Elin Hilderbrand - The Love Season

The other photograph was black-and-white. It was taken one long-ago autumn; it was just Candace and Marguerite sitting at one of the deuces facing Water Street. Neither of them was looking at the camera; they had plates of food in front of them, but they weren’t eating. Marguerite was saying something, and Candace’s head was bent close to the table, listening. Marguerite doesn’t remember the moment the photo was taken or even the night; it was snapped by one of the photographers from The Inquirer and Mirror . It ran the week of October 3, 1980, on the Seen on the Scene page. Marguerite had been furious; she’d called the newspaper and threatened to sue, though the editor of the paper had laughed and said, The picture’s completely innocuous, Margo, a slice of life, and it’s a damn attractive shot of you both, I might add . The caption under the picture read: Chef Marguerite Beale engages in tête-à-tête with friend Candace Harris at French hot spot Les Parapluies . Marguerite never quite came around to the editor’s point of view-to her the picture was an invasion of privacy; it reminded her uncomfortably of the picture of Porter with Overbite Woman in The New York Times . It put Marguerite and Candace’s intimacy on display-however, it was this very thing that eventually endeared the picture to her, and she asked that the editor send her a print.

“Dessert?” she said. She spoke the word brightly, though inside she panicked. Dessert, no matter how sweet, meant the end. Marguerite would have to tell about the end.

“I’d love some,” Renata said.

Marguerite disappeared into the kitchen.

9:30 P.M.

The young black woman came out onto the deck with her eyebrows knit together and her mouth pressed into a flat line. Even in the night air, lit only by candles and tiki torches, Daniel could tell she was a few shades paler than she’d been when she left. Daniel stood up and the table grew quiet. They had just been talking about the Opera House Cup sailing race, and an old boat they all remembered called Christmas .

“Renata?” Daniel said. “She’s asleep?”

“She’s gone,” Nicole said.

Cade whipped around in his chair. “What?”

“The guest room was empty,” Nicole said. “Her things are gone.”

The Robinsons were quiet, except for Claire, who coughed into her napkin, in order to keep from laughing. She wasn’t sure why but she found this very funny. All except for Cade, who looked like he was fourteen years old again, dropped off for his first day of boarding school, abandoned by his parents, separated from his friends. He had been so forlorn that first day, whereas Claire had felt free at last.

Suzanne laughed, too, but shrilly. “That’s ridiculous,” she said. “Where did she go?”

Nicole felt like Suzanne was daring her to come right out and say it: She left with Miles . But Nicole couldn’t stand to think the words, much less speak them out loud to a tableful of people, and furthermore, she hated being the center of attention. Don’t shoot the messenger , she wanted to say, though she knew they would anyway. That was why she’d left the ring right where it was, on top of the dresser. There was no use bringing down all the bad news at once; they could find the ring themselves when they went upstairs to investigate.

“You’re sure her stuff is gone?” Cade said.

“I’m sure.”

“I know where she is,” Daniel said.

“Where?” Cade said.

“Where?” Nicole asked, forgetting herself. Then she thought, You don’t know where she is. You’re only her father .

“She’s with her godmother,” Daniel said. “Marguerite Beale.”

“No,” Cade said. “She called Marguerite to cancel.”

“That’s where she is,” Daniel said. “Trust me.” Faces around the table seemed unconvinced, or uncaring, but what these people didn’t understand was the allure Marguerite held. Daniel had kept Renata away from her for fourteen years. He didn’t want Renata to have to hear Marguerite’s side of the story, her teary admissions, her apologies. But Renata had sought it out on her own. In a way, Daniel felt proud of her. She hadn’t been taken in by these people; she hadn’t been hypnotized by their wealth; she had kept her eye on what was important to her-seeing Marguerite, and learning about her mother.

Suzanne exhaled loudly and cradled her pink cheeks in her hands. She looked completely deflated. Daniel thought he might feel gratified by this, but instead he was ashamed. He very calmly sat back down. The poor woman had put a lot of work into tonight’s dinner party and Renata had poked a hole in it. Despite Daniel’s overwhelming desire to see his daughter, he wasn’t willing to shred the evening further; he would salvage what he could. Renata wasn’t going anywhere; she was safe. Daniel buttered a Parker House roll and took a bite.

Cade glared at him. “I’m going over there to get her.”

Daniel swallowed the bite of roll and sipped his scotch. “Leave her be, son.”

“What do you know about leaving her be?” Cade said. “She left because you showed up. I’m sure that’s why she left.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Daniel said.

And because she doesn’t want to marry Cade , Claire thought.

And because she had sex with Miles , Nicole thought. She was swept along by his beautiful promises . Just the way Nicole had been last winter when she was working as a breakfast waitress on the harbor front in Capetown. Miles had suckered her in with promises of love and money. Nicole was encouraged, however, by the confidence of the father’s words. Maybe Renata did go to whatshername Beale’s house. Hadn’t she been talking about it with Suzanne that morning in the kitchen? Nicole sensed a filament of hope. Maybe Renata didn’t go with Miles after all. For the first time all day, Nicole felt relieved. She felt almost happy.

“Let’s just eat,” Joe Driscoll said in a voice that would not be argued with. He held the end of an ear of corn with one hand and his butter knife with the other. Neither hand was shaking.

Cade noticed this, but he was too agitated to let it register. He threw his napkin onto his plate. “I’m going up to see for myself,” he said.

“Cade,” Suzanne said. “Listen to your father, please. Eat your dinner.”

The Robinsons returned to their dinner plates; Kathy Robinson murmured something complimentary about the salad dressing. Joe Driscoll buttered his corn. Claire Robinson sipped her tea, which had grown cold. She knew, as did Nicole, who slipped into the kitchen, as did Daniel Knox, as did the others deep down in their hearts, what Cade was going to find.

9:42 P.M

Nine thirty was Lights-Out at Camp Stoneface and had been all summer. The twelve girls in Action Colpeter’s cabin were doing their nighttime-whisper thing, which sometimes lasted until midnight if Action didn’t lay down the law. However, tonight, for some reason, Action was antsy, eager to wash her hands of Camp Stoneface and the million and one rules she hand to enforce. What she wanted more than anything was to be alone , so she could think .

“I’m going to be right outside on the stoop,” Action announced to her campers. “So do not attempt any funny business.” Such as drawing with indelible marker on the girl who fell asleep first, such as telling stories, real or made up, about doing drugs or having abortions.

Action took her flashlight and her pen and notebook and sat on the top step right outside the cabin door. If they thought they were escaping tonight to raid the mess hall for stale potato chips or to make mooning noises through the screens of the boys’ cabin, they were mistaken. Action started a letter to Renata. Hola, bitch-ola! But this sounded too cavalier. The truth was, Action was worried about Renata. Action had been born with nearly perfect instincts, and her instincts about Renata this second rang out: Doomsday .