After the Darkness

Chapter Five

LENNY AND GRACE BROOKSTEIN'S NANTUCKET ESTATE was an idyllic, sprawling, gray-shingled mansion set just off Cliff Road on the north side of the island. The main house boasted ten bedroom suites, an indoor swimming pool and spa, a state-of-the-art movie theater, a chef's kitchen and an enormous, gabled roof terrace (known on Nantucket as a "widow's walk," because in the olden days, sailors' wives used to climb up to their rooftops and gaze out to sea, hoping to spot their husbands' long-lost ships returning). Formal gardens, planted with lavender, roses, and box hedges in the European style, cascaded down the hillside to Steps Beach, one of the quietest and most prestigious beaches on the island. At the bottom of the garden were four guest cottages, charming, wisteria-clad dollhouses in white wood, each with its own miniature front yard and white picket fence. Anywhere else the cottages would have looked impossibly twee. But here, on this magical island frozen for all time in some simpler, bygone era, they worked.

At least Grace Brookstein thought so. It was she who had built and designed them, down to the very last Ralph Lauren pillowcase and antique Victorian claw-foot tub.

Grace adored Nantucket. It was where she and Lenny got married, without question the happiest day of Grace's life. But it was more than that. There was a simplicity to the island that did not exist anywhere else. Of course, there was money on Nantucket. Serious money. Tiny, three-room fishermen's cottages in Siasconset changed hands for upward of $2 million. During the summer, Michelin-starred restaurants like 21 Federal and the Summerhouse charged more for their lobster thermidor than Georges V in Paris. Upscale boutiques on Union and Orange streets in town showcased thousand-dollar cardigans in their windows. Galleries representing local artists regularly sold pieces for six figures, sometimes even seven, to the island's wealthier residents. And yet, somehow, Nantucket remained determinedly low-key. In all the years she'd been coming to the island, Grace had never seen a sports car. Billionaires and their wives strolled around town in khaki shorts and white cotton shirts from the Gap. Even the yachts in the harbor were conservative, far less flashy than the ones at East Hampton or Saint-Tropez or Palm Beach. Lenny never moored anything but a modest, forty-seven-foot bareboat in Nantucket. He would have died of shame before he showed up in the three-hundred-foot Quorum Queen, even though in Sardinia, Grace could hardly get him off the thing.

Nantucket was a place where rich people pretended to be poor. Or at least poorer. It made Grace nostalgic for her childhood, for a simpler time in her life, a time of innocent pleasures. It thrilled her that Lenny loved the island just as much as she did. Other than Le Cocon, their bastide-style retreat in Madagascar, there was nowhere else on earth where Grace felt so totally relaxed. The Brooksteins were happy everywhere, but they were happiest of all here, in this house.

Grace and Lenny arrived three days before their guests. Lenny still had some work to catch up on (didn't he always?) and Grace needed time to talk to the staff and make sure that everything was perfect for her visitors.

"Give Honor and Connie the larger two cottages because they've got kids. Andrew and Maria can have the one right on the sand, and the Merrivales can go in the smallest one. Caroline's been here before, so I'm sure she won't mind."

There was so much to do! Planning menus, ordering flowers, making sure the bikes and fishing rods were ready for her nephews and nieces. Grace felt like she'd barely seen Lenny.

The night before the hordes descended, the two of them had a romantic dinner at the Chanticleer, a pretty, intimate restaurant in the fishing village of Siasconset. At least it would have been romantic if Lenny hadn't spent the entire evening glued to his BlackBerry.

"Is everything all right, darling? You seem so stressed."

Grace reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

"Sorry, honey. Everything's fine. I'm just a little...there's a lot going on at the moment. Nothing for you to worry about, my angel."

Grace tried not to worry, but it was hard. Lenny never brought his work problems home with him. Never. This morning a perfectly harmless homeless man on the wharf had asked Lenny for change, and Lenny had flown at him, lecturing him on alcoholism and taking responsibility for ten straight minutes. Later, Grace had been picking raspberries in the garden when she overheard Lenny shouting out of their bedroom window. He was on the phone with John Merrivale. Grace didn't catch everything he said, but one phrase had stuck in her mind:

"They all want a piece of me, John. The bastards are bleeding me dry. If you're right about Preston, after everything I've done for him...I'll cut his fucking hand off."

What did he mean, "bleeding him dry"? And who were the bastards? Surely not Andrew Preston? Andrew had worked for Lenny since year one. He and Maria were practically family, like the Merrivales.

Grace's only comfort was that at least Lenny was talking to John. She knew he trusted him and relied on him like a brother. Whatever the problem was, Grace felt sure that John would know what to do. He'd be here tomorrow. Then, hopefully, Lenny would feel a little more relaxed.

THE VACATION GOT OFF TO A smooth start. Once the houseguests arrived, Lenny was more relaxed, quite his old self again in fact. With the exception of Jack Warner, who still seemed out of sorts, everyone appeared happy to be there and determined to have a good time.

Michael Gray appointed himself Pied Piper to all four of the children, taking his nieces, Bobby and Rose, fishing for crabs with their cousins, and treating them all to ice creams at Jetties Beach. Grace was delighted. Poor Mike and Connie had been through so much this past year. You could see the vacation doing Mike good. As for Cade and little Cooper, they were in seventh heaven, outdoors all day on their bikes or up to their necks in sand.

During the days the other four men - John, Andrew, Jack and Lenny - sailed or played golf while their wives indulged in some serious retail therapy. Grace loved treating her sisters to little gifts. Nothing gave her more pleasure than spending her good fortune on others, especially Connie and Honor. She would happily have splurged on Caroline and Maria, too, but neither of them would let her.

It probably feels weird for them, because I'm so much younger. They think of me like a daughter. Still, Caroline especially had always been so kind. Grace was determined to find some way to show her appreciation.

"I was thinking of having a special dinner tomorrow night at home." Grace accosted Lenny in his study. She was bursting with excitement. "I'm going to ask John all of Caroline's favorite dishes and I'll have Felicia make them. What do you think?"

Lenny looked at her fondly. "I think it's a great idea, Gracie."

Grace started to walk away but he reached out and grabbed her hand. "I love you. You do know that, don't you?"

She laughed and threw her arms around him.

"Of course I know it. Honestly, Lenny! What a funny thing to say."

"I'M NOT SITTING NEXT TO HER. Or Lenny. And don't expect me to clap my fins together like a performing seal and bark in gratitude either. I'll leave the groveling up to you, John."

Caroline Merrivale was in a foul mood. Despite the fact that it was she who insisted they accept Lenny's invitation to Nantucket, she now blamed John for everything. The dull excursions, the dreary company, the fact that they'd been relegated to the meanest and shabbiest of the dreadful little guesthouses. She refused to see Grace's "special dinner" as anything other than yet another patronizing slight.