White Sand, Blue Sea

by Anita Hughes

  “You look like a Brueghel painting.” Sebastian opened the gauze curtains. “All alabaster skin and large blue eyes.”

  “I do feel better.” Hadley put the cup on an enamel saucer. “Perhaps we can walk in the garden. I haven’t left the suite in a month, I forgot what fresh air smells like.”

  “I’ll bottle the air and bring it inside.” Sebastian smiled. “The doctor said to take it slowly.”

  “A stroll around the grounds isn’t going to exhaust me,” Hadley said, tucking her blond hair behind her ears.

  “Olivia and I are going to perform a puppet show and I ordered a feast: banana blossom salad and sea scallops and mango mousse cake for dessert.”

  “You haven’t painted in weeks,” Hadley reminded him. “Walter isn’t going to pay for our suite if you don’t complete the commission.”

  “I told Walter I couldn’t finish the paintings.” Sebastian stopped and looked at Hadley. “We’re paying for the suite.”

  “We can’t afford jasmine-scented bath salts and heated towels,” she protested. “We barely have enough for clothes and bus fare.”

  “The doctor said I shouldn’t move you. We didn’t have a choice.” He paused. “I pawned your engagement ring.”

  “You did what?” she gasped.

  “You haven’t worn the ring since you got sick. It’s the only valuable thing we own besides The Miller Girls,” he explained. “I’ll get it back. When you’re better we’ll stay at Charles’s beach house in Cape Town. I’ll paint and you can recuperate.”

  “We’re not going to stay in a beach house in Cape Town or guest cottage in Kenya or yacht in Sardinia.” Hadley’s cheeks flushed. “We’re going home.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sebastian snapped.

  “What if Olivia had gotten sick? Can you imagine our daughter fighting for her life in a Thai hospital?” she demanded. “Or if you were unable to paint and we didn’t have enough money to eat. A friend is subletting her apartment in New York and I’ll find a job in a gallery.”

  “I’m an artist. I need fresh air and open space.” He ran his hands through his hair.

  “It doesn’t matter what you want.” Hadley’s blue eyes flashed. “Olivia needs to go to school and take dance lessons and have birthday parties.”

  Sebastian walked to the bed and kissed her.

  “We’ll talk about this later.” He slipped his hand under her robe. “After a plate of steamed sea bass and warm chocolate cake.”

  Hadley studied his chiseled cheekbones and something tightened inside her. Usually Sebastian could convince her to do anything by kissing her. But they hadn’t made love since she fell ill and she couldn’t imagine being sweaty and spent.

  Suddenly everything they had done—traveling over the Garden Route in South Africa and camping at the foot of Mount Elgon—seemed from another time. She was a mature woman and couldn’t build her future around Sebastian’s boyish dreams.

  “I already had the concierge buy the plane tickets.” She pulled the sheet around her shoulders. “My parents lent us the money. They can’t wait to see Olivia.”

  * * *

  Hadley tossed the spinach salad and wondered if she had been hard on Sebastian all those years ago. He had loved her and Olivia; it was as obvious as the paint strokes on his canvas. And going to America was like removing a wild animal from its natural habitat.

  She had nothing to feel guilty about; Sebastian was the one who left. And Olivia had to have a normal life. She couldn’t have done anything else.

  She carried the tray down the tile hallway and entered the study. Sebastian nursed a shot glass and flipped through a magazine.

  “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble, I could have eaten in the kitchen.” He jumped up. “Pumpkin soup is my favorite and the scalloped potatoes smell heavenly.”

  “Esther made the soup, I didn’t do anything except fix a salad.” Hadley placed the tray on the glass coffee table. “And you’ll be more comfortable in here with the television.”

  “You must join me for a cocktail.” He walked to the bar. “Scotch and soda, no ice? And have some of these Brazil nuts, they’re delicious.”

  “No, thank you. My dinner is in the oven.” Hadley smoothed her hair. “You can leave the tray here, Esther will get it in the morning.”

  “I was looking at Felix’s National Geographic.” Sebastian handed her the magazine. “Do you remember Chiang Mai? The Doi Suthep temple was eighty feet tall and made of solid gold. Olivia was certain if you rubbed the surface a genie would pop out.”

  “I hardly remember.” Hadley bit her lip. “It was more than twenty years ago.”

  “It was the most beautiful place we’d seen. Valleys covered in dew and fields like velvet carpets. And the food! Crispy noodles and pork that tasted so good, we were sure it was steak.”

  “I don’t know why we’re talking about this.” Hadley twisted her hands. “Your soup is getting cold.”

  “Because I always felt guilty.” He paused. “And I never said I’m sorry.”

  “Guilty?” Hadley looked at him.

  “If I had gone to the parade you wouldn’t have been bitten by a mosquito.” He traced the rim of his glass. “One insect bite changed three lives.”

  “It was time to go home. Olivia was starting kindergarten.”

  “Do you remember Olivia wearing a kimono and serving us tea and fortune cookies?” he asked. “I never wanted to leave. Everything I wished for was in that hotel suite.”

  “I have to go,” Hadley said and walked to the door.

  “I always wondered why you didn’t have more children,” Sebastian mused. “You were such a good mother. Even when you were ill, you only thought about Olivia.”

  “That’s none of your business.” Hadley turned the door handle.

  “I admit I was glad.” He sipped his scotch. “It was the one thing Felix never gave you.”

  * * *

  Hadley sat at the kitchen counter and tore apart a baguette. How dare Sebastian talk about Felix while he was eating from his china? And why did she let Sebastian reminisce when she was generally happy? She didn’t have time to think about Thai feasts; she had to get ready for Olivia’s birthday.

  And really, was sex so important when you were older? There was much more to marriage: being with someone who went out in a snowstorm to get aspirin when you had a migraine and knew exactly when you wanted to leave a party.

  She was a grown woman; if she wanted to make love with her husband she would tell him. She put the bowl in the sink and smoothed her skirt. They would have to talk about it soon, or she didn’t know what would happen.

  Chapter Eleven

  OLIVIA KNOTTED A SARONG AROUND her waist and slipped on her sandals. She glanced at the emerald-green sheath she’d worn last night to La Plage and thought it had been a lovely evening. The table was set with a sea-green tablecloth and flickering candles. Finn ordered a bottle of French champagne and it was so romantic.

  Then why had she wished she was sitting at a café in Capri, sipping limoncello and eating pizza napoletana? Even when she and Finn had strolled along the sand, she pictured blue grottos and chipped fishing boats and men chatting in Italian.

  St. Barts was full of fishing boats and she could eat pizza at Isoletta in Gustavia. But wasn’t that the point? It would be wonderful to go somewhere new where she didn’t know the names of every restaurant.

  She smoothed her hair and felt slightly guilty. Finn was so furious about Sebastian’s invitation to Costa Rica, she hadn’t mentioned Capri. But why shouldn’t she spend a week in the summer with her father?

  She thought about going on holiday with Sebastian and felt a surge of joy. The pasta was the best in Italy and the gelato was to die for. They could visit Tiberius’s villa in Ana Capri and take the ferry to Sorrento.

  She opened her bedside drawer and pulled out the wooden box. She untied the red ribbon and read out loud:

  My darling Olivia,

  T
oday is your tenth birthday and I am so sorry I can’t be there. I am staying at a guesthouse in Guiyang, China. Have your mother show it to you on the map. It is a fascinating city with a lake and 400-year-old temple.

  Did you know that in China it is traditional to eat a plate of long noodles on your birthday? You have to slurp it as long as possible for good luck! And in Australia they have bread and butter sandwiches with colored sprinkles.

  And you should be glad you don’t live in Vietnam. They don’t acknowledge birthdays at all. Everyone celebrates together on New Year’s Day.

  I may sound like a schoolteacher, but that’s not the point of my letter. Everywhere I go; I store up information like shells in a sand bucket. Someday I hope you’ll look through my letters and see that every day I was thinking of you.

  Happy birthday, my darling Olivia, and I hope you like the red purse. My love for you is bigger than the Chinese full moon and you are the most beautiful ten-year-old girl on two continents.

  Olivia folded the letter and opened a piece of yellow paper. She glanced at the date and read out loud:

  My darling Olivia,

  I’m staying on the edge of a copper mine in Western Australia and your mother’s invitation just arrived. To be honest, I forgot the date. But even if I left today, it would be a thirty-six-hour flight and I’d miss your sixteenth birthday party.

  I hope you like the gold nugget necklace; the owner of the mine gave it to me himself. There’s so much more I want to give you now that you’re almost grown up: jewelry and beautiful clothes, because you shouldn’t wear anything else. But more than anything I want to show you the world: poppy fields in Tibet and windmills in Crete.

  Eventually you will realize everyone has problems: the violinist in Vienna worries he won’t strike the right chord and the Japanese rice farmer prays for rain and the baker in Toulouse is afraid he’ll run out of flour for his daughter’s wedding.

  No matter how big your problems may seem there are only two things that are important: to go to bed with a clear conscience and get up the next morning.

  I promise one day we will celebrate your birthday together. Then we’ll make up for all the years we missed by having the greatest party on two hemispheres.

  Olivia riffled through envelopes with postmarks from Venezuela and Brazil. There was a pink hair ribbon and a colored-glass bracelet. She placed the box in the drawer and walked to the balcony.

  She had been dreaming of Sebastian’s world since she was a child. How could she pass up the opportunity to go away with him now?

  She slipped on her sunglasses and felt strangely unsettled. Suddenly she wanted to see bullfights in Pamplona and ride donkeys in Tunisia and explore the Greek Islands. She was not even twenty-five; maybe she and Finn were rushing into things.

  She fiddled with her earrings and remembered when she knew Finn was the one. It was a few weeks after they started dating and they were invited to a Labor Day party in Bridgehampton.

  * * *

  Olivia smoothed her hair and glanced at her watch. It was almost 5:00 p.m. and any minute Finn would arrive at the gallery. They were going to walk along the High Line and eat oysters at John Dory Oyster Bar.

  She thought about the last few weeks and smiled. Finn appeared every day after work and they looked for antiques at the Chelsea Market or flipped through the clothing racks at Artists & Fleas. Afterward they ate three-cheese pizza at Co. and lobster fettuccine at Del Posto.

  He always brought a little gift: daisies from a flower stall, a box of Jacques Torres chocolate, a magazine he picked up at the newsstand. And they had so much to talk about: Finn’s plans after law school and Olivia’s passion for the gallery.

  Sometimes she wondered if they were moving too fast. In a couple of weeks she’d return to college and Finn would work full-time at the law firm. What if the distance was too great and he broke her heart? But then she studied his blue eyes and broad shoulders and knew she could trust him.

  “You look beautiful.” He entered the double glass doors. He wore a tan blazer and clutched a bunch of lilacs. “I’d grab you and kiss you but the people walking by might disapprove.”

  “These are lovely.” Olivia accepted the flowers. “I’m starving. I can’t wait to slurp oysters and drink ice cold pale ale.”

  “I ran into a friend from Princeton and he invited us to his parents’ house in Bridgehampton for the weekend,” Finn continued. “There will be a clambake and fireworks over the Long Island Sound.”

  “It sounds wonderful but I told Hadley I’d stay for the opening. The florist delivers wilted tulips if I’m not here and the caterer never keeps the champagne as cold as Hadley likes.”

  “I’ll tell him we can’t make it.” Finn’s face fell.

  “You must go. You can’t miss the fireworks,” she said and smiled. “I’ll come out after the show.”

  “You don’t mind?” Finn asked.

  “As long as you don’t eat all the clams without me.” She kissed him. “It’s perfectly fine.”

  * * *

  Olivia glanced around the gallery and bit her lip. She had assured Hadley she could handle the opening herself. But the florist’s truck broke down and the caterer called and said the waiter had a summer cold.

  Now the space was filled with men in pastel suits and women wearing linen dresses and everyone looked hungry and thirsty. Olivia could grab a tray, but how would she sell any paintings.

  She looked up and saw a man walking toward her. He wore a pressed shirt and his blond hair was brushed over his forehead.

  “Finn, what are you doing here?” she asked. “You’re supposed to be in the Hamptons.”

  “I decided I’d rather sip champagne and nibble duck foie gras with you than listen to hedge fund managers discuss their stock portfolios.” He grinned. “We’ll leave together in the morning.”

  “The waiter got sick so there’s no one to serve the canapés,” she gulped. “And the florist’s truck broke down so the crystal vases are empty. It’s a complete disaster and Hadley will never trust me.”

  “Wait here. I have an idea,” Finn said.

  She entered the office and decided she’d serve the hors d’oeuvres herself. If people didn’t eat soon they’d get irritable and leave. She heard footsteps and saw Finn wearing a white dinner jacket and carrying a bunch of freesias.

  “Where did you get those?” she gasped.

  “I asked the owner of the café next door if I could buy all his flowers,” he explained. “He said they were free for the beautiful young woman at the gallery, as long as we come in after the opening for coffee and dessert.”

  “They’re perfect but why are you wearing a dinner jacket?” she asked.

  “I borrowed it from a waiter.” He picked up a tray and smiled. “Now where do I find the napkins?”

  * * *

  Olivia gazed at the royal palm trees and wondered whether she fell in love with Finn because he was always there when she needed him. But that was ridiculous. Even if Sebastian walked out when she was five, Felix had been a wonderful father.

  She loved everything about Finn: his clear blue eyes and broad shoulders and the cleft on his chin. The way he enjoyed his profession and genuinely liked helping people.

  But she thought of everything Sebastian and Hadley had done by the time they were twenty-five: rode llamas in Morocco and visited temples in Thailand. She and Finn never did anything more adventurous than brave the Long Island Expressway on a holiday weekend.

  She always longed for a marriage like Hadley and Felix’s: pleasant evenings at home with a smooth wine and warm conversation. They would go out on the weekends of course. You never ran out of things to do in Manhattan and they both loved bookstores and movies.

  But maybe she didn’t only want a life like Hadley and Felix’s; she also wanted to be like Sebastian. He traveled to every continent and had remarkable experiences.

  She suddenly had an idea. She ran down the wooden staircase to the kitchen. The sun ma
de patterns on the tile floor and the counter was set with platters of fresh fruit and whole wheat toast.

  “Good morning, you look radiant.” Sebastian sprinkled salt on poached eggs. “I’m glad you’re wearing a sarong over your bathing suit. My presence has been good for something.”

  “I just woke up.” Olivia poured a cup of coffee. “Finn and I strolled on the beach after dinner and the salt air makes me sleep forever.”

  “Ah, the evening at La Plage.” Sebastian glanced at her hand. “Did Finn propose?”

  “Not yet,” Olivia answered. “It wasn’t the right time.”

  “A romantic dinner with French champagne and flaming desserts?” He raised his eyebrow. “Maybe he needs a little push.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Finn is a wonderful guy. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather handle my last will and testament.” He paused. “But he doesn’t seem spontaneous. You could give him a hint.” He looked at Olivia. “If you’re still sure you want to marry him.”

  “Of course I’m sure.” Olivia’s cheeks flushed. “He’s everything I wished for and we’re in love.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Sebastian buttered his toast. “Your mother thought I’d caused a disturbance. What did he say about Capri?”

  “I didn’t mention Capri.” Olivia hesitated.

  “That’s a shame. I hoped you would come.” He dusted crumbs from his shirt. “I wanted to show you the gardens of Villa San Michele. It’s filled with exotic flowers and Egyptian artifacts.”

  Olivia took a deep breath. “I’m going to join you.”

  “That’s marvelous,” Sebastian beamed. “Wait until you see the rocks of Faraglioni. I’ll have to paint you! Sitting in the piazza, wearing oversize sunglasses and sipping Campari and soda.”

  “Actually, I was wondering if I could spend the whole summer with you.” Olivia looked at him.

  “The whole summer?” Sebastian dropped his toast. “Doing what?”