Sydney glanced at her watch. “If we don’t leave for the rehearsal dinner, the fried tomato balls will be gone.”

  “Would you like to walk together?” Robbie asked.

  “I still have things to do.” She held out her hand. “It was lovely talking to you. I’ll tell Daisy to find you at the rehearsal dinner.”

  Sydney waited until Robbie had walked through the gate and then gathered her purse.

  If Robbie had a bad memory, would he remember a woman he’d met in a French bistro a decade ago? He had been twenty years old and in a foreign country. He must have met a dozen new people a day. It was all in the past and she had nothing to worry about.

  She ran down the steps and opened the gate of the villa. The sky was a liquid orange and the ocean was turquoise and she thought the colors had never been brighter. She hurried down the gravel path and couldn’t wait to join Francis and Daisy at Brigit and Blake’s rehearsal dinner.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  BRIGIT GLANCED UP at the red cliffs and white windmills and lacquered window boxes. She saw the circular inlet and chipped fishing boats and thought they couldn’t have picked a more romantic spot for the rehearsal dinner.

  Taverna Katina had sliding glass doors facing the ocean. A long wooden table was set with a peach linen tablecloth and white bone china. Chairs were covered with green damask and twinkling lights hung from the ceiling.

  Brigit admired the gleaming silverware and flickering candles and thought the room looked stunning. She had wanted to talk to Blake about everything but they had to make sure the French champagne was chilled and there was enough caviar.

  She fiddled with her pink and white diamond bracelet and thought there would be plenty of time to talk to Blake after dinner.

  “You have outdone yourself,” a male voice said. “The baklava is sweet as honey and melts in your mouth.”

  Brigit turned around and saw Nathaniel wearing a black dinner jacket and white bow tie. His blond hair was freshly washed and his cheeks glistened with aftershave.

  “I hope you haven’t gone into the kitchen and eaten all the dessert,” Brigit said.

  “I was making sure the chef did a good job,” Nathaniel explained. “I don’t want your guests complaining the baklava is sticky or the fava beans are lumpy.”

  “I chose the menu,” Brigit said hotly. “The tavern is owned by an old lady named Katina. She does all the cooking.”

  “I met her in the kitchen.” Nathaniel nodded. “I said I was worried the bride was too thin and she promised to serve you an extra portion of shrimp risotto.” He gazed at Brigit’s pink Prada dress and beige pumps. “I was wrong, you don’t look thin at all. You’re positively glowing.”

  “I had a restful afternoon.” Brigit blushed.

  “Getting married agrees with you, you should do it more often.” Nathaniel popped a cherry tomato in his mouth. “Next time try Capri, the pizza is the best in Italy.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” Brigit snapped. “Blake and I are working everything out.”

  “I’m glad.” Nathaniel fiddled with his cuff links. “Dressing for weddings can be tedious, it took me half an hour to fasten my cuff links.”

  “You didn’t have to get dressed up,” Brigit said.

  “People trust you more as a journalist if you blend in,” he explained. “Do you remember two hours before our rehearsal dinner, I discovered I’d left my gold cuff links at the apartment in Manhattan? You said you didn’t mind, but I knew you’d never look at the p
hotos if my shirt cuffs were undone.”

  “You hired a messenger and had them delivered to Summerhill,” Brigit said. “The cuff links arrived at the same time as the photographer.”

  “I wanted everything about our wedding weekend to be perfect,” Nathaniel mused. “The rehearsal dinner in my parents’ gazebo and the ceremony and reception on the lawn at Summerhill.

  “An hour before the ceremony it started raining and the wedding planner panicked. But then the sky cleared and the grass was bright green. It was like a scene in a Monet painting.”

  “It was lovely,” Brigit agreed.

  “We did our best. We can’t cry over spilled milk.” Nathaniel shrugged. “Do you remember when we were five years old and you had a wooden puzzle with triangles and rectangles and squares? I kept trying to fit the circular block into the square and it didn’t work.

  “You took it out of my hand and placed it where it belonged.” He paused. “You’re all grown up and have figured out how to solve your own puzzle.”

  “I have to go.” Brigit’s eyes were bright. “My father is making a speech.”

  Nathaniel reached into his pocket and brought out a piece of paper. “I wrote a toast.”

  “A toast?” she repeated.

  “I am a writer.” He shrugged. “But then I realized your ex-husband shouldn’t give a toast at your wedding. Keep it and read it later.” He glanced at a passing waiter. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get a glass of Dom Pérignon.”

  “You promised you wouldn’t get drunk and cause trouble,” Brigit fumed.

  “I’m not fifteen, I’m hardly going to get smashed from a couple of glasses of French champagne.” He paused. “It is the rehearsal dinner. It’s only polite to toast the bride and groom.”

  * * *

  Brigit gazed around the restaurant and saw Daisy wearing a patterned chiffon dress and gold sandals. Her eyelashes were coated with thick mascara and she wore diamond teardrop earrings. She noticed her father in a white dinner jacket and black slacks. His cheeks glistened with aftershave and he looked like Gregory Peck. She glanced at the door and saw her mother enter wearing a silver Carolina Herrera gown. Her blond hair bounced at her shoulders and she wore a sapphire pendant.