Santa Barbara, 1999
For weeks Maddie was certain that puffiness and bruises would warp her forever. Gradually, her skin had improved, her big blue eyes emerged from their blackened circles, and she could see new firm lines below the puffed skin. She looked almost normal and was ready to meet her estranged husband.
Alistair Smythe was a minor baron, but England with him had been fun for a time. She had enjoyed being called Lady Madeleine and playing a role in the elaborate tragic comedy that was English high society in the modern age. Curtseying to Princess Diana and trying to remember what to call whom was interesting—but only for a while. Alistair himself, with his thin, blonde elegance and a wit dry almost to the point of desiccation, was a charmer. But Maddie had become bored and unhappy with the horse-and-dog circuit and preferred residing in the United States.
Alistair arrived in Santa Barbara on a very warm autumn day to collect his son, Winston. Both Maddie and Alistair felt that Winston would be better off attending school in England—especially since he was old enough now to assert himself against any prejudices or abuses that might appear in an aristocratic private setting. Maddie knew that Winston could more than hold his own against anybody right now. He had his mother’s zest for life and his father’s detached discipline.
Alistair sat outside on the Café deck, relishing the sunshine. He was dressed in slacks and a linen jacket, with a white panama hat shading his eyes. Alistair had always enjoyed Santa Barbara and found it a pleasure for the eyes. On warm days, the Café patio was always crowded with beautiful-looking people, exercised to physical perfection, and dedicated to good dieting. However, he also noted that many of these same folk filled themselves with alcohol and recreational chemicals on a regular basis. A few still smoked cigarettes as they chatted on their cell phones beyond the patio door. “Building must be a sturdy spot,” he thought idly. “Phone reception not so good within.”
He spotted his wife, who was seeking a parking spot along this crowded lane. Maddie was driving a white Mercedes—and much too quickly, as usual. She finally crammed the car in a dubious parking spot on a curb, emerged from the front seat, and slammed the door angrily. She was obviously in a mood. She stalked into the restaurant and spotted him at his outdoor table.
“Must we sit out here?” she began immediately.
“Dear one, come back into the shade. I picked this corner table especially for you. I know that sitting in the sun is not to your taste.” Alistair rose gallantly and pulled a chair out for her. “There … just so. You are looking amazingly well.”
Maddie tugged firmly at her hat and sat down. Dear Alistair, gallant to the end. Actually, I look much better now than I did two days ago. I think that I may live …”
She removed her sunglasses and looked at him defiantly. He gazed at the lovely face, a face that still managed to enchant him. A slight puffiness and dark circles beneath her eyes were evident, but the cheekbones and gently pointed chin were as fine as ever. “You are still very beautiful, Mad. I am sorry that you had to go through surgery to confirm it,” he said with unexpected tenderness.
She looked away, half embarrassed. “Let’s order drinks.” Alistair was always so damned considerate and gentle to her. She had needed more passion and drama from a man. At this moment, however, she was suddenly tired and sat back in her chair with a sigh. “I’m sorry to be rude, Alistair. I just came from a meeting with my agent and attorney regarding the offer to make a movie from Green Valley. The meeting was awful.”
He raised his eyebrows at her. “Why?”
She shook her head. “Let’s get a drink, and I’ll relax for a bit before I start in. It is likely to be one of my rants …”
He smiled. “I always enjoyed them, Mad. So—how is our son?”
For a while, they sipped their martinis and discussed their son, daughter, and various mutual acquaintances. Not much was new in England, and very little had changed in Santa Barbara. “Perhaps, that is one of the reasons that I have always loved this city so,” mused Alistair, glancing at the varying shades of green foliage and glistening lagoon across the street from the Café. “I love this restaurant.”
“Yes—and if we stay here long enough, we’ll see everybody we know come through,” replied Maddie. “One can spend hours just greeting people.”
“Sounds delightful. As I recall, you can even see much of your family here. Avoids the inevitable dinner party with them,” said Alistair.
“True. Katie and I get along quite well these days—reminds me, I must have her go over these contracts. I don’t really trust my publisher’s attorney that much. James is … well, you’ll have to see him to believe it. And Geoff—”
“I mean to stop up in San Francisco to see him. We always did well together,” said Alistair sadly. “I do regret his illness.”
Maddie did not reply and finished her martini in one gulp. “Damn, damn, and damn. Life is a bitch …”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Alistair calmly. “Tough luck for old Geoff—but you’ve got a pretty good sight on things, dear one. Published, wealthy, and famous. About to be in the cinema—and still very beautiful.”
Maddie looked at him with some surprise. “Why, you old gallant, you! Don’t you ever think that we should get divorced? I mean—you could and should find a new lady.”
Alistair shrugged. “Perhaps. Remember, in my world, husbands and wives don’t necessarily have to be together. Works for the royal family.”
“Those buffoons,” snapped Maddie, signaling to the waiter that she wanted another drink. “For God’s sake, keep Winston away from them.”
“They are my sovereign family, Mad. Winston would be missing a significant opportunity in his life if he does not get to meet them,” replied Alistair calmly. He shook his head when the waiter asked if he wanted another drink. “I must keep alert, alas.”
“Because you’re with me?” asked Maddie, with a trace of humor in her voice.
“Always with you, my dear,” he said. “Let’s order some of that justly famous Mexican food, and you can tell me about the trials and tribulations of Hollywood.”
Alistair enjoyed a very large plate of Mexican delicacies, and Maddie picked at a salad, for once having little appetite.
“They do want to make a movie of Green Valley.”
“I read the book, m’dear.”
“Did you? How lovely … well, then you do know the story. But naturally, they want to bring in screenwriters to change the story!”
“Did you expect something different?” asked Alistair, spooning some rice and beans in a corn tortilla and folding it with precise slow movements. “This is the land of make-believe, my dear. They take your ideas—and twist them to their own tastes.” He added salsa to the mixture in his hand. “Much like Santa Barbara and California itself. In fact, isn’t America such a synthesis? Take what you want from wherever, put it together, and see how it tastes.” He bit into his assembled burrito and chewed with satisfaction.
“You’re making fun of me,” she snapped, replacing her sunglasses as if to push him further from her sight. “The novel was mine, and they’re going to mess it up.”
“Yours? I thought that you were selling it to them.”
Alistair finished his food as Maddie sulked. He wiped his mouth carefully, especially the small moustache that was showing a few silver threads amid the dark blonde.
“Synthesis is often delightful. After all, you and I are very different, and we created children of—well, remarkable ability.” He reached out and patted her hand gently.
“If you are going to sell your book to Hollywood, be prepared to be bruised, dear one. I am not closely familiar with that particular set of folks, but they seem to have their own troubles. Do you really want that?”
She shrugged, suddenly feeling as if she might cry. “I don’t know. Somehow, it seems so…silly.”
“You always have options, Mad. You might just sell the rights to the book and let them trash it. You can write other books, give interviews telling people how horrible you considered the movies, worry about your wrinkles, and have surgery. Or—you could come back to England. You always liked the old abbey, and the gardens are superb in the spring. You planted many of the rhododendrons there.”
She laughed. “Yes, I did love the old abbey. Talk about a place to pour money … a sixteenth-century building that we refused to let crumble into dust!” Suddenly, she removed her sunglasses and stared at him suspiciously.
“Is this about money, Alistair? I know that your family’s finances weren’t in the best of shape.”
He shook his head. “No, dear Mad, for once, that is not the problem. I’ve actually been doing some architectural and garden designing, and it has paid quite handsomely. So many folks seem to want a real aristocrat to put a seal of approval on their little efforts to create beautiful houses and gardens.”
“And you are—always were—a real aristocrat. I’m sorry that I couldn’t adapt to your world, Alistair. You’re a good man,” admitted Maddie with a trace of regret in her voice.
He shrugged. “What is a world anymore? Doesn’t this look like a movie set?” He swept his arm toward the beautiful day beyond. “Is Santa Barbara a world? Is London? That which we call a world—”
“Spare me a philosophical lecture, Alistair,” interrupted Maddie quickly.
They sat in silence for a long time. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I often do think of the abbey—and the London flat. We had good times there. It was so orderly and … and … timeless.”
“But dull?” he prompted.
“Sometimes. We like each other very much, Alistair. But do we love each other? Did we ever really love each other?” she asked slowly, thoughtfully.
“What then is love?” He smiled. “That’s a line from a very old English ballad. You should recognize it.”
“Is it? So what then is love?”
“Well, according to the ballad, love is longing, mourning. . . and time takes youth and beauty away sooner or later. As I recall, the song seems to suggest that we enjoy things while we can. ‘Come away, my darling!’ Remember that you and Kate wrote about it in your book.”
“Kate added that historical detail. Oh God, but it is good to talk with you again. You’re sort of like a cold martini after a rough day …”
“Thank you. Good compliment. I’ll go look for a copy of the song at a local shop. I’m staying here for two days before Winston and I fly up to San Francisco.”
“Just two days?” asked Maddie.
“You sound a bit sorry, m’dear. Will you miss me?”
She giggled. “I always miss you a bit, Alistair. Think of me without a martini.”
He laughed. “Egad, m’dear, what a terrible thought. I’m staying down at the Biltmore. You can join me there if you’d like … my room overlooks the gardens, and the food is as good as I recall.”
“Maybe if my face weren’t so fragile, Alistair. We always did have a good time in bed, and my stitches would certainly inhibit any of our finer activities …,” she said lightly.
“I’ll pray for your quick recovery. Maybe tomorrow?” He raised his eyebrow in a gesture that she had always loved. “Check, please!”