He stepped out on to the back lawn and walked down towards the edge of the lake, to the restored pavilion. He glanced back at the house, which looked magnificent with every window blazing with golden light. He tried to lock the memory in: Casa D’Or in all its glory. He knew he was unlikely to ever come back.
He turned and faced the lake again, watching the moonlight ripple across the inky black surface.
‘Jim.’
He heard a voice behind him and turned.
At first the backlight from the house made it difficult to see. Then his vision came into focus and he realised it was Jennifer.
Chapter Thirty-Five
‘Jen,’ he said with total shock.
‘I’ve gatecrashed,’ she replied in a voice so small he could hardly hear it.
Her smile was apologetic. It made Jim felt ashamed. This was her house, her past, and he hadn’t even invited her. He also acknowledged that it had taken some balls for her to be here. His silence over the past few weeks had surely sent the message that he didn’t want to see her or speak to her again.
‘Don’t worry. Marion gave me her ticket, if you want to know how I wriggled past security.’
His heart was beating hard. He felt caught out and unprepared.
‘How are you, Jennifer?’ he said after a moment.
‘Getting there,’ she said slowly. ‘The divorce is going through. Connor isn’t contesting it. He wants it done quickly too. And I have a new place. In the East Village, believe it or not. I’m still not sure whether it’s a little too young and edgy for me down there. What’s that expression I heard you use once? I feel like mutton dressed as lamb. But it’s great. The apartment takes dogs, so I’ve got Mars Bar with me. And it’s right near Prune. They do the best Sunday brunches.’
‘I’ve been. And the best Bloody Mary menu in town.’
‘For a long time I drank too much. I don’t any more,’ she said quietly. ‘Although the odd glass of champagne might tempt me tonight,’ she added as if she were trying to not be too sombre.
‘Well, I can recommend the non-alcoholic cocktails. The virgin mojito is excellent,’ he said as briskly as he could.
He took a moment to observe her, and watching her, eager and nervous, made his heart soften.
‘I can’t believe you came tonight,’ he said, unable to stop the crisp questioning note in his voice. He knew that his heart would probably always skip a beat when he saw her, but he couldn’t forget the day they had last spoken. The day she had admitted a sexual relationship with his father.
‘I wasn’t going to pay to see the house,’ she smiled, a moonbeam lighting up her face in the softest, most beautiful way. ‘This way I get to have a snoop around without having to book a room.’
Jim shrugged, unable to shake off his discomfort. ‘I would have sorted you out with a visit,’ he said, inhaling deeply, hoping that the faintly salty air would get rid of his own sudden desire for a drink.
‘It was difficult to come back today,’ she admitted.
‘I was going to get in touch,’ he said, surprising himself. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
‘I have something to say to you first,’ she said, closing her eyes as if to steel herself.
He heard her inhale deeply, then she opened her eyes and looked at him directly.
‘Don’t say anything, otherwise I might not get the words out,’ she said. ‘This is something I should have told you a long time ago.’
He hesitated. ‘Go on.’
She shook her head, then looked up at the sky.
‘That day,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘The day you left Savannah. I was raped.’
Jim felt as if he was falling through a trapdoor as pieces of a terrible puzzle began to fall into place.
‘Raped?’ he said, feeling uncomfortable even saying the word.
Jennifer stared at the ground intently. It was a few moments before she looked up again.
‘You remember the day after my twenty-first party,’ she said softly. ‘I left the barn, I left you, and went to see Connor to tell him it was over. He wasn’t happy; he almost hit me, in fact. But I did it. I did it because I wanted to be with you.’
‘Your letter . . . you said that you loved Connor . . .’
She took a deep breath before continuing.
‘I finished with Connor and I came to the Lake House to see you. I came to tell you that we could be together. But you weren’t there.’
Jim gave the smallest shake of his head, memories of the day tumbling back like a waterfall.
‘No one was home. I saw Bryn in the boathouse. He said you’d gone into the city and invited me in to wait for you. He gave me a drink, some gin, and we chatted . . .’
Jim closed his eyes. He felt sick at the thought of what she was going to say.
‘He asked about my documentary,’ she continued. ‘Told me how talented I was. I suppose I liked hearing that. The sun was shining through the window and I was happy. I remembered the way you’d made me feel the night before, and hearing your father, the big-name author, flatter me . . . it was almost as if I was in a movie, and I was a more lovely and clever version of myself. He asked me to have a look at his manuscript, and I suppose I didn’t think anything of it when he shut the door of the cabin behind him.’
Jim felt dazed, as if the whole world was spinning.
‘Stop, please,’ he said, his voice barely making it out of his throat.
‘His papers were on his desk and I started to read them,’ she continued. ‘My back was turned and then I felt him behind me and he was kissing my neck, just here.’ She touched a little patch of flesh behind her ear. ‘I was embarrassed and I told him to stop. He said, “Why settle for the boy when you can have the man?”’
Jim thought he saw the glint of a tear in the corner of her eye, but it could have been the moonlight.
‘I said no, but he didn’t listen,’ she said, dipping her head. ‘And then I stopped saying no because it was going to happen anyway.’
She fell silent for a moment, as if there were barely any words left to say.
‘I went and hid,’ she said at last, still looking down. ‘I wanted to hide until I had worked out what to do. But nothing felt right. How could I tell you? How could I not tell you?’
Jim didn’t speak for a moment. A cool breeze rustled through the bulrushes behind them.
‘Why are you only telling me this now?’ he asked finally, his emotions in turmoil.
‘I loved you, Jim. So I figured . . . I figured it was better to keep quiet. Better to write you a letter, tell you it was over, and for us not to see one another again. If I saw you, if I told you what your father had done, it would have forced you to pick a side. What was the point in pursuing it? Who would have believed me if I’d reported it? Was the young, impressionable girl really going to say no to the handsome, successful author? And even if I had pressed charges, how would that have turned out? It would have destroyed your family. You needed money, you needed a father, not a man locked in a foreign jail cell.’
‘I can’t believe he would do that,’ he said, his confusion almost making him feel dizzy. ‘You said . . . you said that you had sex with him. Why are you telling me a different story now?’
‘Because your father was in the hospital—’
‘And now he’s dead,’ he roared, spinning around and letting his eyes settle on the darkness of the lake. In the distance he could make out the silhouette of the boathouse, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
‘My father is dead,’ he repeated more quietly, turning to face her, his voice shaking with emotion. ‘Don’t do this. Don’t come and tell me this. You can’t,’ he said, the thickness in his throat making it difficult to breathe.
Jennifer didn’t take her eyes off him.
‘It wasn’t just my mother’s death that kept me away from Casa D’Or, that kept me apart from you. It was Bryn. And I knew that if I didn’t say anything, if I never gave us one last chance to be toget
her, then he’s won. They’ve won.’
‘No one has won, Jen,’ said Jim so quietly he could barely hear himself.
For a moment they stood there gazing at one another. And then he felt a swell of anger that almost knocked him to one side with the force of its surprise. He didn’t want to believe her; he couldn’t let himself believe her. He owed that to his father, to his father’s memory.
He took a step away from her, and she nodded as if she got the message.
‘I just thought you should know,’ she said, her voice cracking.
She turned and disappeared back towards the big white house glowing like a spectral face in the darkness. Back to the Plantation House. For Casa D’Or was gone now, and so was she.
Chapter Thirty-Six
1994
It was past two o’clock by the time Jennifer reached Casa D’Or. She parked her car on the driveway, and as she slammed the door of the vehicle behind her, she wiped her clammy palms on her skirt to steady herself. Glancing up at the big house, she wondered whether to go inside. On the drive over from the Gilberts’ house, she had steeled herself for another confrontation with her mother. Her showdown with Connor had not been easy, but it had given her the confidence to see this through. But as she stood in the shadow of Casa D’Or, she felt quite small, and a little less brave.
She heard a rustle behind her and turned anxiously. Relief made her sigh when she saw it was just Marion, coming from the direction of the walled garden carrying some tools.
‘Hey,’ she grinned, shielding her eyes from the sun.
‘Just been pruning some of the roses,’ Marion smiled. ‘It’s so warm for the flowers out there.’
Jennifer looked up to the sky and shrugged.
‘Not sure we’re going to have any rain this afternoon.’
‘News says there’s a storm coming,’ said Marion, putting her trowel in the enormous front pocket of her apron.
‘Your mama’s gone out,’ she said after another moment.
‘Good,’ said Jennifer without even thinking.
Marion gave a soft smile that suggested she agreed with her.
‘Did you have fun at the party last night?’ she asked.
‘It was incredible,’ Jennifer said, unable to hide a small, giddy laugh.
‘Feels good, doesn’t it?’ said Marion, looking intently at her.
‘What does?’
‘Being in love.’
Jennifer felt her cheeks flush, but she couldn’t help but smile.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I saw you with Jim Johnson last night. I’m glad you two finally sorted it out after all this messing around.’
‘Messing around? Is that what you call it?’ she asked.
‘First night you ever saw each other, I knew what was going to happen. Didn’t think you’d leave it quite this late, though.’
‘You knew he liked me?’ Jennifer said, grinning more broadly.
‘And you him. It was obvious.’
Jennifer glanced over towards the lake, which she could see through a tiny clearing in the gardens.
‘I wouldn’t exactly say I’ve sorted it out yet,’ she said, grateful to share her thoughts. She wasn’t particularly close to Marion. Although she had known her all her life, the fifteen-year age gap between them had always seemed too big for them ever to be friends. But suddenly she found strength in the housekeeper’s presence and wished that they could have shared confidences earlier.
‘Be brave and you will,’ said Marion with wise authority.
Jennifer walked around the lake to get to the Sittenfields’ house. The heat was still fierce and the water shimmered. Telltale tongues of orange had begun to appear on some of the foliage, but otherwise there was no clue that it was almost fall and summer was drawing to a close.
She watched a sandpiper peck for worms in the silt along the shore and wondered if she would ever walk this route again. There was really no need unless you were going to the Sittenfields’, and although Jennifer was in a hurry to tell Jim that she had ended her relationship with Connor, she wanted to savour every step to draw out the summer just a little bit longer.
She felt a flurry of nerves as the Lake House grew closer. Marion had been right when she said it was a good feeling being in love. Jennifer felt an excitement that made her want to shout from the rooftops, and a reassuring sense that things had just fallen into place. But she could feel something else too. Fear. Anxiety. She’d made no proper plans with Jim that morning. They had both been too giddy to even think about any strategy beyond Jim changing his flight to a later date. Now there was a palpable sense of the unknown, but reminding herself how much she trusted Jim, she dismissed it.
She was by the boathouse now and could see a shadow moving inside. She smiled at the thought of Bryn Johnson working until the final moment he was due to leave for the airport, and didn’t blame him for wanting to soak up every last minute of the glorious view.
Picking up her pace, she almost tripped over a canoe that lay carelessly on the grassy slope leading to the water. Hoping that Jim hadn’t been gazing out of the window at that precise moment, she ran the rest of the way to the back door, knocking hard as she waited for someone to open it. There was no response.
‘They went into town,’ called a familiar baritone from behind her.
She spun around and saw Bryn Johnson watching her from the balcony of the boathouse.
Bryn’s voice might have been loud enough to cross the length of the Sittenfields’ back lawn, but Jennifer didn’t want to be rude and holler back. She put her hands in the pockets of her sundress and walked towards him.
‘Know when Jim will be home?’ she asked as she got closer.
She took a minute to observe him. His feet were bare and a white shirt fell loose over the waistband of his beige trousers. A suntan from the warm Savannah summer had brought out the blue of his eyes, and Jennifer found herself wondering if this was what Jim would look like in thirty years’ time.
Bryn shrugged. ‘Left a while ago with Elizabeth. They should be back any time. Better had be. We have to leave for the airport at six.’
Jennifer felt uneasy. It was obvious that Jim’s father still thought his son was flying to New York with them that evening, before their onward journey to London. But a voice in her head told her to trust Jim and dismiss his remark.
She looked back across the lake towards Casa D’Or, debating whether to hang around.
‘Come inside and have a drink while you wait,’ said Bryn, as if he were reading her thoughts. ‘You can tell me what you think of my opus.’
‘You don’t want my opinion,’ she laughed.
‘An arts graduate from Wellesley College? I’d say you’re better qualified than anyone to give me some feedback. So long as it’s not too critical, of course,’ he laughed.
She had always felt a little bit scared of Bryn Johnson. He was a formidable character, and now there was the added pressure that he was her boyfriend’s father, and she wanted to impress him. But Bryn seemed to be in an affable mood as he ushered her into the cabin.
‘Have you ever tried gin and tonic?’ he asked as Jennifer looked around.
She had never been in the boathouse before. It was small and sparsely furnished, with large glass windows that overlooked the water, although the blinds were down to keep it cool in the heat of the day. A desk displaying all the signs of creative chaos – strewn papers, coffee cups and a solitary typewriter – was pushed against one wall. A leather armchair sat in another corner next to a teetering pile of books and a drinks trolley, the whole scene in stark contrast to the groomed perfection of Casa D’Or.
Bryn picked up an almost empty bottle and examined it.
‘We should get a couple of measures out of this,’ he muttered as he poured them both a glass.
He handed one to Jennifer, who sniffed the unfamiliar liquor.
‘I guess you’re old enough to drink now,’ he said, leaning against the desk and lookin
g at her.
‘Being twenty-one?’ she smiled, tilting her head to one side.
He nodded and knocked back his tipple.
‘How’s the documentary? Jim told me about it. Said you’d taken some of my sugestions on board.’
‘Your idea of interviewing parents was fantastic. It’s really added another layer to the narrative.’
‘I only threw a few things out there. It’s your talent that will make it as good as it can be. Remember, when you’re ready, get in touch and I’ll show it to some contacts in New York.’
She sipped her gin and motioned towards the desk.
‘So how’s your book coming on? Is it finished?’
‘Not yet,’ he snorted. ‘I put myself under a lot of pressure to get things just right. The curse of success,’ he said more ruefully.
‘I’m sure it’s brilliant,’ smiled Jennifer, feeling warm in the lazy stream of sunlight coming in through a skylight overhead. ‘What’s it about?’
‘Desire,’ he said simply.
‘I wish I could sum up my documentary in one word like that.’
‘You can. Hope.’
He put his drink on the desk and turned around to gather some of his papers.
‘Here,’ he muttered. ‘I need an objective opinion on this scene.’
Jennifer came towards the desk, her arm brushing against his shirtsleeve as she stood next to him. She could smell that strong juniper scent of gin again, and realised it was on his breath. As he touched the paper with his fingertip, one of the straps of her sundress fell off her shoulder.
She adjusted it quickly and began to read, not noticing that Bryn had gone to lock the door of the boathouse behind them.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The woods on the Casa D’Or estate had been largely untouched since the plantation days. It was not a particularly dense forest – the mix of pine, poplar and palmetto let in streaks of sun through the canopy of twigs and leaves – but still, Jennifer had always found it a haunting place. Slave cabins once stood in the clearings, and although her grandfather had pulled them down decades before, the thought still made her feel uncomfortable. She was sure the only reason her father kept the woods was to make the acreage of the estate sound more impressive, and she generally avoided coming here. But that afternoon, after the boathouse, it was the first place she had thought of. She had found a tree and curled up against the rough bark of its trunk, the skirt of her dress pulled tightly over her knees, arms hugged around her shins, and she had sat there for an hour, maybe two, tears rolling down her cheeks until they dried on her skin.
The House on Sunset Lake Page 27
