Breakwater Beach

by Carole Ann Moleti

  Edward climbed over the rail and sat next to her. Their clasped hands rested in her lap. “I can’t subject you to such danger or filthy living conditions on my ship. I’ve seen women die in childbirth, from infestations, infections.” He surveyed the lawns and gardens beyond the trees for anyone who might be watching.

  “Edward, please. I understand it won’t be easy.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. She fell into his arms and nestled against him.

  His dream was coming true. The perfume in her hair and soft skin was more intoxicating than a shot of rum, lowering his inhibitions, destroying any semblance of reason.

  “Remember, Edward. I’ll be at the Kensington Hotel for four days, beginning Wednesday next.”

  He stroked her hair, nuzzled her neck, and brushed his face across her cheek. As their lips met, a figure darted out of the shadows and across the lawn. The bliss at finally being able to touch her vanished into the night. Edward leaped back over the rail, flattened himself on the spongy, damp grass, and pressed against the foundation of the structure.

  “Are you unwell, my lady?” Soft footsteps tapped the wood stairs, then moved across the floor. The maid was silhouetted next to Elisabeth in the shadows.

  “Yes, Katherine. I needed some air.”

  “I’ve set out your night things and became concerned. You were quite disappointed when Captain Barrett left so abruptly.”

  “I trust he’ll call again, Katherine. Let’s go.” Elisabeth dropped her handkerchief over the rail, and the two women walked off.

  The magic of the night dissipated. She’d run away and be alone and vulnerable in London if he didn’t meet her, and marry her. He’d convince her to return home to wait for him. Somersell had promised bonuses for prompt deliveries and extra work. If he hurried along the builder on his return to Massachusetts, the house could be done within a year. He’d collect furnishings while on his voyages and, if he took no time off, have the needed funds.

  Edward waited until their footsteps descended the stairs before picking up the lavender scented linen square. He rose again to peer over the rail. The two women disappeared into the night. He stumbled back to the road, mounted his horse, and headed back to London. Memories of his boyhood, of his family, of his father being the man of the house, and a devoted husband surfaced. His brother had taken over and followed in Papa’s footsteps.

  There is a small church near our farmhouse in Berkshire. It’s long past time to pay a visit to my brother and finally take some of his advice.

  Chapter 7

  March 2009

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Liz ignored the red stick figure flashing ‘Don’t Walk’ and raced across the street into the office building. She stopped to trace Gerry’s name engraved on a plaque by the elevator, with the years 1960-2008 after it. He was still a partner, and she’d get a percentage of his income even though he was dead. He really had thought of everything.

  People streamed off the elevator. Liz got in and punched the button for the fifth floor. The door closed, blocking out the happy sounds of workers going home to their families. How many times had she met Gerry here and headed out, just like them, for a pleasant evening? Tonight, she rode alone in the tomblike marble and chrome car as it ascended, still fantasizing this was all a bad dream and her husband would be there waiting for her.

  Jay’s early decision acceptance to Columbia University in New York City had come, and he’d soon be moving on. Plans to restore the beautiful Queen Anne Victorian that sat, mysterious and empty, on a hill overlooking Cape Cod Bay gave her something real to look forward to. It didn’t matter how many people told her she was making the biggest mistake of her life.

  The day she’d spent house hunting in the damp chill had centered her. Despite the deserted summer cottages and boarded-up clam shacks, tromping through partially frozen mud had reminded her of the chocolate frappes she loved to have in the summertime. She’d stood at Paine’s Creek, looking out at the vista, the bay, hearing the gulls, imagining the warm sunshine and the happy voices of children splashing, even as the wind had frozen her breath and turned her scarf into an icy necklace.

  She hadn’t been into the office since Gerry got sick. Tanya, their secretary, had packed up all Gerry’s personal effects and papers and brought them to the house. He'd organized his affairs, reassigned his cases, and never come back. Liz hadn’t seen Bill since the memorial service, and hadn’t met the new partner. Even when Gerry was alive, interacting with Bill and the society circle around the law practice had been unpleasant. This meeting would be as well. The tension in her jaws had already spawned a headache and it was hard to catch her breath.

  Bill was part of the life Liz no longer led, but Gerry had entrusted him to handle the complicated finances of his estate and partnership, and to advise Liz on the best investments. She’d never forgiven Bill after he divorced Ann and overheard a joke that he’d traded in one forty for two twenties. Liz had politely declined all the recent invitations to dinner parties, political, and charity events. No one would miss the widow, just as no one cared when ex-wives like Ann Jeffers disappeared, married someone else, and joined another circle. Why get all done up in fancy clothes to be a fifth wheel circling among the too young trophies? The generous check was all that really mattered in that world.

  Tanya, still at her desk when Liz summoned the courage to open the door, ran to hug her. Warm welcome flowed through her arms. “How are you?” She dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled tissue.

  “All right, I guess.” Liz looked past the open door of what used to be Gerry’s office. A young man, his feet up on the desk, chatted on the phone. The nameplate now read ‘Brian Salzman, Esq.’

  “Jeffers, Levine, and Salzman.” Tanya tucked the phone’s receiver under her chin while she wiggled into her coat.

  Wow, it was already five p.m. It had taken a long time to get here in rush-hour traffic.

  “Yes, she just got here. I’ll give her the message.” Tanya put down the phone and slipped on her gloves. “Bill is coming back from court. He says he’ll be here in about ten minutes. Should I stay and keep you company?”

  “No, Tanya, it’s okay.” As much as she needed the companionship, the emotion building between the two of them would interfere with the steely, emotionless mood she needed to be in to deal with Bill.

  “Well, okay, Liz, listen, I can’t believe Gerry isn’t coming back. I wish there was something I could say.” She kissed and hugged her again.

  “I know, thanks. Now get going.”

  “Brian, I’m leaving. Mrs. Levine is here waiting for Bill.” Tanya grabbed her bag and headed out the door.

  He took his feet off the desk and came out talking on a cell phone. “I’ll be home in a few minutes, baby. Bye.” He tucked it into his pocket and extended his hand. “Mrs. Levine, Brian Salzman. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Liz shook it, but the grip was far from firm, the greeting not even cordial, let alone welcoming. Then again, she was particularly touchy, having at one point vowed to never come here to meet her husband’s replacement.

  “Can I get you anything before I go?” He put on a camel hair coat and tucked a Burberry’s scarf around his neck.

  “No thanks, Mr. Salzman. I’m familiar with the office and can find anything I need.” Was he being insensitive or was she over reacting?

  “Yes, I’m sure about that. All the best.” He took the hint and closed the door after him.

  Liz crept into Gerry’s office. No pictures of Jay and her. The diplomas had a different name, but the view of the busy Boston streets outside was the same. She studied the Childe Hassan reproduction Boston Common at Twilight. The image of the woman and her children in long dresses and muffs standing in the snow, streetlights shining through the haze, still comforted her. John Singer Sargent’s The Daughters of Edward D. Boit adorned the
other wall. The mystical sense of the one girl, in shadows, always made Liz wonder if she was intended to portray a dead child or spiritual being. She and Gerry had met while viewing those paintings. He’d always told her looking at them while he worked kept her in his thoughts. The memory cut her like a jagged knife.

  “Liz.” Bill came up behind her, an overcoat draped over his arm, wearing the de rigueur black pinstripe suit and wingtip oxfords.

  She’d been caught. Godammit, this is my husband’s office, and our artwork. That jerk puts his feet on the desk, and I’m embarrassed? “Hello, Bill. I was just looking around.”

  He touched her on the shoulder. “I understand how difficult this must be, Liz. Didn’t Tanya wait?”

  “I told her to go home.”

  “Let’s go into my office.” He allowed her to go first and gestured to a sofa in front of a coffee table. “Would you like something? Coffee, wait, you drink tea, right?”

  “No, thanks. I think we should get down to business.” Her heart pounded. Time to get this over with.

  “So, what’s all this about buying a historic home on the Cape, restoring it . . .”

  “Actually, I already bought it.” The words were out before she realized it. Her head pounded and her eyes twitched.

  “What?” He moved toward the edge of the sofa.

  Liz forced herself to speak slowly so as not to trip over the carefully rehearsed script. “I made an offer the Commonwealth of Massachusetts couldn’t refuse—a cash sale in exchange for a tax abatement if I agreed to restore it and open it as a museum. It’s classic period architecture and has most of the original furnishings. I’m going to finish my book on Victorian textiles and art, and write off the expenses while I run a bed and breakfast. My house is on the market.”

  “You didn’t discuss this with me.” Jeffers’ eyes narrowed and his gaze bored into her.

  Everyone she told had the same reaction. But Bill Jeffers was her financial adviser, and he had control of the trust. “I’ve decided to use the life insurance payments to cover the cost of the house. I don’t trust other investments right now. Once I sell mine, I’ll have the money to pay for restoration and living expenses until I get the inn up and running.”

  “How much does this house cost?”

  “A million dollars.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t believe you didn’t consult with me first.”

  She’d been prepared for this. “It’s my money, Bill.”

  “And Gerry asked me to help you manage it wisely. In this market, it might take months to sell your house. What would he say if I let you do this?”

  “Excuse me? If you let me do it? Gerry and I discussed moving to the Cape at length before he got sick.” Feeling Gerry’s approval had offered the only place of comfort she’d been able to find in recent weeks. No one was going to tell her she couldn’t buy the house. No one. She wasn’t an attorney, but was ready to fight like she’d graduated law school summa cum laude.

  “Before the economy and real estate market tanked. What about your job, and your son?” Bill sat back, looked down his nose at her, and crossed one leg over the other.

  Liz forced herself to lean forward and look him straight in the eye. “I can teach anywhere, and Jay is going away to college in September. His tuition is more than provided for.”

  “You’re not supposed to make major financial decisions for a year after a spouse dies. There’s too much emotion. Take some time to think about it. There will be other houses.” Bill waved his hands as if to dismiss her like a naughty pupil.

  It took all the strength she had to keep he voice from quavering. “The house was scheduled to go up for auction in another month. If I withdraw my offer, someone else will snap it up at that price.” Liz tried not to sound desperate, but if he delayed advancing the funds, if she lost it . . .

  “Liz, real estate prices are dropping like lead weights. There are very few people who can amass a million dollars right now. Hold on to your money and let someone else make the mistake.” He rubbed his palms together, knitted his fingers and, with them still entwined, stretched his palms toward her like a warm up for a fight.

  How dare he call her decision a mistake? “Which is why I was able to negotiate such a good deal. They took half a million off the price and forgave the back taxes. I have the money even if my house takes a while to sell. The binder is due in two weeks and I want the full amount advanced into my checking account tomorrow so that it’s readily available.” It was a struggle to keep her voice slow and deep, so as not to sound weak and emotional.

  “You’re lonely and uncomfortable in your house. I understand. But running away isn’t the answer. You belong in Boston. All your friends are here. You’ve isolated yourself, which is normal under the circumstances. But it’s time to get back in circulation. I’m divorced, and you’re used to lawyers.” Bill leaned over, put his hand on her knee, then slid it up her thigh.

  Shivering and sweating at the same time, Liz forced herself to breathe deeply as she moved away, then headed toward the door. Bill followed and blocked the exit.

  He planned this, getting me here alone. “Get out of my way. I’m leaving.”

  He didn’t move.

  She would not be a victim, nor a pushover. “You better get the hell out of my way. And I better have Gerry’s life insurance money in my checking account by this time next week or the Bar Association and licensing board is going to hear about your little proposal.” This time the growl in her voice was totally genuine, and she resisted the temptation to slap him.

  “Come on, Liz. You’re too young and attractive to be alone.” He leaned in so close Liz thought he was going to kiss her.

  Bill’s leer, and the look of triumph in his eyes, brought bile to the back of her throat. How far would this go, and how could he use this to deny her request? “Back away or I will knock your teeth out. You have one week, Mr. Jeffers.” Liz grabbed his arm and shoved it aside.

  She walked quickly to the door, but didn’t run until she got out of the suite.

  The Chinese takeout place was far too slow tonight, giving Liz plenty of time to fidget and fret. Gerry wasn’t here to rescue her this time. She being orphaned, and he estranged from his parents because he was involved with an Irish Catholic, all they’d had was each other. For twenty-five years, that had been enough. Now she had to rely on a girlfriend. Liz scrolled through her numbers. Marti had survived a nasty divorce and would know what to do.

  “Hey, Liz! What’s up?” Marti sounded like her mouth was full of marbles.

  “I don’t want to ruin your dinner or your appetite, but Bill Jeffers is screwing around with my money and wants to screw around with me."

  “Ugh, that is a nauseating image.”

  "I bought a house on the Cape, and he’s giving me a hard time about the money. I need a good lawyer.” Liz tried to hold back the tears. “I can’t believe he tricked me into going to the office late in the day. How could I be so stupid?”

  “Don’t you think for one minute it’s your fault, sweet thing. He’s a classless idiot. Don’t back down. Don’t let the bastard withhold a single penny. Marianne Hartley is a total bitch, but you need someone like her in a situation like this. She’ll nail his balls to the wall.”

  The image of Marti pointing both index fingers like guns for emphasis, like she always did, stopped the waterworks. She dabbed her eyes. “I just need to get the estate transferred out of his control as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll text you her number. Keep me posted.”

  The woman at the counter pointed to the shopping bag full of food.

  “Got to go, Marti, my food is ready. Bye.” Liz paid and rushed the few blocks home.

  Jay ran down the stairs as she came through the door. “I was getting worried. It’s nearly eight.”


  “Traffic. Then I had to wait for Bill, and then I decided to pick up Chinese takeout. Panda Garden is so slow, but it’s worth the wait. Got your favorites.”

  Liz unpacked their dinner while he set the table. She tried to act like nothing had happened. Her son had endured enough this year already.

  Jay seemed more interested in information. “So what did Bill say about the house?”

  “He refused to advance me the money, and I’m going to fire him.” Liz dished out her portion and started eating.

  Jay stopped fixing his plate. “What? How are you going to handle all that money?”

  Liz struggled not to scream in frustration. Why did everyone assume she was a hapless widow?

  “I’m not an idiot. Dad handled all the finances, but I was always involved in decision-making. I’ve thought this through very carefully.”

  Jay’s voice went up several octaves. “Dad appointed Bill. Why don’t you at least consider his advice?”

  She matched her son’s shrill tone. “I don’t trust that Bill has my best interests in mind.” Unable to sit and defend herself yet again, Liz pushed back her chair and went to the kitchen counter. “I’m buying the house, and no one is going to stop me. Your father agreed with these plans. It’s something we always wanted to do after retirement, and now is the right time for me.”

  Jay finished the dumplings in spicy Szechuan sauce and chicken and broccoli.

  Liz opened her fortune cookie, laughed, and read it out loud. “‘Life is not a dress rehearsal.’”

  “I don’t find that funny, Mom.” Jay dumped his plate into the dishwasher, then stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs. The pounding on each step echoed in her ears, and then the final bang reverberated like a gunshot. They seemed to be at odds about everything these days. Invoking the pre-approval Gerry had given was not going to make a difference.