Elin Hilderbrand - The Rumor

Madeline texted back: Great!

Grace tried not to feel deflated. Great! was an appropriate response. She couldn’t expect anyone to understand how far beyond Great! this was.

Grace pulled the cork from a bottle of vintage Veuve Clicquot that she had found down in Eddie’s wine fridge just as Benton rounded the corner of the house.

“Champagne?” he said. “What happened to mint tea?”

Grace poured two glasses but left them on the table. She said, “Hester Phan called.”

He said, “Break it to me gently.”

She said, “On Sunday, July twenty-sixth, we are going to be featured in the… Boston Globe!”

Benton swung her in a circle and let out a cowboy rodeo whoop.

This was the reaction Grace had been craving. As Benton took her face in his hands and started to kiss her, she marveled at how it felt to have someone in her life who shared her passion for this yard and who was just as over the moon about this feature as she was. A partner. A friend.

And more.

Benton pulled Grace by the hand toward the garden shed, leaving their champagne in the sun.

The following day, Grace received an invitation to the Nantucket Garden Club’s Sunset Soiree. This year’s soiree was being held at Jean Burton’s home, which Grace had always thought of as the House of a Thousand Koi Ponds (really only five, but for Grace that was five too many). Jean was president of the Nantucket Garden Club; she had taken over for Grace when Grace’s term ended. Jean was a native Texan, filled with charm and hospitality. She continued to call Grace for advice and help with logistics, and she kept Grace in the loop, even though Grace had become consumed with her own project.

Grace had been president for six years and had hosted the Sunset Soiree in her own yard years earlier at their old house, on Dover Street. The Sunset Soiree was a fabulous event, and for all the years Grace was involved, she had brought Madeline as her date.

But this year, she thought, she would take Benton.

She called Madeline to see what she thought.

“What if I took Benton to the Sunset Soiree?” Grace asked. “Would you be mad?”

Madeline was silent, but in the background, Grace could hear the sound of her pen scratching against paper, as well as the hum of her laptop.

“I won’t be mad,” Madeline said. “I like the Sunset Soiree just fine. The gardens are pretty, the food is good-but it’s really your thing.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’m ditching you for Benton,” Grace said.

“That’s not the problem,” Madeline said. “The problem is you being seen in public with Benton.”

Yes, Grace had considered this. And yet, she really wanted to venture out in the wider world with Benton. The island was four miles wide by thirteen miles long; they couldn’t exactly go to dinner at the Ship’s Inn or walk the Sconset bluff hand in hand. The Sunset Soiree was a garden-club function, Benton was her landscape architect, and they had something to jointly brag about. Grace couldn’t wait to tell Jean Burton and Susan Prendergast and Monica Delray about the Sunday Boston Globe! The Sunset Soiree would be a safe and appropriate place for her and Benton to go together.

“I’ll ask Eddie’s permission,” Grace said. “I’m sure he’ll say yes.”

“I’m sure he will say yes,” Madeline said. She sighed. “But you know how those women talk, Grace. Remember how Blond Sharon made such a big deal when Monica showed up in the mismatched Chanel flats? She accused Monica of being drunk when she got dressed, and three days later, everyone had her checking in to Betty Ford. Those women are vipers. They’re ruthless. If you go with Benton, they’ll have a field day with it.”

“Blond Sharon can kiss my ass,” Grace said.

“You can do what you want,” Madeline said. “But, as your best friend, I have to tell you, I would feel much better about you going with Benton if the two of you weren’t…”

“I know,” Grace said. And she did know. But she didn’t care. She wanted to go to the Sunset Soiree with Benton. She wanted to have fun.

That night, she broached the topic with Eddie.

“You don’t care if I go to the Sunset Soiree with Benton, do you?”

“What’s the Sunset Soiree?” Eddie asked.

“The garden-club thing.”

He waved a hand. “Have at it,” he said. “As long as I don’t have to go.” He ran a Bremner wafer through butter. His heartburn had been so bad recently, he’d told Grace, that he could barely eat anything else.

Grace asked Benton the following morning. “Would you go as my date to the Sunset Soiree?”

His face lit up. “I’d love to,” he said.

“It’s at Jean Burton’s house,” Grace said.

“Koi ponds,” Benton said.

Grace kissed him and grinned. She could not believe how in sync they were.

He said, “I’ve gone before, you know, four or five years ago, when it was at Jody Rouisse’s house? Marla Amster took me, back when I was designing her gardens.”

“You went with Marla Amster?” Grace said. “Now I’m jealous.” She tried to remember that year. Jody Rouisse lived out in Shimmo. Yes, Grace remembered going with Madeline. She remembered the garden. In Grace’s opinion, it had been lackluster: a lot of decorative grasses, with only one flower bed, and perennials that had been grouped by color; Grace had felt as if she were looking at a paint-by-numbers. But she didn’t remember seeing Benton. She couldn’t believe she had overlooked him. Now, he was all she could see.

“You don’t need to be jealous,” Benton said. “I wasn’t in love with Marla Amster.”

In love! In love! In love in love in love!

As soon as Benton left, Grace ran upstairs to call Madeline.

There was only one dark spot in Grace’s week. On a late-night run to the Stop & Shop to get more butter lettuce and farmer’s cheese and other lunch provisions, Grace saw a red sports car in the parking lot-with a girl inside who looked a lot like Allegra. The girl was kissing the blond boy in the driver’s seat.

Grace nearly knocked on the window. Allegra? But then she thought better of it. If she were wrong, it would be bad, but if she were right, it would be even worse. Grace hurried into the store.

The last week of June, Eddie had a group from Kasper Snacks renting 10 Low Beach Road. Kenny Kasper had been referred to Eddie by Ronan LNW, and he had asked about having the girls come by over the course of the week. Eddie had said, “Let me see if I can make that magic happen.”

The girls were basically working nonstop, and they had started to spend their money. Nadia had bought a barely used lime-green Jeep out of the classifieds for cash. Eddie said, “You don’t want to flash the money around, Nadia, or people will start to ask questions.”

He couldn’t let anything mess up their situation. He was too dependent on the cash. At this point, it was his only steady source of income. He had one rather underwhelming listing on High Street in town that he had shown to the same couple four times-but in the end, they had passed, instead buying a significantly nicer home on upper Main Street from none other than Glenn Daley. Eddie had shown a seven-million-dollar house on Eel Point Road to a gay couple who had made an offer of five-five-but the owner had flat-out refused to even counter, and the couple wouldn’t go any higher, saying that Nantucket was outrageously priced and they were going to look on Martha’s Vineyard and Block Island instead. And two sisters who owned a four-million-dollar parcel of land on Hulbert Avenue-that Eddie had not one but two potential buyers interested in-had just pulled it off the market.

Eddie couldn’t believe his rotten luck. He was trying to pay off the bills for number 13, but there were also his six collective mortgage payments, groceries, Allegra’s class, Benton Coe and the damn publicist with her “success bonus.” And Madeline kept asking for her fifty thousand dollars back. She had actually surpassed asking and moved on to begging; in the last phone call, she had been vaguely threatening, making it sound like if Eddie didn’t pay, something would happen that Eddie wouldn’t like.

He understood Madeline was frustrated and possibly even frightened. Eddie had posed the loan of fifty thousand dollars to Trevor and Madeline as an “investment opportunity,” and that was exactly what it would have been if Eddie had sufficient funds to finish the houses or if the market would start cooperating and produce buyers. What Eddie really needed were 2005-era buyers; back then, the economy had been booming, and houses were going for 30 percent above market within twelve hours of being listed.

He hadn’t sold a house since October, a fact that depressed him. He was in a slump, like a baseball player. He had been struggling, then sinking, and now he was drowning. He had approached the Llewellyns at the start of the sinking period because he was tapped out at the banks and nobody else liked him or believed in him enough to lend him the kind of money he needed. He knew Madeline had just gotten a big advance, he knew she would persuade Trevor to say yes. What Eddie had not predicted was how irresponsible Madeline would be with her sudden windfall. She had rented an apartment she didn’t need, and there went twelve grand of her after-tax dollars.

Eddie knew he should feel guilty about what he and Barbie were doing… but he had no choice. He sent Barbie a text about Kasper Snacks, even though she was sitting at her desk on the other side of the office. Barbie was having modest success this year, but she was queen of the small listing-the $359,000 condo out by the airport, the $595,000 three-bedroom, two-bath mid-island home with an unfurnished basement-whereas Eddie dealt only with seven-figure, or preferably eight-figure, properties.

His hubris was his downfall, he supposed. But he was proud of his success-him, a boy from Purchase Street in New Bedford.

The text he sent Barbie said: Girls at TLBR tomorrow night. Kasper Snacks.

I didn’t talk to Kasper Snacks, she texted. How did they know?

Referred by Ronan LNW, Eddie texted.

Trustworthy? Barbie texted.

Seemed to be.

Did you check out the company online? Barbie texted.

It’s Kasper Snacks, Eddie texted. Creator of the Donut Chip?

Barbie texted, ???????

Eddie texted, Everyone eats them but you.

Barbie flashed Eddie a look. My gut is bothering me on this one, she texted. Count me out.

Really? Eddie texted. Barb, this is no different from any other time. Standard operating procedure.

I’m out, Barbie texted. Take my cut.

You’re serious? Eddie texted.

Very, Barbie texted.

He would have argued, but he was too titillated by the thought of an extra seventeen-five a week.

If you insist, Eddie texted. Delete.

Deleted, Barbie texted.

His office manager, Eloise, had been acting strangely the past two or three days, paying all kinds of extra-sweet attention to Eddie, when before she never paid him any attention. Eddie suspected she was going to ask for a raise-which he couldn’t afford to give her, but neither could he afford to lose her. Eloise had brought him a potted snapdragon from Bartlett’s Farm, saying he needed something to brighten up his desk. When he asked if he was going to have to water or deadhead it, she said she would take responsibility for the plant’s care and maintenance.

She said, “I’ll be your own personal gardener.”

He said, “Well, my wife has one; why shouldn’t I?”

Eloise stared at him, and Eddie said, “Benton Coe. Ever heard of him, Eloise?”

“Oh yes,” Eloise said. “He did the rose beds in the back of the Eighteen Hundred House, and he designed the gardens at Greater Light, which are exquisite, I must say.”

“I’m paying him like he’s the Bill Gates of gardening,” Eddie said. He gazed at the vaguely menacing fuchsia jaws of the snapdragon blossoms. “Anyway, this was a very thoughtful gift. Thank you, Eloise.”

“Oh my goodness,” Eloise said. “I nearly forgot.”

“What?” Eddie said. He put on his Panama hat. He needed to get home to the girls. Eddie caught an occasional glimpse of Hope, but he hadn’t set eyes on Allegra in more than three days. Grace had mentioned something about seeing Allegra, or someone who looked like Allegra, with a young man in a red Camaro, and Eddie wondered what that was all about. He would hate it if Allegra and Brick broke up, but maybe this guy with the red Camaro had money and could take care of the expensive habits of Allegra’s lifestyle. The modeling thing wasn’t going to pan out for her, and yet she continued to dress like it might.