I want to love like that, Libby thought wistfully as she beheld the depth of emotion magically captured for all time in the photograph.
Finding photos of Chester and Amanda made them seem that much more real and Harte's Desire suddenly sprang alive with alarming clarity. Real people lived, laughed, and loved here. When Harte's Desire was demolished, more than plaster walls and wooden studs were being destroyed.
Libby's heart sank as she visualized, yet again, the mansion's unfortunate fate. Not willing to let Chris see her misery, she kept her eyes trained on the priceless documents and photographs in front of her.
"These are wonderful, Chris. May I borrow them? I'd like to scan everything in here to include with the report."
"You can have them, Elizabeth. I surely don't need them, do I?"
Libby ignored his sarcastic remark, biting back a sharp retort in fear she'd say something she'd later regret. "Thank you, and with your permission I'll give them to the historical society when I'm done with them.” She started rolling the drawings with great care. “I’ll be out of your way in a minute."
Edwina's voice crackled over the intercom. "Mr. Whitty on line one, Mr. D."
"Thanks, Edwina," Chris replied. He watched Libby pack up the box and make a hasty retreat out the door. Eyeing her keenly as she left, he acknowledged what a professional she was. It was obvious she loved her work; the way she handled the drawings and photos was proof enough. Little wonder she was so highly recommended by Rich Stone.
He felt a pang of regret knowing she would grieve when Harte's Desire was demolished. Chris dismissed the feeling as quickly as it came. It was only an old building, after all. What he was erecting in its place would benefit the entire community much more. He’d been a fool to kiss her in the vineyard, he acknowledged. They lived in separate worlds indeed.
He pressed the telephone button and picked up the handset.
Chapter Sixteen
Libby carefully balanced the faded architectural drawing in one hand and the old photograph in the other. She was in the main parlor, the room indicated as the “Rose Room" on the prints, and was comparing its original appearance with how it looked today. After leaving Chris's office, she decided to spend the rest of the afternoon with these newly-found treasures, despite the fact that Edwina's schedule showed him back in the mansion for the rest of the day. The discovery was too important, too exciting to put off because of his presence, and the report would be significantly enriched by her findings.
She was getting angrier and more upset by the minute. That the town fathers and historical society sanctioned the destruction of this marvelous building was unthinkable. They were so impressed by Chris's grand plans for the site and its spillover effect on Borden's Landing, not to mention his "generous" donation, that they were seeing the forest but not the trees.
Why couldn't Chris restore Harte's Desire and use it as the conference center? The size of its first floor rooms were ideally suited for meeting space and with some modernization, Harte's Desire would prove an idyllic retreat. If the mansion itself wasn't large enough, Chris could build an addition designed to complement that of Harte's Desire. Done with sensitivity, the results would be spectacular. She'd never asked to see the architect's final floor plans and honestly hadn't wanted to see them. Until now.
Straightening her shoulders with renewed determination, she made her way to Edwina's office. Five minutes later, carefully avoiding Chris's line of sight, Libby headed back to the Rose Room armed with a huge sheaf of crisp, new blue and white architectural drawings.
Plopping down unceremoniously on the Brussels rug in front of the marble fireplace, Libby spread the blueprints before her. The top one showed the proposed site plan, and Libby shuddered to see only a dotted line indicating where Harte's Desire used to be. After closely studying each sheet, Libby determined that the conference center was to be built in the same location occupied by the mansion, which made sense because of the magnificent river view afforded by the site. Four office buildings, each four stories high, were lined like soldiers close to the river, two of them obliterating the vineyard. The conference center was only a little larger, in terms of square feet, than Harte's Desire. Chris had chosen the ugliest of the designs he’d shown her and had done little to change its appearance since asking her opinion. The office buildings appeared as no more than sterile, modern boxes with a minimum of detailing to break their monotony. She was not surprised.
With a huff, Libby rolled the plans into a tight bundle as she formulated a plan for attack. With some creative rearranging, and an imaginative rehab of Harte's Desire, the mansion could be saved and the office buildings redesigned to better suit their historic setting, moved closer to the road than the river. Libby knew in her gut it could be done and when completed would be a masterpiece combining old with new.
Of course, the only thing standing in the way was Christopher Darnell. A formidable opponent, to be sure, but now that she knew him better, perhaps he wasn't as invincible as she thought. He had a human side which he'd revealed to Libby several times. Maybe he could be reached. Maybe she could convince him to change his plans.
She may not have been here to save Harte's Desire, but Libby calculated the war was far from over. She had to fight for what she believed in. Maybe she couldn't win him over to her point of view. Certainly that was a possibility. But, she had to try. And now was as good a time as any.
With steadfast conviction in every step, she headed to his office.
Chris was pouring over a stack of letters, one hand clutching a pen, the other idly fingering his thick, dark hair. Stifling the urge to turn and run, Libby took a deep breath and rapped lightly on the open door.
"You don't have to knock, Edwina," Chris murmured without turning around.
"It's not Edwina, Chris. It's Elizabeth," Libby announced, her steady voice belying the mounting apprehension making her stomach flutter.
Chris gestured for her to enter, putting the paperwork aside and rising from his chair as he did so.
Libby was about to sit down in the chair he offered, but decided, instead, to confront him from a standing position.
"There's something that's been bothering me for a long time now, Chris. Something we need to discuss," Libby began.
"A confession, perhaps?" Chris replied cryptically, arching an eyebrow.
"Of a sort. But I'd prefer not to discuss it here. Could we go to the entrance hall?"
"Certainly." The entrance hall? What was she up to, he wondered?
They walked in silence to the great hallway, which was radiantly illuminated by the many colors of afternoon light streaming through the stained glass window at the stair landing. The ornately-carved oak staircase wound upwards, its heavily varnished surface dulled and dirty from years of neglect. An assortment of mismatched chairs, grimy with age, were placed against the walls, while a huge oak console table with heavily carved legs dominated the wall closest to the staircase.
"What do you see when you look around?" Libby asked evenly.
"Are you kidding?" Chris replied, glancing with disdain towards the staircase. "I see walls with crumbling plaster, a ceiling dangerously close to caving in from water damage by leaky pipes overhead, an ancient marble floor with tiles missing or coming loose, a staircase that's a safety hazard, and paint peeling in sheets off the baseboards. In short, what I really see is a huge, filthy, run-down room in a huge, filthy, run-down mansion."
"That's a fair assessment," Libby replied, noting the look of surprise on his face at her concurrence with his description.
"Now, let me tell you what I see. A year from now, I see a grand reception area here. The hallway and stairs have been fixed, cleaned, and repainted. That large console table over there has been meticulously refinished. It's pulled away from the wall and sits prominently in the hallway right about here." Libby gestured to a spot near the staircase.
She continued. "A huge vase filled with fresh flowers, roses from the garden when in season, sits on
its polished top, while a receptionist is stationed behind it, directing conference attendees to the proper room or telling them to enjoy coffee, snacks, and informal conversation in the Rose Room."
Libby stopped, noting Chris's skeptical look.
"Yes, the Rose Room. That's what the main parlor is called on those drawings you gave me. It's perhaps the only first floor room in Harte's Desire that retains all of its original furnishings. That's because it will continue to serve in its intended capacity as a place where people can read, talk with others, or have just a quiet place to contemplate. The Rose Room will be one of the most important rooms in your conference center because of its eccentric, yet alluring originality."
My conference center? Chris tried to decide if he heard her correctly. She was talking about using Harte's Desire as the conference center! It was almost laughable. Rather than stop her from carrying it any further, he decided to let her continue, thinking it would be nothing, if not amusing, to hear her grand scheme.
"A year from now the dining room, library, study, and other parlors have been converted into meeting rooms of various sizes," Libby continued. "Bedrooms on the second and third floors will be restored, keeping their original furnishings when possible. Almost like bed-and-breakfast lodgings, but with all of the modern amenities. The ballroom will serve as the new dining room for conference attendees. Because of its grand size, it can also be used for weddings or other social functions on the weekends, filling the gap that often occurs after the businessmen and women have gone home at week's end. Once restored, the gazebo and gardens alone will be reason enough to lure prospective brides and grooms here for three out of four seasons."
Libby paused, wondering at Chris's silence. Although he appeared to be listening to her, she couldn't tell whether it was from politeness or genuine interest. His face was a mask of neutrality, neither condemning nor applauding. At least she had his attention, she thought.
"The kitchen is certainly large enough to handle the great volume of food preparation and, once modernized, can accommodate the projected number of guests who will use this facility daily. I’ve seen your estimates. New mechanical systems--air conditioning especially--will be installed in the attic and basement conveniently out of sight. There are ways to hide the ducts in the floors and ceilings without creating an unsightly mess in these beautifully detailed rooms."
"I've also seen the final floor plans your architect drew up for the new conference center and although Harte's Desire is smaller, you could move many of the administrative functions to the carriage house, or even build an addition that blends nicely with the distinctive architecture of Harte's Desire. The office buildings could also be re-designed, and located differently, so that they compliment Harte's Desire and retain its magnificent view of the Delaware. Importantly, the vineyard will be spared. As an added attraction, you can add a tasting room and develop your own winery under the Harte’s Desire label. That, too, will attract another type of guest."
She met his studied appraisal of her, their eyes locking as if in battle.
"I think you're overlooking the appeal, the draw, of this famous mansion, Chris. It's well known--almost legend--in the tristate area. There's already lots of competition nearby, as you know. They're modern hotels with conference centers, offering state of the art meeting rooms that are little more than cookie cutter boxes filled with digital projector screens, computers, and a jungle of lights."
"You're ready to tear down the one thing that could set your conference center apart from all the others. The one thing that would make it unique, different, desirable.” She paused. “Profitable."
Libby noticed a flicker of interest at her mention of profit. Perhaps, she thought, the promise of making money was the only real way to gain attention.
"I've wandered around Harte's Desire long enough now to know that while it needs a thorough cleaning and some fresh paint, structurally it appears to be sound. Granted, it would need new bathrooms and a kitchen, new wiring, plumbing, and HVAC systems, but I’d be willing to bet the overall cost to restore and rehabilitate Harte's Desire would run about the same as the cost of demolition and erecting a new building. And, there are tax credits to make it even more lucrative."
"Just think of it, Chris. For the same cash outlay, you could have a meeting place unlike any other within a two hundred mile radius."
Libby stopped, her heart racing from the impassioned plea she had just made. She felt tremendous relief having finally defended her position about Harte's Desire. She loved this old mansion and would fight to save it until the bitter end. She looked at Chris tentatively, waiting for a reaction to her plan.
"Anything else, Elizabeth?" Chris said calmly.
"Haven't I've said enough?" Libby asked incredulously. This was not the reaction she was expecting.
"Do you remember who you're talking to?" Chris stated, the sarcasm dripping off his voice like warm honey.
"Of course I do, Mr. Darnell," Libby retorted with growing uneasiness.
"Then you know that I couldn't possibly consider using Harte's Desire as my conference center." His voice was dismissive. "It's too old, too out-of-date, and would take far more money than you dream of to fix up like you envision. I've never had any great love for old buildings--as you so well know--and now that I've lived in this heap of falling plaster and peeling paint, I'm more convinced than ever it will be a blessing when it comes down."
Not one to quit easily, Libby hastily replied, "Before you jump to conclusions, why not do a feasibility study to see what the costs would actually be? I know just the architectural firm to call, and the study wouldn't be that expensive."
"And spend even more money on this site, Elizabeth?" Chris was about to remind her of all the dollars she had cost him on other projects, but decided he wasn't ready to confess he knew her secret. He chose a different approach instead.
"Need I remind you of my generous contribution to the historical society, Miss Reed?"
"So chalk one up for charity, Mr. Darnell. Surely you could use the tax deduction?"
"Or of the money I'm spending on this ridiculous report of yours the state is forcing me to submit?"
"I've seen your cost estimates. My fee is a drop in the bucket compared to the millions you're spending, and the greater millions you'll be reaping on this development."
"Then let me make this crystal clear. I'm Christopher Darnell, the guy who hates historic buildings. Remember? I have no intention of saving Harte's Desire no matter how many arguments you present me to keep it. It's sitting on eighty acres of prime real estate. Land that I'm going to develop without any interference from you, lady."
His harsh words made Libby realize he was clinging to his position as tightly as she was to hers. It was a no-win situation she thought, then corrected herself. He was the winner and had been all along. He owned Harte's Desire and the magnificent acreage around it. As always, he was in total control.
Libby stared at him, her eyes stinging with unshed tears of defeat.
"You're right," she declared, throwing up her hands. "There's nothing I can do or say to make you change your mind. I guess I've known that all along. But I had to take a chance that maybe, just maybe, I could make you see things differently. Of course, you don't know anything about taking chances, do you? Oh, you might build spec office space or new condos in a flat market, but the idea of giving an old building the chance to fill a modern need is foreign to you isn't it?" she snorted. "Well, I know in my heart that Harte's Desire could be an overwhelming success for Darnell Development if you would think outside of the box for once and realize the potential of this historic mansion. All I ask is for you to reconsider your plans, Chris.”
Having finished, she spun on her heel, held her head up proudly, and left him standing in the entrance hall.
Chris sat down on the staircase steps, ignoring the collection of dust that threatened to whiten the pants of his impeccably tailored suit.
He gazed around the room, pondering
all that Libby said. If he were honest with himself, he thought, he really could view the hall as she described it, restored to its original splendor. He was a builder, after all, and had the innate ability to imagine how something would look when transformed from a blueprint to reality.
She was right, too, about Harte's Desire having enough space to serve as the conference center he envisioned. Not a large one, like those outside of nearby Princeton, but something more intimate, less intimidating. Catering to groups looking for a place to convene for just a day or two. He'd carefully studied the market and received an enthusiastic response from the business leaders he surveyed to learn their needs.
And damn if she hadn't raised the very point with which he himself had been wrestling since he bought Harte's Desire a few months ago. While there was a definite need for the smaller-scale conference center he was planning, he was worried about how he could make it truly exceptional. A place people really wanted to visit. Something different, exciting, unusual.
He'd thought about creating an executive nine-hole golf course on the site, or adding an enclosed swimming pool with adjoining health club. But those amenities sounded too ordinary and were readily available elsewhere.
As much as he hated to admit it, Libby's idea of using Harte's Desire to draw people seemed like the perfect solution. He gazed at the ornate woodwork and the artfully crafted stained glass window. Certainly, Harte's Desire was one-of-a-kind. Unique in the true sense of the word.
Edwina burst into the hallway and gave a small shriek of surprise when she saw Chris sitting on the stairs.
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