Santorini Sunsets

 

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To my mother

 

Chapter One

B
RIGIT WALKED DOWN
the circular staircase and glanced around the living room of the villa. Every surface—the antique grand piano, the mahogany coffee table, even the pastel-colored love seats—was covered with wedding presents. There were silver boxes from Harrods and robin's egg blue squares from Tiffany's and parcels wrapped in Bloomingdale's plain brown paper. She walked to the Regency desk and picked up a pair of silver candlesticks tied with a gold ribbon. She examined the ivory card and smiled at the note from the prince and princess of Spain wishing them well but regretting they couldn't make it.

She thought about the thank-you cards she'd be writing for the next few months and desperately needed a cup of coffee. She entered the kitchen and glanced at the platters of sliced melon and fresh figs and prosciutto and was glad they had decided to get married in Santorini.

They had only been there for two days but already she adored everything about the villa perched above the town of Fira. She loved the square with its quaint boutiques and cramped cafés and twinkling lights stretched across the cobblestones. She loved the steep walking paths that were flanked by beds of white daisies and purple hyacinths.

When she woke up in the four-poster bed, wishing Blake was beside her instead of staying at a nearby villa, the ocean was the first thing she saw out the window. She loved running to the balcony and gazing down at the white sails and green fishing boats. She loved standing in the garden and seeing the white villas clinging to the cliffs and the glittering blue water far below.

She poured coffee into an enamel mug and thought of all the places they could have held the wedding. The easiest thing would have been to get married at the Plaza or the Carlyle in New York. It had a large ballroom with crystal chandeliers and thick marble columns. But she would have had to wear a satin gown by Escada or Versace with a full skirt and a twelve-foot train. The silver stilettos would have pinched her toes and the diamond tiara would have given her a headache.

Blake's friends Leonardo DiCaprio and Tobey Maguire and Ben Affleck would have been uncomfortable in tuxedos and starched white shirts. She imagined shaking hands with five hundred guests and repeating that she was so pleased the Vanderbilts or the Rockefellers could attend.

Blake had suggested they get married at the Beverly Hills Hotel or the Chateau Marmont or even in his own home in the Hollywood Hills. Brigit had somehow thought that would have felt unreal—like their own wedding was part of a movie. She pictured Blake's house with its tall glass windows and low leather sofas and still couldn't believe she'd be living part time in California.

There were things she liked about Los Angeles—the wide stretch of Pacific Coast Highway, the pink and purple sunset, the smell of coconut suntan lotion—but she couldn't get used to men and women strolling down the street in shorts and flip-flops, and how everyone ate salads in brown takeout boxes and that she couldn't step outside without wearing sunglasses.

She had sat at the round kitchen table in her parents' Park Avenue town house and told her mother they wouldn't be getting married at the house in East Hampton. Her mother's mouth turned down at the edges and her brow furrowed and she suddenly needed a gin and tonic.

Brigit wanted to explain she loved everything about Summerhill: the green lawn that rolled down to the Long Island Sound, the wide rooms with their worn oak floors and plump sofas and the kitchen with the murals she and Daisy had painted as children. But she couldn't possibly get married there; it held too many memories.

Her mother smoothed her glossy blond hair and wrapped her arms around her and said no matter where they got married it would be perfect. They were so glad Brigit had found Blake and knew they would be happy. Blake entered her parents' paneled library and said he didn't mind if they got married in a rowboat on the Hudson and her mother laughed and replied that that was a terrible idea, they'd have to fish a dozen reporters out of the river.

Brigit stirred her coffee and pictured Blake's wavy dark hair and green eyes. He had tan cheeks and a cleft on his chin. They'd met at a fund-raiser for the Save the Children foundation at the St. Regis. He'd stood at the podium in a black tuxedo and she thought his smile could light up the ballroom.

*   *   *

Brigit's parents were leading New York philanthropists and she grew up attending galas for libraries and schools and hospitals. She took a semester off from Dartmouth to dig wells in Africa and last year she took a three-month sabbatical from the law firm to travel through India. Everywhere she went she saw children with stomachs as big as their eyes and blue lips and skin like paper. She hunched in her tent at night, trying not to cry and vowing she would change things.

Now she sat listening to Blake and a tingle ran down her spine. She had just given notice and was going to join her father running the Palmer Foundation. She would miss the law firm on the fifty-fourth floor of the Empire State Building with its glass conference room and views of Central Park. She would miss the thrill of winning a settlement for her client and beating a large corporation.

She gazed at the women in Chanel evening gowns and men in Armani silk tuxedos and was excited about everything they would accomplish. She already had files full of goals for the foundation: to stock school libraries in low-income areas with her favorite books,
Little Women
and
The Jungle Book
and
Anne of Green Gables
. She wanted all children to grow up loving to read and knowing the world was full of wonderful places.

*   *   *

“Good evening, if you don't know me, I'm Blake Crawford.” Blake's voice came over the loudspeaker. “I've acted in a few little films like the remake of
The Hunt for Red October
.” Blake paused as the room erupted in polite laughter. He rustled his notes and blinked into the lights. “Five years ago I was shooting
The Silk Road
in Nepal with Steven Spielberg and Katie Holmes. When I wasn't admiring Miss Holmes's wonderful delivery or Steven's superb directing, I visited villages where children had never had a glass of milk or visited a doctor. Families lived in a single room and didn't have drinking water. After I returned to Hollywood I vowed every time someone watched one of my movies, part of the ticket price would go to needy children in Nepal and Pakistan and China. I know you think people in the movie industry only care about the weekend box office and the price of popcorn, but I am committed to helping end worldwide poverty and starvation.” Everyone clapped and Blake bowed and gathered his notes. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to enjoy some of that Veuve Clicquot champagne and stuffed Cornish game hens.”

*   *   *

Blake crossed the room and pulled out the chair next to Brigit. He wiped his brow and waited for the waiter to fill his champagne glass.

“Your publicist writes a wonderful speech,” Brigit said, eating a forkful of braised duck with grilled asparagus.

“Do you think because I'm an actor I can only read from a teleprompter?” Blake turned to her.

“We all know how it works.” Brigit shrugged, smoothing her hair behind her ears. She wore a silver Dior ball gown and gold sling backs. Her hair was held back with a gold clip and she wore diamond teardrop earrings. “The foundation hires you to champion their cause and in return you get free publicity for your next movie.”

“Just because I recite lines for a living doesn't mean I don't have my own opinions,” Blake bristled. “I'm sure you're more aware of poverty in your parents' Park Avenue town house with its maids' kitchen that is as big as most apartments.”

“I'm sorry.” Brigit looked at Blake and noticed the yellow flecks in his eyes and the lines in his forehead. “Sometimes I speak without thinking, it's a bad habit.”

“That probably comes from years of people listening to whatever you say.” Blake's shoulders relaxed and his face broke into a smile. “I've read all about you: Brigit Palmer, attended Spence School in Manhattan, followed by Dartmouth and Columbia Law School. Recently gave up her partner-track position at Bingham and Stoll to head the Palmer Foundation.”

“Where did you read that?” Brigit flushed.

“It's on the back of the program.” Blake picked up a gold sheet of paper. “I'll tell you what, why don't we start from the beginning.” He put down his champagne glass and held out his hand. “I'm Blake Crawford, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

*   *   *

The next day Brigit arrived at her office to find two tickets to
The Book of Mormon
with the note: “You may not be a big fan of movies, but can I convince you to see a Broadway show and have dinner at the Four Seasons?”

Brigit pictured Blake's dark wavy hair and bright green eyes and wide shoulders. She glanced from the note to the bouquet of a dozen yellow roses and couldn't think of a reason to say no.

Blake started spending weekends in New York and they ran in Central Park and ate dinner at Eleven Madison Park and Per Se. They drove to Vermont to see the leaves change and flew to Palm Beach to watch the polo matches.

At first she was hesitant about dating an actor, she wasn't used to being followed by cameras or having her photo in magazines. She had lived her whole life inside a doorman building on the Upper East Side and behind the gates of the house in East Hampton. But Blake was charming and witty and really seemed to care about getting rid of poverty and educating children. She gradually let down the wall she had built around her heart and allowed herself to fall in love.

*   *   *

Brigit put the cup in the sink and rubbed her lips. She wished Blake had decided to stay in the villa with Brigit and her family instead of taking his own villa with his groomsmen. She missed waking up beside him with their legs tangled together and his arm draped over her waist. In four days they were getting married and then they would have three weeks of a glorious honeymoon in Paris and Aix-en-Provence. They could make love all night and eat breakfast in bed and do whatever they want.