The House on Sunset Lake

by Tasmina Perry

  ‘So you just gave up,’ said Robert archly.

  ‘I didn’t think there was much point being there when I knew it wasn’t for me,’ she said honestly. ‘I knew there’d be a dozen girls desperate for the chance to work there and I was just taking up someone else’s place . . .’

  It was another moment before she felt her mother at her side. She could feel the heat of Sylvia’s displeasure radiating off her.

  ‘Your father and I were under the impression that you were going back. We assumed you were home for just a couple of days.’

  ‘I was unhappy, Mother. I’m not sure New York is for me,’ she said simply.

  ‘I see,’ said Sylvia before exchanging a look with Robert.

  ‘I don’t want you to think me ungrateful. It was so kind of you to sort the internship out, and it was an amazing opportunity, but . . .’

  He looked down at her, and Jennifer lost the ability to speak.

  ‘Life isn’t all about enjoying yourself,’ he said, shaking his head, then walked away to rejoin his wife, who glanced over at Jennifer, one hand holding a glass of wine, the other clutched to her chest.

  Her mother stayed rooted to the spot and gave her a cool stare.

  ‘So what are your plans now?’ she asked crisply. ‘When will you be returning to New York?’

  Jennifer knew what she was really saying. Connor’s new job, an entry-level position at Goldman Sachs in New York, started in a few weeks.

  ‘I thought I’d hang out in Savannah for a little while,’ she said vaguely.

  ‘And do what?’ asked her mother, her pale cheeks reddening noticeably.

  She heard a sound to her left and saw that Bryn Johnson was listening to them.

  ‘Kids have got to find themselves,’ he smiled, popping a honey-roasted pecan into his mouth and taking a few steps forward to join the conversation. ‘After Cambridge, I bummed around London, Paris with my little notebook, writing down my thoughts, lines of poetry, observations. I didn’t know if I wanted to be the new T. S. Eliot, Hemingway or Joseph Pulitzer, but what I had was a passion to write, and until I’d let that percolate, I didn’t have any purpose. Passion and purpose, the two things you need in life to be successful,’ he said, winking at them both.

  ‘Let her percolate this summer,’ he added, directing his attention towards Sylvia. ‘She won’t regret it.’

  Jennifer grinned at him, welcoming the relief in the tension. Sylvia looked less impressed and excused herself to go and refill her glass.

  ‘Speaking of aimless youth, have you seen my son?’ Bryn said, looking around. Darkness had fallen quickly, and the grounds of Casa D’Or disappeared into the shadows.

  ‘I think he’s gone back to watch the football,’ smiled Elizabeth Johnson, joining them.

  Bryn snorted. ‘No idea what the appeal is in the World Cup after England failed to qualify. And tell me, why on earth is America hosting the tournament when you don’t even play?’

  ‘He’s gone back to the Lake House?’ said Jennifer, glancing around for him.

  ‘I’m sure he meant to say goodbye,’ said his mother apologetically.

  ‘Which way did he go?’ said Jennifer, frowning. She hadn’t seen him leave through the terrace, and the French doors were shut.

  ‘The quick way, no doubt,’ smiled his mother, sipping her gin and tonic and pointing towards the water.

  ‘Excuse me,’ muttered Jennifer under her breath as she grabbed one of the hurricane lamps from the table and walked towards the lake, her pace quickening over the manicured lawn.

  The grass underfoot began to get longer and squelchier the closer she got to the water. It was darker out here too. Little light from the house made it this far. She could hear the evening breeze blowing through the bulrushes and she spotted an outline retreating in the night.

  ‘Jim, stop!’ she shouted.

  He halted and turned around. He didn’t say anything, just stood there motionless as she ran towards him, his face becoming clearer in the light of her hurricane lamp.

  ‘Don’t go that way,’ she said when she reached him.

  ‘Why not?’ He looked at her through the soft amber glow. They were just a few feet apart now, and his eyes seemed to challenge her.

  ‘Gators. You sometimes get them around here.’

  ‘Alligators?’ he said with a low, soft laugh. ‘I thought this place was civilised.’

  The moon was out now, and a shaft of silvery light caught his face. For a second he looked like a movie star, like a black-and-white James Dean still she’d had pinned on her wall at college, although she was not going to tell him that.

  ‘You get them all around here,’ she said, aware of the nervous tremor that had suddenly appeared in her voice. ‘From Texas to the Carolinas. This is the South, and sometimes it can be wild,’ she added, keeping her voice low.

  ‘Do they bite?’

  ‘The females are the worst,’ she said, folding her arms defiantly in front of her.

  ‘It’s often the way,’ he replied with the hint of a smile.

  Jennifer gave him a stern look. ‘They’re lazy predators, but if the mothers have got hatchlings with them, or if they’re hungry, you wouldn’t last a minute. They’ve got teeth the size of a Tic Tac packet.’

  ‘And I’m guessing you wouldn’t come and save me.’

  She resisted the urge to shake her head. He was so arrogant, she was half minded to let him carry on tramping around the lake.

  ‘You just don’t want to be out there in the dark,’ she said firmly, thrusting her hands in her pockets as she felt a sudden chill. ‘I suggest you go that way,’ she added, motioning towards a path that led away from the lake, around the side of Casa D’Or and back towards the road.

  She returned to the party without another word, and when she turned back to check which way he had taken, she smiled with satisfaction to see that he had heeded her advice.

  Chapter Eight

  Connor and Jennifer were not the only ones who had returned to Savannah after college had finished. The city was full of old friends in limbo, and one of them, Jeanne Bosko, was throwing a party in a bar on Broughton Street.

  ‘I thought your birthday was in April,’ shouted Jennifer over the noise of the band. Jeanne had been one of her best friends at Our Sacred Hearts, the private school she had attended in Savannah, although she had not seen her properly for more than a year. Their closeness had dwindled over the time they had been away at different colleges, the familiarity of friendship rubbed away to the point that she knew very little about Jeanne’s life now, although she was fairly sure that the other girl had already had her twenty-first birthday.

  ‘It was,’ said the brunette at her side. She was wearing a fifties prom dress and a big pair of diamanté glasses. Jennifer wasn’t sure whether they were for comic effect or not. ‘Then I got all sentimental and decided to throw a party back home. You know, a celebration for finishing college and all that, but I guess that turned out to be ironic.’

  ‘Why ironic?’

  Jeanne gave her an incredulous look. ‘You don’t think this is so fucking depressing? We are officially the most unemployable graduates in a generation. Here I am, valedictorian of my university, and I’m working at the Seven Eleven. The college careers service did not prepare me for the Big Gulp.’

  Jennifer gave a sympathetic sigh. Jeanne had been the scholarship kid at school, the school secretary’s kid who had won friends right across Sacred Hearts with her humour and smarts. But when her father had died in her final year and her GPA had suffered, she had gone to the community college rather than an Ivy League one.

  ‘I see Connor has a job on Wall Street,’ Jeanne said cynically.

  ‘You know Connor.’

  ‘Was it the Harvard old boys’ network, or did Daddy make a call?’

  ‘Purely on account of his own genius,’ Jennifer giggled. ‘Or at least that’s what he’s been going around telling everyone.’

  Jeanne sipped her beer th
rough a straw and looked up mischievously.

  ‘So you two are still together, huh?’

  Jennifer grinned and nodded, aware that she was a little embarrassed by the idea.

  ‘And are we going to be seeing a big fat rock on that little finger any time soon?’ grinned her friend, nudging her elbow.

  ‘I’m not even twenty-one yet, Jeanne. This is 1994, not 1894.’

  ‘Connor is the sort that wants to get the pesky business of finding a wife out of the way so he can concentrate on conquering the world. Expect a proposal, my friend. And speaking of twenty-firsts, where’s my invitation to yours? Or is it being held at a Hamptons beach house or on a yacht in Saint-Tropez, close friends, family and celebrities only?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. The plan was to be in New York, but I’m not sure that’s going to happen. I want to stay in Savannah for a while.’

  ‘Does Connor know this? I overheard him telling someone that he’s bought a loft in somewhere called Tribeca. Never heard of it myself, but apparently all the Wall Street douchebags are crazy for it, and he’s going to make a million bucks on it by flipping it in two years’ time.’

  ‘Well I’m glad you know more about my boyfriend’s future plans than I do.’

  ‘So how’s it going to work? Connor’s in New York. You’re staying here . . .’

  Jennifer shrugged. ‘We’ve been at different colleges for three years and it’s worked out.’

  ‘Wellesley is thirty miles from Harvard. That’s not a long-distance relationship; it just makes it slightly inconvenient for impromptu sex.’

  Jeanne took off her glasses and looked at Jennifer wide-eyed.

  ‘I’ve just had the most amazing idea.’

  ‘Tell me,’ said Jennifer slowly.

  ‘You’re back in Savannah. I’m looking for a flatmate. It’s a small room and the walls are thin, but I can provide earplugs for when I’m entertaining, and I get a twenty-five per cent discount on groceries from the Seven Eleven.’

  ‘An offer I can’t refuse, then,’ Jennifer grinned as both girls dissolved into laughter.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ said Connor returning from the bar with two bottles of beer. Some foamy liquid had spilt on his chinos and he didn’t look amused.

  ‘Sex,’ said Jeanne, pulling her straightest of faces.

  ‘I turn my back for a second and the dirty talk begins, huh?’ he said, wiping the beer off his pants.

  ‘Actually we were talking about the labour market and the employability of our peers in a recession,’ said Jennifer, giving him a playful smile.

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘We were.’

  ‘I think you’ll find we have been out of recession for six economic quarters now,’ said Connor, perching on a bar stool. ‘The people who haven’t got jobs simply don’t want to work. There are plenty of opportunities around for graduates if you’ve got a decent resumé.’

  ‘Tell that to my mom, who’s wondering why I have twenty thousand dollars’ worth of debt only to be dishing out Twinkies to truckers.’

  ‘I didn’t mean you,’ said Connor unconvincingly. ‘Jen says you were valedictorian of . . . where was it you went? Maybe you can get to an Ivy League for a masters.’

  ‘And who’s going to pay for that? The Seven Eleven?’

  ‘You’ll find a great job soon, I promise,’ said Jennifer, putting a reassuring hand on her friend’s shoulder.

  ‘And can you magic up a hot guy while you’re at it? The only reason I had a frigging party was to try and score,’ Jeanne said, putting another straw into a second cup of beer and drinking through both.

  ‘Some British guy has moved in next door to Jennifer,’ suggested Connor after a moment. ‘Maybe she could introduce you. He seems like your type.’

  ‘Is he cute?’ asked Jeanne.

  ‘He’s got the pretty poet vibe going on.’

  ‘A sexy slacker,’ said Jeanne, clasping her hands together. ‘I like nothing better than a man with no purpose other than to pleasure me in bed.’

  ‘I thought slackers, you know, were all on heroin,’ said Connor with a frown.

  ‘Some of the rock lot might dabble, but generally their drug of choice is weed. I find it makes men compliant to my demands,’ said Jeanne theatrically.

  ‘Do you think your neighbour is on heroin?’ asked Connor, turning to Jennifer. ‘He told my mother he was in a band.’

  Jennifer laughed, but found herself annoyed at his bigotry. ‘That doesn’t mean he’s on drugs, Connor.’

  ‘How do you know? Never trust a man with facial hair, that’s what I say. You know he’s trying to hide something.’

  ‘On that note, I’m telling the DJ to change the music,’ said Jeanne, jumping off her stool. ‘I want Nirvana, I want something nihilistic,’ she declared.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ said Connor as soon as she’d gone.

  ‘Celebrating graduation,’ sighed Jennifer, still irritated with him.

  He looked at her disapprovingly. ‘You know, I’m surprised you’re still friends with the likes of Jeanne,’ he said finally.

  ‘Why?’ she said, taken aback.

  ‘Come on, Jen. You have nothing in common. Look around. There are only a few people here from school; the rest, I’ve no idea who these people are. Nor do I want to. I feel like I’m in the mosh pit. I feel unclean.’

  Jennifer resisted the urge to shake her head. Connor had always had a tendency to be snobbish. It was one of the things she liked least about him, the thing she had tried to pull him up on, or ignore, but it seemed to have got worse since he had been at Harvard, where he had worked hard to befriend the grandest students.

  ‘Maybe you should get to know some of them. Maybe you need to know a few more people other than your Harvard lot and your sailing buddies.’

  ‘What do I want to know these people for?’ he asked with genuine bemusement.

  ‘You can be friends with people, Connor, for reasons other than what they can do for you.’

  ‘Your idealism is very sweet, but increasingly naïve.’ He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

  ‘Naïve?’

  ‘You think that you have things in common with Jeanne just because she was in the same class as you for five years. You think that British guy isn’t on drugs just because he has a fancy English accent. You think you can walk out of an extremely prestigious internship in New York just because you didn’t like it.’

  ‘I knew something was bugging you.’

  ‘Well, we need to talk about it.’

  ‘OK, let’s talk.’

  He took a pause for dramatic effect.

  ‘Look, my parents are incredibly disappointed. They might not have shown it on Monday, but they were so embarrassed by what happened.’

  ‘It wasn’t my proudest moment, Connor, but it was hideous. No one spoke to me, the other interns were bitches. You know, they pulled a sixteen-foot papier-mâché vagina out of storage, dusted it off, hiked the price up by seventy-five per cent and sold it to this Hong Kong couple. They were laughing even before the couple had left the gallery. It was the only time I saw any of them raise a smile.’

  ‘I agree, that was very unprofessional. But my parents buy a lot of art from Lucian, which is probably why he’s agreed to have you back. A proper assistant’s job this time. Turns out they actually liked you. Thought you looked the part.’

  Jennifer took a deep breath, knowing this was the time to tell him.

  ‘I’m not going back to New York, Connor,’ she said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s not for me.’

  ‘Not for me?’ His brow furrowed in bemusement.

  ‘I know it’s the thing we are all supposed to do. Move to the city, make our name, fame, money. But why? We live in one of the greatest cities in the world. It’s beautiful, it’s always warm, our friends, our family are here . . .’

  ‘Friends? We’re in a basement bar surrounded by losers.’

  ‘You love i
t too, Connor, or else why are you here?’

  ‘Because I live here. For now,’ he added pointedly.

  ‘You love Savannah as much as I do. I know you’re hungry to succeed, but your father built a fortune without going further than fifty miles out of the city.’

  ‘He’s in finance,’ Connor said in a measured and level voice. ‘The money markets are the new gold rush. My father’s done well, but to achieve my potential, I have to be in the financial centre of the world, and right now, that place is New York.’

  The passion in his eyes made her smile. If his snobbery was something she disliked, his singular confidence and self-belief had always been attractive.

  ‘You can’t sail in New York,’ she said playfully.

  ‘Manhattan is an island. Besides, I’ll be too busy for hobbies. Do you know how hard they work you at Goldman’s?’

  ‘Life isn’t all about work,’ she sighed. She’d seen it with friends at her own college. Sucked into a cycle of thinking that achievement was everything, they had left Wellesley straight for New York without even considering other options.

  ‘But you need work in your life, otherwise you’re rudderless. That’s something you need to think about, Jen.’

  ‘I do want to work, Connor. I just need to decide what it is I want to do, and I think I want to do whatever it is here, in our home town.’

  His brow creased. ‘What are you saying, Jen? I start work in three weeks’ time. I have an apartment. I thought, you know, we could talk about you moving in at some point.’ He made it sound as if he was doing her a favour.

  ‘We can still make it work. It’s just a two-hour flight . . .’

  ‘I’m not listening to this. Someone needs to talk some sense into you.’ His voice had returned to its arrogant and dismissive tone.

  ‘Fine. It’s your turn to go to the bar.’

  ‘No, it’s your turn to go to the bar,’ he corrected. ‘I’ll have a bourbon. I need it after this conversation. And then we’re leaving. Randy Chubb is having drinks at his parents’ house on Lafayette before they head to Maine.’