Page 47 of Drawing Home
“What are you doing here?” she said.
He walked inside, looked around. Then he smiled at her. “You’ve gotten so grown up. Is your mom here?”
Penny shook her head. “This is so crazy! What are you doing here?” she repeated.
“I had some business in East Hampton.”
“An acting job?”
“Ah, no. I’m producing a play. Well, trying to produce. Working on the fund-raising part just now. Anyway, I was going to head back to LA tonight but then I thought,Why not take a detour and see Penny?It’s been too long, kiddo. What do you say you and I go to the beach and catch up?”
“Ahem.” Angus stood in the archway between the dining room and the small foyer. His arms were crossed, his face stern. “No one is going anywhere until her mother gets home.”
Cheryl Meister’s “cottage” was a cedar-shingled Southampton mansion with tennis courts, two swimming pools, and sweeping views of the Atlantic.
A member of the household staff showed Emma through the cavernous house to the kitchen. It was all white marble with a massive skylight and wide French doors that opened up to one of the pools. Beyond the pool, a low hedgerow and the ocean beach. If it weren’t for her recent experience with the Henry Wyatt house, Emma would have been intimidated.
Cheryl sat curled on a stool at the island in the center of the room. She was barefoot, and she sipped from a small bottle of Pellegrino and chatted with a group of half a dozen women gathered around her.
“Emma, come in! Don’t be shy.” Cheryl made the introductions and Emma tried to remember everyone’s name but all the women looked the same. They were uniformly attractive, with light tans and tight bodies in Lululemon pants and tops, as if they were all on their way to the same yoga class. The only real variation in their style was that some wore gold jewelry while others had trendy Buddhist trinkets around their necks and wrists.
The women all knew one another. Most lived in Manhattan full-time, reserving their Hampton homes for summers and weekends. They spoke of restaurants Emma had never been to; they commiserated over the politics of their kids’ private schools; they expressed their irritation at the increasing number of social events all the way out in Brooklyn.
Emma checked her phone and realized it was dead. How quickly could she make her exit and get back to the house? This situation with Penny was deeply upsetting, and she realized the day off from work was a godsend. She had to find a way to get more quality time with her daughter.
“Diane is here!” Cheryl announced as a tall, slightly horse-faced brunette swept into the kitchen. She looked to be about half a decade older than the rest of the group. Her dark hair was cut in a sharp chin-length bob, and she wore a putty-colored linen suit and a large statement necklace.
The chatter slowed just enough for polite greetings.
Cheryl took Emma’s hand as if they were girlhood friends. “Emma, this is Diane Knight. She’s the director of the Sag Harbor Cinema fund-raiser.”
“Nice to meet you,” Emma said. The woman smiled vacantly until Cheryl prompted her with “Emma is the new owner of the Henry Wyatt house.”
Diane Knight’s eyes sharpened with sudden interest.
“How fortunate we are that you’ve joined us,” she said. “We would love to have a Henry Wyatt piece for the auction.”
Emma, put on the spot, stammered out some reason why that wasn’t possible at the moment. Before Diane could press further, the caterers called everyone to the back patio for lunch.
They filed outdoors to a long table overlooking the teardrop-shaped swimming pool. The water was the most vivid aquamarine Emma had ever seen. And she heard Alexis’s voice from the night at Murf’s:You’ll get a taste of how the other half lives.
The table was set with name cards. Emma took her seat, and servers poured glasses of iced tea, white wine, and hard lemonade.
“Iced tea, please,” Emma said when she was asked. A salad was slipped in front of her, arugula and frisée with walnuts and cranberries.
“Bread?” a server asked, holding a tray of thick, crusty sliced sourdough.
“Yes, thanks,” Emma said, noting she was the only taker.
Cheryl stood at the head of the table next to where Diane was seated and tapped her glass with a spoon to get people’s attention.
“Thank you, everyone, for taking time out of your busy schedules to be here. I know everyone has a million things to do, so let’s get started. First, I want to remind you that any auction items accepted after next week won’t make it into the printed catalog. The online version is already live—thank you, Kellianne and Susan, that was a lot of work.”
Everyone clapped politely.
“I’ve locked down the auctioneer. He’s fabulous. I’ve attended a few of his events in the city and he really knows how to excite the audience and drive up the bidding. So the real items of business today are setting the ticket price for the auction and finding a venue. On that note, I’m going to turn the floor over to Diane.”
More clapping. Diane stood from her seat.
