“I called to you.” Shawn grimly supplied.
“I must not have heard you,” Faith shrugged it off. “I’m still a little exhausted from the trip. I can’t believe how much money we won. I should take you to Vegas more often.”
“For the last time that had nothing to do with my gift. You were thinking about buying cigarettes. I simply distracted you with a shiny slot machine.”
“Okay,” Faith conceded. “Well, I’m still exhausted. It was a blast. And I don’t have to wear that godawful dress.”
“That’s not why you didn’t answer me,” Shawn scolded her. “I hate this.”
“I know,” Faith felt overwhelmed. She had hoped to deflect the conversation by mentioning their good fortune. “There’s nothing we can do. The doctor said the hearing loss is permanent. I’m lucky, I only lost hearing in my left ear.”
“It shouldn’t have happened,” Shawn whimpered. “I could have lost you.”
“You didn’t,” Faith reminded her. “Even you couldn’t have known. You did try to get me not to go to the marathon.”
“You go to watch your father and sister run the Boston Marathon and almost die.”
“I didn’t,” Faith asserted. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not for first time in my life. The doctors said that it could have been from my time as a war correspondent. It’s been three years since it happened and it hasn’t slowed me down. Speaking of which, I have a little more research to do.”
“You’re the best researcher the production company has ever hired.”
“I love doing it. Beats the hell out of being involved with the news industry and I certainly do not miss crawling around haunted houses. I mean I respect what you do, but I’ve seen enough to last a lifetime. The only thing I miss, is being there with you.”
“I heard you talking earlier, was Willie in here?”
“Speaking of ghosts,” Faith snorted. “No, the little bugger left me alone for a change. I was on the phone with Ro.”
“Graskey? Shame she didn’t visit when she was in town. But I get it, being around people is her least favorite thing. What is she up to these days?”
“She’s doing some work on this island just north of Portland, Maine. Muraille Island. Why does that name sound familiar?”
“The only Muraille I can think of is the Muraille Arts Foundation. Remember the show we went to last month at the MOMA.”
“Right that must be it,” she responded thoughtfully turning her attention back towards her laptop.
“What are you doing?” When Faith failed to respond she tapped her on the shoulder and repeated the question. “I just want to see if there is a connection.” She offered tapping away on the keyboard. “Here we go. Muraille Island, once inhabited by the Native Americans until Colonel Fowler claimed it after the revolutionary war. In the early 1800’s his ancestors sold it to the Muraille family. The same Muraille family that is in possession of more Monet’s then anyone on the planet. The island stayed in the family until Temperance Muraille left it to her personal assistant, Ella Westbrook. That is curious.”
“What?”
“I was just thinking you would have had to been a model employee for your boss to bequeath you an entire island. Shawn are you all right?”
“It’s nothing,” she stammered.
“Nothing, nothing or nothing you understand as of yet?”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure we will find out.”
Chapter 5
New York City
Later the same evening
Faith leaned back in her chair, not surprised to see some of the pens move. “Stop it Willie,” she chided her unseen guest as she hit speaker option on her cellphone. “Hi, Mom,” she offered cheerfully.
“How are you Faith?”
“I’m good.”
“And how is Shawn doing?”
“Working too hard,” she grumbled snagging a pen and a pad of paper. “I need a little help.”
“Of course you do,” her mother chuckled. “I love that you are a researcher but I get the feeling that I’m your first source far too often.”
“You’re a history professor that is fascinated by all periods of history. This isn’t really for a project, just a little something I’m working on. More curiosity than anything else. What do you know about the Muraille family?”
“A little more information, please?”
“Such as?”
“Which one?”
“Temperance Muraille, at one time she bought an island.”
“I don’t know anything about an island, but I do know that she was the driving force that made the family art foundation what it is today,” her mother eagerly supplied. “She was an interesting woman. A bit of an aviatrix. It is also rumored that she was involved with helping the SOE.”
“And that is?”
“Special Operations Executive, Churchill set it up during World War II. She wasn’t an operative, that I know of but she did have some dealings with them. The rumor is that Nelson Rockefeller asked for her help in getting people out of occupied territories. It wasn’t uncommon for her to fly down to South America. She and Rockefeller were friends. She was also friends with FDR. It wouldn’t have been out of the realm of possibilities for her to use her love of flying to lend a helping hand. I do know that the foundation, returned some paintings to survivors after the war. I believe she was responsible for that as well. She was mostly known for her philanthropy. By all accounts she was a very generous woman.”
“Married, kids?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I don’t recall reading anything about her personal life. I have seen some paintings from her personal collection on display at the MFA. I think she might have died at a relatively young age. Like I said, she was mostly known for her charity work. Which I now find it odd that her personal life was never up for public scrutiny. Let me know what you find out. I’m going to do a little digging myself.”
“I love it when I can pique your interest.”
“That’s because I end up doing half of your work for you.”
Faith chatted with her mother for another hour before hanging up. She leaned back in her chair, grimacing at the stack of work sitting there.
Leaning forward she powered up her laptop. She hated it when curiosity got the better of her. She found herself speaking to a seemingly empty room. “If anyone asks, Willie I was working on Althea’s projects. Now, let’s take a look at what we can find out about, Temperance Muraille.”
New York City
April, 3 1938
“Ella, what are you wearing?” Alfred Patterson demanded. She wasn’t surprised by his tone. The man was in a constant state of aggravation. “I told you this was a formal affair.”
“I understand.” She mumbled wanting to punch him. Certainly, this boorish man knew she couldn’t afford to dress as nicely as the guests. “This is my nicest dress,” she sheepishly admitted. Working at the Colbert Museum was a dream job. It paid well and she spent her days doing what she loved. That didn’t mean it paid her enough to keep up with the rich women who were attending the charity gala that evening.
“You can’t be seen,” he gasped pushing her aside. “That was Mrs. Astor.”
“Mr. Patterson,” Christopher Harley, the man acting as the liaison between the museum and the Muraille family, quickly approached her. “Thank goodness you found her. Ella, I need your assistance”
“I could-“Alfred started quickly asserting himself between them.
“No need to trouble yourself,” Christopher chided him before guiding Ella away. “What has his knickers in a twist?”
“My outfit,” she shyly confessed. “He’s right. I thought I could get away with a simple black dress.”
“Nonsense,” he quickly dismissed her fears. “You look positively delightful.”
“You’re too kind. What is it you need help with?”
“Nothing,” he shrugged before winking. “You looked as if you needed resc
uing. He’s a boorish man. He was chatting Mr. Mellon’s ear off about how he coordinated this entire soiree.”
“He does that,” Ella scoffed. “He is the boss.”
“Rest assured, I have let my superior know that it was you who did all of the work.”
“That was very kind of you, Mr. Harley.”
“I am nothing if not a gentleman. I think you should know, that Miss Muraille is most pleased. We have already raised a great deal of money for the trust.”
“This isn’t for the family arts foundation.”
“No, it is for the Muraille Family Charitable Trust.”
“You never explained what that is.”
“Helping kids,” an older gentleman clad in a very expensive tuxedo interrupted. “Food on the table and books in the classroom isn’t that right, Christopher?”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself, Mr. Mellon.”
“Daniel and Temperance are to be commended,” he turned serious. “Many in our set forget that there is a need. Now, what I would like to know, Christopher is what is it going to take to get your boss to part with that Bannister she knew I wanted? Now, don’t go denying that Temperance swooped in and bought it out from under me.”
“It goes so well with the other Bannister she owns.” He added nodding towards the seascape hanging on the opposite wall.
“I love that girl, but she is a shark.” Mr. Mellon barked with laughter before he made his excuses and went on his way.
“I have a confession to make; for me, seeing all these works of art in one place is like waking up in Heaven.” Ella confessed.
“I understand,” his smooth voice softly agreed. “I never dared dream that I would be able to spend my life surrounded by such beauty. The truly amazing thing is this is just the tip of the iceberg.”
“There’s more?”
“Oh, yes.” He nodded thoughtfully. “More in the family collection and of course private holdings among the family members.”
“Doesn’t seem right,” Ella sputtered before she could stop herself. “Owning such beauty.”
“That is why, they exhibit the collection whenever they can. Speaking of which, you are clear that if there is any interest in a piece that is a part of the foundation’s collection you are to direct those inquiries to me.”
“I have the list, of what belongs to whom,” she tapped the clipboard she had been carrying.
“And if someone expresses interest in a private piece. Take down the information and I’ll pass it along. The private pieces are rarely sold. Unless of course the owner has a sudden need to shall we say, liquidate?”
She found his statement more than a little surprising. In recent years, the entire country had been hit hard. The stock market crashed and most people lost everything. The Murailles and the other guests were not most people. They went on, living life to the fullest complete with grand homes, exclusive parties and anything else their hearts desired.
“I am curious as to why there aren’t any Edward Bannisters in the family collection?” She threw out in an effort to change the subject.
“Miss Muraille did try to convince the family to invest in his work,” he dryly began. “They resisted.”
“Really? His work is amazing and he’s from New England. I would have thought the Foundation would love to own some of his pieces.”
“It wasn’t his body of work,” he seemed hesitant. “It was his complexion.”
“I see.” The words slowly tumbled out as a tall dark and extremely handsome man rushed over.
“Rudy?” Christopher greeted him with a faint smile.
“Her majesty has arrived,” he quipped.
“Rudy.” Christopher seemed to be cautioning him. He made a quick introduction, failing to mention just who Rudy was and why he was there.
“She’s charming the donors while ducking her brother,” Rudy eagerly began. “She has requested your assistance. She would like you to ensure that Wallace is tending to the automobile and not preening for the hatcheck girl.”
“Someone needs to remind that young man that he is not Clark Gable. If you will excuse me, Miss Westbrook.”
“Miss Westbrook?” Another stunning man questioned as he joined them.
“Mr. Muraille,” Christopher nodded. “Miss Westbrook this is Daniel Muraille.”
“Mr. Muraille? You must be on the clock,” he jested before turning his attention towards Ella. He took her by the hand, and kissed it. “A pleasure.” He announced with a gleam in his brilliant green eyes.
“I see you have things well in hand,” Christopher dryly offered. “Your cousin is in need of my services.”
“Carry on.” Daniel dismissed him without a glance. His focus remained locked on Ella.
She gave him a shy smile before turning her attention to her clipboard. Daniel Muraille was rich, handsome and well educated. Everything a woman could want in a man. The problem was she had no interest in finding a man.
“According to Christopher we have you to thank for making this evening memorable.”
She shivered when he drew out the word memorable. His intention was clear. “I was simply doing my job.” She kept her tone polite while withdrawing her hand from his grasp. Thankfully, he did not seem offended. So, many men of his station felt a certain entitlement.
“Modesty becomes you,” he brightly offered taking a slight step backward. The simple gesture put her instantly at ease. “Enjoy your evening.” He offered with a slight bow. “I simply must find the bar.”
Spying Alfred heading her way, she made her way through the crowd. Eager to find a quiet space before tending to the guests she took a seat in a far corner. The nook not only provided her with privacy it gave her an excellent view of a Renoir.
Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a vision of beauty. The dark haired woman moved gracefully through the crowd. Her gown shimmered garnering her even more attention. Ella watched in amazement as people tripped over themselves to get closer to this woman.
The woman seemed to engage all that surrounded her, while scanning the room. Ella’s heart skipped a beat when the brunette threw back her head and laughed. She tried to stand only to find her knees were trembling.
“This is ridiculous,” she chided herself. She forced herself to her feet, trying to catch her breath. She had to meet this woman. Her position with the museum gave her the perfect opening to engage the alluring stranger. She braced herself and turned releasing a loud yelp.
“My goodness,” the silky voice encompassed her.
Ella stood there, having suddenly fallen mute. Dark brown eyes held her captive. “It is quite beautiful.” The stranger offered her voice once again, captivating her.
“I-“Ella stammered thrown completely off balance.
“Simply amazing,” the beautiful stranger added.
Ella panicked her knees once again quivering. That was until she realized that her alluring guest was referring to the Renoir.
“Yes,” Ella managed to squeak out. Pausing for a moment she took a cleansing breath. “It is a part of –“
“My private collection,” she interrupted. “Temperance Muraille.” She added before flashing a coy smile.
“Miss Muraille, my apologies. I’m-“
“Ella Westbrook,” she once again interrupted. “According to my man Christopher I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“For?” Ella questioned in an effort to regain her bearings.
“Tonight. Everything is wonderful. You’ve helped make this evening a great success. A great many children will not be going to bed hungry next month thanks to you.”
Ella’s senses reeled when Temperance offered her hand. “You’re too kind.” She managed to respond without sounding like an imbecile.
“Never,” Temperance toyed with her. Like her cousin she kept a hold of Ella’s hand. Ella didn’t mind. She was thrilled, wanting nothing more than for the moment to last forever.
“Your collection is nothing short of amazing,” s
he threw out nervously.
“I do so enjoy owning beautiful things,” Temperance purred her dark brown eyes raking up and down Ella’s body.
“Oh, I see,” Ella curtly retorted snapping her hand back. The woman’s lechery instantly broke the spell. “If you will excuse me. I have matters to attend to.” She added curtly before storming off.
“Tempe?” She heard Daniel gasp.
“I like owning beautiful things?” Christopher added. “Have you lost your mind?”
“I must say, that was smooth,” she heard Daniel continuing. “Keep talking like that and you will end up living out your days with five or six cats as your only companions.”
Ella never heard the rest of the conversation. She kept walking until she came upon someone who needed her assistance. For the rest of the evening she was mindful of keeping her distance from the arrogant Miss Muraille. She also kept Daniel and Christopher at bay. She truly wasn’t interested in hearing them plead her case.
By the end of the evening she was still astonished by Temperance Muraille’s actions. She was very grateful that chances of ever having to lay eyes on the insufferable woman again were slim to none. Or so she thought.
CHAPTER 6
Muraille Island
September 9, 2017
For a week Ro had wandered about the island. Taking pictures and trying to enjoy her surroundings. With the constant feeling of being not only watched but followed made her increasingly tense. The sounds of goats screaming, terrified her. The batteries in her cameras failing along with losing power in her solar powered home added to her overall tension.
The whispering in German made her angry. It was the same words over and over again. Frau Muss dienen. Having spent part of her life in Germany, from when her father was stationed there she easily understood the words. Simply translated, ‘Women must serve.’ Since she was certain it had nothing to do with tennis, it set her on edge.
The only times she felt at ease was when she was in her house, the little cottage or beyond the gate. More than once she spent the entire day on the small strip of beach nestled near the dock. There was a gorgeous view and no one was whispering misogynistic crap in her ear.
Muraille Island Page 4
