by Ruth Langan
“Mr. Hampton. How are your accommodations?”
“First rate, thank you.” He indicated the empty chair. “Care to join me?”
“Thank you.”
The old man sat down and Drew signaled a waitress who hurried over with a cup of coffee. When she disappeared to fill his order, the old man sat back and sipped gratefully. “I think we have the best coffee in the world right here at the Old Liberty Tavern.”
“I think you’re right, Jeremiah.” Drew looked around. “This is a cozy room. I was just thinking that I like the mix of antiques and collectibles.”
The old man nodded. “Miss Celeste’s touches can be seen everywhere. Until she came here, this room always seemed cold. She started assembling things from other rooms, that butter churn, the spinning wheel over there, some statuary, rearranging until they looked just right. Then she invited local artists and artisans to display their work along the walls, or on easels. Before you knew it, people were flocking to this room. It became not only a coffee shop, but a place to have a midmorning brunch or a late-night snack. Of course, hiring the best cooks in the business went a long way toward improving it, as well.”
The waitress brought his breakfast and he tucked into it while Drew sipped another coffee.
“Our Miss Celeste is amazing.”
Drew smiled at the proprietary way the old man spoke of Celeste. As though she had become a treasure to be guarded by the Old Liberty Tavern.
“One day she came across a storeroom and started cleaning it out. When she uncovered an unused fireplace she had it restored. Then she added bookshelves and leather chairs for reading, and next thing we knew she’d turned it into a cozy library for the use of our guests.”
Drew nodded his approval. “That’s clever.”
“Indeed. Now every Sunday evening it’s filled for poetry readings. A lot of the local bookstores arrange for their authors to stay overnight at the Old Liberty Tavern while they’re on tour. Whenever that happens, we have an overflow crowd.”
Drew smiled. “Sounds impressive.”
The old man nodded. “Our Miss Celeste could have hired any number of interior decorators. But she worked with a local decorator to imprint her style on every room and suite in this inn. After she had all the rooms looking the way she wanted, she tackled the courtyard.”
“I’ve been admiring it,” Drew admitted.
The old man beamed with pride. “No one had ever thought to use it for anything except a place to sit in summer. Now she has wine-tastings, concerts, banquets, all under the stars. I tell you, she has the Midas touch. Last month she filled the ballroom for a charity auction that brought celebrities all the way from New York.”
“Careful, Jeremiah.” Drew’s smile widened. “You’re beginning to sound like her public relations firm.”
“You won’t find anyone here in Liberty who doesn’t sing her praises.” He lowered his voice. “A year ago, we all thought we’d seen the end of this old place. It was as close as it’s ever come to being boarded up. If that had happened, it would have been sold and these historic old buildings could have been torn down and the land used for an office plaza.” He shook his head, clearly distressed at the thought. “It would have been such a crime to destroy a building with such history.” He smiled and spread his hands. “Now look at it. It’s been given new life.”
“I’d say this old building isn’t the only thing that’s been given a new life.”
The old man nodded. “I’ll admit it. It would have broken my heart to see the tavern demolished. It’s been such a big part of my life. Not to mention the life of our town.”
“Then I can see why everyone’s so happy. You’ve saved a piece of history, and brought business back to the town, as well. I’m sure a successful historic old inn means money for the merchants in town.”
“It isn’t just the money, Mr. Hampton.” He studied Drew over the rim of his cup. “Our Miss Celeste restored our sense of pride. A pride that had been missing for a number of years in our town.”
When the waitress returned with their bill, Jeremiah reached for his wallet. Drew shook his head. “This is my treat, Jeremiah. I insist.”
The old man gave a grudging nod of assent before hurrying away.
When he was alone, Drew thought over all he’d just learned. If it was true that the profits were up, the employees were happy and the town was benefiting from the success of this place, why was Paddy Sullivan considering selling it? Especially in light of Celeste’s reaction. It was obvious that she was feeling very territorial about the Old Liberty Tavern.
It was, he realized, just another piece to a very perplexing puzzle.
“What’s this?” Celeste looked up from her paperwork when Drew entered her office.
“Coffee and a croissant.”
“I don’t have time.”
“Make time.” He set it down in the middle of her papers and poured a healthy amount of cream into her coffee before handing her the cup.
She sipped, then closed her eyes. “Oh, this is wonderful.”
“Yeah.” He took a seat across from her desk. “Are you aware that your kitchen serves the best coffee around?”
“Of course I am. There isn’t anything served in that kitchen that I haven’t personally approved.” She broke off a piece of croissant and slathered it with strawberry preserves.
“Then I suggest you avail yourself of some of that fine food and beverage from time to time.”
She grimaced. “Thank you, Mother.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled easily. “I had a nice visit with Jeremiah over breakfast this morning. You ought to hire him to handle all your public relations work.”
“Isn’t he fascinating?” She polished off the last bite of croissant and sipped her coffee. “He’s been around this tavern for seventy years or more. And he remembers even the smallest details. I love talking to him.”
“So do I. Especially when he talks about ‘our Miss Celeste.’”
She laughed. “He is formal, isn’t he? It’s hard to believe he’s known me all my life.”
“He has?”
She nodded. “He and my Grandpa Sully used to travel together in their youth. I remember seeing Jeremiah from time to time when he’d be passing through Venice or Paris or Rome. He’s been a pilot, a mountain climber, a marathon runner and now I’ve learned that he even danced on Broadway. But he always returned here to his roots. Our guests really relate to him. He embodies everything good about the Old Liberty Tavern. The sense of history. And that proper New England demeanor. He takes such pride in himself and his work. But he’s also comfortable with who and what he is. There are no pretenses about Jeremiah. I see him as the perfect bridge between the old and new. Between what was, and what can be.”
She realized that Drew was watching her closely. Too closely, while she’d allowed herself to ramble.
“Well.” She set down her empty cup. “That was just what I needed to restore my energy level. Thanks.” She pushed away from her desk and crossed to the door. “Now I’m late for my next appointment. I have to meet with a young couple who want to look over the facilities for their wedding.”
He picked up the tray. “Don’t tell me people still do that.”
“Do what?”
“Get married.”
“Oh.” She managed a forced smile. “You’d be surprised. It’s becoming quite the trend.”
She breezed out of the office, leaving him alone.
Alone.
He’d always hated that word. Maybe because it had defined so much of his life.
He was frowning as he delivered the tray to the kitchen.
A short time later he started down the hall in search of Celeste and her wedding couple. He was, after all, here to observe. It was time he did a little more of that.
“You might want to look through these pictures.” Celeste indicated a large, formal album brimming with photographs. “If you’re planning a winter wedding, it can be every bit as lovely as a summer
event. Not only does the New Hampshire countryside look spectacular under a mantle of snow, with the peaks of the White Mountains in the background, but the Old Liberty Tavern positively glows with warmth inside. We have wood fireplaces blazing with logs in every room. We add pine boughs, and the fragrance makes you think you’re in a pine forest. When the millpond freezes we have skaters, and serve hot chocolate around the fire. In the lounge we offer hot mulled wine. And we even have the use of an old-fashioned horse and carriage to transport the wedding party through the town after the ceremony.” She flipped through several pictures and pointed to a fur-clad bride and her handsome groom, nestled under a fur throw as they posed in the horse-drawn carriage. “It makes a lovely centerpiece for a wedding album.”
Drew leaned a hip against the table and folded his arms over his chest, watching and listening. The bride-and groom-to-be were clearly enchanted by her sales pitch.
“If you have out-of-town guests coming for the event, we can put them up, so there’s no worry about getting lost at the last minute before the ceremony. The ballroom is more than adequate for a grand wedding celebration. And if you prefer something smaller, more intimate, we have a library, or a formal dining room, both of which can be decorated by our expert staff, or by your own party-planner. Also, if you wish to stay on after the others have gone, we have a lovely bridal suite, with a complimentary champagne supper in front of the fire, and a romantic breakfast served in your suite the following morning.”
She turned more pages and found a display of elegant wedding cakes. “Our chef can prepare not only the meals, but your cake as well. And our staff can even see to the flowers.” She smiled. “We haven’t been asked to make a bridal gown yet, or to pick out the rings. But I’m certain we could if asked.”
The young couple chuckled, then began leafing through the book.
“Why don’t I leave you two alone for a while?” Celeste poured two glasses of complimentary white wine. “Relax. Talk over your plans. Study these price lists. And make note of the things that appeal to you. When I come back, we’ll talk some more.”
Drew followed her from the room.
When she’d closed the door on the young bride and groom he leaned close to whisper, “Has anyone ever told you that you could sell snow to an Eskimo?”
She arched a brow. “Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant as one. That was good. As good a pitch as I’ve ever heard.”
“Oh, considering the fact that you’re already a vice president of Van Dorn Hotels in just over a year, I’d say you’ve probably pitched a few good lines of your own.”
Instead of feeling insulted, he threw back his head and laughed. “You’re right. We’re two of a kind, aren’t we?”
She flushed slightly. “I used to think so.”
“What does that mean?” He paused in the silent, empty hallway.
Instead of pausing beside him she kept on walking toward her office. It took him only two quick strides to catch up with her. He closed a hand over her upper arm, stopping her in her tracks. Though she’d never forgotten the strength in his hands, she was caught by surprise.
“Take your hand off me, Drew.”
“Not until you tell me what you meant by that crack.”
She lifted a chin in anger. “You didn’t used to be so thickheaded.”
His eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t used to be intentionally cruel. What’s this about, Celeste?”
“What is it about?” She slapped his hand aside and stood facing him, fists at her hips. Temper flared in her eyes. “When we met, you convinced me that we were both chasing the same dream. Then I woke up one day and found myself alone.”
“I had things I had to do.”
“Things that suddenly didn’t include me.”
“Your name was Sullivan. Mine wasn’t.”
She drew back as though he’d just slapped her. Her voice chilled by degrees. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t enough to make you happy.”
“That isn’t the issue, and never was. But because your name was Sullivan, I couldn’t ask you to leave your family business and go with me. It wouldn’t have been fair to ask. Furthermore, if I’d asked, you never would have consented.”
She looked down at her hands, then dropped them to her sides. Her tone lost all emotion. “So you just left. And now you’re back. Last night you kissed me the way…” She huffed in a breath. “…the way you used to. And I’m supposed to act as though nothing ever happened?”
“What happened…” He was startled by the ringing of his phone. For the space of a moment he actually thought about ignoring it. On the second ring he yanked it out of his pocket. When he saw the identity of the caller he sighed. “It’s Eric Van Dorn. I have to take this call.”
“Of course you do. We’re both very good at keeping our priorities straight, aren’t we, Drew?” She took a step back, then turned and headed for her office.
Drew studied the stiff line of her back as he counted to ten and swore softly.
When he had his temper under control he said, “Yes. Drew Hampton here. Good afternoon, Mr. Van Dorn.”
As the voice droned on, he headed for the elevator. “I have those figures on my computer. I’ll send them along now. And I have a few profit-and-loss comparisons you might want to look at as well.”
He punched in the button for the top floor and stared morosely as the numbers flashed past. Once in his room he cradled the phone between shoulder and ear and listened with only half a mind while he scrolled to the file he needed.
“Here it is, sir. I think you’ll like the sound of this.”
He began reading a list of figures, pausing occasionally while the voice on the other end of the line made a comment.
“I’ll send them now. And then I’ll get those faxes off to your assistant.”
Drew glanced at his watch. If he was lucky, he might get the rest of this paperwork finished by dinnertime. But he’d missed whatever chance he had to set things straight with Celeste.
Maybe that would be the story of their lives. A history of missed opportunities, while they were busy chasing some illusive dream of success.
Chapter 4
Drew stepped out of the elevator to the sounds of a string quartet playing Mozart. The entrance foyer was crowded with people sipping champagne and studying paintings and sculptures that had been artfully arranged along the walls on easels and pedestals.
To handle the flow of guests, additional tables and chairs had been set up in the courtyard, aglow with twinkling lights and hurricane candles.
Drew accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and looked around for Celeste. She was standing with a group of men and women admiring a series of framed oil and acrylic paintings. One of the men was gesturing wildly with his hands. Though Celeste had a smile fixed on her lips, Drew recognized the glazed look in her eyes. She’d probably been on her feet for hours, without a break.
Not his problem, he reminded himself. She was an adult, accustomed to being on her own, and taking care of her own needs. Still, for as long as he’d known her, she’d never been able to put herself first.
Strange, he thought. Anyone looking at her would see a poised, polished, intelligent hotel executive, fluent in several languages, comfortable anywhere in the world. But beneath that polish was a young woman who pushed herself to the limit, often going without sleep, without food, without the basics of life, for the sake of a family business that was already a financial empire.
Why did she feel the need to sacrifice herself? Drew understood what it meant to be driven by ambition. It had been his blessing, or his curse, from the time he was a boy. Having lost his parents at an early age, he’d been consumed with a desperate desire for stability and success. It was that desire that had brought him to the attention of Patrick Sullivan, who had visited the Sullivan Plaza in New York and had taken note of the hardworking college student willing to do any job assigned him. With the elder Sullivan’s encour
agement, Drew had earned his degree before joining Sullivan Hotels in Europe. That was where he’d met Celeste. And had fallen hopelessly in love. He shook his head, remembering his foolishness. He’d gone absolutely head-spinning, mind-emptying crazy over, of all things, the granddaughter of the president of the company.
What had amazed him, right from the start, even more than his own foolishness, was her ambition. An ambition that matched his own.
What drove a young woman who had led such a charmed life? Swiss boarding schools. Exclusive summer camps. Trips abroad to study with famous artists and architects, French chefs, London designers.
She belonged on the boards of Fortune 500 companies. They would be delighted to welcome her. But here she was, in a little town in New Hampshire, happily working eighteen-and twenty-hour days in order to make a crumbling, historic inn a success for the sake of her family empire. Or was there more to it than that?
Maybe she wasn’t doing this simply for the family business. Maybe this filled a need inside herself, as well. A need as deep as his own.
What a pair they were.
“’Evening, Mr. Hampton.”
Drew looked up to see Jeremiah Cross beside him, and wondered how long the old man had been standing there watching him staring at Celeste like a love-starved teen.
“’Evening, Jeremiah. This is quite a crowd.”
The old man nodded. “Getting to be a habit lately.” He glanced toward Celeste. “She’s been going nonstop since early this morning.”
“Yes. So I’ve noticed.”
“The bearded fellow with her is the one who painted those.” Jeremiah nodded toward a collection of paintings that appeared to be solid white squares. One had a squiggle of neon yellow directly in the center. The next had a dash of bright pink to one side. A third had black wavy lines running through the white squares. “Calls himself an artist.”
Drew grinned. “He’s been explaining his art to Celeste since I arrived.”
The old man cleared his throat. “You might want to rescue her.”
“I might.” Drew’s smile widened. “Or I might just stand here and see how long she can take the punishment.”
