The Wedding

by Danielle Steel

  “Drug dealers rent them here,” Jeff explained with a grin, and then commented that they had met in the East five months before, and now here they were, back again, and soon to be married. Their wedding was only two and a half months away. They could hardly believe it.

  The ride to Southampton took two hours from Kennedy, and it was a hot June night, but the car was air-conditioned and they were comfortable. Jeff took his jacket off and his tie, and he rolled up the sleeves of his well-starched blue shirt. He always looked immaculate and perfectly pressed and put together, even after a plane ride. The only time he didn't look like that was in his famous sweatshirts and blue jeans in Malibu, but even then he looked intentionally casual, and she teased him because his jeans were always perfectly pressed. It was one of his few obsessions.

  “I look a total mess compared to you.” Allegra looked nervous as she brushed her hair and tied it back again. But the navy linen suit had suffered badly on the airplane, particularly while she slept on his shoulder. “I should have taken off the skirt,” she commented with a grin.

  “That would have been a hit,” he said, and poured her a glass of champagne and then kissed her.

  “That's perfect. I'm going to get drunk before I meet your mother. That'll make a big impression on her.”

  “Stop worrying. She's going to love you,” he said confidently, beaming at his future bride, as she flashed the much-beloved engagement ring at him. And they kissed long and hard as the car made a right turn off the expressway.

  It was another half hour to the house, and it was nearly midnight when they rounded the last bend in the road, and she saw a stately old house, with a porch all around it. Even in the dark, she could see antique wicker furniture set in little groups, and there were lovely trees that shaded the house in the daytime. There was a white picket fence that surrounded the property, and the driver drove them right up to the door and then helped them with their bags. Because of the late hour, they all attempted to be quiet. Jeff suspected his mother wouldn't have waited up for them. With the time difference, it was impossible to have gotten there any earlier and still have been able to put in a half day at the office.

  He knew where the key was hidden. He paid the driver and gave him a handsome tip, and then let Allegra and himself into the house carefully. There was a note from his mother in the front hall, on a handsome antique English table. The note welcomed them both, and told Jeff he had his own room, and asked that Allegra take the large guest room on the ocean. The message was clear and Jeff smiled at her apologetically.

  “I hope you don't mind,” he whispered. “My mother is very proper. We can leave your bags in there, and you can sleep with me. Or I can sleep with you, as long as we make it back to our own rooms by morning.” She was amused by the proprieties, but perfectly willing to follow the directions.

  “Just like college,” she grinned, and he pretended to look shocked.

  “Is that what you did in college? I had no idea,” he said, carrying her bags up the stairs, as she tiptoed behind him. It was kind of fun, being in his house, whispering and trying to find their bedrooms. It was suddenly like an adventure, and she giggled as he walked her past his mother's bedroom. It was a huge, airy room with blue-and-white chintz and a four-poster with heavy curtains. But they couldn't see it that night, the door was firmly closed. In fact, it surprised Allegra that his mother hadn't waited up for them, after they'd come all this way to see her. It was only midnight, and her own mother certainly would have. But she knew Jeff's mother was much older. She was seventy-one, and according to Jeff she always went to bed early.

  Jeff led her to the guest room his mother had described, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, and she could hear the waves lapping against the sand. And on a table next to the bed there was a pitcher of ice water, and a plate of small, thin buttery cookies. Jeff offered her one and she took it, and was surprised at how delicious it was. It melted in her mouth and she loved it.

  “Does your mom make these?” she asked, impressed, and he laughed and shook his head.

  “The cook does.”

  The room where they were standing was upholstered in a flowery pink fabric, and there were lace curtains on the window, and it had a big white wrought-iron bed, and hooked rugs on the floor. It looked very New England.

  “Where's your room?” Allegra whispered, eating another cookie. She was suddenly starving.

  “Down the hall,” he pointed, still whispering so his mother didn't hear them. She was a light sleeper. And it reminded him of the summers of his youth, when he'd sneak friends into his house at night and they'd sneak a beer or two. His father was always willing to let them get away with it, and his mother always called him on it the next morning.

  Jeff led Allegra down the hall to his own room. There was a dark green bedspread and matching curtains, and a narrow bed with a handsome antique headboard. And on the dressers and desk were mostly pictures of his father. There were several maritime paintings that his father had collected over the years. It was a totally masculine room, and in some ways reminiscent of the Malibu house in that it had a feel of New England and of the ocean, but this was far more austere than the house where she stayed with him. And in spite of the pretty fabrics, and antique furniture, there was something cold about it, like the photographs she'd seen of his mother in the New York apartment.

  He went back to her room after he'd left his bags in his own, and he gently closed her door and put a finger to his lips. He had closed his own bedroom door before leaving it, and he didn't want his mother to hear them talking at this end of the house. Allegra understood that. They walked on tiptoe, and never spoke above a whisper, and she looked out the window and wished they could go out on the beach. It looked so pretty in the moonlight.

  “I love swimming at night here,” he whispered almost inaudibly. “Maybe tomorrow.” He didn't want his mother to hear them tonight and they were too tired anyway.

  He sat on the bed with her, and they kissed, and after a little while, she brushed her teeth and washed her face, and put on her nightgown. She had brought a frilly one with a dressing gown that looked respectable in case his mother saw her in it. She hadn't been sure what to bring. She'd brought white pants and a brightly colored silk shirt for Saturday, a black linen dress for Saturday night, and a white one just in case something happened to the black one, a bathing suit, shorts and T-shirts, and a seersucker pantsuit for the flight home that looked very Eastern preppie. It all seemed pretty safe. She hadn't known what his mother would be like. She always imagined mothers to be like her own, but not this one. The photographs she had seen of her told their own tale, and she wouldn't have said it to Jeff, but Mrs. Hamilton truly scared her.

  He slipped into bed with her, and the sheets were a little damp, as they always were at any beach, and they were of the finest quality and had little white flowers embroidered on them. But Jeff was just happy being there with her. He was afraid to make love to her in the quiet house for fear they would make too much noise, and he just held her until they both fell asleep in the balmy sea air. They slept like children. The only problem was that they didn't wake till morning. He had told himself to wake up with the dawn, but his internal clock must have been set on California time, because he awoke at nine-thirty, and she was still sound asleep and purring. And there was no way to get back to his room without risking that he'd run into his mother.

  He peeked into the hall before he went, and then, feeling like a naughty child, he made a dash down the hall, and disappeared into his own room. But he had a feeling he'd made enough noise doing it to let the entire house know that he was escaping from the guest bedroom. And as though to prove it, his mother appeared in the doorway of his room seconds later. He had just put on his dressing gown, and was about to unzip his suitcase.

  “Did you sleep well, dear?” she asked, and he jumped a foot, and then turned to see his mother in a flowered blue dress and a sun hat, and for a woman of her years, she looked very handsome. She had been b
eautiful once, but not in a very long time, and there was nothing warm in her eyes, even when she saw him. She always kept her distance.

  “Hi, Mother,” he said, and went to hug her. He had all his father's warmth and winning, easy ways. Jeff had always been so much like him. She was far more Yankee. “Sorry we got in so late last night. With the time difference, it's hard to do much better than that, and we both had to work in the morning.”

  “It's no problem. I didn't hear you come in.” She smiled at him, and then glanced at his bed, still perfectly made from the night before. He had forgotten to open it and rumple the sheets and she noticed. “Thank you for making the bed, dear. You're the perfect houseguest.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” he said politely, knowing full well he had been busted by his mother.

  “Where's your fiancée?” He was about to say that she'd been sleeping a minute ago, when he left her, but he caught himself. In some ways, it was difficult coming back here. He hadn't stayed with her in a while, and he forgot sometimes how rigid she was. He'd been more used to it when he was younger.

  “I don't know. I haven't seen her yet,” he answered demurely. “Do you want me to wake her?” It was ten o'clock by then, and he knew his mother disapproved of houseguests who stayed in bed all morning.

  He went over and knocked on the door of the pink bedroom, while his mother watched, and a moment later, Allegra appeared in the dressing gown over her lace nightgown. She was barefoot, but she'd brushed her hair, and she looked very young and very pretty. And she immediately came to shake Mrs. Hamilton's hand, and smile at Jeff.

  “How do you do, I'm Allegra Steinberg,” she introduced herself, and for a long moment his mother said nothing, and then nodded. She made it quite obvious that she was looking Allegra over, and it made her extremely uncomfortable but she tried to be brave about it, and kept smiling.

  “It was nice of you to come this time,” Mrs. Hamilton said coolly. There was no hug, no kiss, there were no good wishes, or mentions about the wedding.

  “We were disappointed to cancel last time,” Allegra said clearly. She could play this game too, if she had to. “We couldn't help it.”

  “So Jeff told me. Well, it's warm today,” she said, glancing outside at the ocean. It was clear and bright and very warm, even at that hour of the morning. “Perhaps you'd both like to play tennis at the club before it gets much hotter.”

  But Jeff wasn't interested. “We can play in California. We came here to be with you. Do you need us to do any errands for you this morning?”

  “No, thank you,” Mrs. Hamilton said crisply. “Lunch is at noon. I don't imagine you'll want much breakfast at this late hour, Miss … Allegra….” She made her point succinctly. “But there's coffee and tea in the kitchen, whenever you're dressed.” In other words, please don't wander around my house in your nightgown. Her messages were clear but unspoken. Don't stay in bed all morning. Don't sleep with my son under my roof. Don't be very familiar. Don't come any closer.

  “My mother's a little cool at first sometimes,” Jeff tried to explain to her as they went downstairs together half an hour later. Allegra was wearing pink shorts and a matching T-shirt, and sneakers. “I don't know if she's shy or just aloof. It takes her a while to get to know people.”

  “I understand.” Allegra smiled at him lovingly. “You're her only child too. It can't be easy for her to be ‘losing’ you, and see you getting married.”

  “I would think she'd be relieved,” he laughed. “She used to nag me about it. She gave that up a long time ago at least.” Allegra wanted to ask him if it was at the same time she gave up laughing and smiling. She looked as though she hadn't cracked a smile since the Spanish Inquisition. And when they went downstairs for coffee, she was in the kitchen, giving the ancient Irish cook instructions. Lizzie had been with her for over forty years, and she made everything exactly the way Mrs. Hamilton wanted, she always explained to anyone who'd listen. Especially the menus.

  They were talking about lunch at that exact moment. She had ordered a shrimp salad, and a tomato aspic. There were hot rolls, and floating island for dessert. And just hearing about it sounded very Eastern to Allegra.

  “We'll eat in the outside dining room,” Mrs. Hamilton explained.

  “Don't go to a lot of trouble, Mother,” Jeff told her easily. “You don't need to make a lot of fuss for us. We're not guests. We're family.” She gave him a chilly look of surprise as he said it, as though she had no idea what he was thinking.

  After coffee and muffins, Allegra and Jeff went for a brief walk around the property, and then down the beach, and Allegra tried to get rid of her feeling of tension. Mrs. Hamilton seemed to create an atmosphere of malaise around her, and Jeff seemed completely unaware of it, as though he thought her icy, spartan rigor was normal. Maybe having grown up that way made it seem more tolerable. But Allegra couldn't imagine how he had come to be so loving and affectionate with a mother like an iceberg.

  And when they walked back to the house, Mrs. Hamilton was waiting for them on the porch, and there were two pitchers of iced tea and lemonade. There was no wine, and no sign of anything alcoholic, not that Allegra missed it. Allegra sat down in one of the old wicker chairs, and talked to her about the house and how long they'd had it. It had belonged to her husband's aunt and they had inherited it when she died thirty-nine years before, before Jeff was even born. He had come here all his life, she explained, and one day it would be his, she said wistfully, and then her face hardened.

  “I'm sure he'll sell it.”

  “Why would you say that?” He looked hurt that she'd think he was so unsentimental.

  “I don't imagine you'll be living in the East again, will you?” she asked coldly. “Now that you're marrying someone in California.” It was an accusation, and there were no good wishes attached to it.

  “I have no idea where we'll be living,” he said diplomatically, not wanting to hurt his mother's feelings. But to Allegra, that looked impossible, she looked as though she were encased in armor. She had never met anyone like her, and she was completely different from Allegra's parents. “I'll be finished with the movie in September, before the wedding. And I'm about to start a new movie. Who knows where we'll wind up?” He smiled vaguely and Allegra stared at him. What was he talking about? She practiced law in California, and her particular brand of entertainment law couldn't be practiced anywhere but in Hollywood, and he knew that. But his mother seemed unimpressed with what he'd said anyway, and a few minutes later they were called in to lunch, and it was a stiff, awkward meal with Lizzie serving and Jeff and Allegra struggling for conversation.

  But afterward, as they walked down the beach again, Allegra asked him what he'd meant when he told his mother he didn't know where they'd live.

  “What I do is not exactly transportable, you know. I have a very specific kind of practice.” He had really worried her with what he'd said and he knew it. But he'd been trying to humor his mother.

  “I didn't want my mother to feel that her only son had abandoned her forever. But aside from that, you really could practice in New York if you wanted to. There's Broadway, and certain elements of the music business, and some degree of television.”

  “Yeah, like news. Jeff, be real. What I do only exists in L.A. I'm a show business attorney.”

  “I understand that, but you could broaden your horizons if you wanted to.” He was sounding stubborn, and she was panicked.

  “It wouldn't be broadening, it would be narrowing,” she said uncomfortably. “I'd lose more than half my practice.”

  “And all those two A.M. phone calls. People in New York don't do things like that. They're more businesslike,” he said, while she suddenly began to wonder who he had become in Southampton.

  “I'm not sure I understand what you're saying to me, but I want you to know that I love my work, and I don't intend to give it up and move to New York. That was never part of the deal with us. What are you talking about suddenly?”

  T
here was a long silence, and he looked at her cautiously. “I know you love your work, and you're good at it. But I'm from the East, and it might be nice to know that one day we could come back here, if we ever decided that that was what we wanted.”

  “Is that what you want?” He had never said that to her as clearly. “I thought you were trying to adjust to L.A., and you understood that when you married me, we would live there. Is that no longer okay with you? Because if it isn't, maybe we need to talk about that now, before one of us makes a terrible mistake here.” She was panicking, listening to him; this was not a fun weekend.

  “I understand. I know you feel rooted in L.A., Allegra,” he said slowly, and she snapped at him.

  “Stop humoring me, dammit. I'm not a child. I get it. But I'm not moving to New York, and if that's the big surprise here, then maybe we need to reconsider what we're doing. Maybe we should just live together for a while, until you figure out how you feel about California.”

  “I like it very much,” he said, looking strained. He had gotten in over his head and he knew it. But this wasn't an easy weekend for him either. He knew how difficult his mother was, and how unwelcoming she was being. “Look, this isn't about you giving up your career. It's about having options. And I didn't want her to feel I would sell this house the minute she died, God forbid. It means a lot to her, and who knows, maybe we could bring our children here in the summers. I'd like that.” He looked at her apologetically, and she backed down gracefully, although for a minute she'd had her claws out.

  “I'd like that too. I thought you were trying to tell me you expected me to move East as soon as we were married.”

  “No, let's wait a month or two, okay? Like maybe by November.” He chuckled. “I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to threaten you. I know how hard you work and what a good job you do. You'll be a senior partner in no time, unless you start your own firm. I don't know … old Easterners give it up slowly. I never told myself I was moving away for good. I just told myself, and everyone else, that I was coming out to do one screenplay, and now, maybe another … and then I'll write a book there. And one day I'll notice that I've been there for twenty years. But it kind of happens gradually, you don't just throw away your Eastern-ness in five minutes.”