Jacqueline nodded slowly. “I think, with this being your first one and you not knowing as much about real estate, that it would be a good idea to start small. Maybe a small building with no more than four of five flats, for example.”
“Agreed. These are the ones the realtor sent over earlier this morning.” She passed the tablet to Jacqueline. “I’ve got a good eye for color and fabric and furniture, that sort of thing, but I don’t really know anything about the structural parts of it.”
“Well you’re in luck. I’m not overly good at the soft part of it myself, but I know a lot about structure and hard finishes and the like. Perhaps we’ll make a good team.”
Liz looked a bit surprised at Jacqueline’s offer of assistance but quickly covered it.
“That would be great! When do you plan on coming back?”
“I don’t really know. I’m not even sure when this visit will end,” she said.
“Okay, well, would you like to go see a few of these with me?”
“I’d love to. Call the car round,” Jacqueline replied.
After ten minutes of silence in the car, Liz decided to speak. “Did you study architecture in school?” she asked.
“No,” she replied, her voice tight. “I studied art.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I just thought you had because you know so much about it,” she trailed off, wondering what she had done to provoke her sister-in-law’s ire.
“I took as many classes as I could in the subject, and I’ve done a lot of reading on my own, and of course my own projects have taught me a lot.”
Liz nodded, unsure of what to say. Jacqueline seemed comfortable letting the topic drop.
**
“Why did your sister study art?” Liz asked that evening as they were padding around Will’s bathroom getting ready for bed. She’d never moved her things back into her own room after her sisters left. She’d suggested it half-heartedly to Will, and he had mumbled something about it all being pointless since she spent most of her time in his room anyway. She had taken it as an invitation to stay and continued to sleep in his bed, but still referred to the other as her room.
“She liked it, I suppose,” he replied.
“No, I mean why didn’t she study architecture? I asked her about it today and she seemed all tense.”
He rinsed his mouth and gargled for a minute, then wiped his face with a towel. “I’m not entirely sure, but I do remember her talking about it and wanting to go to some school famous for its architecture program. In the end she went to Cambridge and read art, though.”
“Do you think your father talked her out of the architecture program?” she asked thoughtfully.
Will was about to retort in the negative when he remembered something from his own experience with his father. “You know, he may have. He had firm ideas about what Harpers did and didn’t do, and about men and women, too. I remember mentioning that I was thinking about doubling in history or something like that, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I was reading business, we both knew that, but he wanted me to study IT or robotics or something along those lines so I’d be prepared to take over HarperCo. I understood his reasons, of course, but maybe Jackie wasn’t so compliant. I don’t really know. He passed away in her third year—she could have changed her course if she’d wanted to.”
“Doesn’t that seem a little, I don’t know, cold? To change as soon as he dies? Like you were waiting for him to get out of the way so you could do whatever you wanted?”
He made a face. “I see how you could think that, but I don’t think it necessarily has to be that way.”
“What would he have done if she’d refused to major in art and insisted on architecture? Would he have cut her off?”
“No, I don’t think so, but people didn’t really insist on things with my father. It just wasn’t the way it worked. He was a good man, but he was very powerful, very in command. Everyone just did what he said. Besides, he couldn’t have cut her off if he’d wanted to. She had family trusts from our grandparents that he couldn’t touch, plus her inheritance from our mother that she’d already come into. If she’d wanted to go for architecture, she could have. Nothing was stopping her, not really.”
“Nothing but her father’s approval and affection,” Liz mumbled.
Will wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Quit worrying about Jackie. She seems pretty happy with her life.” He kissed her forehead and walked out of the bathroom, calling over his shoulder for her to follow him. She reluctantly filed her thoughts away for another day and joined her husband in the bedroom.
***
In the end, Jacqueline and Liz spent three long weeks looking and finally settled on a small building with four floors in a good neighborhood. There were seven small apartments in it already, but Jacqueline suggested making four large ones and selling them as co-ops or renting them out. Liz agreed (and had in the back of her mind that it might be a decent place for her to live when things changed in a year) and the plan was set in motion.
Harper had generously offered to finance the project for Elizabeth, interest free, to get her started. Jacqueline offered to handle the inspections and help with contractors, so Liz just followed along as her sister-in-law peppered the inspector with questions she never would have thought to ask. The two women had forged a tentative friendship and Liz thought that while Jacqueline was a little hard to know, it might be worth the trouble in the end.
At lunch one day after meeting with the contractors, Liz noticed that Jacqueline was a bit quiet. She wasn’t a verbose woman, but she certainly spoke her fair share, especially on the topic of renovation.
“Is something on your mind?” Liz asked.
“Do you plan on spending a lot of time at the Hamptons house this summer?” Jacqueline replied.
“We usually go for weekends, but not all. Why? Would you like to spend some time there? We wouldn’t mind at all.”
Jacqueline took a deep breath and seemed to be trying to calm herself down a bit. “I thought I might spend some time there, yes, if you and William don’t mind.”
“Of course not! Go right ahead,” Liz encouraged. She sat quietly for a few minutes, observing her sister-in-law and wondering if she should take the risk she was considering. “It reminds you of your mother, doesn’t it?”
Jacqueline looked up at her, startled. “What?”
“The house in the Hamptons. Will told me you and your mother spent a lot of time there.”
Jacqueline nodded slowly and relaxed her shoulders a bit. “Yes, the men would stay in the city working while mother and I stayed at the beach house. It was lovely.”
“Sounds it.”
Tentatively, Jacqueline continued, “I used to call it Misselthwaite Manor. You know, from The Secret Garden?” Liz nodded. Jackie continued, “It was my favorite book. My mother read it to me when I was little and she bought me a first edition for my birthday.”
“I loved that book, too.”
“William and Father laughed when they heard what I’d named it. They said it was nowhere near big enough to be a manor and that this wasn’t England.”
Liz frowned. “How old were you?”
“I must’ve been about nine or so. William was just a teenager, following along after Father.”
“Did your father spend a lot of time with you at the beach house?”
“Not at all,” she said in clipped tones. “He spent very little time with me.”
Just then the check arrived and Jacqueline took out her wallet to pay for it.
“No, let me get it,” Liz said, reaching for the check.
Jacqueline forcefully pulled it to her. “I may not have my brother’s money, but I can well afford lunch.”
Liz drew her hand back, stunned, and quietly finished her drink and picked up her purse. “Shall we?” she said in a strained voice.
“Yes, let’s,” Jacqueline replied.
Outside, Jacqueline hailed a taxi and Liz said she would walk since she was only ten blocks from home. They sa
id short goodbyes and a bemused Liz went home alone.
“I had a strange conversation with your sister today,” she said over dinner that night.
“All my conversations with Jackie are strange,” he joked. “What happened?”
She told him what was said and the weird vibe she’d gotten from Jacqueline.
“What do you think is going on?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Sounds like she’s mad, but if there’s one thing Harpers are good at, it’s not talking about our problems.”
“Do you think she wants the beach house?”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “It’s possible, I suppose. Did she say anything about it?”
“Not exactly, but she didn’t seem to like the idea of having to ask permission to go to her own home.”
“It wasn’t home. It was a summer house.”
“To you, maybe, but to her, it was home, at least here in the States. She even named it!”
“I’d forgotten about that.” He smiled for a minute. “So, what are you suggesting?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but would you consider giving it to her?”
“What?”
“Why not? You could even make a trade. Her half of the upper west side apartment for your summer house. You’re more attached to the apartment, she’s more attached to the house. Seems fair enough. And she is your sister and only sibling. You’re never going to get another one.”
He was thoughtful for a moment. “If we did that, where would we go in the summer?”
“I have heard of this process among new money called ‘buying a home,’” she said with air quotes. “Scandalous, I know, but needs must.”
Harper laughed, “All right, so we give the beach house to Jacqueline and buy our own. Do you like that idea?”
“Hey, it’s your house and your sister. You need to make this decision.”
“So you’re just planting ideas in my mind?” he asked with a smile.
“Something like that.”
***
“These are all awful. Can’t we find something that doesn’t look like it belongs in a modern art museum?” Harper complained loudly at the fifth beach house they looked at. He stomped across the room and flipped his hand against the vertical blinds covering an oddly shaped window.
Liz took a deep breath. “Why don’t you tell the realtor what it is you’re looking for exactly. Maybe he could show you something more appropriate that way,” she said tensely. She’d forgotten how awful he was to shop with.
“I want something with character, something without a million ridiculous angles. Is that so difficult?” he replied petulantly.
Just then the realtor came around the corner and Liz hurried over to him before Will could spout off any more.
“Mr. Harper would like to see something more classical, maybe a historic property? Do you have any listings like that?” she asked as she led him toward the kitchen and away from her disgruntled husband.
“Actually, a colleague of mine is about to list a place that might be suitable. I can call and see if it’s available to view.”
“That would be great,” she said with a tight smile and walked stiffly back to her husband.
While the realtor talked on the phone, she marched Will onto the deck. “What is the matter with you?” she hissed.
“What do you mean?” he asked, offended.
“You’re being incredibly rude!”
“I am not! It’s his job to find us something we like. I told him I didn’t like the first McMansion he showed us and what does he do? Shows us four more!”
“What did you think he would do when you told him you wanted all the amenities and price wasn’t ‘really an issue’?” she asked in exasperation.
“I thought he’d bloody well do his job, that’s what!” he cried. “Bloody estate agents,” he murmured, pacing back and forth.
“Spoiled brat,” she said under her breath.
“What?” he spun around and glared at her. She stubbornly looked over the railing and refused to face him. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” she ground out.
“Oh, no, you don’t! You said something, I heard you! It sounded an awful lot like ‘spoiled brat,’” he enunciated perfectly.
She spun toward him. “So what if I did! You’re the one acting like a huge baby, pitching a fit because no mansion is pretty enough for you!”
His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened before narrowing at her. He stalked back into the house silently.
“We won’t be seeing any more houses today, Mr. Simms, thank you. We’ll be in touch,” he said to the realtor as he moved past him.
Liz quickly followed, making excuses to the realtor for their abrupt departure and trying to look like everything was all right when all she wanted to do was scream at her husband.
The ride back into the city was tense and silent. Neither said a word and Will kept his hands on the wheel in precisely the same position until they parked under their building.
After she’d hung up her jacket and put her purse on the table by the door, she followed Will into the kitchen where he was getting a beer out of the fridge.
“Would you like to tell me what that little temper tantrum was about?” she said to Will’s back.
The fridge door slammed shut and for a moment, Liz wondered if she’d made the mistake of poking the proverbial bear.
Will turned around slowly and cocked his head to one side. When he spoke, his voice was deceptively calm. “Tell me, Ms. Barrett, what disgusted you so much about my behavior today?”
She paled a little and finally squared her shoulders. “You were rude to John. He’s just trying to do his job and you’re not making it any easier.”
“But that’s his job!” Harper cried. “His job is to find me what I want. For his trouble I will pay him handsomely. It’s all very simple. He was doing a bad job and I was letting him know it.”
“And you were so mature about it! ‘These handles are too square! Why do all the doors have glass in them? Who needs an open loft?’” she imitated his deep voice and accent. “Why couldn’t you just say you wanted something less modern and be done with it? Poor John didn’t know what to do!”
“Why must you be best friends with everyone who works for you? Are you incapable of keeping a professional line?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, her expression befuddled.
“You’re on a first name basis with everyone you work with. I call him Mr. Simms, but you call him John. That doesn’t strike you as odd?”
“No! Why should it?”
“You’re too personable! I can guarantee you that if Mr. Simms, John, whatever his name is, wants to be successful in real estate, he’ll have to deal with people much more spoiled than I am.” He laughed cynically and moved into the living room.
“So, what, you’re just being an ass because you can, is that what you’re saying?” she asked, following him.
“I wasn’t an ass!”
“Yes you were!”
“I simply didn’t treat him like he was my best friend and entitled to see all my birthmarks!”
“What?” she said, suddenly confused.
“Nothing,” he mumbled. “My point is that you are too close with the help. You have to maintain a professional distance. You can’t keep wondering what everyone thinks of you all the time, or worrying about their feelings. You have a job to get done and you just need to do it.”
“I am not too close with the help! We don’t even have help!” she cried.
“Really? What about Maria?”
“The housekeeper? What about her?”
“Did you or did you not give her your recipe for butterscotch cookies?” Liz’s mouth dropped open as she gasped. He continued, “And you ask her about her grandchildren every time you see her. And you always sit and talk and drink iced tea together before she leaves.”
“I’m being polite! I’m southern! It’s what we do!” she s
houted.
“And I’ve seen her leave here with more than one bag of hand-me-downs for her daughter,” he said triumphantly.
“You may not realize this, Mr. Never-wear-the-same-thing-twice, but some people are dressed solely from hand-me-downs, and there’s no shame in it! I know you can’t possibly understand concepts like not having enough and depending on others to get by and actually needing things, but for a lot of people, it’s just life! And it’s hard! Something you obviously know nothing about.” She was so angry she was shaking and leaning toward him without realizing it.
“I know plenty about hardship!” he shouted back.
“Really? What do you know about hardship? What has ever been hard for you? Your entire life has been presented to you on a silver platter! The best schools, the nicest houses, the fanciest cars and clothes. Add to all of that you just happen to be gorgeous and have perfect hair! Your job was tailor-made for you and you slid cozily into a position most people work decades to get to.”
“So that's what you think? You think my life is so easy? You think everything is just handed to me? Do you have any idea what I've been through?” She shrank back at his vehemence. “Do you know why I'm the CEO?”
He leaned toward her and her eyes grew wide.
“Because my father isn't! Because he isn't here! Because he's dead! He's dead, Elizabeth! He died in my arms and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Do you know what that's like? Watching the person you love most in the world struggle for breath and finally collapse? Do you have ANY IDEA!?!” he shouted.
Her mouth opened in a silent ‘O,’ but she said nothing.
“I do. I know exactly what it's like,” he said, his voice strangled. “And all the fancy educations and the nice cars didn't make up for the fact that I had a mother who never wanted me and a father I never saw. You know why I was sent to boarding school when I was eight? Because my mother finally had the little girl she wanted and she couldn’t be bothered with her gangly, dirty little boy anymore. The first time I spent more than a week under the same roof as my father I was fifteen years old. He was too busy building an empire. Building all of this,” he opened his arms wide and gestured around him, “and it killed him. And for what? For a loveless marriage and a bunch of toys he never had time to use. Don't tell me I don't know about hard. I may not know about poor, but I know about hard.”
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