across the bay to the bridge we so recently drove in on. A white sailing boat is sliding by, attaching to my heartstrings as it crosses the golden path laid out by the peach-on-fire sun.
“I’ll say one thing for the super-rich, they sure know how to pick a holiday spot.”
Speaking of which, I can’t believe we’ve never covered Newport on Va-Va-Vacation! Especially with the
Downton
connection.
Apparently The Elms even offers a “Servant Life” tour. I must talk to Krista about this: I think there’s a definite market for a more genteel experience. Especially one with such pretty skies.
“I don’t know the last time I saw a sunset . . .” Pamela whispers in a trance.
The sky responds by amping up its gold backlighting. The clouds are unusually long and streaky, with random flourishes like the expressions of a modern dance troupe. Blue becomes indigo, orange rages to red, the gold brightens to a glare.
“Best show in town,” Gracie raves.
“A toast,” Pamela leans forward and raises her glass. “To new beginnings in New England.”
“And to old friends,” Gracie adds.
“To Georgie,” I smile. Even though I’ve never met him, I love the sound of him.
We take a sip and then give a rueful look in Ravenna’s direction.
“Do you think she’s going to be like this the whole time?” Pamela frets.
“She is a willful child,” Gracie notes. “She’ll certainly try to maintain the disdain as long as is humanly possible.”
“Well, you never know,” I say, already feeling the effects of the champagne. “Travel has a way of transforming people, even when they are at their most resistant.”
Gracie’s lips purse. “Let’s just hope it’s for the better.”
• • •
Even though it’s getting a little chilly, the ever-changing colors of the sunset hold us in position. I don’t want this moment to end. Ravenna, on the other hand, has already headed off to unpack. I should join her; I do have to change for dinner. And I will. Just five minutes more of this burnished glory . . .
• • •
Trotting down the path to our beach house in the now dim, powdery light, I decide upon my white linen sundress, the navy cardi with the big anchor buttons and a sheeny red lip. At the very least I shall coordinate with the other wharfies.
“Knock, knock.” I turn the key in the latch but no sooner am I through the door, I find myself stalling. “Oh my!”
Not because I’ve caught Ravenna in a compromising position (she’s nowhere to be seen), but because I am in the presence of such tasteful, grown-up design.
The floors are a honeyed hardwood, the walls whitewashed, the loft-style ceiling painted the most serene hyacinth blue. The four-poster is hefty and masculine, sans canopy, but with duvet and pillows puffed to cloud status. There’s a stained mahogany armoire, a coffee table and a large brown leather sofa, all of a reassuringly classic persuasion.
I bet Ravenna wants to get out her spray can and graffiti the entire place, including the sea view that now draws me forward.
Oohhh, a fireplace. My hand reaches to touch the textured slate chimney breast. Nothing makes me swoon like a fireplace. And this one is directly opposite the bed. What could be toastier?
There’s even a little kitchenette with state-of-the-art coffee-making facilities, further fueling the fantasy that I have just arrived at my new apartment.
“Yes, I took a place by the sea,” I shall tell people. “Everyone needs a little time away from the city.”
I ease open the patio door and step onto the deck, taking a moment to listen to the waves’ rolling breath and the respondent drag of the shingle. It’s so peaceful here. So soothing. Right up until the point at which Ravenna emerges from the bathroom in a billow of fragrant steam.
“Oh, you’re here.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say as I make a beeline for my suitcase, foraging for my canvas wedges. Got one. I’ll have quite the peg-leg walk
“I’ll say one thing for the super-rich, they sure know how to pick a holiday spot.”
Speaking of which, I can’t believe we’ve never covered Newport on Va-Va-Vacation! Especially with the
Downton
connection.
Apparently The Elms even offers a “Servant Life” tour. I must talk to Krista about this: I think there’s a definite market for a more genteel experience. Especially one with such pretty skies.
“I don’t know the last time I saw a sunset . . .” Pamela whispers in a trance.
The sky responds by amping up its gold backlighting. The clouds are unusually long and streaky, with random flourishes like the expressions of a modern dance troupe. Blue becomes indigo, orange rages to red, the gold brightens to a glare.
“Best show in town,” Gracie raves.
“A toast,” Pamela leans forward and raises her glass. “To new beginnings in New England.”
“And to old friends,” Gracie adds.
“To Georgie,” I smile. Even though I’ve never met him, I love the sound of him.
We take a sip and then give a rueful look in Ravenna’s direction.
“Do you think she’s going to be like this the whole time?” Pamela frets.
“She is a willful child,” Gracie notes. “She’ll certainly try to maintain the disdain as long as is humanly possible.”
“Well, you never know,” I say, already feeling the effects of the champagne. “Travel has a way of transforming people, even when they are at their most resistant.”
Gracie’s lips purse. “Let’s just hope it’s for the better.”
• • •
Even though it’s getting a little chilly, the ever-changing colors of the sunset hold us in position. I don’t want this moment to end. Ravenna, on the other hand, has already headed off to unpack. I should join her; I do have to change for dinner. And I will. Just five minutes more of this burnished glory . . .
• • •
Trotting down the path to our beach house in the now dim, powdery light, I decide upon my white linen sundress, the navy cardi with the big anchor buttons and a sheeny red lip. At the very least I shall coordinate with the other wharfies.
“Knock, knock.” I turn the key in the latch but no sooner am I through the door, I find myself stalling. “Oh my!”
Not because I’ve caught Ravenna in a compromising position (she’s nowhere to be seen), but because I am in the presence of such tasteful, grown-up design.
The floors are a honeyed hardwood, the walls whitewashed, the loft-style ceiling painted the most serene hyacinth blue. The four-poster is hefty and masculine, sans canopy, but with duvet and pillows puffed to cloud status. There’s a stained mahogany armoire, a coffee table and a large brown leather sofa, all of a reassuringly classic persuasion.
I bet Ravenna wants to get out her spray can and graffiti the entire place, including the sea view that now draws me forward.
Oohhh, a fireplace. My hand reaches to touch the textured slate chimney breast. Nothing makes me swoon like a fireplace. And this one is directly opposite the bed. What could be toastier?
There’s even a little kitchenette with state-of-the-art coffee-making facilities, further fueling the fantasy that I have just arrived at my new apartment.
“Yes, I took a place by the sea,” I shall tell people. “Everyone needs a little time away from the city.”
I ease open the patio door and step onto the deck, taking a moment to listen to the waves’ rolling breath and the respondent drag of the shingle. It’s so peaceful here. So soothing. Right up until the point at which Ravenna emerges from the bathroom in a billow of fragrant steam.
“Oh, you’re here.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say as I make a beeline for my suitcase, foraging for my canvas wedges. Got one. I’ll have quite the peg-leg walk
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