Chapter 12 24 December 2016
Hannah’s breath caught as the sleek black limo pulled up the gravel drive, flanked on both sides by ancient pines strung with soft white lights, and purred to a stop in front of Bellport House.
Madison had described the place as a former ‘gentlemen’s fishing lodge turned private estate’, but she’d failed to mention its grandeur.
The three-storey manor sat on a remote, wind-carved peninsula with the Atlantic at its back.
The black slate roof had been worn smooth by salt air, and woodsmoke drifted from twin stone chimneys.
It was charming and majestic at the same time, an involuntary wave of gratitude and wonder that she’d been included in this exclusive DuPont affair swept over her.
Elle, for her part, was home seething with jealousy, a thought Hannah quickly brushed aside.
How many lavish DuPont family events must Elle Harrington have attended over the years?
Besides, when Madison had invited Hannah to be her plus-one for her cousin’s wedding, she’d insisted that the Harringtons had long-standing Christmas Eve traditions that Elle simply could not miss.
She wouldn’t have been able to attend anyway, Madison had said. And I want you as my date!
The look on Elle’s face at school last week had said otherwise, but Hannah couldn’t worry about that now. She was here.
The sharp December wind blew off the ocean and tore her long brown curls from their clasp as the valet opened the limo door and she stepped out onto the circular drive.
It was three o’clock, and already the winter sun was beginning to fade.
Snow dusted the pines and the roof of the caretaker’s cottage beyond.
She pulled her Max Mara coat in navy wool, a loan from Madison, tightly around her and fastened the belt.
For a moment, she stood still, allowing the scent of sea and woodsmoke to fill her nostrils and settle into her clothes.
She’d been in New York for four months now, but this was her first time on Long Island, her first time pressed up against the ocean.
‘Come on.’ Madison was at her side then, hooking her arm through the crook of Hannah’s elbow and guiding her up the path, where lanterns flickered in the waning late afternoon light, up to the front of the manor where a simple brass nameplate read Bellport House on Montauk Point, est. 1887.
A fir garland was tied to the entry with raw silk ribbons in a dusky red, a tasteful nod to the season.
She would be missing the traditional Miller family dumplings and bad Christmas movies night, but the DuPonts had pledged to have her home by midnight, and this wedding promised to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
She grinned and allowed herself to be guided inside.
The entry hall was warm, the light low and golden.
She breathed in. It smelled of oranges and cloves, mixed with the woodsmoke from the fireplaces burning at each end of the house.
Swiftly, she found herself whisked to the cloakroom, where a young attendant took her coat and offered her a steaming mug of sweet, heavily spiced cider.
Hannah took a small sip and turned to find Madison, but she was already walking down the entry corridor towards her brother, who stood slouched against the wall, arms folded across the front of his slim-cut tux, looking sullen and bored.
She wondered why Alex hadn’t invited Ami as his plus-one, a question that had kept her little sister up last night crying into her pillow.
She still had her reservations about Ami getting swept up in the DuPonts and their crowd, but Alex had been a good friend to Ami their first semester at Prescott, and so far, he seemed to attract – and generate – far less drama than his sister.
Madison and Alex fell into a low, heated conversation, their two red heads bent close together, so Hannah took a seat on a built-in window bench and pulled her phone from her clutch.
Behind her back, the air was chilly; the single-paned windows were slightly rippled, the glass original to the house.
Three unread texts from Elle Harrington. Hannah swallowed.
Hi, love!
Hope Madison is showing you the most fabulous time at Bellport House.
I’m sure she’ll be the most generous host, seeing as you don’t know another soul on Montauk.
Hannah glanced down the corridor. Madison and Alex were gone. Well played, Elle. Hannah had the shivery sense of being watched – or perhaps Elle simply knew her best friend inside out.
Her thumb hovered above the keypad. What the hell was she supposed to say?
Having the most wonderful time, sorry you didn’t get an invite? It’s magical here, don’t shoot the messenger? Actually, Madison’s already abandoned me?
She settled for:
It’s so beautiful! Thanks for checking in!
Hannah grimaced at the pair of exclamation marks, then shoved her phone back into her bag before she could make another mistake and check The Upper Edge.
Last she’d looked, all of Prescott was simply aghast that Madison had chosen Hannah, out of all her significantly more sophisticated and more moneyed options, as her guest. Hoping she wouldn’t be caught staring, she surveyed the steady stream of guests stepping inside the entry hall, the oak floor creaking gently beneath velvet slippers and gleaming dress shoes.
There were only one hundred invitees to this intimate affair, fifty on each side – a number not determined by the size of the manor, which certainly could have accommodated a larger crowd, but to generate a sense of exclusivity suitable for the occasion.
The chosen few ranged in age from the very young – she spotted several children and a baby that looked no older than a few weeks – to the very old, but all were impeccably dressed for the black-tie wedding of the season.
Overcoats came off to reveal wool tuxedos, crisp bow ties, silk gowns and vintage brooches.
For her part, Hannah was dressed in a tea-length dress made of dove grey tulle, paired with pearl satin flats, both on loan from the DuPonts.
Madison’s look was more striking – an off-the-shoulder pine green Miu Miu gown with a fishtail hem, her red hair half-up in a twist – and Hannah breathed in, then out.
While she wasn’t going to appear in any photographs in tomorrow’s society pages, she didn’t look out of place.
Reassured, she rose from the bench and wandered down the entry corridor in the direction of the Great Hall, in search of Madison and Alex.
The hall was grand, but decorated to appear intimate, its cathedral ceiling exposing blackened oak beams strung with strands of greenery and small white lights.
A low-burning fire smouldered at a broad stone hearth, and all around, candlelight flickered.
For the next half an hour, Hannah made small talk with an older gentleman with a posh British accent, who identified himself as Mary Fairfax’s great-uncle.
While he regaled her with stories of his travels through Turkey and Greece, she glanced around for the DuPonts among the guests enjoying glasses of cider and mulled wine, to no avail.
Why had Madison even bothered to invite her?
When the clock struck four, she found herself being ushered back to the cloakroom, where a cluster of attendants advised guests to dress warmly for the sunset ceremony on the bluffs. It was time to go back outside.
The ceremony itself was beautiful and brief – the happy couple stood beneath a natural stone arch with the Atlantic at their backs.
Mary Fairfax was pale and dark haired; she wore an ivory wool cape trimmed in real fox fur.
Caleb DuPont wore the family crest discreetly pinned to his midnight blue tux.
Beneath them was a woven rug; on either side of the altar, deep green pine branches had been arranged in tall vases.
All around, lanterns and hurricane candles flickered in the chilly December air while the sun began its dramatic decline.
Hannah gratefully accepted a thick wool blanket and hand-warmer and allowed herself to be guided to a seat near the back.
Madison and Alex had been seated in the second row alongside their parents.
A strong breeze blew in off the ocean, and the temperature seemed to drop by ten degrees.
Hannah’s teeth began to chatter. As the sky turned lavender, then orange, a quartet sang softly, and Caleb and Mary took their vows.
All the while, Hannah was consumed by the same unnerving feeling of being watched that she’d had inside. Hoping no one would notice, she slipped her phone from her clutch and held it surreptitiously between her knees.
The ceremony must be starting by now. Let me guess, they’ve bundled you up with blankets, but it’s still colder than a witch’s titty.
Her head snapped up. What the fuck? She scanned the rows of guests, but Elle Harrington was nowhere to be seen. Of course she wasn’t. Elle might be the jealous type, but she could hardly imagine her missing Christmas Eve on the Upper East Side to, what? Stalk the DuPont–Fairfax wedding?
As the ceremony drifted into cocktail hour, Hannah found herself inside the drawing room, holding a glass of Italian spring water.
A cellist played in the corner, and through the tall windows, the dark sea lapped at the cliffs below.
Madison was nowhere to be found, but Alex sat by himself in a vintage salon chair, tapping furiously at his phone.
Hannah slipped into the chair beside him.
‘Having fun yet?’
Alex looked up and quickly shoved his phone into his jacket pocket.
‘Hannah. Hey. And no, this wedding is more steeped in old-world glamour and intense boredom than the last, thank you for asking.’
‘Where’s your plus-one?’ she asked.
Just then, a white-gloved server stopped in front of them with a silver tray filled with aged cheddar gougères piped with white truffle béchamel.