Chapter 25
Chapter 25
“A merica’s Oldest Summer Resort,” Dan read from the sign positioned at the Wolfeboro town line.
“An honest boast,” Ellie affirmed. “Before the Revolution, a British royal governor decided that he preferred spending the warmer months near a lake instead of on the seacoast.”
She signaled a left turn and entered a straight driveway lined with parallel rows of old maples, from which the property derived its name. The white clapboard Federal-era farmhouse had rows of sash windows set between dark green shutters. Roses bloomed in shades of pink and red. Perennial beds were full of kaleidoscope colors: indigo blue bellflowers and purple delphiniums and magenta lilies and towering yellow sunflowers. The parking area contained two SUVs, one hybrid and one electric, and a Volvo.
Before Ellie switched off the engine, Zack bounded through the front door. He seized the handle of Dan’s wheeled suitcase and ushered him into the house.
“The parlor,” he said, indicating a room on one side of the foyer, then pointed in the opposite direction. “Dining room.” Trailing his free hand up the stairway handrail, he said reverently, “Maple wood.”
Ellie retreated to the kitchen, situated where the main house and the modern extension met. She found George on the other side of the dog gate.
A young Golden Retriever and a tiny tri-color Papillon trotted over. “Hello, Rudi.” She patted the caramel head of Zack’s pet, named for Rudolf Nureyev. “Hi, Dita.” Like burlesque star Dita von Teese, George’s small companion had a diva personality.
“Perfect timing,” he greeted her. “You can be my taste-tester.”
She sniffed and the aroma drew her to the granite-topped island. “Cinnamon buns. Wow, that’s a lot.”
“We’re fully booked for the weekend.”
“Zack couldn’t wait to give the tour. I didn’t rate so much as a hello.”
“You know how he is. Don’t take it personally.”
“I didn’t.” She bit into the yeasty, spicy, sugary bun. “Sinfully yummy.”
They had time to exchange news before Zack swept through the dining room to the kitchen, followed by Dan.
“Welcome to The Maples,” George greeted him. “Has jet lag kicked in?”
“Starting to.”
“If you have issues with dogs—some guests do—we’ll keep ours in here.”
Dan leaned over the gate and scratched behind one of Rudi’s dangling ears. “I’m mad for them. I tell my Somerset friends that’s the main reason I visit.”
“You ought to have your own,” Ellie told him. “Your flat and office are in the same building. With access to Green Park for exercising.”
Zack lifted Dita off the floor for a cuddle. “You’d love living in London, wouldn’t you, precious?”
Ellie tore off a portion of cinnamon bun and passed it to Dan. “Preview of tomorrow’s breakfast.”
Zack placed the dog on the floor, saying, “You can have a cup of tea to go with it. Or locally brewed craft beer.”
“Beer sounds wonderfully refreshing.”
“On Saturday,” George said, “we’ve got a wedding dinner in the barn. Our caterer lets us add our overnight guests to the order, with a day’s notice. Let us know if you’re interested.”
“He’ll be at The Shamrock. An essential cultural experience.”
“What can we serve you this evening?” George asked.
Dan shook his head. “Not much. I was eating my way across the Atlantic. In business class.”
“French omelet?” Zack suggested. “Our neighbor supplies us with fresh eggs every day.”
“I’ll gather the herbs,” Ellie volunteered. “And show Dan the outbuildings.”
When she turned towards the back door, George said, “Barn’s open. A florist is coming by soon to decide where to place the arrangements.”
After picking chives, thyme, and tarragon, she led Dan to the structure behind the house. The entire space was filled with round tables surrounded by gold-painted faux bamboo chairs.
“For rehearsal dinners or wedding receptions,” she explained. “On Sunday afternoons, it’s a concert venue for local musicians. During the week there are lectures and author appearances and contra dances. A monthly craft show sets up on the grounds. Not a day goes by without an inquiry.” She led him around the granite boulders protruding from the lawn towards a classic white gazebo, encircled with a flowery border. “Couples can exchange their vows here. Or down at the lake, against a background of mountains. That path leads to the water and a dock.”
He reached for her hand. “I’ve missed you.”
“What did your father say when he learned about your trip?”
“He warned me that you Americans drive on the wrong side. And he wished me tight lines. Fisherman speak for good luck. The equivalent of merde for ballet dancers.”
The enormous motorship’s engine rumbled as it churned the waters of Wolfeboro Bay. Her horn sounded a farewell blast for the spectators on the docks.
Dan looked up from his phone. “Hannah offers to collect me from The Maples on her way back to Boston.” Ellie moved closer, and her shoulder pressed against his upper arm.
“Tell her she’ll find you at the cottage. You’re spending the night with me. It’s your only option. I told Zack and George to release your room, and by now they’ve probably let somebody else have it.”
Their fellow passengers either gathered at the rail to study the scenery or had gone inside the main cabin to queue for the brunch buffet. After gorging on the Shamrock Burger and Fingal’s Fries that Liam Lowery had served him last night, he had no appetite.
Ellie jutted a finger towards a bulge of tree-covered land. “Rattlesnake Island.”
“How did the snakes ever get over there? Can they swim?” A common question, apparently, because a male voice crackled over the tannoy, recounting various legends connected to the naming of the island. Sensing his mobile’s vibration, he assumed it was Hannah. “Email from Dad, planning Brian’s birthday.”
“No message for me? ‘Hands off my son, you vixen!’ Harry’s parents never said that to my face, but they were thinking it. I could read those thought bubbles hanging over their heads.”
This confirmed what Gil had told him. “You didn’t get on with them.”
“They didn’t care for me. I was the wrong girlfriend for their darling only son. They probably thought I pressured Harry into eloping, not realizing his influence over me was stronger than mine over him. I was a teenager, after all. And waiting so long to tell them was his idea. Not mine.” Gazing at the white clouds high above them, she added, “The Colmans never understood that what he wanted and what they wanted for him were very different. They assumed he’d outgrow his love of acting.”
“How long after marrying him did you regret it?”
Her auburn head swiveled in his direction. “Never. From the moment we met, I sensed that we belonged together. So did he.”
“No friction at all?”
“How do you mean?”
“Clashing performers’ egos. Professional jealousy. Competitiveness.”
“None of that. Sure, we could get cranky with each other, like stubborn people do. But we didn’t stay mad for long. We laughed way more than we quarreled. He teased me about being promoted to soloist before I was old enough to vote or be served a bar drink. At his graduation, I threw confetti over him when he marched down the aisle with his diploma.” Her tone shifted when she said, “We relied on each other in the tough times. Sometimes—not often—he wasn’t cast in the role he wanted most. My job at City International was physically exhausting, but that was nothing compared to the emotional and psychological strain. I’d come home to Harry and vent after being advised—again—to consider breast reduction surgery.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Someone said that to you?”
“Frequently.”
“Why?”
“Normal sized tits were problematic. The mean, flat-chested girls in the corps were jealous of my rapid rise through the ranks. They called me Ellie Mae—a busty airhead hick on The Beverly Hillbillies television show. Or Jessica Rabbit, from the animated movie. I stuck it out. Until Harry convinced me that doing plays with him would be easier and way more fun. He was right. Cleavage was no longer an issue.”
Everything she’d said contradicted the playwright’s description of her marriage, and he couldn’t doubt that her version was the accurate one. Harry Colman was the love of her life.
She went on, “He liked to say that he could afford to be a poor stage actor. But I know he could’ve had a career in movies or television if he wanted to. Because he was an only child, we were supposed have two kids. Whenever I felt ready. He really wanted to be a dad.” She pointed to a distant vessel on the starboard side. “There’s the mail boat. In summertime, it makes deliveries to all the inhabited islands.”
Ellie’s reminiscences of the late Harry Colman had summoned a ghostly companion for the duration of their journey around the lake.
While collecting his belongings from The Maples, Dan pondered the facts he’d learned about the first man to love the woman he was in love with. Ellie’s husband had been a paragon, not a prick. Harry had been her soul mate. Could a person have more than one in a lifetime?
He thanked Zack and George for a pleasant stay, patted each dog, and climbed into her car. For the rest of their time together, he needed to conceal from her how shaken he was by her revelations.
She diverted from the main road to a lesser one and turned onto a private tarmacked lane that wound through forest. Most of the houses, she told him, were seasonal, and few were occupied year-round. Her shingled cottage, among the oldest in the compound, perched on a ridge high above the water. Most of its windows faced the green folds of mountains on the other side of the bay.
They ate their evening meal on the screened porch, talking over the persistent buzz of watercraft speeding back and forth. She wanted to know more of his history with Martin. He gave his side of the tale she’d heard during their stay at Stanwell House and related what he knew about the Latimers’ courtship. After tidying the kitchen, they descended a steep wooden stairway to the dock. She pulled two chairs close together and they sat down to watch the sun slip behind the hills. The clouds were tinged pink and gold, and gradually the sky changed from blue to violet to deep purple. With the receding light, a pale silhouette of moon appeared and the stars emerged.
“What made you think there was friction between Harry and me?”
“That’s what Gil Cooke said.”
She turned a startled face towards him. “He did? When?”
“The day of your table read. I rocked up to theatre to find out how it went. He stepped outside for a smoke, and we introduced ourselves. He mentioned sharing a room with Harry at school. He described your husband as an extremely disagreeable chap.”
Her dark eyebrows jutted downward. “That’s bizarre. They were friends. He was actually present when Harry, the most popular person in the whole school, invited me to go clubbing with a bunch of drama students. That was the beginning of us as a couple. For weeks, Gil was the only one who knew about our Weehawken elopement. We didn’t tell our parents till the start of fall term.” She banged her fist on the chair arm. “Why would he talk trash about Harry?”
Envy, Dan deduced, because that’s exactly what he was feeling. “He told me you were traumatized.”
“By people at City International Ballet. Never by Harry. He was everything to me.”
So many years after his untimely demise, her husband still possessed all the pieces of her fractured heart.
Ellie came awake to the cry of loons calling to one another somewhere in the bay. She eased herself from under the covers, careful not to wake Dan. Quietly creeping to the kitchen, she took a glass from the dish drain rack and filled it from the jug of well water she kept in the fridge. A thick, impenetrable fog hovered over the water, obscuring the opposite shore and its layers of green mountains.
The glowing digits of the microwave clock warned her that Hannah would appear in approximately five hours. After lunch, she and Dan would depart for Boston and the airport, well in advance of their early evening flight to London. Returning to the bedroom, she saw that Dan was asleep, his bare torso rising and falling with each deep breath. The mattress shifted as she settled next to him.
“What’s the time?” he mumbled.
“Not quite seven.”
He rolled onto his side. “You were right about this place resembling the setting in On Golden Pond . The lake. The loons. I’ve never seen a sunset like the one you ordered up for me yesterday. None of the images on my mobile fully convey its splendor.”
During his brief time in the bathroom, she shed her sleep shorts and camisole. On his return, his answer to her clear invitation was to comb her hair with his fingers. Warm palms slid to her breasts and along her ribcage, evoking a gurgle of pleasure.
Last night she’d been aware of an urgency to Dan’s passion, and this morning it was even more evident. In his determination to ensure her satisfaction, he produced the most exquisite sensations, culminating in a pleasure so intense that it felt surreal.
Lying against him, cheek to chest, feeling his heartbeat, she shared his conviction that they could overcome and withstand any and all difficulties.
She wondered whether he ever thought about marriage. When—or if—he proposed to her, she would joyfully accept. This time she preferred a longer engagement, in the belief that his father needed to know her more fully. She already had the dress, the spangled organza she’d worn to the BBT reception, an unvirginal off-white, exactly right for a second wedding.
They each took a turn in the tiny shower stall in the adjacent bathroom. The porch, where she intended to serve breakfast, was chilly, so she put on her fleece hoodie and gave him Liam’s. The loons, trawling for their morning meal, continued to serenade them, and each other.
A bonded pair, she thought. Like us.
After clearing the table and washing up, they walked all the way to the summit of the nearby headland.
“What will you give Brian for his birthday?” Ellie asked on their way to the cottage.
“I haven’t decided.”
“You could print one of your jackdaw photos and frame it, to hang in his room.”
By mutual agreement, they’d left their cellphones behind on the kitchen table. When Ellie picked hers up, she saw the voicemail icon and a number with a New York City area code. After listening to the lengthy message—twice—she fled to the porch to ponder her response to a call she couldn’t ignore. She stared across the bay at the mountains range, illuminated by the sun. A hummingbird soared down from a branch to the nectar feeder hanging from the nearest tree.
She heard Dan’s suitcase rolling across the living room floor.
When he joined her, she blurted, “I had a weird telephone call. From the Colmans’ attorney.”
“Oh?”
“They’re inviting me to their house on Long Island. They’ll take care of my travel. Round-trip flight from Manchester, in premier class. A car and driver from La Guardia to Southampton and back.”
“They must need to confer with you about a legal or a financial matter.”
“Doubtful. Actually, impossible. I inherited both of Harry’s trust funds and was the sole beneficiary of his life insurance policy.” She exhaled heavily. “I don’t want to see them.”
“Can’t you devise a plausible excuse?”
“I won’t try. Harry would want me to make nice.”
He stepped away from her. Lowering his voice, he said, “I can change my plane reservation and go with you.”
“That wouldn’t be fair to Hannah.”
“What about your Aunt Camille?”
“She’s having a holiday in Quebec, at a cousin’s cottage in the middle of nowhere. It’s okay. I’ll survive.” A movement near the dock caught her eye. “Look—the loons. Let’s go down to the water so you can see them up close.”