White Sand, Blue Sea

by Anita Hughes

  “There you are.” Charles Lang approached her. He wore a pinstriped suit and tasseled shoes. “You look stunning and Olivia is so grown-up, I almost didn’t recognize her.”

  “Sebastian bought her a new dress,” Hadley explained. “I told him she’ll fall asleep before the end of the cocktail hour but he insisted she look like a princess. I can’t imagine how he’s going to spoil her when she’s older. He keeps buying her hair ribbons and glass bracelets.”

  “Fathers can’t help it. They want to make sure their daughters never look at another man.” He smiled. “He does worship you and Olivia, you can see it in his latest painting.”

  “What painting?” Hadley asked.

  “The Miller Girls, it’s the best thing he’s ever done,” he continued. “We built the whole show around it. Surely you’ve seen it?”

  “I must have and I’ve forgotten.” Hadley blushed and took Olivia’s hand. “Excuse me, I need to talk to Sebastian.”

  “Charles said you have a new painting called The Miller Girls,” she said when she joined Sebastian. “Why haven’t I seen it?”

  “Charles can’t keep his mouth shut after two glasses of Dom Pérignon,” he laughed. “It was supposed to be a surprise. Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

  They entered a small room with pinpoint lighting and wood floors. The painting almost took up the whole wall and was of her and Olivia at the foot of Mount Eglon. The sun touched their blond hair and the brushstrokes were so clear, she could see the freckles on Olivia’s nose.

  “When did you do this?” she gasped.

  “I started it our last week in Kenya but it was too ambitious so I put it away,” he answered. “I’ve been working on it for the last two weeks in Charles’s studio.” He looked at Hadley. “Do you like it?”

  “I love it.” She kissed him and the champagne floated to her toes. “We better mingle, everyone is going to want to meet the great Sebastian Miller.”

  * * *

  Hadley wiggled her toes and clutched a plate of fruit tarts. It was almost 11:00 p.m. and she longed to go back to the beach house and slip on a cotton robe and slippers.

  “Did you see the red dots on the paintings, we sold every one.” Sebastian put his arm around her. “We’ll take Olivia home and drink pineapple mojitos and go dancing at Rick’s.”

  “I don’t think I could stay vertical,” she sighed. “I’m not used to wearing stilettos, my feet are killing me.”

  “We can stay in bed tomorrow and eat Olivia’s pretend pancakes.” He kissed her. “It’s our first sold-out show, we have to celebrate.”

  “You can’t leave yet,” Charles said, interrupting their conversation. “I have some news, come into my office.”

  They followed him into a paneled room and Charles took out a crystal decanter. Olivia was asleep in a leather armchair. She wore a red pinafore and clutched a stuffed giraffe.

  “It’s Martell cognac, I only take it out for my most important sales.” He handed them each a shot glass. “Yens Bergin owns luxury hotels in Norway and Sweden. He thought the work was spectacular, he bought the whole collection.”

  “One buyer bought everything in the show?” Sebastian gulped.

  “He said The Miller Girls reminded him of Bouguereau’s The Broken Pitcher.” He picked up a piece of paper. “He wrote a check for a hundred thousand dollars.”

  “What did you say?” Hadley gasped.

  “He loved the other pieces too. He’s going to display them in his hotel lobbies.” Charles beamed. “Can you imagine entering from a snowy street to find a painting of the African sun glaring down on a beautiful blonde and her daughter?”

  “No, I can’t.” Sebastian jumped up. “The Miller Girls isn’t for sale.”

  “What do you mean?” Charles spluttered. “It’s the center of the whole show.”

  “You asked me to paint an important piece to get people in the door.” Sebastian paced around the room. “You never said I had to sell it.”

  “Think what you can do with a hundred thousand dollars,” Charles urged. “You won’t be living from commission to commission like a nineteenth-century portrait artist.”

  “The money sounds lovely but the painting is not for sale,” Sebastian insisted. “I’ll paint something else and he can have the others.”

  “He doesn’t want something else, he wants The Miller Girls.” Charles looked at Sebastian. “And I don’t want to tell him he can’t have it.”

  “You’re going to have to.” He scooped Olivia into his arms. “I need to put my daughter to bed. We’ll discuss it in the morning.”

  * * *

  “I can’t explain it to Charles, he would never understand.” Sebastian lit a cigarette and paced around the all-white living room.

  They had driven back to the beach house in silence. Hadley pictured the check on Charles’s desk and thought of everything it could buy: plane tickets to America, never needing to count every dollar in their pockets.

  “The Miller Girls is the best thing I’ve ever done, it poured out of me like volcanic ash.” He blew thick smoke rings. “What if I can never create anything as good? The art critics will say I peaked at twenty-six. ‘Sebastian Miller never lived up to the early promise of The Miller Girls.’”

  “That doesn’t make sense.” Hadley gazed out the sliding glass doors. The moon was a saucer and she could see the outline of Table Mountain. “Why shouldn’t you paint anything like it again?”

  “Vermeer only had one Girl with a Pearl Earring and Pissarro never replicated A Sunday on La Grand Jatte.” He stubbed the cigarette into a ceramic ashtray. “The whole point of art is striving to be your best. If I’ve already produced it, I’m finished before I began.”

  “You’re worrying about nothing,” she replied. “Look at Chagall and Picasso. Whole museum wings are devoted to their work.”

  “What if I can’t?” he replied. “Sometimes a painting just comes together. Olivia’s green eyes and your colored shawl and the African light forming a halo on your hair.”

  “It’s one hundred thousand dollars.” Hadley tried a new direction. “We could put a down payment on a flat and never have to worry about money for clothes and paints.”

  “Art isn’t about providing a stable future, it’s about taking everything inside you and throwing it on the canvas.” He lit another cigarette. “If I wanted to set up a 401(k), I’d have joined the law firm.”

  “You happened to be married with a child.” She felt an odd stirring inside her, like a coffeepot coming to a boil. “In two years Olivia will start kindergarten. Do you expect her to learn to read and write in a tent on the Niger River?”

  “We’re hardly in a tent.” He waved his cigarette at the polished wood floor and crystal vase filled with African violets. “I’ll always get another commission and our lives are the greatest adventure. Isn’t that what we wanted?”

  She looked at Sebastian and remembered the young man she met at the guesthouse in Cape Town. He had the same blond hair and emerald eyes and narrow cheekbones. But they were older now. They couldn’t exist with just enough money to pay for the next hostel.

  “When we brought Olivia home from the hospital in Johannesburg we promised to always put her first.” She stood and smoothed her skirt. “If someone offers you one hundred thousand dollars for a painting, you take it. I’m tired, I’m going to bed.”

  “Hadley, wait,” he called after her.

  “What is it?” She turned and tears swam in her eyes.

  Sebastian was going to say he was wrong, of course they’d accept the money. Now they could go on holiday or buy a house in the country.

  “I would walk on hot coals for you and Olivia.” He flicked ashes into the ashtray. “But if I don’t think my next painting will be better than my last, I won’t be able to paint. I have to stay hungry, or I’ll have nothing at all.”

  * * *

  Hadley entered the bedroom and slipped off her stilettos. How dare Sebastian turn down $100,000? H
e should be popping a bottle of champagne instead of worrying about his next piece.

  But maybe she was being too hard on him. How did she know what made Sebastian pick up a brush? And he was right: they had everything they needed.

  There was a knock on the door and she answered it.

  “I was going to come and see you.” She fiddled with her earrings.

  “The minute you walked upstairs I realized I was a fool.” Sebastian entered the bedroom. “You think I forget about you and Olivia but you’re wrong. It’s as if you’re beside me when I’m painting, connecting the brush with the canvas. The only thing worse than selling The Miller Girls is letting anything come between us.”

  “We’ll keep The Miller Girls,” she said and walked to the balcony.

  “Are you sure?” he gasped.

  “Do you remember when we met and thought we’d have to return to America because we ran out of money?” she asked. “Selling your paintings seemed as likely as the possibility that it would ever stop raining.

  “I don’t understand what motivates you to paint, just as I don’t know why Botticelli’s Venus is heartbreakingly beautiful. But if keeping The Miller Girls allows you to work, then we can’t sell it.” She looked at Sebastian. “I believe in you and me and Olivia and we’re going to have a wonderful future.”

  He tucked her blond hair behind her ears and drew her close. She kissed him and all the tension drifted away like shells on the beach.

  She unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands over his chest. Desire shot through her and she felt almost wanton. They were staying in a glamorous beach house in Cape Town and were about to make love.

  She unzipped his slacks and rubbed his hardness. Sebastian groaned and every nerve in her came alive. She wrapped her arms around him and they toppled onto the bed.

  “Olivia is in the next room,” he whispered, untying her robe. “Are you sure she is asleep?”

  “She was so exhausted she’d sleep through a monsoon,” she whispered back.

  Sebastian balanced on his elbow and stroked her cheek. He ran his fingers over her lips and between her breasts.

  “Then let me show you how much I love you,” he murmured and buried his head between her thighs.

  Hadley clutched him against her and felt the waves build inside her. Her whole body shuddered and she gasped. The sweet wetness subsided and all that was left was exquisite nothingness.

  “Come here.” She opened her legs and pulled him on top of her. Her fingers gripped his back and she coaxed him to go faster. He collapsed against her breasts and the heat and sweat were replaced by unbearable spasms.

  “Oh,” she whispered, when her breathing slowed.

  “I love you,” he lay on his back. “You and Olivia are the best things that ever happened to me.”

  Hadley gazed out the window at the moon glinting on the ocean. Her blond hair was tousled on the pillow and she felt almost giddy. They were young and in love and Sebastian was immensely talented. She couldn’t worry about the future; she had everything she ever wanted.

  * * *

  Hadley drew the pink pashmina around her shoulders and saw Felix motion to her from the restaurant. She wasn’t ready to return to the table; the night air was intoxicating.

  Over the years she wondered whether Sebastian told the truth. Did he refuse to sell The Miller Girls because he was afraid he couldn’t replicate it? Or was it because he didn’t want to accept $100,000?

  At first she thought that was ridiculous: no one loved money more than Sebastian. He couldn’t buy Olivia enough hair ribbons and he loved surprising Hadley with silver jewelry. But he was allergic to the kind of money that paid a mortgage and created a college fund. Sebastian was at his best when all he had to worry about was finding a pressed shirt to wear to meet a new collector.

  Of course, how could she have forgotten he was so restless! Sebastian was no more interested in becoming part of their lives then he was in working at the Chrysler Building. He was simply between commissions and decided to spend a few days in St. Barts.

  In three days he would pack his leather overnight bag and move on to his next destination. He would leave relationships a little strained and the vodka bottle half empty, but there would be no lasting damage.

  The glass door opened and Felix walked onto the balcony. He looked handsome in a polo shirt and pleated slacks.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked. “Sebastian was describing the week he spent on Tin Can Island in the South Pacific. It doesn’t have a natural harbor so natives have to paddle canoes to obtain supplies from passing cruise ships.”

  “I needed some air,” Hadley explained. “Sebastian sucks up oxygen like a vacuum cleaner.”

  “He loves to talk,” Felix said and smiled. “Eric was so enthralled he almost set his sleeve on fire with his banana flambé.”

  “Sebastian must be in heaven,” she laughed. “There’s nothing he loves more than an audience.”

  “When he arrived in St. Barts I was disturbed by the idea of him sleeping in the guest bedroom,” he began. “But I never thought how it might affect you. It can’t be easy greeting your ex-husband over scrambled eggs and grapefruit juice.”

  “Whatever Sebastian says bounces off me.” Hadley shrugged. “I was worried about him interfering with Olivia and Finn. He seemed determined to star in his own remake of Father Knows Best.

  “But I realized if he wanted a relationship with Olivia he would have appeared years ago. Of course he loves her, like he loves a new shirt. He holds it up to the mirror and suddenly he looks younger and more handsome.”

  “Aren’t you being a little harsh?” Felix wondered. “He is her father and Olivia is his only daughter.”

  “That’s just the way he is, he has to move forward.” Her eyes dimmed. “That’s why Olivia and I were lucky to find you. You’re capable of staying still and enjoying yourself.”

  “I was looking at you through the window. You are as beautiful as when I first saw you at the art gallery.” He paused. “I’m the lucky one.”

  Hadley heard the band play “Fly Me to the Moon” and remembered it was their song. She turned to Felix and was about to say something. But she couldn’t talk to him now, with everyone waiting at the table.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “We should go inside,” she sighed and took his arm. “Priscille would never forgive us if we let her husband catch on fire.”

  * * *

  Hadley moved the ivory chess piece around the chessboard and sighed. The silver clock chimed midnight and she wished she could fall asleep. But the minute she laid her head on the pillow, her eyes flew open and her heart raced.

  In the last year she had tried drinking warm milk and honey and watching classic movies and sipping heated brandy. But the milk turned her stomach and watching movies made her temples throb and brandy gave her a headache.

  After dinner at Hotel Eden Rock they dropped Sebastian in Gustavia to buy cigarettes and returned to the villa. Olivia and Finn were already asleep and Esther had left banana bread in the kitchen. Felix kissed her and said he was going to bed and Hadley busied herself preparing the morning coffee, before moving to the library to turn off the lamps.

  She heard footsteps and a figure stood in the doorway. Sebastian’s blazer was slung over his shoulder and he clutched a packet of cigarettes.

  “Can I join you?” he asked, entering the library. He lit a cigarette and walked to the bookshelf.

  “I’m busy,” she looked up. “You shouldn’t smoke in the library, Felix would be furious. Some of his books are first editions.”

  “I’ve always thought the smell of cigarettes is sensuous.” He inhaled. “It reminds me of Parisian nightclubs and kissing in dark alleys.”

  “I think it’s vile. Thank god Olivia never smoked.” She shuddered. “She had a good role model, Felix never touched a cigarette.”

  “Ah yes.” He poured a glass of cognac. “He only indulges in aged cognac and Cuban cigars
.”

  “He might smoke a cigar on special occasions,” she countered. “But he doesn’t make his clothes smell like a taxicab and leave cigarette butts around the house.”

  “You’re right, it is a terrible habit.” He stubbed the cigarette in an ashtray and sat across from Hadley. “That’s the thing about being divorced. No one tells you to exercise or watch your cholesterol.”

  “You seem to take care of yourself.” Hadley pursed her lips. “Your stomach is flat as a board.”

  “I didn’t think you noticed,” Sebastian said. “I must say you look stunning in that dress. You haven’t changed as much as I thought. In the right outfit you’re still the most beautiful woman in the room.”

  “Save your greeting card prose for a new conquest.” She smoothed her hair. “I’m a happily married woman.”

  “Then why are you playing chess at midnight when your husband is asleep in a four-poster bed?”

  “I came in here to get a paperback book.” She hesitated. “The chessboard looked inviting.”

  “You hate chess. Do you remember when I tried to teach you on the Orient Express because there was nothing else to do from Venice to Istanbul?” he asked. “You didn’t see the point of moving a white knight across a wooden chessboard.”

  “That was years ago,” she mused. “Felix taught me and I quite enjoy it.”

  “I’ve been watching you the last couple of days.” He rubbed his fingers over the rim of the glass. “Olivia thinks you get up early to swim but you never go to bed at all. Last night you slept in here and the first night you curled up on a sofa in the living room. If you’re happily married why aren’t you sharing a bed with Felix?”

  “How dare you poke around the villa!” she exclaimed. “It’s none of your business where I sleep. For your information, the sofa is very comfortable.”

  “When Olivia was born we made a list of things we wanted to teach her: to work hard and not be afraid of new adventures and be kind to others.” He paused. “You re-did the list a dozen times but the most important lesson stayed the same: to always tell the truth. You’ve always been easy for me to read, I can tell when something’s wrong.” He looked at Hadley. “If you tell me what it is, maybe I can help.”