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Jewel Cay was even more beautiful than Brooke remembered. She hadn’t visited Leonard Asgill’s colonial–style home, perched on a tiny private island in the Florida Keys, for years – before college, in fact. In the interim, Jewel Cay’s grounds had grown more lush with foliage and, somehow, the water surrounding it had taken on an even brighter sparkle. Thankfully, David also loved the estate on sight, although in Brooke’s mind it would be hard to dislike the proud white house with its long decked porch, the hammocks swinging between shady banana trees and manicured lawns sloped down to the turquoise Caribbean. No wonder Leonard had cut down his workload at Asgill’s in the past few years, thought Brooke. During the winter months, he only worked two weeks out of every four, allowing him to come down and stay here. Since the death of his wife two years earlier, Leonard had begun to refer to Jewel Cay as ‘The Sanctuary’. Brooke was honoured that he would allow her and David to share its tranquil atmosphere.
‘This is just glorious,’ said Alessandro Franchetti, watching a pod of dolphins leap across the bay through the wide French windows. Behind him it was getting dark, the sun setting in banners of vivid red, lavender, and bronze across the sky. Alessandro had arrived two hours earlier in order to see Jewel Cay at night – Brooke and David’s wedding was to be at sunset. Alessandro was wearing a white linen suit, presumably in deference to his surroundings, although Brooke giggled to herself that he looked more like an up–market pimp. In Alessandro’s flamboyant entourage were two representatives from Miami’s leading wedding caterers, his handsome PA, who looked as if he belonged on the Versace runway, and two other assistants, whom he mysteriously referred to as the ‘set–up team’. Clicking his fingers, Alessandro beckoned them to follow him to the front of the house. Brooke gasped as she stepped outside. Somehow, since his arrival, candles had been placed all around the fountain on the front lawn, while strings of fairy lights seemed to drip from the mahogany trees.
‘Alessandro, this is magical,’ said Brooke, her hands to her mouth. ‘Is this what your assistants have been doing?’
He gave a casual shrug.
‘I just wanted to get us in the mood.’
‘What for? I thought he was getting us to sample canapé options,’ whispered David as Alessandro sat them at a small linen–draped table under a tree.
Alessandro clapped his hands. Soft jazz floated from inside the house and two white–coated waiters came out holding trays of tiny, delicate food.
‘Imagine it’s December the twenty–ninth, your wedding day. Close your eyes, David. Come on.’
Brooke took a small ball of choux pastry off the silver platter. As she bit the delicate crust, soft mousse dissolved o
nto her tongue. It was exquisite.
‘Wow. David, try one of these.’
David gingerly picked one up and popped it into his mouth.
‘Umm,’ he nodded, ‘that’s really good.’
‘Of course it’s good,’ said Alessandro, his eyes wide open. ‘The guy who made it used to be Alain Ducasse’s pastry chef. That mousse is truffle–scented.’
Each canapé seemed more delicious that the one preceding it: caviar on rye and pumpkin brittle, topped with crème fraîche and chives from England, spoons of Finnish cloudberry sorbet, the softest beef carpaccio, tartlets filled with rare cheese and asparagus.
Finally Alessandro clapped his hands and the waiters disappeared.
‘These are my favourite caterers,’ said Alessandro, sotto voce. ‘I want to go with them, but the choice is entirely yours. They’ve signed a confidentiality agreement – but you never know. I dated a chef once: terrible gossip. He had to go of course, gossip is toxic in my professional life as you can imagine.’
David covered his mouth with a napkin to hide his laugh. ‘I think they’re amazing Alessandro,’ said Brooke. ‘I love the food, I love the lights, and I also love your idea to have the ceremony around the pool.’
‘Well, I haven’t quite worked out how we’re going to build an aisle over the water, but leave it with me. In the meantime I’ve auditioned five Cuban jazz bands already. Miami–based but from Havana originally. One of them is especially cute.’
‘We want to know what they sound like, not look like,’ smiled David.
‘I like a nice all–round package,’ said Alessandro briskly.
‘So I heard,’ quipped Brooke. She had found Alessandro hard work at first but, having spent many hours with him, both in person and on the phone, she was beginning to enjoy his company. It was hard not to be dragged along in the slipstream of his seemingly endless enthusiasm.
‘You are a very naughty young lady,’ said Alessandro, swatting her on the arm.
Together the three of them walked through the grounds, talking through Alessandro’s ‘vision’. There would be jugglers and fire–eaters, a champagne bar by the ocean and an extravagant firework display at midnight. David was quiet throughout Alessandro’s walk–through. Brooke watched him carefully as Alessandro explained how he planned to fly a DJ in from Paris for the dance floor they would build by the pool. In the ten days since he’d been back from Syria, he’d been spending long days in the studio, plus there had been couple of big benefits including the Costume Institute Gala at the Met. No wonder he looked tired.
‘Are we both okay for the second canapé–tasting at ten tomorrow?’ asked Alessandro. ‘It’s with Starlight caterers. They’re based in South Beach and they’ve done fabulous parties for Madonna and Julio Iglesias.’
Brooke nodded, her eyes still on David. Her fingers moved up to touch the scarf around her neck. It was a beautiful piece of copper silk, shot through with gold thread, which David had brought back from Syria. They’d made up on the telephone after their quarrel about the bodyguards, but Brooke had still been relieved to receive it.
‘Wonderful, we’ll see you then,’ said Alessandro, summoning his PA and assistants, jumping into a waiting boat to take them back to the mainland. When the boat’s engine had died away, all was quiet again, just the occasional rustle of the palm trees in the breeze. Brooke walked back inside the house and poured them both a drink of iced tea from a pitcher.
‘Do we have to do all that again tomorrow?’ said David after a few moments.
‘Do what?’
‘Food theatre,’ he said with a half grin.
