Harte's Desire

by Cambria Smyth

  Connie eyed Libby with speculation, then decided to probe a little further. They were friends, after all.

  "So why are you late today?"

  "I had trouble sleeping, and if I told you it had something to do with Christopher Darnell, would you stop pestering me," Libby responded laughingly, "and let me get some work done?"

  "That's right, you met with him yesterday. What did he do, turn down your request to use Harte's Desire?"

  "No, actually, he agreed to it. He agreed to everything... the date, we can clear out the first floor, use the porches, the patio. We can do anything we want to for the fundraiser."

  "And you're going to tell me that's why you were up late last night? You were out celebrating?"

  "No," Libby replied with hesitation, "I'm going to tell you I met Prince Charming."

  Connie put the bagel down and stared at Libby, wide-eyed. "Christopher Darnell is Prince Charming?"

  Libby nodded in agreement.

  "But I thought you said he was some old guy."

  "Well, he's not."

  Libby was immediately sorry for her confession because the discussion was dredging up memories she was trying desperately, and unsuccessfully, to forget. Like the admiring look in his eyes as he watched her, the strong current of emotion that passed between them when they touched, the disarming smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth and lit his whole face with a boyish charm.

  "If he's not some old guy, then what is he?" Connie sounded cautiously curious.

  "Tall, dark, and handsome. Every woman's dream. Great body, gorgeous eyes, strong hands, intelligent, hardworking... have I said enough?"

  "The only thing you haven't said, but I'm hearing it in your voice, is that there's something wrong with him."

  "Yes, he's Christopher Darnell," Libby stated bluntly. "Remember him? The man who wanted to tear down the bank building--and those other buildings--in Philadelphia? The man who's going to tear down Harte's Desire? He hates, no, despises historic buildings almost as much as he does me."

  Connie looked at Libby sympathetically. "Well, Lib," she began thoughtfully, "maybe you can convert him over to your side. You know, show him just how great these old buildings can be. You've always been good at that kind of friendly persuasion."

  "There’s no way that will ever happen, Connie," Libby said with resignation. "Besides, I think he knows who I am."

  She proceeded to tell her about Mrs. McElroy's phone call earlier.

  "As I see it, you don't have any choice, Lib. You have to go over there and find out what he wants. When you get back, I want to hear all the gory details. That is, if you live to tell the tale!" Connie laughed, winking at her boss. "And, if I don't see you, have a nice weekend!"

  Chapter Five

  For the second time in two days, Libby stood before the paired front doors to Harte's Desire feeling a mixture of dread and anticipation. She absentmindedly ran her fingers through her hair in a gesture of nervousness. Taking a deep breath, she turned one of the large, embossed brass door knobs and walked in.

  The hallway was quiet, except for the sound of her footsteps echoing off the marble tiled floors. She stopped by the butler's pantry to announce her arrival to Mrs. McElroy, but found the room empty. Thinking the friendly woman might be discussing something with Christopher Darnell in his office, Libby made her way over to the former dining room and peeked inside.

  He was seated at the table with his back to her, gazing out the French doors past the overgrown brick patio to the river beyond. One of the doors was open, allowing a gust heady with the scent of spring to fill the room, rustling the plans and blueprints lying in front of him.

  She could barely see his face, but it was obvious he was deeply in thought, contemplating something important or disturbing. Although his arms were casually draped on the arms of the chair, both fists were tightly clenched as though he were fighting an invisible foe. To Libby, he appeared cold, threatening, and unreachable.

  Summoning all the courage she could find, Libby knocked lightly on the open door.

  "Come in, Miss Reed," Chris called out to her without turning around. The words were spoken brusquely and with authority as he waved a hand at one of the side chairs, indicating for her to sit down at his right.

  Libby looked at Chris expectantly, waiting for the words of discovery she knew to be on the tip of his tongue. Deceiving him from the beginning was a risk she had to take, but now she felt great remorse; it really wasn't in her nature to lie to anyone and if she had to, she would confess the truth. Hopefully, he would still let the historical society use Harte's Desire for its fundraiser. She would step down as chair, issue a public apology, do anything to ensure his continued permission to use the mansion. Restoration of the schoolhouse must not suffer because of any rivalry between the two of them.

  Feeling somewhat better about how she would cope with the ordeal ahead, Libby watched Chris collect his thoughts before speaking.

  "Miss Reed, er, Elizabeth, I'm glad you could meet with me today on such short notice."

  He watched her settle into the straight-backed chair and noted silently how pretty she looked with her hair down, how much larger her brown eyes seemed when framed by masses of golden waves. It occurred to him that she would look great no matter what she wore and with unaccustomed restraint he stopped himself from imagining her lovely body with no clothes on at all.

  "Your secretary made it sound like a matter of some urgency," Libby replied, trying to keep her voice steady. She hid her hands under the massive dining room table so he couldn't see their trembling.

  "Yes, I had a very upsetting phone call this morning from the state Office of Historic and Natural Resources." He paused as her eyes widened in recognition of the name. "Do you happen to know anybody in that office?"

  Dear heaven, Libby thought with an inward groan, she knew everyone there. Her work often involved buildings owned or regulated by the state and all of her National Register nominations were reviewed by that office. Someone must have told Chris about her.

  "Yes, I know some people who work there." It was the truth. Not exactly the whole truth, she chided herself, but as much as she wanted to divulge. "Why?" she queried, mentally preparing for the onslaught to come.

  "I had a long discussion with the head of that office today, and I received some very bad news," he exclaimed tersely.

  Libby started to panic at his words. This was going to be worse than she envisioned. He was going to drag this out, take his time, like a cat toying playfully with the mouse before devouring it in one ferocious swallow.

  "And just what were you told?" she asked, hoping he’d come right to the point.

  "I was informed that before I can demolish Harte's Desire, I have to provide them with thorough documentation of the building as it now exists."

  A deep frown settled on his face as he addressed her.

  "They want to have a record of it for their files, they say. Interior and exterior photos, written descriptions of the rooms and furnishings. They even want," he paused to look through the notes he had taken, "a history of the building and a statement of its significance, whatever the heck that is. They acknowledge they can't prevent me from razing the building, but they're making me submit this report as one of several conditions for getting their approval to build near the wetlands by the river."

  Libby forced herself not to breathe an audible sigh of relief. She hadn't been found out. Yet. The fundraising plans were intact. For the moment. If her luck would just hold out another few months.

  "Why exactly am I here?" she prodded, managing to inject some tranquility into her voice although her heart was still racing and she didn't dare withdraw her hands from under the table, they were shaking so.

  "You mentioned yesterday that you have some training in the field of restoration. Do you know enough to complete this report the state wants?"

  When she didn't reply immediately, he hastened to add, "I realize this is all very last minute, but I'm facing s
ome extremely tight construction deadlines. I've never seen so many permits and approvals needed for one project. And this is just one complication more than I care to deal with right now."

  Libby sat forward, intrigued by his proposal.

  "The only person I know who could do the work is Libby Chatham and I'd have to be ice skating in hell before I ever hired her."

  "L-Libby Chatham?" Libby replied, her tongue stumbling over the mention of her former name.

  "Do you know her? She's an old nemesis of mine. Done a lot of work on historic buildings down in the Philadelphia area."

  "I'm familiar with her work." That much was the truth, Libby thought. Dear heaven, don't let him delve any further she silently prayed.

  "Strange," Chris continued. "Nobody's heard anything from her in a couple of years. It's almost as if she disappeared. You don't happen to know what's become of her, do you?"

  He nonchalantly shuffled some papers on his desk, then peered at Libby intently.

  She struggled for control and nervously shifted her eyes from his inquiring ones.

  "Maybe she moved out of the area." It was sort of the truth, wasn't it?

  "Well, it doesn't really matter now," he said, dismissing the subject with the wave of a hand. "Anyway, can you help me out?"

  Could she help? Why, she knew exactly the documentation the state needed. It would be a snap, and it was the kind of research she loved to do. How cruel that she was being asked to do it for Harte's Desire, though, of all buildings. She fought the urge to plead incompetence. How she wished tell him what she really thought about his plans for demolishing her favorite landmark.

  But she needed the work, desperately. Being away for two months had taken its toll on her income and she could use any job available to keep her business afloat. If only her mother...Libby caught herself. There was no changing the past. There was only now, and Christopher Darnell was anxiously awaiting her reply.

  How ironic that he would be hiring her, of all people, for this job. If he discovered her secret, he would be furious to learn he unintentionally hired his greatest foe. Heaven help her, she hoped she'd never have to face the man again. Yet here she was taking a job from him, no less.

  They would have contact almost daily for several weeks while she conducted her study of Harte's Desire. From a professional point of view, it would be thrilling to examine the building more intimately. And, she could more easily coordinate the fundraiser while working there. From a personal point of view, she decided it was pure foolishness on her part to be around him every day, but she needed the money. She silently swore to do her utmost to avoid him while she was there.

  She met his gaze squarely. "Yes, I believe I can do the job for you."

  “Excellent,” he replied, looking at her steadily. "When can you start? Soon, I hope?" Although spoken as a question, it was delivered as a command.

  “I can rearrange my work schedule to accommodate your project,” she lied easily, not feeling the least bit remorseful. “I can start on Monday if you wish.”

  “Perfect. The last thing I need is another setback to my demolition schedule. I’m already behind as it is.”

  Libby winced inwardly at the reminder, but recovered quickly. “What is my deadline?”

  “Is a month reasonable?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  "Six weeks would be better."

  “Fine,” he replied, thinking again how beautiful she looked sitting there. So poised, collected, professional. The breeze was seductively teasing her hair, lifting it first one way then another. He was fascinated by the expressiveness of her eyes and had to force himself to concentrate on the purpose of their meeting. Hell and damnation, he thought. This woman was entirely too desirable.

  They agreed on her fee and reimbursable expenses before he rose from his chair, signaling an end to their meeting.

  "There's something I wish to make perfectly clear, Elizabeth." He stared at her, his hypnotic blue-green eyes flashing with unconcealed warning.

  "Yes?" Libby swallowed hard and met his gaze head-on.

  "There are two things I demand from the people I employ, no matter how briefly." He paused, watching her closely.

  "Punctuality and honesty. I'll expect you here at nine a.m. sharp Monday, and further, that you'll have the report ready by the date we agreed upon. As to the honesty, I will take you at your word that you've got the ability to do this job. I haven't got the time to check references or see samples of your work. I rarely forgive--or forget--any deception played out at my expense. Understood?"

  Libby gulped at his words, but refused to succumb to the desperation his words incited.

  "You'll get exactly what you're paying for, Mr. Darnell. On time, as promised."

  "Good." He released her arm and gestured toward the door. "Till Monday, then."

  She took three steps and turned back to face him, knowing she had to come clean with at least one thing. “If it’s honesty you want, then I do have a confession to make, Mr. Darnell.” Her voice was clear with new-found strength. “I’m one of the few in town who doesn’t approve of your plan to raze this building.”

  He looked up sharply at her words and she could see he wasn’t used to being challenged, one-on-one.

  “However, my opinion will not affect the work I do for you,” Libby continued, knowing there was no turning back now, “regardless of what I might think of you professionally.”

  Although a muscle in Chris’ jaw twitched at her words, his voice remained steady. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t need your consent, Elizabeth, because this building is surely coming down.”

  With that, she exited the room, knowing there was no rebuttal to the truth in his words.

  Chapter Six

  Libby set the trowel down and glanced over at the driveway as Connie's green SUV appeared in front of a cloud of dust as she slammed on the brakes and got out.

  "Hi, Lib!" Connie called, walking towards the garden where Libby was working. "I'm out running some errands and thought I'd stop by. I have to know. How'd your meeting with Christopher Darnell go?"

  "Couldn't wait until Monday, could you?" Libby admonished with a laugh. She stood up and brushed a clump of black soil from her knees.

  "Nope. I want the Prince Charming report!"

  "Well, I'm still alive."

  "That bad, huh?" Connie chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "He knows?"

  "Believe it or not, he doesn't, Connie!" Libby smiled triumphantly.

  "So why the meeting yesterday?"

  "He hired me to do a study on Harte's Desire. Something Rich Stone wants before Prince Charming can demolish it."

  "Libby, that's great! That report should be a piece of cake for you!"

  "Yeah, if only it weren't on Harte's Desire." Libby frowned and looked at Connie sadly.

  "I know. But you need the work, don't you?"

  "Unfortunately, yes," Libby said. "Which reminds me, I need you to draw up a consulting agreement for the project on Monday."

  "Let me guess," Connie said, "You spent last night working again, didn't you?"

  "Yep!" Libby replied. "Now, let me guess. I'm about to receive another 'get a social life' lecture from my administrative assistant, right?"

  Connie laughed at her boss's accurate impersonation. "Absolutely! And that's another reason I stopped by today. Got any plans tonight?"

  "Ah...no." Libby had a sinking feeling she was about to, though.

  "Gee, I was kind of hoping Prince Charming asked you out." Connie arched her eyebrows optimistically.

  "Are you crazy? I wouldn't go, even if he did. What if we started to really like each other or something?"

  "Yeah, that would be stupid," Connie agreed, then continued. "Listen, a bunch of us are going to the Chesterfield Inn tonight. Nothing formal or fancy. Just dinner and then we thought we might go to that new dance club in Mercertown. Wanna come?"

  "I really don't think..." Libby began.

  "Please, don't tell me about all the reasons
why not. Just come, OK?"

  "But what if I feel like being alone tonight, Connie?"

  "I'm tired of that excuse. You use it all the time."

  "I do, don't I?" Libby sighed, realizing Connie was going to persist until she agreed to join Connie's amiable group of friends.

  "Come on, Lib. It's Saturday night!"

  "Well..."

  "And you love the Chesterfield Inn," Connie insisted.

  Libby hesitated. The quaint, eighteenth-century tavern a few miles away was one of her favorites. Why shouldn't she go out and have a good time?

  "Oh, alright," she finally conceded. "It will probably be good for me."

  "That's the attitude! We'll meet you there at seven."

  Connie waved good-by and hurried back to her car.

  Her outdoor chores momentarily forgotten, Libby sat down on the back porch, tired from the day spent busily attacking a variety of projects. After cleaning the kitchen, she headed outdoors to the large perennial garden that was once her grandmother's pride and joy. She pulled out invasive weeds and last year's accumulation of dead leaves, exposing tender new shoots emerging from their winter's nap. Poppies, orange and red, held aloft on fern-like foliage, were soon to bloom. Daisies, too, were full of buds on the verge of blossoming.

  Libby loved the smell of freshly turned earth and didn't mind the moist dirt which streaked her face and clung to her clothes. She found great satisfaction in gardening's physical labor and felt the stress of yesterday's events melting away with each new task. Even the fresh air seemed to lift her spirits, she decided, surveying the garden emerging from its dormancy. Although Libby felt hot and sweaty from the exertion, she'd barely thought about her mother, or Chris, she'd been so busy.

  And that's just the way she wanted it.

  Several hours later, Libby took her second shower of the day, carefully scrubbing away every trace of dirt and grime. After drying off, she rubbed a soothing lotion over her body, concentrating on her hands and knees which had borne the brunt of her activities. She opened the closet door, searching for something not too dressy, but not too casual either. A newly-purchased denim skirt was just the thing, she quickly decided. Libby slipped it on, added a crisp white linen shirt, then tied a multi-colored woven belt around her waist for a dash of color.