Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Remind me, Dora, what food did we serve last year and where did we get it from?”
"Canapés mostly. We got those tiny crab cakes you like from Master’s Kitchens, and everything else was from the Dutch Institute of Food. The macarons I ordered from the New York branch of Della’s Patisserie, oh, and all the chocolates were made specially for the occasion by the Parisian master chocolatier, Renauld de Montmorency.”
Her voice is matter-of-fact, but there's a warmth creeping in as she reminisces, and it suddenly occurs to me that the reason Carolyn didn’t think to warn me about this event was because it was not important to her. Dora had done all the planning and all the hard work. All she probably had to do was turn out and enjoy herself.
I smile at Dora. “Yeah, I remember now. It was beautiful. You really did a great job, Dora. I don’t know whether I thanked you properly, but I want you to know I was really grateful.”
Dora flushes with pleasure. “Ah, Madam Carolyn. No need to thank me. It was no trouble at all. I was only doing my job.”
“Tell you what, Dora. Shall we plan this year's gala together?"
She smiles broadly, picking up the knife again. "I would like that very much, Madam Carolyn."
I finish the tea and slide off the stool. "I look forward to it. Thanks again for the tea."
She nods, and I head out, the kitchen door swinging shut behind me with a soft whoosh.
As I make my way up the grand staircase, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, and my heart skips as Carolyn's name flashes on the screen. Finally. The message is short and to the point.
Frances and Dora will do it all. You just have to show up in something glam.
I stop midway up the stairs, staring at her reply. For some inexplicable reason, a chill settles over me.
Chapter Forty-Four
JULIET
I'm sitting on one of the cushioned wicker chairs in the conservatory. It’s one of those mild September days in the Hamptons, mid-70s. Frances is across from me at the low glass table, her thin hands wrapped around a China teacup, as she sips her Earl Grey slowly.
Elena, the event planner from Events by RHC in Bridgehampton, is perched on the edge of her seat with a sleek leather portfolio open on the table in front of her. Her manicured nails tap lightly as she flips through swatches of fabric and printed mood boards, her bob haircut swinging precisely with each movement.
We've been at this for over an hour now, laying out every detail for the party, and my iPad's balanced on my knee. The screen’s bright with Pinterest boards I've been scrolling through, images of string lights draped like fairy webs over manicured lawns, floral arches bursting with peonies and hydrangeas.
Elena's brought along a vendor list too, thick packets of proposals from caterers offering to serve foie gras on brioche toasts or fresh oyster shooters with mignonette. In her files, there are also companies that do tent rentals with sailcloth designs that glow softly at night. I lean forward and point to a photo on my iPad.
"What about these lantern setups? We could hang them from the oaks along the main path, maybe mix in some Edison bulbs for that vintage glow to keep it elegant but not too over-the-top."
Elena nods and agrees enthusiastically, her eyes lighting up behind her chic tortoiseshell glasses. She then pulls a sample from her portfolio—a swatch of ivory linen for the tablecloths, soft and textured like it could whisper secrets.
"Absolutely, Mrs. Bessant. That would tie in perfectly with the natural vibe. And for the florals, I've got quotes from Flowers by Brian in Water Mill. They can source seasonal blooms like dahlias and ranunculus, arrange them in low centerpieces so guests can chat across the tables without obstruction. We're looking at around two hundred paying guests, right? Based on last year's attendance, we'll need at least twenty round tables, eight-toppers, with chiavari chairs in gold to elevate the look."
I hum in agreement, and scroll to another pin of desserts cascading down in tiers, surrounded by fresh strawberries. My mouth waters a bit at the sight.
Frances sets her cup down with a soft clink on the saucer and glances between us, her regal posture straight despite the slight tremble in her hands.
"So, Carolyn, which theme are you leaning toward? Elena's suggested a few—Enchanted Forest, Riviera Garden, and a Mediterranean twist. What's catching your fancy?"
I pause, my thumb hovering over the iPad screen, feeling a flush creep up my neck despite the gentle fan whirring overhead. Just one week ago, it would have been unthinkable for Frances to ask for my opinion.
Affair in the Garden. God, just thinking the words sends a shiver through me, my body remembering too vividly that bench by the lake, and the way I straddled him. Hot damn! How I rode him while the roses brushed my forearms like teasing fingers.