A Hundred Summers: The ultimate romantic escapist beach read. Beatriz Williams
hair, of course. And all that tanned skin! How has she managed to get so brown already, Lily?” Budgie straightened and looked at me with laughing eyes.
“She was out playing on the beach all day.”
All at once, I became conscious of the preternatural quiet saturating the veranda. The clink of glasses, the hum of conversation: everything had settled into stillness. A breeze stirred between us, loosening my already unruly hair; I tucked a strand behind my ear and tried to ignore the sidelong gazes pressed to my back, the finely tuned attention in the air.
“Lucky girl, to have such skin. Oh, look. You’re empty already.” She placed her hand on Nick’s arm, her left hand. Three square diamonds competed for precedence on her ring finger, overwhelming the slim gold band that contained them. “Darling, be a gentleman and refill Lily’s glass.”
Nick held out his open palm. I had forgotten how large his hands were, the way they dwarfed mine. “What are you having, Lily?” he asked.
I placed the glass against his fingers. “Gin and tonic.”
He turned to Budgie. “Anything I can get for you, darling?”
“I’ll have the same.” Without warning, Budgie linked her arm into mine. “We’ll have a nice chat while you’re gone, won’t we, Lily?”
“I ought to find my mother and Aunt Julie. We’re supposed to have dinner.”
“Oh, join us. They should join us, Nick, shouldn’t they?” She turned, but Nick had already disappeared in search of gin. “Well, I’m sure he’ll agree. He’ll be delighted to catch up with you, after all these years.”
“I can’t speak for my mother …” My skin shrank away from the touch of her arm. I took a step back, as if put off balance by the unfamiliar pressure. Kiki turned her face up, looking at me anxiously.
“Oh, please, Lily. I’ve been so eager to see you again.” A new note entered her voice, or rather left it: a shedding of brightness. Her arm tightened and pulled me back. “I’ve missed you, honey. We used to have such good times. Sometimes I think …”
“Lily! There you are.”
Mrs. Hubert’s voice bolted between us, so suddenly that Budgie’s arm jerked back as if caught in some naughtiness by a sharp-eyed teacher.
I followed the sound to the corner of the veranda, from which Mrs. Hubert advanced with a purposeful stride, sparing not a glance for Budgie, nor for the interested eyes following her progress over the rims of an army of highball glasses.
“We’ve been wondering where you got to. I’ve asked your mother to join us for dinner tonight. We’re inside, I’m afraid, but surely you’ve had enough sea air for one evening.” Her voice was laden with meaning.
I hesitated and looked at Budgie, whose face had stiffened into a false smile. “Budgie has just asked me to join her and Nick. You remember Budgie, don’t you, Mrs. Hubert?”
“Of course I remember Budgie.” She finished her sentence before turning her gaze to Budgie herself. “How do you do. It’s Mrs. Greenwald now, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
Mrs. Hubert passed right over the customary congratulations, and instead said: “What a stylish dress you’re wearing, Mrs. Greenwald. You look like a film star.” Her tone conveyed exactly what she thought of film stars.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hubert. You’re looking well. I can’t believe …”
“I’m afraid, however, I must steal Lily and Kiki away. We’re deep in discussion for the Fourth of July party at the moment, and I can’t possibly spare her.”
This was news to me, as I hadn’t volunteered for the Fourth of July committee this year.
“The Fourth of July party?” piped up Kiki. “But Lily …”
“Lily always has a place on the committee,” said Mrs. Hubert. “Isn’t that right, Lily?”
I wasn’t prepared to argue. The thought of sharing dinner with Budgie and Nick pressed against my brain with all the tenderness of a hot knife. “Yes, of course. I’m very sorry, Budgie. Perhaps another evening.”
“Another evening?” It was Nick, returning with two highball glasses, still fizzing invitingly above the ice.
“I’m afraid we’re dining without the Danes tonight, darling.” Budgie snatched her gin from his hand.
Nick held out the other glass to me. “What a shame.”
“Mrs. Hubert, I don’t know if you’ve met my husband, Nick Greenwald.”
“I know Mr. Greenwald.” Mrs. Hubert took my arm. “Come along, Lily. Kiki, my dear.”
“Good-bye, Mrs. Greenwald,” said Kiki. “Good-bye, Mr. Greenwald.”
But Mrs. Hubert was already towing us across the veranda. I heard Nick’s Good-bye, Miss Dane float behind me in the air, across the heads and hats and glasses of the members of the Seaview Club, and I wondered which one of us he meant.
“WELL, THAT’S OVER,” said Mrs. Hubert. “I’m astonished she had the nerve.”
“Who?”
“Who. Budgie, that’s who. Though of course you know exactly what I meant. You always do, Lily Dane, though you look so serene.”
Mother climbed into the car, next to Aunt Julie, who was driving. The doorman closed the door firmly behind her. I leaned forward to kiss Mrs. Hubert’s cheek. “Good night, Mrs. Hubert. Thank you for dinner.”
“Anytime, my dear. With any luck, they’ll give up on the club before long, and you won’t have to bother with me.” She angled her face toward the side of the veranda, where Nick and Budgie were still presumably lingering over dinner. They had chosen a table for two in a direct line from the window of the dining room, so that every time I glanced outside, as I always did, their twin figures were superimposed upon my view of the familiar ocean. “Determined to wait us all out, I see,” Mrs. Hubert went on, watching my expression. “She’s got nerve, I’ll say that.”
“She always did.” I dug my fingernails into my palm in an effort to clear my head, which was swimming in a pleasant if unfamiliar pool of gin, followed by wine. I had chosen the combination with the exact intent of banishing from my brain the crucifying image of Budgie and Nick having dinner tête-à-tête, though logically I knew they had done so before, and did so often. They were married, after all. My drunkenness had taken some effort, because every single member of the club, it seemed, had come to our table in a show of support, and I had had to concentrate very hard to keep my words whole and separate and reasonably sensible. “In any case, good night, Mrs. Hubert. I …” Something flickered in my brain, interrupting the timeless rhythm of a social farewell. “I’m sorry. What did you say? Give up on the club?”
“Well, we can’t throw her out, can we? She’s paid the dues herself, God knows how, all these years since her father died. The damned bylaws. But if no one gives her any notice, or invites her anywhere …”
“But why?” I asked, foggily. “Budgie’s lived here all her life.”
Mrs. Hubert put her hand on my arm. “She knew what she was doing when she married Nick Greenwald. If she wanted to marry money—and I suppose she had to—she could have had her pick. She chose him.” She nodded toward the weathered gray cedar shingles of the club entrance, lit by two anemic yellow bulbs on either side of the door. “And brought him here tonight, of course, in front of all of us.”
Through the confused tangle of my feelings for Nick and for Budgie, through the anger and resentment and the rawness of my own nerves beneath the gin and wine, I felt, against everything,