The House on Sunset Lake (14 page)

‘So, if you’ve wondered why I’ve hated you for twenty years, that’s why. If you wonder why Jen drinks so much, why she doesn’t like to see you too often . . . It all makes sense now, doesn’t it? And while I’m grateful, really grateful, that you’re throwing me a lifeline here, buying RedReef, helping me get my finances in order . . . well, it’s really the very least that you owe me.’

Chapter Eighteen

1994

Casa D’Or had been transformed into a fairy-tale palace, a Gatsby dream, for Jennifer’s twenty-first birthday party. Three days earlier, a team of four carpenters had arrived, and under Sylvia Wyatt’s strict instructions had built a stage by the shores of the lake where tonight one of Savannah’s best jazz bands was playing a medley of soft, soulful songs. Four hundred guests milled around the gardens, lit up by thousands of fairy lights: her parents’ smart Savannah circle, a considerable number of her father’s business contacts. ‘Everyone will want to keep on doing business with you, just to come back to Casa D’Or,’ she’d overheard her mother reason when they were compiling the guest list.

At least fifty of the partygoers were her own friends. Some had even made the journey down from New York, although Jennifer had been disappointed by how few of her college friends had shown up. She’d sent over thirty invitations to her favourite people from Wellesley, but the excuses had trickled in and some hadn’t even bothered to reply at all. It was almost as if the past three years at university hadn’t existed, as if the people she had once cared about had forgotten about her already.

Jennifer accepted a glass of champagne from the waiter as she glanced around the party wondering where to go next. She had been inundated by well-wishers all evening and was looking forward to a few moments of time out when Jeanne approached her, smiling.

‘This is a seriously smart party,’ grinned her friend, linking her arm through Jennifer’s. ‘I feel as if I’m on the set of a Hepburn movie.’

‘Audrey or Katharine?’ said Jennifer, glad to have a reassuring presence by her side.

‘Usually I’m a Katharine kinda girl, but tonight looks like
Sabrina
.’

‘I love that movie,’ said Jennifer, smiling as she remembered the classic Billy Wilder film about two brothers competing for the love of their chauffeur’s beautiful daughter.

‘And how’s your own little love triangle getting on?’ said Jeanne, nudging her friend gently with her elbow.

‘What love triangle?’ asked Jennifer, trying not to blush.

‘Oh come on,’ Jeanne said, holding her hands up in the air. ‘You’ve still not told me if anything happened between you and Jim Johnson at the beach the other night.’

‘Nothing happened.’

‘He was moon-eyed after you all day and I’d usually just write that off as another Jennifer Wyatt admirer, but you like him too, admit it.’

Jennifer looked away, not wanting to talk about it. It had been ten days since their trip to Tybee Island, and she had not seen or spoken to Jim since. Part of her was glad that he was out of sight, if not out of mind.

Her mother had been a changed woman since their conversation. She had taken Jennifer out for lunch, and tennis, and whilst they had been shopping in downtown Savannah the day before, she had treated her to a beautiful gold hummingbird necklace, which she had presented to her with the warmest of embraces.

But still, Jennifer had spent the past week and a half feeling sad and empty. It just didn’t make sense that Jim wasn’t around any more. He hadn’t called her or popped round, even when her mother had left for a trip downtown or to the country club. It was almost as if he wasn’t there, as if she had dreamed him. The one time she had seen the red pickup truck drive past the entrance to Casa D’Or, her heart had stopped as the driver had waved, only for her to realise that it was Bryn Johnson and not his son.

Getting ready for the party that evening, she had found herself staring out of her bedroom window towards the Lake House, wondering whether he would turn up to say goodbye.

She wasn’t sure what part of Jim’s vanishing trick had hurt the most: that the frisson of attraction between them outside Casa D’Or had been a lie, some meaningless consequence of the amount they’d had to drink, or the fact that he was about to slip out of her life for ever and she wouldn’t get to see him again.

She felt tears come to her eyes at the thought of it.

‘Hey, what’s the matter?’ said Jeanne, noticing that her friend was upset.

‘Nothing,’ she said quickly.

Jeanne peered at her over the rim of her glasses with a look that said she was not going to take no for an answer.

‘Look, we almost kissed. But we haven’t seen each other since and he’s going home tomorrow.’

‘Why haven’t you seen him?’

‘He hasn’t got in touch. But it’s for the best. I have Connor; Jim’s going back to London. It was a friendship that got complicated. That’s all.’

‘There’s nothing
that’s all
about the way he looks at you, Jen. Or the way you glow when you’re with him.’

‘That’ll just be the sunburn,’ she said, not wanting to be persuaded.

‘Is he here?’

‘No. And that speaks volumes, doesn’t it?’

‘There you are, darling,’ said David Wyatt, touching her on the shoulder. ‘I’ve apparently paid for the best jazz band in Savannah, and my own daughter hasn’t even given me the honour of a dance.’

‘Of course,’ smiled Jennifer, allowing her father to whisk her off in the yellow cloud of chiffon of her dress.

She rested her hand on his shoulder and allowed him to twirl her round, feeling joyful and safe.

‘Are you enjoying yoursel
f
?’

‘It’s a wonderful party.’

‘I know you don’t really like being the centre of attention. If it all gets a bit much, I can go and smoke my cigar near the fire alarm and we can make them all go away.’

‘Mum seems to be enjoying herself,’ smiled Jennifer, looking across the dance floor to where her mother was talking to Bryn Johnson and even laughing.

David gave a soft conspiratorial laugh, as if they both understood how hard Sylvia was to live with.

The band started to play ‘The Shadow of Your Smile’, and Jennifer listened wistfully to its lyrics.

‘I don’t believe it,’ said her father, stopping dancing. ‘She came.’

‘Who?’

‘Your aunt. Your aunt Donna.’

Jennifer turned round to follow her father’s line of sight. A blonde woman was standing at the French doors that led from the house to the terrace. She was taller than Sylvia, but still slim, although an obvious boob job made her look very top heavy. Her hair was a harsher shade than her mother’s elegant do, but there was no mistaking that the two women were related.

‘Did Mom invite her?’ said Jennifer with surprise, wondering if her mother’s mood had really improved that much.

‘I did,’ said David with an expression that told her he was wondering if it had been such a good idea.

‘And you’ve told Mom . . .’

‘Not exactly,’ said her father with a frown. ‘Look. I have no living family any more. Neither does your mother, with the exception of Donna. I just thought it was important that you meet. Your mother might not have any desire to see her sister, but Donna is still family, and now you’re twenty-one, it’s up to you to make those sort of decisions yourself.’

‘What are we waiting for, then?’ said Jennifer, giving her father a grateful squeeze, both excited and nervous about speaking to her aunt.

Donna’s expression melted into joy and relief when she saw them. She took Jennifer’s face between her hands and beamed.

‘Look at you,’ she said with a note of sadness.

‘Thank you for coming,’ said David. ‘Is your husband with you?’

‘Frank’s probably still outside gaping at the size of the house,’ she said with a strong Southern accent.

‘I didn’t know you were married,’ said Jennifer.

‘We don’t know a lot about each other’s lives,’ Donna said regretfully. ‘I think that’s why your father invited me this evening.’

‘Where’s your mother?’ asked David briskly. He was the most poised and confident man she knew, but Jennifer detected a reticence in his voice. It was just like her father to want to mend the rift between his wife and her sister, but they all knew that Sylvia might react unpredictably to the situation.

They both glanced around but could no longer see her.

‘I’ll go and find her,’ said David. ‘Jen, you show Donna around the party.’

‘Wow,’ said Donna, rooted to the spot. ‘I knew it was going to be lovely, but this place . . .’

‘We didn’t buy it,’ said Jen modestly. ‘It’s been in our family for years. My great-grandfather bought it and everyone else has just tried to keep it going ever since.’

‘Lordy, the pressure’s on you then, the next generation, to keep it all going.’

Jennifer smiled uncomfortably. She’d never really considered it before, but perhaps there was a financial imperative in her mother’s belief that Connor was perfect for her. Jennifer knew that her father had struggled throughout the recession; she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t noticed that they didn’t live quite as lavishly as they once had.

Only five or six years before, Casa D’Or had had a full-time staff of five. Marion’s parents, Jeffrey and Dolores Wilson, were the chaffeur and cook respectively; Marion was an unofficial sous chef and housekeeper; a gardener and estate manager were also on the payroll. But when the Wilsons retired, replacements were never recruited, and over time, the other members of staff also disappeared, a state of affairs that was in sharp contrast to the Gilbert family, who in addition to a fully staffed house north of the city had homes in Lyford Cay and on the Côte d’Azur as well.

Jennifer didn’t want to dwell on all that tonight and linked her arm through her aunt’s to show her around.

Donna was as warm as her mother was cool. As they walked around Casa D’Or, swapping stories about their lives, Jennifer wondered why she had always been portrayed as such a family cautionary tale. The reasons for Donna and Sylvia’s estrangement had always been unspecified. There were rumours of drink and gambling, but speaking to her aunt about her job as a restaurant supervisor in Pensacola and her travels around the world on the cruise ships, Jennifer could just see a nice ordinary lady whose only weakness – as she explained herself when she told Jennifer that her new husband Frank, circulating somewhere around the party, was in fact her fourth – was her poor taste in men.

Jennifer took Donna upstairs for the best view from the house. Her parents’ master suite had the biggest terrace, with sweeping views of the grounds, but feeling sure that her mother would be annoyed at anyone going into her room uninvited, she took Donna to the top floor, into her favourite part of the house.

‘You’re going to love this,’ she grinned as she led her to a cupola on the rooftop.

‘What’s this?’ said Donna, sounding like a gleeful child.

Jennifer opened a small door and they stepped out on to a platform that surrounded the circular room.

‘It’s a widow’s walk,’ she said, inhaling the balmy night air. ‘Lots of houses on the coast have them. Apparently they were for the ladies of the house, so they could come out and look for their mariner husbands returning from sea.’

‘And I take it some of them never came back.’

‘I guess,’ said Jennifer, glancing towards the Lake House. ‘I guess it makes it either the saddest or the most romantic part of the house.’

Donna leaned on the balcony and looked wistfully out into the fairy-light-studded darkness.

‘Why don’t you and my mother speak?’ asked Jennifer quietly.

‘I don’t know. I tried,’ Donna said with a sad laugh. ‘She moved to Charleston and fell off the radar. We didn’t even know where she was. We’d get the odd Christmas card as if to tell us, I’m out here, I’m all right, but there was never any number to call or address to get back in touch.’

‘Who’s we?’ asked Jennifer, puzzled.

‘Our parents. Your grandmom and grandpop.’

She frowned. ‘But I thought they died when Mom was eighteen.’

‘No,’ said Donna, shaking her head. ‘It was a long time after that. Sylvia had married your father but you hadn’t been born.’

‘What happened?’ said Jennifer, not sure that she was following correctly. ‘I thought they died in a car crash.’

‘Car crash?’ said Donna with surprise. ‘No, they’d been in poor health for a long time. We were dirt-poor, with no money for medical bills, so I nursed them both for a couple of years. I suppose that’s why I was angry with Sylvia for so long, for not doing her bit. But she had a new life by then. The life she always wanted. If there’s one thing about my sister, it’s that she’s unsentimental, especially when it comes to getting what she wants. Just ask Ethan Jamieson.’

‘Ethan Jamieson?’ repeated Jennifer. The name was familiar. She was certain it was the man whose photograph her mother had showed her. Sylvia Wyatt’s lost love. ‘The war photographer she met in Charleston?’

‘War photographer?’ said Donna in surprise. ‘No, Ethan was Sylvia’s high school sweetheart. They were madly in love and I’m not surprised. He was the most handsome guy you ever did see. But when Sylva hit twenty, she wasn’t hanging around Dixie any more. I’m not sure Ethan’s job in the timber yard cut it either. She left town, left Ethan and never came back to either of them again.’

Jennifer went quiet, betrayed by the lies her mother had spun. Not just the other night, when she had shown her the photo of Ethan; her whole life, what little Jennifer knew of it, had been a convincingly told fiction.

‘I should get back to the party and find Frank before he gets up to any mischief,’ Donna said. ‘I just wanted to have a proper chat with you. I hope it’s the first of many.’

‘I should come down to Pensacola.’

‘You should.’ Donna broke out into a grin. ‘We’ve got beaches as white as sugar, and Frank’s got a bar. We make the meanest margaritas. Do you have a boyfriend?’

Jennifer nodded.

‘Bring him for a weekend. We’ll have so much fun.’

Jennifer couldn’t imagine Connor in a bar in Pensacola, but she said yes anyway.

Donna gave her niece a tight hug, and for a moment Jennifer was lost in a cloud of blond curls.

‘I’m so glad I came,’ she said, pulling away. ‘When your papa invited me, I wasn’t going to accept, not after all this time, but Frank says it’s never too late to say I love you.’

As Jennifer climbed through the small door back into the house, she had a feeling that her aunt was wrong.