The Beach House (35 page)

“Most other builders would do that, you’re absolutely right. I see this as a home, a home that’s held wonderful memories, and you can’t build that. I could see my children growing up here, climbing up the ladder to the widow’s walk, running down to the water.” He is looking at Nan as he talks, trying to convince her, and doesn’t see Michael look at Daff and suppress a grin.

“So what do you think it would fetch?”

“Difficult to say,” Mark says. “I would think anywhere between three and four.”

“Three and four million dollars?” Nan says incredulously.

“I know. Property has gone up tremendously on the island.”

“Is that all?” she says imperiously. “Tell me, Mr. Stephenson—” he has switched to Mr. Stephenson which, in this case, is not a good sign—“how is it that the Clearys’ house, on five acres, which was torn down to make way for two giant houses, each of which, incidentally, is on the market for around five million, sold for six point seven? And the Harbinger house, on ten acres, with no ocean view, sold for eight?”

“Ah . . .” He stalls. “I’m not completely familiar with those houses. I’d have to look into them more. That’s the problem with pricing,” he says unhappily, dismayed that Nan has done her research. “I didn’t want to give you a figure because I haven’t had a chance to go through the comps.”

“Well, I suggest you do,” Nan says cheerfully, holding up her glass. “Cheers.”

“So what did you think?” Michael watches as Mark Stephenson’s Land Cruiser takes off down the driveway, spraying gravel.

“What do I think?” Nan says slowly. “I think he’ll be knocking Windermere down faster than I can say Sconset, that’s what I think. And he’ll put up four huge houses, sell each one for five or six million dollars, minimum.” She turns to see Jessica staring at her with her mouth open. “Darling, close your mouth. You look like you’re catching flies. I showed him, though, didn’t I?” She grins delightedly. “I’m not quite as dumb as I look.”

Now when Michael’s cell phone rings and he sees Jordana’s number, he has to answer. With a sinking heart he realizes, as he presses the green button, that he will have to answer every time she calls for the rest of his life.

He can’t divert the call when she is the mother of his child, can’t pretend she doesn’t exist in the hope she’ll go away. Every time she calls, for the rest of his life, he will have to answer because it may be something important. He never realized until this moment just how much of an impact that will have.

“Michael, it’s Jordana.”

“Hi.” An awkward pause. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” she says. “I’m leaving today. I thought you ought to know.”

Michael feels the panic rising. “Where are you going? How can I get hold of you? There’s still so much left to talk about.”

There is a pause, then: “Not anymore.” The bitterness in her voice is palpable. “You’ll be happy to hear I am no longer pregnant.”

“What?” Michael gasps, unsure he has heard correctly.

“I miscarried yesterday,” she lies, although part of her has convinced herself that it is true, that her period was unusually heavy, therefore it must be true, could not possibly be a late period due to something as prosaic as stress.

“So,” she continues, “you’re off the hook.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious.” She spits out the words. “I take it you’ll be out celebrating.”

“No . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t expect this to happen. Why didn’t you call me? Are you . . . okay?”

“Not really. I feel awful. And I’m calling you now, aren’t I? I’ll be fine.” She knows she will be, for as much as she tried to convince herself she wanted this baby, that this was a child conceived out of love, she can finally admit that the low-grade anxiety she has been carrying with her the last week or so, has disappeared.

“Jordana . . . I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to go through that on your own.” Mixed in with the relief, Michael feels a sadness, realizes suddenly how lost Jordana is.

Not because of him, not because of Jackson, but because of who she is, because she is a woman searching for happiness. Michael sees quite clearly that until she can look within herself, until she can find peace inside, she will never find the answers she is looking for.

But the relief . . . oh Lord, the relief is huge. After he says good-bye, he turns to Daff, his eyes dancing in a way she hasn’t seen since Jordana turned up on the doorstep.

“Good news?”

“I can’t believe it,” Michael says, pulling out a chair and sitting at the kitchen table. “It was Jordana. She’s not pregnant.” And as the relief overwhelms him, he bursts into tears.

“This is my favorite restaurant,” Matt confides, as he and Daniel walk through the door of Water Street.

“I’m glad.” Daniel smiles. “When we couldn’t get into the Pearl I chose this one because the food’s organic, and home-grown. That seemed to be right up your alley.”

“That’s exactly up my alley. I couldn’t have chosen anywhere more perfect myself. Thank you for doing this, it’s a real treat.” He smiles at Daniel, who feels his heart flutter ever so slightly, in a way it hasn’t done in a very long time.

“So give me some dish.” Matt leans forward, lowering his voice. “What’s going on with the house?”

“All I can say is that what you heard may be true.”

“I’ve a reason for asking, though. Do you remember Stephen and Keith from the dinner party at my house?”

“Sure.”

“Well, Stephen is seriously wealthy, and he did say the Powell house is the one he’s always wanted. I know that if Nan’s truly considering selling, he would definitely want to buy.”

“Could he afford it?” Daniel looks doubtful. “I don’t want to be rude, but the prices here are extraordinary. I think the house is worth millions.”

“That’s not rude.” Matt laughs. “It’s true. He can afford it, though. I know he’d be devastated if the house sold to someone else. If the rumors are true, would you at least tell Nan there’s someone interested in buying it who really would do it justice, because he wouldn’t tear it down, he really would renovate it and do it beautifully.”

“I’ll tell her,” Daniel says, pausing before asking, “Do you know anything about a guy on the island called Mark Stephenson?”

“The builder?” Daniel nods. “Nasty piece of work, I’ve heard, although I don’t know him personally. I’ve always believed in judging people as you find them, not by what you hear. Is he the one trying to buy it?”

“Maybe.” Daniel shifts uncomfortably.

“Makes sense,” Matt says. “Just make sure Nan knows he may not be what he seems.”

“Thanks,” Daniel says. “Forewarned is definitely forearmed.”

“It is in this case.” He sits back in his chair. “So, how much longer are you on the island?”

“Another two weeks,” Daniel says. “I can’t believe how quickly it’s gone.”

“Neither can I.” There is disappointment in Matt’s eyes. “I can’t believe how much ground there is to cover in such a short space of time.”

“Ground to cover?”

“You know, the getting to know you bit. We’ve just met and boom, you’re disappearing before we even know anything about one another.”

“What do you want to know?” Daniel smiles. He likes how direct Matt is, likes that there’s no pretense. The longer he looks at him across the table, the cuter he’s becoming. He likes that Matt has intelligent eyes that crease deeply when he smiles. He likes that his forearms are strong, suntanned, with light golden hair bleached by the sun. He likes that Matt is interesting and, seemingly, interested in him.

He likes that not only is he attracted to Matt, but that he’s allowed to be attracted to Matt. He doesn’t have to feel guilty, as if there’s something wrong with him. He doesn’t have to go home and mentally beat himself up for not being like every other husband in town.

Matt smiles. “Tell me what your perfect date would be,” he says. “Then let’s see if we can make it happen.”

Their passion is intense, the excitement so strong, Daniel can hardly breathe, until Matt pushes him away.

“What’s the matter?” Daniel gasps, for they have only just sat down on Matt’s sofa, only just begun kissing.

Matt sighs. “Oh God.” He buries his head in his hands.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Matt says slowly.

“What?”
Daniel looks at him, a twinkle in his eye. “You’re
straight.
”

Matt bursts out laughing.

“Hardly. But I’ve been out for years, forever. I’ve had more casual encounters than you’ve probably had hot dinners, and I shouldn’t be doing this. I knew this would happen. Jesus, I
wanted
it to happen, but now . . .” His eyes soften as he raises them to meet Daniel’s. “Now I can’t. This isn’t what I want anymore. No, that’s not true.” He shakes his head with a small smile. “I do want this, but I can’t do flings anymore. I can’t do this.”

“Who says this is a fling?” Daniel says, confused.

“I do,” Matt says sadly. “I do, only because I’ve known too many men who have been in your situation. We’re in very different places. I’m ready to settle down, to find my life partner, to grow roses around the door and settle in with my slippers, my dog and my man—”

“I want that too . . .” Daniel interrupts, but Matt shakes his head.

“You might, but you’re not ready for that, not yet. You need to experiment, have fun, get it all out of your system before you’re ready to settle down. There is nothing I’d like more right now than to sleep with you, but I’d get too involved, and I’d be the one who would end up getting hurt. Not to mention,” he adds sadly, “you’re leaving in two weeks’ time.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” Daniel says, looking Matt straight in the eye. “If anyone’s likely to get hurt, it would be me.”

“No,” Matt says. “I think you’re wonderful. I think you’re exactly the kind of man I’ve been waiting for, but it isn’t the right time for us. You need to play the field, and then perhaps we can see how it goes, if, of course, you ever come back to Nantucket.”

“You could come to Connecticut,” Daniel offers.

“I could,” Matt says. “And maybe I will.”

“Oh God,” Daniel groans. “I was really looking forward to seeing you without clothes on.”

Matt laughs out loud. “I’m sure you will, just not tonight.” His face turns serious. “Know this, Daniel. I’m saying no not because I don’t like you, but because I like you too much. I hope during the rest of the time you’re on the island we see each other, get to know each other better, maybe see whether it’s worth staying in touch, because God knows, people come and go here, never to be heard from again.”

“You’ll be hearing from me,” Daniel says. “Without question. Thank you, Matt. I’ve never met anyone so honest, so straightforward. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

“Yes, you could,” Matt says. “It’s just easier when you have support. Come on,” he says, shaking his head. “You’d better go before I change my mind.”

“You sure?” Daniel raises a flirtatious eyebrow at him, the first time in his life, perhaps, that he has done anything in a flirtatious, suggestive way.

“No.” Matt laughs. “But I think it’s the right thing. Don’t forget to warn Nan about Mark Stephenson, and ask her if it’s okay for Stephen to call her.”

Mark Stephenson turns down Nan’s offer of a martini. This time it’s all business, no pretending this is a social call, no more pretending he is a nice guy who is simply doing Nan a favor out of the kindness of his heart.

He had thought that Nan was the last of a dying breed, which in many ways she is, but in thinking that she was isolated enough in her house on the bluff to not realize the true value of property on the island of Nantucket in 2007, he was very much mistaken.

Mistaken too in thinking Nan would believe he wanted the house for his family, would somehow be more amenable if she thought he wouldn’t knock it down.

Of course he’s going to knock it down. He hasn’t slept these last few nights, thinking of the money he could make from the Powell property. He could get four, even five houses there. Huge shingle houses, all the amenities, sell them for a cool six or seven million each, still making an enormous profit even after the building costs, which are now as inflated as everything else.

He would build what all the new money wants these days. Their interpretation of a beach cottage, but for millionaires. Gunite pools, high-speed covers to keep their small children safe, kitchens that are equipped with everything, even though it is rare for the wives to actually cook.

His men are already lined up to tear down the house, he’s made preliminary calls to the architect he works with, letting him know, confidentially, that there’s a huge project in the works in Sconset, on the bluff, that he should start thinking about dividing a property of approximately nine acres into building lots.

It didn’t take the architect long to figure out which house he was referring to, even though, naturally, no names were mentioned.

He will have to pay market price to Nan, this much he now realizes, but this project could make him a very rich man. This project could put him up there with the highest-ranking builders on the island, ensure he would never have to worry about money again.

“I’ve done the numbers,” he says, sitting down on the sofa next to Nan, and pulling out a sheaf of papers. “You’re right about the other properties and what they’ve sold for. I’ve pulled all the properties in Sconset that have sold during the past year, and I’m happy to go through them with you, talk to you about the prices and whether they were fair, why they got what they got.”

An hour later, Nan puts down her second martini and looks at Mark Stephenson.

“Mr. Stephenson,” she says and smiles. “Thank you. This is all fascinating, but I’m sure you have a number in mind. I . . . we . . .” she looks at Michael and Daff, “would very much like to hear what it is, and this is assuming, as I think we all know, you will be tearing down Windermere and putting up a number of properties.”