Santorini Sunsets Read online

  But in Santorini she was like a young girl. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed and she gazed at Francis as if they were on a first date.

  Brigit pictured Daisy’s auburn curls and thought there was something odd about her since they’d returned from the yacht. It was as if she’d eaten a bad piece of fish and had a mild stomachache.

  She walked inside and unzipped her dress. She slipped off her sandals and thought there was something her father said that made her uneasy.

  She was too tired from the cruise and cognac to remember what it was. She climbed into the four-poster bed and thought she’d figure it out in the morning.

  Chapter Sixteen

  DAISY TUCKED HER KNEES to her chest and gazed at the sharp cliffs and beds of yellow tulips. The sun glinted on turquoise roofs and lingered over the caldera. She saw silver cruise ships lining the harbor and felt a jolt of excitement.

  She had tossed and turned all night, picturing the woman on the yacht with her blond chignon and soft British accent. She was glad she hadn’t made a fool of herself and told Robbie she would love to go to Mykonos and Crete. When she saw him she would be polite and distant; they were just friends.

  She woke early and slipped on a floral dress. She stood on her balcony and saw the sky explode with color. The clouds were pale pink and the ocean was bright blue and suddenly she felt a tingle run down her spine. She grabbed her sketchbook and ran down the steep path to Fira.

  * * *

  Now she flipped the page and fiddled with her colored pencil. She had been sketching all morning; long skirts and blouses in the colors of Santorini. She glanced at the illustration of an emerald-green dress and a smile lit up her face.

  She looked up and saw Robbie striding toward her. He carried a paper sack in one hand and his silver camera was slung over his shoulder.

  “What are you doing here?” Daisy asked.

  “It’s my favorite spot to take photos.” He sat beside her. “You’re welcome to share a pastry. The Corner restaurant makes the best filo pastry with ricotta in Santorini.”

  “No, thank you.” Daisy shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

  “I miss a proper English breakfast of fried eggs and rashers and bacon. In European hostels you’re lucky to get a glass of juice and a muffin.” He glanced at Daisy’s sketch pad. “What are you drawing?”

  “It’s nothing.” Daisy hesitated. “I saw the sunrise this morning and suddenly had an idea for a line of clothing in all the colors of Santorini. There’d be burnt-orange skirts and green chiffon blouses and dresses with pink and purple flowers.”

  “Can I see?” Robbie asked.

  “They’re very basic.” She handed him the sketch pad. “I won’t be offended if you don’t like them.”

  Robbie studied the drawing and turned the page. He flipped through the notebook and handed it back to Daisy.

  “What do you think?” Daisy asked.

  “They’re the best things I’ve ever seen.”

  “Do you really think so?” Daisy flushed. “I thought I’d call them Santorini Daisies. I’d pair them with floppy hats and leather espadrilles. There will be straw purses and silk hair ribbons.”

  Robbie picked a tulip and fiddled with the stem. He ran his hands through his hair and looked at Daisy.

  “We were going to explore the beaches at Riva and you disappeared. I stopped by the villa last night but you weren’t there. I thought…”

  “I had a headache and stayed on the yacht,” she explained. “Last night I walked to the square in Fira for hot chocolate.”

  “Let’s walk along the beach now,” Robbie urged. “We can ride donkeys to Old Port and eat tzatziki at an outdoor café on the harbor.”

  “I have to go back to the villa and help Brigit finish the place cards for the rehearsal dinner.” Daisy shook her head.

  “Your sister is perfectly capable of arranging place cards.” Robbie grinned. “I promised Winston some photos of Old Port and they would look better with a model. There are only so many images you can take of wooden fishing boats.”

  Daisy fiddled with her topaz earrings and thought Robbie was right, Brigit didn’t need her help. The ivory place cards were arranged in neat piles and the Tiffany favors were tied with satin ribbons. She had the whole day to herself and nothing to do.

  But how could she spend time with Robbie when he was taking another woman to Mykonos and Crete? Then she remembered nothing had happened between them and they were just friends.

  “Alright.” She closed her sketch book. “But you have to ride on the first donkey. I’m always terrified the donkey will slip and tumble down the hill.”

  * * *

  “The main port of Athinios is too small for cruise ships,” Robbie explained. “They drop anchor next to the volcano and wooden boats bring tourists to shore. Or the ships berth in Old Port but the only way to get to Fira is by donkey or cable car or up a flight of five hundred and eighty steps.”

  “I’m glad we took the donkey.” Daisy grinned, gazing at rocks dotted with purple hibiscus. “I wouldn’t like to hover above the cliff in a cable car.”

  They shared peach gelato at an ice cream stand and sampled fish roe at the outdoor market. An old man gave her a bag of oranges and a basket of figs.

  “Wait there.” Robbie approached a flower stall. He gave the vendor a five-euro note and handed Daisy a bouquet of purple lilies. “Now look up and smile.”

  Daisy glanced up and the camera clicked.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Robbie clicked the camera again and grinned. “I’m photographing a pretty young American exploring an exotic Greek island.”

  They strolled along the promenade and Daisy bought a packet of halva and a selection of postcards. They passed a tavern with fish nets hanging from the ceiling.

  “Sirtaki Tavern has been in the same family for seventy years.” He took her arm and led her inside. “Most tourists get off the ship and take the cable car straight to Fira and miss the freshest fish on the island. Nico makes the spiciest tomato balls and the grilled sardines are delicious.”

  They sat at table next to the window and ate fried aubergine and grouper fish. There was a Santorini salad with feta cheese and green olives.

  “How do you know so much about every place we visit?” Daisy asked. “You told me the history of Therasia and the dates of the excavation of Akrotiri and the exact number of steps to Fira.”

  “Most people go to Venice to see St. Mark’s Square and the Doge’s Palace but they never discover palazzos that have been there for six hundred years. Or they visit the Eiffel Tower in Paris but miss the boulangerie on the Left Bank that serves the richest crème brûlée,” Robbie began. “I don’t want to just visit the pages of a guidebook, I want to eat the local foods and learn the history.

  “It’s the same reason I take photographs. When you stand behind a camera you don’t just see the glossy surface, you look inside a person.” He found a picture of Daisy clutching a purple flower and handed her the camera.

  “You might see a young woman with light freckles and brown eyes,” he mused. “I see someone who thinks she’s afraid of trying new things but she’s wrong. She rode a donkey down a cliff and shared her sketches with a man she barely knows.” He paused. “I think she’s the bravest girl I’ve ever met.”

  Daisy clicked through the images and saw photos of Kasteli Castle. There were pictures of the yacht and the view from the village of Manolas. Suddenly she saw a photo of the woman with the blond chignon and diamond earrings. She jumped up and her fork clattered on the floor.

  “I have to go.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I promised I’d help Brigit dress for the rehearsal dinner.”

  “We’ll go together.” Robbie reached into his pocket.

  “I can’t be late.” She walked to the door. “The only reason I’m in Santorini is to make sure Brigit has a wonderful wedding.”

  “Daisy, wait!” Robbie called.

&
nbsp; Daisy climbed the stone steps until the Old Port was far below her. It was only when she reached the top and stopped to catch her breath that she realized she’d left her sketch pad on the table.

  * * *

  Brigit sat on the pastel-colored sofa in the villa’s living room and stirred honey into a porcelain cup. She gazed at the grand piano littered with silver Harrods boxes and blue Tiffany squares and her shoulders tightened.

  In eight hours their friends and family would gather in Amoudi Bay for the rehearsal dinner. She pictured Blake in a black dinner jacket and her father in a navy Armani suit and her mother wearing her new Chanel gown. She thought about the ivory crepe dress and satin pumps she’d bought in Paris and wondered how to calm the nervous pit in her stomach.

  She sipped her tea and wished she could run over to Blake’s villa and swim in the infinity pool. Afterward they would sneak up to his bedroom and make love on crisp white sheets.

  But Blake was in Athinios picking up the last guests and this afternoon they’d scheduled a tour of the hot springs. She probably wouldn’t see him alone until after the reception.

  She fiddled with her gold necklace and thought she was behaving like a child who’d received too many birthday presents. The dinner at Kasteli Castle had been spectacular and the cruise to Therasia was heavenly and tonight’s rehearsal dinner was going to include lobster and strawberry pavlova.

  She glanced at a box tied with a turquoise ribbon and remembered Nathaniel’s wedding present. It was all his fault, ever since he’d showed up things hadn’t been quite right.

  If it weren’t for Nathaniel, she wouldn’t have known Blake sold the rights to the wedding to HELLO! magazine or that Blake and her father had met before the St. Regis gala, or that Blake had invested two million dollars in the foundation. Nathaniel was like the bad fairy at Rapunzel’s christening. He wasn’t doing anything wrong but bad things kept happening.

  “You look like Miss Havisham in Great Expectations,” a male voice said behind her. “No one should receive so many wedding presents, it creates a fire hazard.”

  Brigit looked up and saw Nathaniel standing at the entry. His blond hair was freshly washed and he carried a brown paper cup.

  “We’re lucky to have such generous friends,” Brigit said. “The prince and princess of Sweden sent us a silver fondue set and Tom Brady gave us a signed football.”

  “You’ll have an interesting time going through customs.” Nathaniel picked up an ostrich egg. “Make sure no one gives you a puppy or kitten.”

  “Do you remember when you gave me a kitten for Christmas because your mother was allergic to cats?” Brigit asked. “You came over every day to feed it and it got so attached to you, it followed you home. Your mother discovered it in your closet and gave it to your housekeeper.”

  “Cats are very intelligent, they can sense a good person,” Nathaniel replied. “I thought Daisy and your mother would be here and the living room would resemble a scene from Father of the Bride. Instead it’s as quiet as one of those disaster movies before the tsunami hits.”

  “Daisy left with her sketch pad and my mother is still asleep.” Brigit placed her cup on the white saucer. “I like being alone. I have to write thank-you notes and prepare my speech for the rehearsal dinner.”

  “The bride doesn’t give a speech at the rehearsal dinner and no one writes thank-yous before the wedding.” He paused. “You never know, the ceremony might not happen and then you have to return them.”

  “Of course we’re getting married, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her eyes filled with sudden tears. “Blake and I are incredibly happy.”

  “Then why are you crying?” Nathaniel asked.

  “We’ve only been engaged for six months, it’s happening so fast.” She bit her lip. “Tomorrow I’ll be Mrs. Blake Crawford. I won’t be able to walk down the street without cameras flashing in my face and everything will be different.”

  “You could wait a few months and get adjusted to living in a fishbowl,” Nathaniel suggested. “Then have one of those secret weddings where you invite your closest friends to a backyard barbeque and surprise them by exchanging vows.”

  Brigit glanced at the Regency desk littered with Cartier boxes. She saw a Louis Vuitton travel bag and thought of their honeymoon in Paris and the South of France. She was madly in love with Blake; they just needed some time alone.

  “Why on earth would we postpone the wedding? I can’t wait to marry Blake.” She jumped up and walked to the staircase. “I have a million things to do. What are you doing here anyway?”

  “A friend is in love with a girl,” Nathaniel began. “He thought she was developing feelings for him too. But he must have done something wrong because now she won’t speak to him.” He sipped his coffee. “He’s smart and compassionate and I want to ask her to give him another chance.”

  Brigit froze and turned around. She walked back into the living room and perched on a brocade armchair.

  “What did you say?” she stammered.

  “Robbie is in love with Daisy,” Nathaniel continued. “He asked her to go to Mykonos and Crete and she said no. But yesterday I convinced her to change her mind. Something must have happened; she disappeared after the cruise to Therasia and won’t talk to him.”

  “Robbie and Daisy!” Brigit felt the air leave her lungs. “She never said a word.”

  “She doesn’t want to burden you before the wedding,” Nathaniel explained. “I’ve known Robbie for a while and he loves traveling and music and books. Not to mention he’s going to inherit a country estate that makes cottages in East Hampton look like oversized tree houses.”

  “I’ll talk to her.” Brigit nodded. “It would be wonderful if Daisy fell in love.”

  “Good. I have to go.” Nathaniel stood up. “I promised Winston a background piece on how the Crawford/Palmer wedding is affecting the local economy.”

  “You hate matchmaking, why are you getting involved?” Bridget frowned. “Whenever I set up our friends you said anyone who graduated from Dartmouth or Yale and runs a hedge fund or stockbrokerage is capable of deciding who to marry.”

  Nathaniel shrugged and walked to the entry. “This is different, Daisy is family.”

  * * *

  Brigit poured another cup of tea and added lemon and honey. She suddenly remembered Nathaniel saying Daisy was family and a pit formed in her stomach. That’s what was bothering her. Her father had said that Blake wanted to write him a check at the summit in Jackson Hole. But when she’d asked why he would accept donations from an outsider, he’d protested Blake was practically family.

  Did Blake write Francis a check before or after they were engaged? Suddenly it seemed like the most important question in the world and she knew just how to find the answer.

  * * *

  Sydney smoothed the floral sheets and fluffed turquoise pillows. She felt silly making the bed when the villa’s maid would arrive soon, but somehow she didn’t want her to see the lipstick on the pillowcase or find her panties under the lace bedspread.

  She arranged the paperback books on the bedside table and thought she and Francis were in their fifties, it wasn’t unusual that they still made love. Then she remembered his mouth on her breasts and his fingers deep inside her and her cheeks flushed.

  * * *

  She had been determined to tell Francis about Oliver last night, but he’d spent an hour with Brigit in the living room. When he finally appeared at the bedroom door, his eyes gleamed and he clutched a cognac snifter.

  He loosened his tie and told her he and Brigit had sipped Rémy Martin and talked about everything. It was wonderful to spend time alone with his daughter and he was the luckiest father in the world.

  Then he leaned forward and kissed Sydney softly on the lips. He ran his fingers over her nipples and nuzzled her neck. He unzipped his slacks and led her to the bed.

  Sydney opened her thighs and pulled him inside her. She wrapped her arms around his back and urged him
to go faster. He uttered a low moan and whispered he loved her more than anything in the world. She inhaled his cologne and promised herself she’d tell him in the morning.

  * * *

  Now she thought of the cruise from Therasia and was certain Robbie had looked at her a little too long. She would tell Francis as soon as he returned from buying cigarettes. The last thing she needed was for Robbie to announce at the rehearsal dinner that they’d met ten years ago in Provence.

  “You’re still here.” Francis entered the bedroom. “I thought you’d be downstairs with Brigit organizing the rehearsal dinner as if you were planning the Battle of the Bulge.”

  “I was straightening up.” Sydney smoothed her hair. “And I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “You’ll never guess who I ran into at the newsagent.” He placed a folded-up New York Times on the desk. “Harley Adams. I play squash with him at the club. Do you remember you stayed in the villa in Provence they were renting ten years ago?”

  Sydney’s cheeks were pale and she clutched the upholstered chair. “You saw Harley Adams in Santorini?”

  “You’d be surprised how many members of the Colony Club I run into in London or Hong Kong,” Francis mused. “He and Margot are on a cruise of the Greek islands. I told him Brigit is getting married and he made the most tremendous offer.

  “The owner of the villa in Gordes died last year and Harley bought it from his son. He suggested we stay there for a couple of weeks after the wedding. Brigit and Blake and Daisy could join us. We could have a proper vacation without worrying if we had enough bottles of Moët & Chandon for the rehearsal dinner.”

  “But Brigit and Blake are leaving on their honeymoon,” Sydney stammered.

  “I’m sure they could fit in a few days between Paris and the South of France. And Daisy doesn’t have a job, she’s in no hurry to go back to New York.” He put his arm around her waist. “We can fly into Nice and spend a few days at Hôtel Hermitage in Monte Carlo. We haven’t been there since our honeymoon and you loved the elegant boutiques and views of the harbor.”