“You are incorrigible.”
Ben shrugged. “I’ll try to get someone over here on Monday to check out the elevator, though I’d be inclined to pull the plug if she’s going to be running off to Wes’s grave all the time.”
Chloe stood. “I’ll get those guys upstairs and ready for bed.”
Issy started to stand. “I should be doing that.”
“From the looks of things you will be. I don’t mind; besides, I like it.”
“Cooking, cleaning, kids . . .” Issy trailed off.
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m impressed,” Issy said, thinking that Chloe sounded like the perfect mate for Paolo. She mentally shook herself. Her family was falling apart and she was matchmaking?
Chloe left the room and Ben and Issy sat looking at the coffee in their cups.
“Thanks for bailing us out once again,” Issy said.
“That’s what friends do.”
“Leo doesn’t seem to know about the money or any of it.”
“No,” Ben agreed.
“It doesn’t seem right to keep it from her.”
“Fae just wants to protect her.”
“Is that why she’s trying to get rid of me? She thinks I’ll hurt Leo?”
“Why do you even say that?”
“I can tell with every look they exchange, every sentence they don’t finish. The stubbornness. The dismissals. ‘Issy, what are you doing here? Don’t you have to get back to work, dear?’ I’m not stupid. I can read between the lines. Like they can’t wait until I’m gone.”
“I think you might be misinterpreting the signals.”
“I only came because the police threatened to put the children in foster care and George is threatening to put Leo and Fae in assisted living. I know they would hate that.”
“And you care about them.”
“Of course I care about them.”
Issy’s throat started to burn; she stared across the room, away from Ben, to quell any tear that even thought about falling. Why was she being so dramatic? Life was life. You took what you got. She had been lucky. She should be content with that. She just didn’t know where she had gone wrong. And she was afraid she’d waited too long to make it right again.
Issy looked into her cup. It was about as murky as her feelings about her family.
A banging at the back door had them both on their feet.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know. Stay here.” Ben warded her off with one hand as he started toward the mud room. Before he got to the door, Fae fought her way through the opening, dragging a huge faded duffel bag, and a small suitcase on rollers nearly hidden beneath several bags, one that looked like a computer case, and other assorted “stuff.”
She made it to the middle of the kitchen, dropped the smaller bags onto the table, and let go of the suitcase and duffel bag, both of which fell heavily to the floor.
“What are you doing?” Issy asked.
Fae took two deep breaths. “Moving in. You can’t handle Leo, those kids, the house, and cooking by yourself. If you’re thinking Leo will be a help, forget it. I don’t think she knows the difference between a saucepan and a measuring cup.
“Chloe has to go to work on Monday. So I’m moving in.”
“But you hate leaving your cottage,” Issy said.
“I do. But everyone has to do their part if we’re going to keep life as we know it. And that includes me. I’ll stay in Mrs. Norcroft’s rooms, close to the kitchen, in case I get hungry.”
She picked up the handle of the suitcase in one hand and the duffel in the other while Ben and Issy just stared. Then Ben jumped to life. “Wait. Let me get those for you.”
Ben took the cases and Fae walked out of the room. Ben followed, looking bemused. Issy just stood there. Aunt Fae was moving into the Muses? Issy didn’t have to look out at the night sky. She knew that pigs would be flying there.
Ben returned almost immediately. “What do you think about that?” he whispered.
“I’m shocked; what do you think it means?”
He took Issy’s hand. “Not that she doesn’t trust you. She wants to help.”
Chloe chose that moment to return to the kitchen. Zeroed in on the clasped hands, which Ben dropped like the hot potato it wasn’t.
Issy prayed he wouldn’t try to explain.
“Fae’s moved into Mrs. Norcroft’s rooms,” he said.
“Wow.” Chloe looked from one to the other. “The world is full of surprises tonight. Mandy didn’t even pitch a diva fit but fell right to sleep.”
“And Steph?”
“Closed her door. I said good night through the wood. Not even sure if she heard me.”
“It’s hard for her.”
“I know. With Fae in the house, do you want to sneak away to the Fisherman’s Den?”
“I’d love to, but I still have work to do tonight. I haven’t checked in with the installation since this morning. But can I take a rain check?”
“Absolutely.” Chloe gave her a quick hug. “See you tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to. You’ve already done way too much.”
“I have to. I promised Mandy and Griff I’d bring donuts. I think they’re already tired of healthy eating. Makes you wonder what they eat at home. Night.” She grabbed her bag off a peg in the mudroom and hurried out the door, leaving Ben and Issy looking at each other.
“Ya gotta love her,” Ben said.
“I do. Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” He followed his sister out the door.
Issy waited until she heard them drive away before she took out her cell. She poured the last of the wine into her glass and went into the library.
Paolo answered on the fifth ring.
“I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
“No, cara. How goes it?”
“It’s going. Tell me how today went.”
“You sound beat.”
“Work will perk me right up.”
“It’s going fine.”
“Paolo.” Nothing was ever just fine with Paolo. His vocabulary was filled with descriptions. He, unlike most people, didn’t have to answer with words like fine, unless he was at a loss for words.
“Paolo. Is everything all right down there?”
“What wouldn’t be going right? How are things going there? How’s your grandmother?”
“She insisted on coming home today and now my aunt Fae has moved in to help with things.”
Paolo chuckled. One of the many things Issy liked about him. He had perfected the chuckle. “She and my nona sound like they came from the same pack.”
Issy smiled but she blurted out, “They don’t want me here.”
“Ah, cara, how could they not want you there?”
“I don’t know. I just know that things have never been the same since I left for college.”
“Then perhaps it is time you made them not the same but better. Now I have a piece of news.”
“Good I hope.”
“If we can act quickly, but not if it takes you away from those who need you.”
“What?”
“Dell called me today. Alphonse Guerrera contacted him about an exhibit they have in the works.”
“Alphonse? What kind of exhibit?”
“Toulouse-Lautrec.”
“Wow. Who do we have to sleep with?”
“That’s the beauty of it. They requested you as the designer. Are you interested?”
“Interested? Did you have to ask? Of course. What an opportunity.”
“That’s what I told Dell.”
“Why didn’t he call me himself?”
“Because he either is miffed that you left him and wants to make you suffer a little first, or he knew you would jump at the chance and he doesn’t want to feel guilty if you come running back to the city.
“Not to worry. I told him that you could work remotely.”
“What timeline are we talking about?”
&nb
sp; “They’re expressing the specs to the museum on Monday. I can drive them up as soon as they get there, and we can look them over and then make a decision. If you have the time.”
“I’ll make the time. Fantastic.”
“Thought that would brighten your day. So now get some sleep. You’ll be doing double duty soon. And don’t worry about the D.C. exhibit. It’s almost hung in spite of Deirdre. I swear, why that girl decided on museum work is a mystery.”
“To meet rich men.”
Paolo let out an Italian expletive. “Did she say that?”
“No, but I called my mother, the movie star, today to ask for a loan. I’ll tell you all about it when you get here. She was very disappointed that I had been working at the museum for so long and hadn’t managed to snag a multimillionaire. Yes, that’s the stock I come from.”
“You are never dull, cara. See you in a couple of days.”
Issy hung up, smiled. She felt better just talking to Paolo, and having an unparalleled opportunity handed to her was great, too.
Now to pull it off. But it was all clear as glass to her. Whether Vivienne came home or not, whether they recovered the money or not, Issy had two weeks to make things right. It was time to roll up her sleeves, literally, and do some serious cleaning. And as she cleaned she’d do an inventory with an eye to what could go, what could stay, and what they might sell if necessity demanded it. Fortunately, with Issy’s connections, they would get good placement in any auction.
And—sometime during those two weeks while she solved her family’s problems, Issy would find time to design the new exhibit. She could do it. She could get Fae to entertain the kids, maybe even enlist them in a little housecleaning. Leo could sit and tell Issy what she remembered of each piece and decide what to keep and what to send out to the veterans, the junkyard, or to the auction houses. Maybe Steph could be coerced into taking notes.
She was suddenly so energized that she thought she might start cleaning and cataloging tonight. But she reined herself in. She needed rest. She’d been running sleep-deprived for weeks now. She’d better be smart or she might end up too sick to design the new exhibit.
It was just before dawn when Jillian York slipped the concierge fifty dollars and walked out the front door of the Hôtel de Paris. Two bellmen carried her luggage outside, where they deposited the pieces in the back of the taxi. They asked no questions, they didn’t send well wishes to the family who was the source of the “emergency.” They were used to people trying to sneak out of the hotel at night. Fortunately for her, Henri was stuffed with food, booze, and sex and was asleep upstairs in their suite with most of his credit cards and cash nestled all snug in his wallet. The rest were in Jillian’s pocket.
Across the ocean, the moon was shining through the sliver of window between the frame and the curtain in Mrs. Norcroft’s bedroom and it was driving Fae crazy. Moon-crazy. She wanted to go home. Wished she’d never let herself be talked into doing the right thing by helping Issy out. Of course she wanted to help Issy. She loved Issy and didn’t want her to be burdened by their problems. And she needed to protect Leo. But couldn’t she do both while sleeping in her own bed?
Obviously not, because she was here instead of there. This was the price of caring. At least most of Mrs. Norcroft’s residual anger and heartbreak was gone, just vestiges trapped in the corners of the room. Tomorrow she would have to do a good cleansing. A good thing she’d brought her store of bundled sage.
Steph slept the deep sleep of a girl on the brink of becoming a teenager. Neither innocent nor worldly, neither good or bad. A flower waiting to blossom into what no one, not even Steph, could guess.
Across the hall Leo floated on her memories. Wes leading her across the meadow to his mansion that overlooked the sea. Wes carrying her over the threshold, both of them laughing so hard with happiness she thought they might tumble to the floor. Wes lying on the rubber raft in the middle of the pool, a martini in his hand, a book of Roethke’s poetry open on his chest. Leo sitting on the side, her feet dangling in the water, her skirt spread out wide beside her, soaking up the water like a sponge.
Chapter 12
Issy woke the moment the sun rose over the trees. For the first time since returning to Painter’s Cove, she felt she had a plan. She wasn’t sure where it would lead or why exactly she was doing it, but she would leave that to the future.
She dressed, made her bed, and went downstairs to put on coffee. Then she went to the library to organize her supplies.
By the time the coffeemaker beeped, she had pencils, pens, and markers lined up across the library table. Yellow notepads, a tablet of drawing paper and her laptop opened to a museum inventory template, and her iPad opened to her design program were set up strategically nearby.
She was pouring her first cup when Chloe came to the back door and tapped on the window.
Issy went to let her in.
“Chloe, you’re going beyond the call of friendship.”
Chloe smiled and walked past her to deposit two large bakery boxes on the table. “Because I’m the sister you always wished you had.” She shrugged. “And you’re mine.”
The statement brought an embarrassing lump to Issy’s throat. “You are.”
“And I saw you holding my brother’s hand last night. We could make it a reality.”
“That wasn’t what it looked like.”
Chloe sighed. “It never is.” She poured herself a cup of coffee. “You have to promise me not to exhaust yourself today. Ben said he’d meet us at the Den after dinner. He’s out in the marshes all day.”
Issy blew out air.
“Don’t even start thinking of excuses. Just a friendly drink.”
“What’s the real reason for all this talk about Ben?”
“I’m considering going back to culinary school. And don’t say it. After I just bought a store that I can’t afford. I don’t know what I want; he does know what he wants, but he’ll be all alone if I go.”
“Oh, jeez, Chloe. He’s a grown man. Most people are alone.”
“You’re not.”
“I was until this week. And now I have a grandmother who I’m not sure always recognizes me. An aunt who wishes I would leave. A mother who ignores me. A sister who hates me. And three children who I have absolutely no idea what to do with. Better to be alone.”
“Maybe.”
“I have to get to work.”
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning and cataloging the objects in each room.”
“Not because you’re thinking of selling the Muses?”
“It’s not up to me. In fact, if we don’t figure out some way of raising money, it might not be up to any of us.”
“You’ll figure out what to do.”
Issy grabbed her coffee and beat a retreat before Chloe could embark on one of her pep talks.
“That got you moving,” Chloe called after her.
Issy stuck her head back into the kitchen. “Flee before the Chloe pep talk.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Yes, but you keep goading and goading until you make us do what we didn’t think we could do and didn’t want to do until you badgered us into doing it.” Issy grinned and ducked out the door.
“It’s what friends do, so prepare to be goaded!” Chloe’s words followed Issy down the hall to the library.
Issy put her coffee on top of the yellow tablet and opened up an empty page of her design program. It was going to be a daunting task. There was just so much stuff. She divided the library in quarters. Started in the northeast quadrant. Drew two rectangles to designate the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. There were probably some first editions there. Not her domain. She’d hire someone to appraise them if it came to that.
She added a rectangle for the mantel, and another one to represent the framed flapper dress above it. The dress was said to have belonged to Lois Long, who, in a boozy stupor, left it behind to follow a story for the New Yorker.
Issy’s finger hovered above the rectangle as an idea took form. She turned slowly a full 360 degrees. There were so many works of art and craft in the room, so many in all the rooms, and each one had a story. Some more interesting than others, granted, but many fascinating.
She thought of Lois’s dress hanging in a museum, a placard saying, This dress of sequins, bugle beads, etc., belonged to Lois Long, reporter for the New Yorker magazine in the 1920s. Known as “Lipstick,” Ms. Long was the quintessential New Woman of the twentieth century.
Yawn.
But the image of Lois Long stumbling down the stairs at the Muses after a day of art and debauchery, demanding that someone call her a cab so she could get back to the city before the midnight deadline . . . Grabbing one of the gentlemen’s overcoats to hastily throw over her underthings, and snagging a bottle of gin on her way out . . . now, that was a presentation.
Issy could almost see her. She made another full circle as her mind exploded with exhibits, events, readings, guided tours—art in situ. Alive, the way it should be.
She stopped herself. Shoved the exploding idea aside, pushed it back where it couldn’t sidetrack her. She was cataloging things for an inventory and perhaps for possible sale if things came to that.
She had a lot of work to do without wandering off on fantastic detours. She had to get back to the city and a new design that would be a golden rung up the ladder of her career.
For the briefest moment, the flapper reporter running half clothed down the staircase and Issy standing in her jeans in the library became one. Then, like all crazy ideas, it passed.
Issy’s finger moved to the center of the screen. Placed a circle to represent a table. To its right, a smaller circle for the freestanding globe; another circle for the marble plinth with the bust of . . . someone, the two chairs with a small rectangle for the reading table between them.
She took a moment to check her graphics with the actual space. She’d have to use numbers to represent the artwork. Maybe she could convince Steph to collate everything on the inventory template.
In a few minutes she had a series of squares, rectangles, and ovals representing the paintings, drawings, and photographs in all four quadrants, using placeholders for the statues, ceramic pieces, photos, and memorabilia crammed together in every available space.
The Beach at Painter's Cove Page 13
