White Sand, Blue Sea Read online

  The guesthouse was closing for its annual vacation in a few days and they would have to go their separate ways. Hadley felt a tightness in her chest and brushed it away.

  “Why do you have to show your work in a gallery? You could be an attorney and paint on the weekends,” she suggested. “All you need is brushes and a canvas.”

  “You think this is a hobby? Something I discuss at a dinner party in between conversations about the World Cup and my boss’s summer vacation in Madrid? ‘How terribly interesting, an artist,’” he mimicked. “‘I’ve dreamed of retiring to a South Sea island and drinking daiquiris and painting the sunset. We all have artistic aspirations but luckily we put them away so we can afford this bottle of sauvignon blanc and these Kobe steaks.’”

  Hadley started to laugh and put her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I told you I was terrible at selling things.”

  “It’s not you, it’s the damn dealers.” He shrugged. “In New York and Chicago they are a bunch of lemmings but I thought in South Africa they’d be willing to take a risk. But they’re like children eating their first bite of gelato, they need someone to tell them it tastes good.”

  Suddenly his eyes lit up and he ran up the staircase.

  “Where are you going?” Hadley asked.

  “To your room.”

  “Just because I failed doesn’t mean I’m going to bed with you.” Hadley followed him into her bedroom.

  “I’m not going to seduce you.” He walked to the closet. “I’m going to find you the perfect thing to wear.”

  * * *

  Hadley gazed at the crystal chandelier and Oriental rugs and paneled walls. Waiters passed around samosas and rusks topped with caviar. The wood floor was scattered with leather ottomans and she felt as if she were in a private home instead of one of the oldest galleries in Cape Town.

  Sebastian stood on the other side of the room in navy slacks and a white button-down shirt. He nibbled a canapé and she noticed how his cheeks were tan and his dark hair touched his collar. He hadn’t told her why they were here, so she clutched a champagne flute and tried to look interested in the splotches of paint behind silver frames.

  “Fascinating how the artist uses color to portray human emotions,” an older man said as he approached her. He wore gold cuff links and tasseled shoes. “The swirl of green is envy, and the yellow represents hope.”

  “It’s interesting but honestly I prefer portraits or landscapes,” Hadley mused. “Bouguereau’s The Broken Pitcher or Monet’s Garden at Giverny.”

  “We only get so many geniuses per century,” he sighed. “Though most of us will cross the globe in the hopes of discovering one. I once traveled to an olive farm outside of Seville because a colleague told me he’d discovered the next Picasso. He turned out to be the man’s nephew and barely knew his way around a set of watercolors.”

  “Great art is like a red light at an intersection,” Hadley said.

  She wore the only cocktail dress Sebastian had found in her closet. A black chiffon with a plunging back.

  “You can’t inch your car forward, it would be breaking the law. But by the time the light changes you’re so transfixed, you don’t want to move at all.”

  The man looked at her thoughtfully and moved closer. “Which artists do you admire?”

  “I love the Renaissance, of course, no one understood the human body like Donatello and Botticelli. And the French Impressionists make you think of Belle Époque Paris and smoky nightclubs with showgirls dressed in lace stockings and satin bustiers.” She paused. “But of the current artists, I’m a big fan of Sebastian Miller.”

  “Sebastian Miller?” he asked.

  “He’s somewhat reclusive,” she continued. “You know how true artists are, letting go of a painting is like giving up a piece of their soul. But his use of color reminds me of Chagall and his portraits have a hint of the Mona Lisa.”

  “Perhaps you could send him my way.” The man handed her his card. “I own the Lang Gallery on Church Street. I’d be interested in showing his work.”

  “I can’t make any promises.” Hadley smoothed her hair and smiled. “But I’ll try to persuade him.”

  * * *

  “Charles Lang.” Hadley waved the card in front of Sebastian. It was almost 10:00 p.m. and the living room of the guesthouse was empty. The reception had seemed to drag on for hours and Hadley couldn’t wait to tell him her news.

  “He asked me which artists I admire and I told him Sebastian Miller was a genius.” Her blue eyes sparkled. “I don’t know why he was interested in my opinion but he wants to see your portfolio. I’m sure he will show your work.”

  Sebastian walked to the bar and poured a glass of scotch. He sipped it slowly and ran his fingers over the rim. “I may have mentioned to a few people that you were Hadley Stevens, the daughter of an important East Coast collector with a keen eye for new talent.”

  “You did what?” she spluttered. “I’ve never owned a painting in my life.”

  He put the glass on the side table and took her hand. He led her up the staircase and opened the door to her bedroom.

  “You own all these.”

  Canvases were propped against the bed and desk and dresser. There was a sketch of Hadley standing on the edge of Table Rock, wearing a floral dress and sandals. The waves crashed below her and the sky was rinsed with color. There was a painting of Hadley in front of a colonial-style building in Old Town. She wore a floppy hat and clutched a bunch of daisies.

  “I painted them all for you, now you can sell them to the gallery and we’ll split the proceeds.” His face broke into a smile. “I already wrote up an itinerary. We’ll take the Garden Route all the way to the Eastern Cape. We’ll cross mountain passes and swim in lakes as clear as diamonds and at night we’ll stay in guesthouses and eat potjiekos and bread pudding.”

  Hadley knew she should be angry that he said she was a collector. But she felt suddenly brighter, like she was part of a team.

  “I didn’t say I would go with you.” She paused and bit her lip. “But I have come all the way to South Africa, it would be wonderful to see ostriches and elephants.”

  “I’ll paint landscapes and you’ll sell my artwork. We’ll be like Bonnie and Clyde but instead of running from the law we’ll be creating our own adventure.”

  Hadley was almost dizzy, as if the room were too warm and she’d drunk too much champagne. Sebastian reached up and touched her hair. He pulled her close and kissed her.

  She kissed him back and tasted caviar and scotch. She pressed against him and wondered why she’d waited so long. His lips were soft and he smelled of musk cologne.

  “You know, it would be cheaper if we share a room,” he offered. “We can take it slowly. I want your first time to be wonderful.”

  “My first time?” Hadley pulled away. “Do you think I’m a virgin?”

  “Well, yes.” He loosened his collar. “Why else wouldn’t you want to sleep with me?”

  Hadley gazed at his green eyes and furrowed brow and stifled a laugh. Sebastian had chiseled cheekbones and broad shoulders like a young Paul Newman. He wore polo shirts and leather loafers and his smile could light up a room. He had probably never been turned down by a girl.

  She thought of all the ways she could get her heart broken: they would get tired of each other jammed together on rattling buses, Sebastian might meet an impossibly elegant European model. But if she didn’t see the world now, when would she? And no one had talked about love; they were just two young people exploring South Africa.

  “I didn’t go to bed with you because I don’t know how I feel about you.” She looked up.

  “I know how I feel about you,” he whispered. “I’m falling in love with you.”

  Sebastian slipped one hand beneath her dress and caressed her breasts. Hadley felt his fingers on her nipples and gasped. She unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands over his chest.

  He slid his fingers under her panties and touched the wet spot be
tween her legs. She felt a sudden thrill, like a shot of electricity. She put his hand on her zipper and her dress fell to the floor.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “We have plenty of time.”

  “I don’t need time,” she murmured. “I want you right now.”

  He took her hand and drew her onto the bed. They laughed at the lumpy mattress and hard pillow and frayed sheets. Then he put his finger to her mouth and covered her breasts with his chest.

  “Have I told you how beautiful you are?” he whispered.

  “I can’t remember. Tell me again,” she gasped, wrapping her arms around him.

  He paused and stroked her cheek. “You’re the most beautiful girl I ever met and I’ve never wanted anything more.”

  Sebastian moved slowly, as if he was memorizing her smooth skin and the heart-shaped mark on her thigh. Then he pushed in deeper and she felt the infinite warmth and delicious tension. She urged him to go faster and he picked up speed and they came together in one dizzying thrust.

  “I’ll never forgive you,” he said, when their breathing had slowed and they lay on their backs.

  “For what?” Hadley gazed at the ceiling. Her breasts were slick with sweat and she felt wanton and dangerous.

  “For making me wait so long,” he groaned, draping his arm over her stomach.

  Hadley watched the stars light up the sky and felt like Meryl Streep in Out of Africa. She was young and in love and in a foreign country. No matter what happened, it was going to be a great adventure.

  * * *

  Hadley placed the vase of orchids on the glass dining room table and thought how much she loved the colors in St. Barts. Africa had been all golds and browns and yellows, but St. Barts was blues and pinks and shimmering turquoise.

  She opened the French doors to the garden and was so happy to be back at the villa. The air smelled like the most exotic perfume and she could live in cotton dresses and let her hair curl to her shoulders.

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway and she turned around. Sebastian wore navy slacks and a white shirt and carried his straw hat.

  “This place suits you,” he said, entering the dining room. “Crystal chandeliers and priceless artwork and diamond earrings the size of birds’ eggs.”

  “Not all the artwork is priceless and my diamond earrings are barely two carats.” Hadley touched her ears. “Felix is very understated, nothing we own is ostentatious.”

  “But you can smell the wealth.” He walked to the French doors. “The manicured gardens and silk sofas in the living room and ivory chess set in the library. I bet if I opened the sideboard there’d be stacks of sterling silverware and Wedgwood china.”

  “Most people collect things during a marriage,” Hadley replied. “It doesn’t take a family fortune to accumulate a few pieces of jewelry and fine china.”

  “I always imagined you surrounded by luxury.” Sebastian tapped a cigarette into his palm and looked at Hadley. “Do you mind? Most Americans are appalled by a whiff of secondhand smoke. But in many societies sharing cigarettes is a sign of friendship.”

  “The surgeon general would disagree but you can do whatever you like.” She shrugged. “Just don’t smoke near Esther, she’ll toss the cigarette pack in the garbage.”

  “Do you remember when we took the bus over the Garden Route in South Africa?” he asked. “It was September and the rain was supposed to have stopped and we left our raincoats in Cape Town. It started pouring outside of Plettenberg Bay and we couldn’t leave the bus. I finally convinced a couple from Amsterdam to part with an umbrella in exchange for a carton of Marlboros.”

  “It was a long time ago.” Hadley’s cheeks turned red. “All I remember is wanting a shower so badly, I dreamed of fresh towels and Dove soap.”

  “You were splendid, you were up for anything,” Sebastian continued. “I wanted to go ziplining in Tsitsikamma but I came down with a fever. You took my place at the last minute and only told me later that you were terrified of heights.”

  “We’d already paid for it, it seemed silly for the money to go to waste.” She smoothed her hair. “Felix and Finn are in the garden. If you want to be useful you can help with the lobster.”

  “I need to talk to you about something.” Sebastian perched on a velvet chair.

  “I don’t have time.” Hadley walked across the room. “Felix likes to eat the salad course at seven, and I have to help Esther with dessert.”

  “It’s about Olivia.”

  “What about Olivia?” Hadley turned around.

  “She’s gorgeous, of course.” Sebastian waved his hand. “Those cheekbones could grace the cover of a magazine. And she’s received a first-class education. You and Felix knew exactly which schools to send her to and which social circles she should move in.”

  “You make that sound like a bad thing,” Hadley said warily. She studied Sebastian’s tan cheeks and wondered what he was up to. Olivia was everything one could hope for in a daughter, intelligent and kind and beautiful.

  “It’s fine if you want her to move straight from a Central Park duplex to a Fifth Avenue penthouse,” he cut into her thoughts. “But I get the impression she’s never been anywhere she wouldn’t feel comfortable wearing Prada pumps and a Tiffany bracelet.”

  “You should talk.” Hadley glanced at his leather loafers. “You dress like the father in a Patek Philippe ad.”

  “I have to keep up appearances or collectors won’t buy my paintings.” Sebastian fiddled with his collar.

  “Olivia is doing wonderfully,” Hadley said, folding napkins. “She has her own apartment and a thriving career and a caring boyfriend.”

  “That’s the thing,” Sebastian insisted. “She manages an art gallery in Chelsea, and dates a Princeton graduate who is being groomed to take over his family’s law firm. You may as well buy her a string of pearls and sign her up for the Junior League.”

  “I own the art gallery and Felix went to Yale and works in his family’s business.” Hadley’s eyes flickered.

  “But when you were Olivia’s age you had slept in a tent in the Imfolozi National Park and taken a river cruise to see hippopotamuses. Olivia moves between the helicopter pad on top of the Time-Life Building and the private landing strip of a Caribbean island.”

  “Felix would never take a helicopter, he doesn’t even fly private,” Hadley bristled. “We lead a quiet life. I work ten hours a day and come home to a bowl of butternut squash soup and an episode of Homeland. Felix plays tennis most weekends and we spend a week in Nantucket and three weeks in the Caribbean. That hardly qualifies us for guest appearances on Desperate Housewives of New York.”

  “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t gone to Thailand?” Sebastian asked. “We would have gotten Olivia a tutor, of course, she had to learn how to read and write. But we could have traveled to Morocco or Croatia. The portraits I could have painted of you wearing an emerald green bikini and swimming in the Baltic.”

  “I thought you wanted to talk about Olivia,” Hadley said sharply.

  “She hasn’t been exposed to enough of the world,” Sebastian explained. “She’s only twenty-five and she’s like a character in Edith Wharton’s House of Mirth.”

  “Not everyone needs to be Humphrey Bogart in The African Queen to be happy,” Hadley said angrily. “She spent a semester in Florence and takes the train regularly to Boston to visit museums. She even came out at the International Cotillion at the Pierre.” She looked at Sebastian. “I sent you an invitation.”

  “I’m sure she looked stunning but she’s going to think the whole world consists of hotel ballrooms with waiters passing around smoked salmon and bottles of Dom Pérignon.” Sebastian ground his cigarette into a glass ashtray.

  “You are quite happy drinking Felix’s bourbon and sleeping on our Frette sheets.”

  “But I’ve also spent nights on the floor of a hut made of banana fronds. There’s nothing wrong with Russian caviar and Cuban cigars and Swiss watches.” He mov
ed closer. “But don’t you want her to watch the sunrise from the top of a cliff where all you see is lush forests and a sparkling ocean? Or experience the moon like an astronaut, with just a black sky and silver stars?”

  “We’re in St. Barts.” Hadley suddenly felt uncomfortable. She moved away and smoothed her hair. “The whole island is full of amazing views and spectacular sunsets.”

  “But the harbor is dotted with yachts and the boutiques sell designer sunglasses and you probably run into a member of your New York book club at the butcher.” He lit another cigarette. “She needs to meet grungy poets and struggling artists and young people who don’t know what they want to do but are trying to figure it out.”

  Hadley heard voices in the hallway and rubbed her lips. She turned around and looked at Sebastian. Suddenly she was so angry she could hardly breathe.

  “You were quite happy to walk out that door twenty years ago and leave us to our own devices. How dare you show up now and question our whole lives? The only reason I’m being the least bit civil is because our daughter deserves to spend four days with her father and I’m not going to spoil it.” Her eyes flashed. “And Olivia didn’t rebel because her father was busy doing it for her. Finn is thoughtful and dependable and they are going to have a wonderful future.” She waved her finger. “If you do anything to ruin it, I will toss you on the barbecue with the scallops and sweet potatoes.”

  “You are your best when you are like this,” Sebastian said and smiled. “A fierce lioness protecting her cub from anyone who hurts her.”

  “I’ll see you in the garden.” Hadley glowered and entered the hallway. “If you say one wrong thing at dinner, I’ll slice you with a butter knife.”

  * * *

  Hadley sipped rum and pineapple juice and fiddled with her sunglasses. They decided to have drinks near the pool and she thought the garden never looked so vibrant. The rosebushes were pink and yellow and the frangipani was purple and white and the pond was filled with neon-colored fish.