Chapter One

It was late morning and the sky was bright blue and the sun was the color of honey.

Olivia stood on the porch of her mother and stepfather’s plantation-style villa and thought the view reminded her of a Gauguin painting. The ocean was a sheet of glass and the hills were dotted with palm trees and the horseshoe-shaped bay of Gustavia was filled with white sailboats. She slipped on her sunglasses and was glad to be back in St. Barts.

No matter how many years she had been coming, she was thrilled when the tiny plane landed at Gustaf airport. The customs officer greeted her in French and the taxi drivers lined up in their floral shirts and leather sandals. She scanned the brightly painted Volkswagen buses until she found Jean-Claude because he had the best gossip on the island.

He drove too quickly along the coast and she admired the white sand of Grand Cul de Sac and the chaise longues at St. Jean Beach. Whenever she tried describing St. Barts to her friends in New York, they could never understand how an island smaller than Manhattan had endless green coves and fourteen beaches.

Then Jean-Claude climbed the winding road to the villa and Olivia felt her shoulders relax. The gray New York spring dissolved like the final scene of a movie she’d watched on the plane, and all she could think about was snorkeling and eating coconut sorbet and stuffed crab.

Now she smoothed her blond hair and thought of the wonderful things they were going to do this week. Her twenty-fifth birthday was in four days and they would celebrate with an intimate dinner at Maya’s. The maître d’ would bring out the same banana soufflé she’d ordered since she was five years old and her mother and stepfather would give her a diamond tennis bracelet or ruby earrings.

And she was almost certain her boyfriend, Finn, was going to propose. He had been so nervous going through customs, Olivia thought he was going to fish out a diamond ring and drop to his knee on the linoleum floor. Finally he’d whispered to the customs officer and they’d disappeared into a private room. When they emerged, his blue eyes sparkled and his smile was as bright as the sun.

Finn was so traditional; he was probably on the tennis court now asking Felix, her stepfather, for her hand in marriage. She won- dered if he would book a table at Eden Rock and propose over Caribbean lobster and chocolate cake with mango ice cream. Or perhaps they would take a moonlight stroll to see the turtles and he would draw her close and kiss her.

Only one person wasn’t here to celebrate her birthday and she tried not to think about him. Her father had walked out of their Morningside Heights apartment twenty years ago, and she hadn’t seen him since.

Hadley, her mother, would laugh and say, Being Sebastian, he didn’t simply walk out. He left a bouquet of sunflowers and a list of things to ship when he had a forwarding address: his collection of Kipling’s poems and Lawrence Durrell’s travel writings and the alpaca jacket they’d bought in Peru.

For the first five years, Olivia had helped her mother mail his birthday invitation. Every April she expected him to bound up the stone steps of the villa and swing her in his arms, like a sitcom father on television.

Often the invitations were returned “address unknown” and sometimes she received a letter with details of his latest adventure. He spent three months painting in Tanzania and he wished he could show her the wide plains and amber light. He was on a barge on the Nile and was sorry he missed the piñata and vanilla custard birthday cake.

Most years he sent exotic presents: a tea set when he lived in Kyoto, jade earrings from a jeweler in Guiyang, a bolt of fabric from Marrakesh with the colors of the rainbow. But lately the presents had dried up and were replaced by cards that were late.

Felix had been the most wonderful stepfather, paying for her education at the Brearley School and Vassar and taking her to the Guggenheim and the Metropolitan on the weekends. And how could she miss something she never had? The only thing she remembered about Sebastian was his musk cologne and the occasional stubble on his chin.

A taxi stopped in front of the villa and a man stepped out. He wore blue slacks, a white shirt, and a straw hat. His suit jacket was slung over his shoulder and he carried a leather bag.

Olivia leaned over the balcony and wondered whether her mother and Felix had invited a guest and forgot to tell her. Sundial was always open to friends and often the bedrooms werefilled with artists that Hadley represented or members of Felix’s club. Esther was happy to set extra place settings at the glass dining room table and make pots of fish stew.

The doorbell rang and Olivia walked inside and hurried down the wooden staircase. She opened the door and saw the man standing on the porch, smoking a cigarette. His eyes widened and he dropped the cigarette.

“Hello, Olivia! God, it’s been a long time. You shouldn’t answer the door dressed like that, what if I were a complete stranger?” He glanced at her yellow swimsuit. “You should never dress like that at all, what was your mother thinking?” He handed her his jacket. “At least put this on, you’re going to give the taxi driver a stroke.”

“I don’t remember you, but I don’t seem to be in any danger,” Olivia laughed. “And it’s too hot to wear anything but the thinnest fabric. If you’ll follow me, I’m sure your room is ready. My mother loves to keep the villa filled with guests and there are fresh towels next to the swimming pool. We only arrived yesterday and Esther is out buying papayas and caramboles. Wait until you try the fruit on the island, it’s the best you’ve ever tasted.”

“What sounds good right now is bourbon over ice.” He loosened his collar. “I haven’t had a chance to convert my yen to euros; could you pay the taxi driver? And there’s another bag in the trunk. My back is terrible and I can’t lug it up the stairs.

“This is some place!” he exclaimed and whistled when Olivia had paid the taxi driver and carried his bag into the marble foyer. He entered the living room and studied the parquet floor and yellow plaster walls and French doors leading onto the porch. Silk sofas were covered with floral throws and a marble bar was lined with brightly colored bottles.

He filled a glass with ice and poured a shot of bourbon. “If I had known the bar was stocked with Hennessy and there was a view of the whole island, I might have visited sooner.”

“What did you say your name was?” Olivia asked, perching on a leather stool. “My mother must have forgotten to mention that you were coming. Though it is odd she asked someone outside of the immediate family; you see, we’re celebrating my birthday. But it’s always nice to have company and Esther will bake her bubarhum cake.”

“I didn’t say my name.” He twirled his straw hat and looked at Olivia. “But you may have heard of it, it’s the same as yours. I’m Sebastian, your father.”