Santorini Sunsets (11 page)

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

S
YDNEY 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 can 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.”

Sydney watched Francis climb the marble staircase and let out her breath. Francis was happy about the baby; she'd worried for no reason.

She fiddled with the diamond pendant and wondered if he would be so thrilled if it wasn't a boy. She straightened her skirt and thought it didn't matter why he was excited. They were going to have a healthy baby and everything was going to be fine.

*   *   *

Sydney fastened diamond earrings in her ears and slipped on her sandals. Francis was probably in the villa's garden on a phone call to New York. She would tell him they had to leave now or they'd miss the luncheon altogether.

She spritzed her wrists with Estée Lauder perfume and gazed at the towel draped over the chair and the cotton sheets bunched together on the bed. She remembered Francis stepping into the bath and running his hands over her breasts.

Maybe all they had needed was to go somewhere completely new. She dropped the towel in the hamper and hoped she was right. Something had to change or she couldn't bear it.

 

Chapter Eight

B
RIGIT RAN DOWN
the circular staircase into the living room. She had two hours before the private tour of Akrotiri and she was going to sit in the garden and read the paperback book she'd brought on the plane. Sometimes she wondered if they'd packed too many events into the weekend.

The picnic at Kamari Beach had been delightful but now they had the private tour of the ruins and this evening was the welcome dinner at Kasteli Castle. But then she thought about how they were on a fabulous Greek island with their closest friends. They wanted to show their guests the ancient villages and amazing views and spectacular sunsets.

She heard a male voice in the kitchen and walked to the doorway. Blake paced around the tile floor, clutching his phone. He wore the navy slacks he'd worn at the luncheon but his jacket was missing and his shirt was open to the third button.

“I didn't know you were here.” Brigit sat at the round kitchen table. “You said you had to go back to your villa and send some e-mails.”

“I was too upset about your ex-husband to worry about the movie.” Blake kissed Brigit on the mouth. “I can't imagine how it feels to have Nathaniel at your wedding. If Winston had told me, I wouldn't have allowed it.”

“Don't worry, I'm used to ignoring Nathaniel.” Brigit tried to smile. “I was very upset when he appeared in Santorini, but it's not your fault Winston gave him the assignment. Think of all the good that will be done with the money
HELLO!
donates to charity.”

“I called Winston and asked him to assign another reporter but it's impossible.” Blake ran his hands through his hair. “Nathaniel signed a contract and we could never get another journalist to Santorini so quickly. Apparently getting Nathaniel was quite a coup, he's up for an award for a series in the
Guardian
about Britain's council projects.”

“Is that so?” Brigit looked up. “He didn't mention it.”

“I wish you had told me the minute he showed up at the villa, it's not something you should handle by yourself.” Blake pulled out a wooden chair. “I once had an old girlfriend get a small part in a movie I was in. I spent three weeks trying to be courteous so we didn't get into a raging fight in the middle of the Australian outback.”

“Between last night's dinner and today's luncheon, we haven't had time to talk about anything.” Brigit smoothed her skirt and took a deep breath. “Nathaniel mentioned you and my father knew each other before the St. Regis gala. He ran into Francis in London and Francis said he'd found the perfect man for me.”

Blake stood up and walked to the fridge. He took out a bottle of milk and poured a small glass.

“I met Francis at a fund-raiser at Warren Buffett's chalet in Jackson Hole.” Blake nodded. “We started talking about his recent trip to Ghana. It's not often you meet someone who gets on a plane and visits impoverished children in Africa. Most CEOs of charity foundations act as though third world countries are part of a movie that only exists on the screen.