Grand Hotel

by Mary Davis

  Aimee sat. “How nice of him.” Then she said the grace for their meal.

  Sammy sat near Constance at the table, ready to receive the small offerings from the side of her chair. “Sammy likes you. As I do, as well.”

  Aimee forked a piece of chicken onto her plate. “Well, I like you and Sammy, too.” Sammy had warmed up to her in about five minutes, and Constance treated her like a granddaughter.

  “I’ll tell you about Henry now.” Constance dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.

  So Constance wasn’t opposed to sharing her relationship with Henry. She’d just needed time to get to know her first.

  She had been dying to find out, and Dillon wouldn’t tell her a thing.

  “Henry asked me to marry him.”

  “Oh, Constance, I’m so happy for you.” She gave Constance a hug. “When?”

  Constance patted her arm. “Wednesday night while we were taking our stroll.” She said it as a matter of course. “I turned him down again.”

  She sat up straighter. “Turned him down? Again?” Maybe Constance had lived so many years alone, she didn’t know if she could share her home with someone else. Then again, she was sharing it with her just fine.

  This house was almost as much Henry’s as it was Constance’s. He had his own chair and footstool, where he spent several nights a week sitting and reading the newspaper or a book while Constance puttered around the house. He had a little side table that Constance kept just the way he liked it. The only things missing were a wedding band and Henry staying the night. “Why would you say no to him?”

  Constance took a sip of her iced tea. “Oh, at first it was for propriety’s sake. He asked me to marry him on our very first date. It didn’t matter that we’d known each other for years. Then it was a sort of a battle of wits.”

  How could love be a battle of wits? “And now?”

  “I’m afraid if I say yes, he’ll have a coronary. I don’t want to lose him. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

  So that was her secret? She loved a man she refused to marry for fear of killing him? Was Constance just a chronic worrier? “I don’t think your saying yes to his proposal will give him a heart attack.”

  Constance’s eyes glistened. “He’s not a spring chicken. And neither am I.”

  “You have to tell him how you feel.”

  “He knows how much I care for him.”

  She scooted her chair closer and took one of Constance’s hands. “No. You have to tell him about your fears.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  Constance looked flustered and shook her head. “It’s the way I was raised. Henry would probably just tell me it’s silly to worry about his health.”

  “But it’s not silly. When you care about people, you care about their health, too. You worry about him because you love him. That’s not silly.” She moved her chair back in place and took a bite of asparagus. “Do you want to marry Henry?”

  “More than anything on earth.”

  “Then propose to him.”

  Constance jerked up straight. “I could never.”

  “Sure you could.” She held up her fork. “You just say, ‘Henry, will you marry me?’ ”

  Constance settled herself back in the chair. “You make it sound so simple.”

  “It is. You already know what he is going to say. There is no risk involved.”

  “Unless he drops dead on me.”

  “He won’t.”

  ❧

  Dillon sat next to Aimee in the church pew. He had gone with Henry in the carriage to pick up the women. Now, sitting next to her, he had the urge to hold her hand as Henry was doing with Constance. Instead, he curled his fingers around his Bible.

  Aimee had done everything she said she would do. She was as good as any assistant he could ever ask for. She was a diligent worker and easy to be around. And he could tell she was trying hard not to talk too much while they worked, keeping her comments and words to matters relevant to the job. He appreciated that. And she hadn’t gone off searching for nonexistent treasure every time he turned his back. In fact, he didn’t think she had searched at all since being hired, except for that first morning when he took her to look. She’d made only a few comments about not knowing where else to look and asked if he had any ideas.

  Aimee’s hands lay one on top of the other in her lap, slender and smooth. She had a small amethyst ring on her right hand. Her birthstone? It was tilted a little off center. He could straighten it. His hand slid to the edge of his Bible; then he stopped and gripped his Bible tighter. He had to stop thinking about her. But how? She was sitting right next to him. Lord, help me focus on You and the sermon and not on her.

  After the closing prayer, Dillon was relieved to stand and have the temptation of Aimee’s hand out of his reach.

  Their carriage driver had accurately anticipated the conclusion of the service and was just pulling up as they stepped out into the sunshine. Henry helped Constance into the carriage, then stepped back for Dillon to do the same for Aimee.

  Dillon held his hand out for Aimee. She placed hers in his and climbed up. Warm and soft. He closed his eyes momentarily. He’d held her hand this morning after all, and now he was reluctant to let it go, but he did. He climbed in after Henry and sat in the only seat left. . .next to Aimee.

  Aimee set her white purse on the seat next to her. “How about if the four of us catch lunch somewhere?”

  “Woods has a nice brunch,” Dillon offered.

  Henry patted Constance’s hand. “Constance and I are expected at Susan’s, but you two kids go and have a good time.” Susan was Henry’s youngest child and still lived on the island with her family.

  He wished he hadn’t been so quick to suggest a place to go. He had anticipated the subject would arise of the four of them going out to eat, so he’d considered several places. Though Woods wasn’t at the Grand Hotel, it was one of the hotel’s establishments. He had thought Aimee might like it, but now he didn’t want her to feel like this was a date or something. It would not be good to date someone who worked for him or with him. Wasn’t that the reason he had given her not to go out with Steve? It would be rude to try to back out now. He would just have to keep it professional.

  They drove to Susan’s and dropped off Henry and Constance before continuing on to Woods. The interior lighting had a romantic mute to it even in the daylight. The large windows didn’t offer much more light than the overhead fixtures because the building was shrouded in trees. He hoped Aimee didn’t notice.

  This was a business lunch and nothing more.

  ❧

  On Sunday evening, the door chimes rang. Sammy gave his obligatory bark in case they hadn’t heard.

  “That will be him.” Constance’s gaze darted from the direction of the door to Aimee. “You answer it.”

  Henry had stayed at his daughter’s house through the afternoon playing with his grandchildren. Constance had returned home shortly after lunch. Henry was due to return for the remainder of the evening. While he was gone, Aimee had given Constance a pep talk.

  She stood up from her place on the couch, and Sammy trotted to the door. “Okay. Then I’ll just leave you two alone.”

  Constance put a hand on her arm. “Please stay. If he has a coronary, I’ll need you here.”

  “He won’t.” She gave her a nod and went to the door. Sammy’s tail wagged as though he knew who was there. Henry stood in a dapper, gray tweed jacket, white shirt, and his red bow tie. “Come in, Henry.” Sammy stood on his hind legs and waved his front paws while hopping backward.

  As Henry stepped inside, he leaned down and gave Sammy a treat. Sammy ran off with his treasure. Henry smiled at her. “Is Constance here?”

  “She’s waiting for you in the living room.”

  He followed her but stopped in the room’s doorway. “Are you all right, Constance?”

  Constance stood by the sofa. Her brow was pinched, and her mou
th was puckered as though she had just eaten a lemon.

  Aimee went to stand by Constance. “She has something to ask you.” She turned to the woman who treated her like family. “Go ahead.”

  Constance took a deep breath. “Henry, you know that question you asked me last week and last month and for the past five years? I think you should ask it again.”

  Well, it wasn’t exactly what she was supposed to ask, but the outcome would be the same.

  Henry stared at Constance, then at Aimee, then back at Constance. He put both hands in his pants pockets, fishing for something, then turned and walked out the door without a word.

  Aimee stared after him. What happened? How could he just walk out? He was supposed to say yes—or rather propose, since Constance didn’t. She turned to her friend.

  Constance’s gaze seemed glued to the door, her eyes filled with moisture. “Well, at least he didn’t have a coronary.”

  There was that, but this whole thing didn’t make sense. “He was probably just stunned.”

  “He thinks I’m too forward. I’ve scared him off.” She sank back down onto the sofa.

  Aimee couldn’t believe that. Henry was so faithful to Constance. His love for her was so evident. Poor Constance. Lord, if I’ve made a mess of things here, show me how to make it right.

  She sat down next to Constance. She didn’t know what to do. “Can I get you a cup of tea?” That would give her something to do while she tried to think of a way to fix another mess she’d created with her big mouth.

  Constance pulled out an embroidered handkerchief from the cuff of her dress sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “I don’t care.”

  She went to the kitchen and heated the water. Was the proposal/refusal all some sort of unspoken game between them? “A battle of wits,” as Constance had said? Had she ruined it? The key here was Henry. She would go talk to him after she took care of Constance. She carried the silver tray with the china teapot and teacups on it and set it on the coffee table. After she had poured, she handed a cup to Constance. “I’m really sorry. I’m going to go talk to Henry and tell him it was all my idea—that you never would have asked if I hadn’t pushed you.”

  Constance patted her knee. “It’s all right. If it wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t meant to be. I survived the death of my first husband; I can survive this.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

  But it was meant to be. She really, really believed that. “But you and Henry are so perfect for each other.”

  “I thought so, too.” Constance sniffled, then squared her shoulders. “I’ll talk to Henry tomorrow and ask him what his intentions are. I’ll do it while he’s at his post, so he can’t run away.”

  They both turned at the door chimes. Sammy barked once and ran to the door. Oh, please let that be Henry.

  Constance wiped her nose. “Who could that be?”

  “I’ll get it.” She got up and opened the door.

  Henry stood in the suit he’d worn that morning to church. . . with a fresh-cut bouquet of lilacs. “Miss Aimee, is Constance still in the living room?”

  She stepped aside, wondering whose bushes he’d cut the lilacs from, and closed the door behind him. Sammy hopped backward on his hind legs. Henry didn’t seem to notice him.

  Henry handed the flowers to Constance. “These haven’t quite opened up, but they are close. I know how much you like the lilacs. I first want to apologize for my rude departure earlier.”

  “Henry. . .”

  “Please, Constance, I know I should let you go first, but if I don’t say my piece, I’ll bust right in two.” He bent down on one knee and pulled a ring from his pocket. Sammy sat next to him looking up at him.

  This was going to be good. Aimee took the flowers from Constance.

  Henry scooped up Constance’s hand, and Aimee held her breath. “Constance, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  “Yes!” Aimee shouted.

  Constance and Henry turned to her with raised brows.

  “Oops. Sorry.” She held up the bouquet. “I’ll just go put these in some water.” She tiptoed toward the kitchen but heard Constance say, “I would be honored.” Aimee did a little happy dance over to the sink. Thank You, Lord.

  ❧

  The next morning, Aimee swung Dillon’s office door open. “I have the best news.”

  He looked up from the papers on his desk. “You found your family treasure?”

  Ooh, that would be good. “No. But this is almost as good. You’ll never guess what happened last night.”

  He took a deep breath. “Probably not. So tell me.”

  “No. Guess.” This was too good just to blurt out.

  He set his pen down. “You said I’d never guess, and technically I did make a guess that was wrong.”

  He was just going to be stubborn. She’d give him a hint. “It’s about Henry and Constance.”

  “Henry asked Constance to marry him. . .again.”

  That was probably an obvious guess since he’d known Henry so long, but he didn’t know the rest. She grinned. “And she said yes.”

  His eyes widened. “It’s about time.”

  She pivoted into the chair next to his desk. He needed the whole story now. “It was so sweet. You see, I talked Constance into proposing to Henry. Well, he up and left, but returned with a bunch of lilacs he got from who-knows-whose yard and got down on one knee and gave her a ring. It was so romantic. Just like a fairy tale.” She scooted to the edge of the chair. “And get this, he said that it was one of the few times he didn’t have the ring in his pocket. That’s why he left. He didn’t want to propose without it.”

  “I’ll have to give Henry my congratulations. I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out here at the hotel for their reception. Have they set a date yet?”

  “They have to call Henry’s three children and see when they all can make it. Constance never had any children. So that means less people for us to juggle.”

  “I’ll talk it over with Henry and see when he’s going to shoot for.” Dillon turned back to the papers on his desk.

  “So, how would you propose to the woman you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?”

  Dillon looked up sharply and stared at her a moment. “I don’t know.”

  “How can you not know?”

  “I’ve never had a need to think about it.”

  “Really? That’s amazing. I know some girls who started planning their wedding in high school, some even in junior high school. I had friends who had a whole notebook full of their plans—their wedding dress, caterers, the church, even a general date—all they needed was their groom’s name to be filled in the blank. So, now that you’ve had a little time to think about it, how would you propose? Would you buy a ring ahead of time or go together to buy one after you propose? Would you do it in a public place or maybe a romantic dinner for two?”

  He took a deep breath. “I have no plans to marry, so there is no need to waste time thinking about it.”

  “You never want to get married?”

  “It is not a matter of wanting or not wanting. It doesn’t fit into my five-year plan, so there is no point thinking about it.”

  “You have your life planned out for the next five years?”

  “I have a one-, five-, and ten-year plan, where I want to be and how I can get there.”

  She leaned back in the chair. “I don’t even know what I’m going to do next month, let alone next year. Why plan so far in advance?”

  “I like to know what to expect.”

  “That’s not very exciting.”

  “If I don’t have goals, how can I reach them?”

  “And what if things don’t turn out the way you planned? Won’t you be disappointed?”

  “I plan so I can succeed.”

  She opened her mouth to rebut him, then closed it.

  “Have I finally rendered you speechless?”

  She opened her mouth and closed it again.

  He smiled.
/>
  She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t flash those dimples at me.”

  He chuckled. “You have a problem with my dimples?”

  “I have always loved dimples. I always wished I had some.”

  “Well, I’d give you mine if I could. I never did like them.”

  “You can’t not like them. They’re great. Dimples have such personality all their own.” And so irresistible. She better get to work before she poked them.

  Eight

  Aimee came in and plopped into her chair at her table-desk and stared across at Dillon until he looked up at her.

  “May I help you?”

  She wiggled her eyebrows at her cleverness. “You certainly may. Remember when I told you I’d come to you with any theories I had about my family’s treasure?”

  He took a deep breath, and she expected him to sigh audibly. Instead, he said, “Yes.”

  “I have a theory.”

  He stared at her, and she could almost hear the gears turning in his head. “Let’s hear it.”

  “This hotel has several floors. The riddle said nothing about it being on the main floor.” She counted one. . .two. . .three breaths before he spoke.

  “And you want to search the end rooms on the other floors?”

  She nodded.

  “Those are all premium rooms. They are likely booked. Maybe even for the season.”

  She flashed him her best smile. “Can we check?” He had to at least appreciate that she’d come to him first. She bit her bottom lip.

  He turned to his monitor and clicked on the keyboard. “One is vacant until the guests arrive and check in, but that could be anytime. The others are occupied.”

  “Can we check the one?” She knew he still didn’t believe in the treasure. But he would once they found it.

  He rubbed his hand over his mouth and chin. “If we go now.”

  “Now works for me.” She jumped up and held the door for him.

  In the room, Dillon crawled around the floor of the closet as before. And as before, found nothing.

  It took nearly a week for the other rooms to become free, one at a time. None of them yielded as much as a loose board. There had to be something she was missing in the riddle.

  ❧