A Stranger in Wynnedower (18 page)

****

Rachel stood at the
front windows watching as Jack’s sedan flew along the dirt road.

He was back from New
York. She was sad to be leaving, but also relieved to be free of the temptation
that surrounded her at Wynnedower, including this juvenile attraction she felt.

Her work papers were
stacked on the dresser. She hadn’t completed the inventory, but had a
representative sampling of the furniture. It was time for Jack to bring in an
appraiser to provide specific, expert advice.

The contact list was
the topmost sheet. Two appraisers with excellent references were first on the
list. Further down were carpenters, painters, etc., all of whom could provide
proof of insurance. She laid the pen neatly on top.

Her clothing was
half-packed. Her phone was fully charged for the trip home.

Jack’s voice boomed,
echoing up the stairs. “Rachel? Rachel?”

She picked up the
papers and the pen and came out through the sitting room. He was already
standing at the top of the stairs.

“Ah, there you are. I
thought you might be in the attic.”

“I could’ve heard you
shouting if I’d been all the way up on the roof.”

His face was lit with
excitement. “Everything went okay here while I was gone?”

“No problems,” she
said. “Your trip went well?”

“Good. Great. Better
than great. I want to celebrate.”

She pushed the stack of
papers in his direction. He reached out and took them.

“What’s this?”

“Your lists. A partial
inventory. You need to bring in an appraiser now to help sort the wheat from
the chaff. There’s also a list of artisans and workers. I spoke with them, but
didn’t set up actual appointments for estimates because I didn’t know when you
would be available.”

“For me.” He looked at
the list as if it were written in code. “For me?”

“You asked me to stay
until you returned from New York. You’re back and, frankly, I should be moving
on.”

“What about your
brother?”

“What about him? He
hasn’t called back yet, but he has my cell number. If he calls again, it will
be to that number. He isn’t in danger, at least not until he returns, and then
we’ll have to see how that chat goes.” She smiled. “So, you’ve been wonderful
and I appreciate all that you’ve done for me.”

“No, no. I don’t have
time to meet with these people. You’ll do that for me won’t you? Stay a little
while longer—through the showing? Will it cause a problem with your job?”

“I don’t have to take
another assignment yet, but when I planned my vacation time, I thought I’d be
spending it with my brother. That’s not going to happen. I’ve been here more
than a week, and it’s time for me to get back to real life.”

“What about the museum
job?”

“I doubt it’s a
possibility any longer. I suspect it isn’t. It was a pipe dream anyway.” She
hadn’t expected to hear a defeatist whine in her voice. She cringed.

He frowned. “No, this
isn’t right.” He shook his head and tried to hand the papers back.

“No, keep them, Jack.”

“I’ll hire you.”

“Hire me?”

“As a part-time
caretaker, plus pay for inventory and supervision and estimate gathering and stuff.”

“Jack, I appreciate the
sentiment, but I need a real job.”

“That’s what this is,
but I understand what you’re saying, so let’s call this a temporary assignment.
Until after the gallery showing. A month.”

“A month? You mean in
addition to the time I’ve already spent here?” This man who’d been so arrogant
was begging her to stay a bit longer. Her will softened. “Your showing is in less
than two weeks.”

He shook his head. “I’m
not sure how long I’ll be in New York.”

“Oh, Jack, I don’t
know….”

“Stay until you get a
better offer?”

“Stay until Sharon
calls with an assignment I want?” Was she really considering this?

“Yes. Why not? It’s
only a few hours’ drive back to Baltimore.”

She felt like he’d
stolen her oxygen. Swept her off her feet. She felt wanted, if only for her
skills, but maybe also a little for herself.

“You want me to stay
here, meet with the appraiser and renovators and get estimates, plus complete
the inventory. For that, you’ll pay me and if a better job comes along I can
leave without notice for the new job.”

“Yes. Take these back?”
He held out the papers.

“Let me call Sharon
first. If the schedule is open, then we have a deal.”

He was suddenly
serious. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

His hands seemed to
hover near her arms. She thought—what did she think? Nothing.

“I’ll put the papers
back in my room unless you want to review them now?”

“No. I want you to make
your phone call, and then I want you to tell me you’ll stay.”

With each ‘you’ the
force of his personality, as strong as his eyes were dark, touched her. She
warned herself not to read more into it than there was.

He continued, “Finish
your call, then come downstairs. Tell me who to contact to make the
arrangements so you’ll officially work for me. Then we’ll have supper while I
tell you about the plans for the showing.”

When Jack left, she
took her phone and went down the end stairwell and out to the conservatory and
the terrace to call Sharon. It was nearly five, but Sharon never left early.
She leaned against the brick wall and dialed.

“Stillman’s Consulting,
Accounting and Inventory Group.”

“Sharon? Hi, it’s
Rachel.”

“Hi, there. Great
timing. I have an assignment you’ll like.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t
expecting that. She needed to drum up a little enthusiasm. “What and where?”

“It’s an estate. An old
woman, practically a hoarder, but of good stuff, has passed. Her executor needs
an inventory. I thought of you. You know something about everything. I
understand that’s about what she left—something of everything. They need you
right away, though. I’ll assign some assistants to go with you.”

Not so different from
what she’d been doing here. New place, some interesting stuff.

“What’s wrong, Rachel?
Was that a sigh? Are you back in town?”

“No, that’s just it.
I’m still down in Virginia.”

“This is a nice
assignment. You won’t want to miss it.”

“It sounds great. Thing
is….” She made her decision. “I’m hoping Jeremy is on his way back…and I want
to be here.” Not entirely a lie.

“I can’t postpone this
job. It’s an estate. They’re anxious to get it settled. Listen, I’m pretty sure
Stillman would give a nice bonus for this one.”

“I totally understand.
Thanks for thinking of me.”

Sharon’s voice slowed
in hesitation. “If you’re sure. Stillman suggested we ask you. He thought you
might want to come back to work early. It’s a good one, Rachel.”

There were others who
could do the job, but if she let Sharon down, then next time she might not
think of Rachel first when she had a choice assignment. Alan Stillman signed
the checks. She didn’t want to sour that relationship.

She pushed the words
out. “I’m sure. Sorry to put you to the trouble. Thanks for thinking of me, but
I have a bit of news of my own. I have a potential client who’ll be contacting
you.”

“Who?”

“Jack Wynne. A short
gig, but it’s here. Handy while I wait for Jeremy.”

She waited out the long
pause before Sharon answered, “Okay, keep me posted and good luck with your
brother.”

“Thanks again.” She
hung up. Had she really turned down a job? Guilt stung her.
Your brother
,
Sharon had said. But she hadn’t turned it down because she was waiting for
Jeremy. Had she done it for Jack? Oh, crap.

Not Jack. No, she just wasn’t
finished here. Not with the work and not emotionally. When she left, she didn’t
want to take regret with her.

Her hands trembled as
she closed the phone. She’d crossed a second threshold. The first, when she’d
arrived at Wynnedower. This second was a minute ago when she turned down an
assignment and chose to stay.

But only for a little
while longer—until Jack’s New York show was done.

Jack thanked her when
she told him she’d stay. He thanked her, took Sharon’s name and number, said he
had to finish some brush strokes while the paint consistency was right, and
then disappeared into the dining room, closing the doors behind him.

Rachel slapped the
papers on the table in frustration. Was this important or not?

Several times during
the course of the afternoon, she passed those doors. Other than an occasional,
muffled noise, she heard nothing. She didn’t like the quality of those sounds
and caught herself tiptoeing. When suppertime hit, she didn’t disturb him. Rare
faint noises, a horizontal line of light shining below the doors in the dark
hallway, well into the night, was far from inviting. Now she hoped the doors
would stay closed.

She sneaked down for a
glass of water and a snack to take back upstairs. She was barely through the
hallway when the dining room doors flew open, then slammed shut. He moved so
quickly she only caught a glimpse of his back. The heavy footsteps ended down
the hall near his quarters, and another door slammed.

Did Kilmer have a point
when he’d warned her about Jack’s temperament?

Tonight she wasn’t
tempted to linger but scooted right on up the stairs to her room, seriously
reconsidering her decision to stay.

****

Bright sun lit the room
and bird song trilled right through the window glass. Rachel awoke and
immediately began worrying over her decision to stay. She kept at it as she
washed and dressed. Becoming a paid employee, instead of a gal helping out, put
them on a whole new footing. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be on that new
footing with Jack.

Rachel dusted the top
of the dresser and arranged her brush and comb neatly on a doily she’d found in
the attic. How big a mistake had she made by agreeing to Jack’s plan? Could she
get out of it?

Did she want to get out
of it?

She picked up the key
ring. Considering how preoccupied he’d been the afternoon and evening before,
maybe he hadn’t made the call after all. Might not be anything to get out of.

She went from worried
to depressed.

By now, locking doors
behind her was routine. Before she was halfway down the stairs, she heard the
clatter of pans coming from the kitchen. Something fell, and the bang and
cursing told her it was Jack, not May.

As Rachel reached the
kitchen door, she blurted out, “We have to get some things straight.”

He faced her with
twenty-four hours of dark stubble and red-rimmed eyes.

She asked, “Are you
sick?”

Jack lifted his coffee
mug. “I got caught up in the painting last night. I need coffee before my
shower.”

“Oh.” How could they
have a frank discussion when he was in this state?

He paused in the
doorway. “I apologize for leaving you on your own for supper last night. I’ll
make it up to you.”

****

Rachel spent the early
morning hours in the attic writing descriptions of furniture. Her efforts were
half-hearted, but she wasn’t on the payroll yet, so her time was still her own.
She returned to her room and saw the garment on the bed.

In the strong light
from the windows, the lace, pearls and silk gown was more obviously yellowed
than it had appeared in the attic, but the shade gave the original beige more
of a soft ecru tone. Shoes were placed neatly on the floor below where the hem
of the dress fell over the coverlet.

Ice and fire
alternately raged through her body. She couldn’t think. Guilt—smack in the
face, you’re-a-nosy-person-with-no-life embarrassment—made her lightheaded. The
door lintel kept her upright.

She closed her eyes and
placed one hand over her diaphragm.
Breathe deep. Breathe slow. Once again,
deep and slow.

When she opened her
eyes, the dress was still there.

Who? Someone who’d seen
her in the attic digging in the trunk where she didn’t belong? Who wanted to
humiliate her?

She checked the room.
First, the bathroom, and then the closet. Under the bed. The other doors were
locked.

Slowly, Rachel sank
down on the bed. The movement of the mattress dislodged the dress, and it began
to slide in rippled waves over the edge. She grabbed it before it hit the
floor.

Her breath caught in
awe of the tiny, delicately embroidered roses on the bodice and running down
the skirt, at the pink-tinged pearls and at the filmy lace covering the
flesh-colored silk that would rest so lightly against the wearer’s skin.