Chapter 24
Chapter 24
Traveling business class on a transatlantic flight was a curiously solitary experience. Partitions closed off Dan’s pod, separating him from his traveling companion. If he lowered his side panel he could converse with Hannah, whose seat faced in the opposite direction. But she was sleeping her way across the ocean, cocooned in the complimentary blanket.
Twice a year she combined a trip to her Acorn Films office in Boston with a visit to her parents’ Maine farm, and on this one she was in an advanced state of pregnancy. When Martin admitted concerns that he hadn’t dared voice to a fiercely independent spouse, Dan had offered to serve as her escort and baggage handler. His relieved boss shifted his annual vacation leave from August to July.
Since Ellie’s departure in the limousine that carried her to Heathrow, he’d struggled to conquer the time difference, scheduling the occasional video link-up and regularly messaging her. He’d booked a room at The Maples before informing her of his intention, so she wouldn’t feel obliged to invite him to her cottage. She accepted his choice, assuring him that she and the innkeepers would provide what she described as the quintessential On Golden Pond experience.
Seeing that film listed on the in-flight entertainment guide, he watched it. The aging couple played by Katharine Hepburn and Henry Fonda owned a seasonal lakeside cottage that did resemble the one in photos Ellie had shown him. He imagined himself sitting beside her on the wooden dock, or on the porch, listening to the cry of loons in the bay.
Movement nearby alerted him to Hannah’s wakefulness.
“Did I sleep through meal service?”
“No.”
“Good.” She patted her bulge. “Little one makes me peckish.” Unbuckling her seatbelt, she said, “Better stretch my legs. And I need the loo.”
Dan scrolled through the classic film offerings. Inclined to stick with Katharine Hepburn, he pressed the icon for The Philadelphia Story. He enjoyed Holiday but wasn’t keen on its central conflict, fierce parental opposition to a romantic attachment.
When he’d phoned Tayer Court with news of his journey to New England, his dad’s response was muted. He stirred a semblance of interest by citing his planned fly-fishing excursion with a local guide recommended by Zack and George.
Hannah returned to her seat with two mini-packets of biscuits and passed one to Dan. Her head fell back against her headrest. “I should get some work done,” she said, as if trying to convince herself. “I have to get through two full days of Boston meetings before I can escape to the Maine coast. Why aren’t you staying with Ellie? That cottage must be an ideal love nest.”
“I wasn’t asked to change my reservation.” Removing his watch, he re-set it to five hours earlier than London time.
“I had a feeling the two of you would hook up, that day she made Shamrock Burgers. When you brought her to Stanwell, I was certain of it.”
“You provided the setting for our first kiss. The terrace.”
“The kitchen, for Martin and me,” she said reminiscently. “I don’t understand Terry’s opposition.”
While waiting in the upper-class lounge for their call to board the aircraft, Dan had vented to her about his father’s prejudice against Ellie. “At Tayer Court, he gave off an uncharacteristic lord of the manor vibe. Whatever transpired at the British Ballet reception upset her even more.” He shifted in his seat. “I’m disappointed by Dad’s attitude, but it’s overshadowed by a greater concern.”
“I can’t imagine what it could be.”
“Her husband. The playwright was at school with Ellie and roomed with Harry Colman. Who, according to Gil Cooke, was appallingly selfish and thoroughly beastly. He described their marriage as a disaster. A nightmare.”
“Wow.” Hannah pushed her curls off her brow. “I guess that’s why she hardly ever talks about it.”
“None of my prior relationships lasted very long. Perhaps the failure was mine—or maybe it wasn’t. At the start of this year, I deleted the dating app I’d been using. From the moment I encountered Ellie, I was fascinated. Talented. Hardworking. Successful. Determined. I’ve been afraid I’d scare her off by wanting so much, too soon. Only to find out that her marital history is an even bigger obstacle. Wouldn’t you say it’s problematic?”
“Not necessarily,” she hedged. “I mean, she wouldn’t want to get involved with another jerk. After being married to horrible Harry, she needs a decent chap. Exactly like the one flying across an ocean to spend time with her.”
The seasonal cottage overlooking a narrow bay provided Ellie with a respite from the demands of her various professions and reconnected her to happy summertime activities. Her grandad taught her to swim in the shallow water. It was deeper at the far end of the dock, where she and her siblings had jumped in—or pushed each other off. During her moody adolescence, she’d escaped with the family dog for solitary walks on the private dead-end road winding through the woodland. The heirloom dining table had been used for countless card games and puzzles. Like her, the loons calling to one another at dawn and throughout the night were descendants of prior inhabitants.
Each morning began with Pilates, her warm-up before online class. A section of the porch floor was covered with the large square of marley she’d danced on throughout the pandemic, and her portable barre was a permanent fixture. While dipping into pliés or stretching a leg in tendu, she heard chickadees chirping on the hemlock branches and a constant buzz of boats and jet skis in the bay. On alternate days she drove to a Wolfeboro dance studio for morning barre and center work, followed by a lunch with George and Zack at The Maples, if they weren’t otherwise occupied. Or she visited Cousin Phil, who lived at the boarding school in staff housing. Sometimes she booked a massage at an upscale spa at the bridge by the falls.
On July Fourth she’d invited Mom and Daddo to lunch, and Phil brought his stepmother. Her brother Liam hadn’t been able to take time off from The Shamrock, and her sister Marie spent the holiday at her partner’s house on Martha’s Vineyard. Despite these absences, Ellie and her guests had recreated past gatherings. Her dad had grilled salmon and her mom steamed the peas. Her cousin sliced tomatoes and mushrooms for the salad. Seated around the table, they reminisced about family members living or deceased. Just before sunset, when the house was empty and silent, Ellie settled into her favorite porch chair to watch the parade of boats heading down to the fireworks show at the village bandstand. When darkness descended, she could see and hear the smaller pyrotechnic displays along the opposite shoreline.
This afternoon she’d mopped the kitchen floor, dusted every surface, vacuumed carpets, plumped pillows, and wound the mantel clock. The flight app on her phone informed her that Dan and Hannah had landed in Boston on time. He’d boarded the scheduled bus to Concord, which was due in less than two hours. Before meeting him, she wanted to stop in Birchmont to see her mother.
He wouldn’t mind if she showed up in shorts and t-shirt. But the dance academy pupils and parents and staff were expected to adhere to the dress code, slightly less rigorous than during Ellie’s youth. She changed into a sundress and sandals, adding her gold hoop earrings and a necklace and a cuff bracelet. She didn’t bother to pin up her hair, still damp and stringy from a midday swim.
One of her parents’ vehicles, a years-old black Mercedes, was reserved for her use when in New Hampshire. Cautiously she reversed, avoiding collision with several broad tree trunks, and followed the one-and-a-half lane private road, prepared to pull aside to make room for any oncoming cars.
She found her mother seated before a computer screen, inspecting a series of promotional poster designs. Ellie neither expected nor received a welcoming hug. Ballet dancers, active or retired, came in two flavors: expressive and emotional or reticent and introverted. Aunt Renée was the former, embracing her pupils when they excelled or needed a comforting gesture. Mom was the latter, sparing with praise.
“Rafe says hello,” she told Ellie. “We were on a video call this morning.”
“He’s supposed to be on vacation.”
“For an administrator, there’s no escaping work.” Mom’s hand made a graceful ballerina sweep across a stack of papers. “Feel free to pitch in.”
“Next time. I can’t stay long—the bus to Concord has already crossed the state line. Did Rafe find someone to coach at your summer intensive?”
“He suggested names for my list of prospects. Renée and I are in discussion with an academy on the seacoast, exploring the possibility of joint sponsorship and shared expenses. With training to take place here.” Mom smiled. “Rafe had a lot to say about you.”
She knew what was coming.
“Is your friend’s play worth giving up your best—probably last—chance of dancing with a major company? As a soloist.”
“You two shouldn’t conspire against me.”
“Not against,” Mom insisted.
Ellie’s phoned pinged. Taking it out of her purse, she said, “Dan just passed through the tollway.”
“When will your Daddo and I meet him?”
“I’m not sure. Trust me, you will. It’s payback time. After going a couple of rounds with his father, I get to inflict my parents on him.”
“If you think we’re so bad,” her mother retorted, “I’ve got a collection of embarrassing baby photos I can show him. Better yet, the video of your first dance recital.”
“What’s so incriminating? I won the top award.”
“Your behavior when the judges presented it to you.”
“Five-year-olds jump up and down when they’re happy,” Ellie pointed out. “Admit it, you were proud of me.”
“Toujours, chérie,” The phrase was equivalent to a hug. French was her Québécois parent’s love language.
“Dan wants to see the pub and sample a genuine Shamrock Burger. I’ll let you know when we plan to drop in.”
“How will you spend the anniversary?”
A question Ellie should have anticipated. “With Dan. Touring the lake on the motorship Mount Washington. Not thinking about it.”
Minutes after she reached the station, the bus eased into a parking bay. Passengers stepped down and waited for the driver to remove their variously colored roller bags and duffels from the luggage compartment. Her pulses raced as she watched for Dan’s tall figure. As he waited for his suitcase, the wind ruffled his dark hair. Her heart and head filled with feelings she wasn’t yet brave enough to express.
They embraced. And kissed.
Leading him to the Mercedes, she asked, “Was your flight okay?” She pressed the remote to raise the trunk lid.
“Not bad. Occasionally bumpy—headwinds. Awfully long. Hannah says hello.” He shrugged. “And other things I can’t recall. Half my brain is still in the clouds, despite two hours on the bus. Nice car.”
“A loaner from my parents.”
Making his way to the driver’s side, he stopped, realizing his mistake. They both laughed.
Following the speediest northward route, she pointed out personally relevant landmarks. A place she’d once stopped so a moose could cross the road. The spot where, years ago, a tornado had ripped away the treetops and scattered them on the ground. At the summit of a hill, she pulled off the highway at the sign designating it a scenic viewpoint. From that vantage, they could gaze upon the lake spread out below, shimmering blue, dotted with green islands, surrounded by rounded mountains.
“Considerably larger than I expected,” Dan said.
“You’ll get a better sense of its size when you’re in the middle,” she replied. “According to your hosts, the room rate includes a voucher for you and a guest to take a cruise on the motorship that stops at all the lakeside ports.”
He looked away from the vista. “You’ll be my plus one?”
“Of course. Zack will make the reservation. Tell him we want the Sunday sailing. That’s when the ship comes to my bay and passes right by the cottage.”