Santorini Sunsets (22 page)

“That's what these financial summits are about,” Francis replied. “Everyone sits around eating fresh fish and drinking fine wine and discussing how they can make a difference in the world. I told Blake about the library we were building in Bangladesh and his eyes lit up.”

“So he wrote you a check over grilled trout and corn on the cob?” Brigit asked.

“He sent it to me later.” Francis shrugged. “You know better than anyone how serious Blake is about improving health care in third world countries.”

Brigit inhaled the scent of hibiscus and tried to stop her heart from racing.

“Why didn't Blake tell me?” she demanded.

“Most men win women with diamonds and furs, not with a desire to erase world hunger.”

“We agreed the Palmer Foundation wouldn't accept outside donations.” Brigit twisted her hands. “If you accept checks from Pepsi you have to install a soda machine in a village in Kenya. And if Frito-Lay becomes a sponsor, you have to teach malnourished children in Fiji that potato chips are part of a healthy diet.”

“Blake's a movie star. He was hardly going to hand out DVDs of the sequel to
The Hunt for Red October.
” Francis smiled. “This is different, he was practically family.”

“It's the principle,” Brigit insisted. “Someone should have told me.”

“I was about to fly to India and you were working eighty-hour weeks and Blake was promoting his movie.” He put his arm around her shoulder.

“I'm the luckiest guy in the world having my daughter work beside me. From now on I promise I won't make any decisions without consulting you.” He walked toward the villa. “And I would be a terrible father if I let you catch cold before your wedding. Why don't we open a bottle of Rémy Martin and toast the future of the Palmer Foundation?”

*   *   *

Brigit stood on the balcony and gazed at the lights twinkling in Fira. Daisy had gone to the square for a cup of hot chocolate and her parents were in their bedroom. Brigit heard muffled laughter and smiled.

Lately when she stopped by the Park Avenue town house, her mother had seemed strangely distracted. As soon as she saw Brigit she fixed her makeup or smoothed her hair but Brigit noticed new lines around her mouth.

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

D
AISY 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.

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.”