The Beach at Painter's Cove

by Shelley Noble

  Actually just being with Ben would be good.

  Which was a total nonpossibility, because either the family would miraculously save Muses by the Sea or they wouldn’t, and Leo and Fae would go into assisted living, Jillian would go back to Hollywood or one of her men, Vivienne would get a job, and then Issy would go back to work at the museum.

  Except she had a sneaking suspicion that Paolo wouldn’t go back even if Issy got him reinstated. Loyalty only went so far when love was involved. And what was going on between him and Chloe was beginning to look like love.

  It was pretty clear that he wasn’t coming back tonight. So she sat in the dark. Worrying. She briefly considered asking Vivienne to stay in the house and be a companion to Leo, but she dismissed the idea summarily. She wouldn’t trust her sister again.

  And that still didn’t solve the problem of the money. There were the paintings. If she could sell them and keep Leo and Fae at home, she could stay to oversee the opening of the Muses to the public, hire Paolo to run the museum. So much to do. Such a tangled mess to sort out. It could wait.

  She decided to just linger on the memory of Ben’s kiss and leave the rest until tomorrow.

  It was still early when Issy put on water for coffee the next morning. It was going to be another beautiful day. Hard to believe that a tropical storm was on its way and she vacillated between trying to rush through the filming of the parlor artwork or declaring a holiday and going down to the beach. It was the first time the whole family had been together in years.

  She was watching the coffee drip when Jillian came in.

  Issy’s mouth fell open.

  Jillian made a lifting motion with two fingers. “Not attractive, Oops.”

  Issy closed her mouth. “You’ll have to forgive me, but the shock of seeing you up before midday was so overwhelming.”

  “Oh, I thought it was the outfit.”

  “That, too.”

  Jillian had tied what had to be an Hermès scarf around her hair à la I Love Lucy or perhaps she was going for Doris Day. She was wearing designer capris, with a button shirt that looked . . .

  “Did you borrow that shirt from Grammy?”

  “Thank goodness she still gardens. It was a necessity. I didn’t have anything appropriate for a day of toiling.” She twirled around then headed for the coffeepot. “Is that ready yet?”

  The coffeepot beeped.

  Jillian poured herself a cup. “Is there cream?”

  Issy gave her a look and got down another cup from the cupboard. Jillian opened the fridge door and held up the milk carton. Issy shook her head.

  They were both sitting at the table staring into their cups when Chloe and Paolo came in carrying pastry boxes and grocery bags.

  Chloe blushed as she caught Issy’s eye, but Paolo leaned over and kissed her cheek. Smiled charmingly at Jillian. “Is Leo ready for her close-up?”

  “Fae is doing her hair,” Jillian said. “But she’s dressed and ready to dwell in the past.”

  “Excellent, I’ll just set up the video equipment.” He hurried out of the room.

  Issy and Jillian turned on Chloe. She looked up and blushed pinker. “The two of you are wearing the exact same expression,” she said. “And if you must know: totally wow.”

  “Get a cup down and tell us everything,” Jillian said.

  “Maybe not everything,” Issy added. “I do have to work with the man.”

  Nonetheless, Fae and Leo found the three of them with their heads together a few minutes later.

  “I can only guess what this is about,” Fae said. “I’ll just put the kettle on.”

  “Grammy, you look wonderful,” Issy said, embarrassed to be caught in a tête-à-tête with her mother and best friend.

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  “Where are Vivienne and the children?”

  “Steph went in to help Paolo,” Fae said.

  “I told her to come have some breakfast as soon as she’s done,” Leo said, eyeing the pastry box.

  Chloe jumped up. “I have fruit salad and pastries but I can make scrambled eggs.”

  “No, no, dear. You’ve done more than enough and we all have work to do.”

  “Where’s Vivienne?” Issy asked.

  “Still sleeping, poor thing. I’m afraid she’s not feeling well. She’s going to take it easy today.”

  Issy opened her mouth.

  “We’ll see about that.” Jillian pushed her chair back. “Guilt is one thing . . . as I have cause to know,” she added almost under her breath. “But avoidance—which I also know about—just makes it worse. Excuse me while I go have a little mother–daughter chat with my eldest.”

  She strode out of the room, the ends of her headdress flopping in the air.

  The others stared after her, then stared at each other.

  The kettle shrieked.

  “Well,” Leo said, “I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

  Chapter 27

  After breakfast, they began what Issy hoped would be the last day of work in the parlor. They had cataloged at least a hundred paintings, sculptures, knickknacks, and miscellaneous objets d’art. Every time Issy was inclined to suggest an object didn’t need to be kept, Leo came up with a story about it.

  Around ten, Jillian made an appearance to say she and Vivienne and the two younger children would start cleaning the conservatory.

  Issy thanked her and made a mental note to check in on them and make sure the two women weren’t filching any of the more salable pieces.

  Leo was in fine fettle, and several times during the morning, the taping erupted in laughter. But as the morning wore on, Issy became more distracted. Her vacation time would be up in four days; she needed to touch base with Dell. They hadn’t discussed exactly when she was coming back, and Issy didn’t see how she could get things settled and prevent the Muses and Leo and Fae’s lives becoming further eroded by then.

  And there were the paintings. They could solve all their problems, but even they couldn’t solve them by Friday.

  They were just wrapping up the inventory of the parlor when Chloe arrived, bearing food and a message from Ben. “He said that the tropical storm had been changed to a category-one hurricane. But it’s still nothing to worry about. It looks like it’s heading to North Carolina. And not to worry, because that’ll knock the stuffing out of it. But he says we should start thinking about protecting windowed areas. He also said that if it’s okay he’ll bring food and we can barbecue tonight.”

  Chloe smiled at Leo. “I told him that was fine. Might as well eat it in case the electricity goes out. Is that okay with you?”

  “It sounds wonderful.”

  Issy went back to the conservatory to see what, if any, progress the others had made. She found Jillian on a ladder dusting one of the many sconces that lit the walls. She was alone.

  “What happened to your team?” Issy asked.

  “Gone to read to the children. Honestly. You’d think these sconces hadn’t been cleaned in a decade.”

  “Chances are they haven’t been.”

  “You think George and I should have taken better care of Leo and Fae?”

  “I think George should have. I know I should have.”

  “Ah, Isabelle, still so serious. I swear you were the most serious child I’ve ever met.”

  Issy flinched. “I’m surprised you remember.”

  “Of course I remember.” She climbed down from the ladder and flopped back onto one of the rattan couches.

  “Why the change of heart? Two days ago you couldn’t wait to sell the Muses out from under Leo and put her in a nursing home.”

  “Two days ago I was still jet-lagged and had forgotten what a great place this was growing up.”

  “I thought you hated it here.”

  “Never. Growing up here was amazing. In those days Leo and Wes were the toast of the art world. One night the house would be filled with writers, the next weekend Andy Warhol would show up with his exotic and s
exually migrating friends.

  “George never really took to it, but Max and I . . .” She sighed. “Poor Max. He was a sensitive soul. He had the true artist’s soul. Much more so than even Father. But he was patriotic and impressionable and he enlisted in that infamous war. A waste of great minds and spirits.

  “But, Oops. We couldn’t stay children forever. There was a world out there peopled with all the people we only glimpsed here. So I went to check it out.”

  “Fine, so why didn’t you ever visit us?”

  “I did, but if you’re asking why I didn’t visit you and Vivienne more often . . .” She shrugged. “I was busy, Hollywood is all-consuming. It’s a mad wild, boom-or-bust business and you can’t let your attention flag for a moment or you’re forgotten.” A cloud passed over her face and Issy didn’t know if she had imagined it or if it was just the change of Jillian’s mood.

  “We didn’t forget you.”

  “I know, darling. I did the best thing I could for you. Gave you the childhood I had with the best people I knew who could take care of you.”

  “Vivienne hated it here.”

  “Did she? Or did she just miss the bright lights and the attention she got from being a celeb’s daughter? But she wouldn’t have liked it. Eventually she would have ended up like a lot of these children do, fought over, dragged through the public eye, resentful. It’s a horrible fate. You see it every day.”

  “Then why did you even have children?”

  “Oh, it was the publicist’s idea.”

  Issy reeled. “You mean you didn’t even want Vivienne?”

  “Oh, I wanted you both, once you were here.”

  “But not enough to keep us. Or at least keep Vivienne. Why didn’t you take her with you?”

  “And leave you alone?”

  “I wasn’t alone. She always said it was my fault you didn’t keep her.”

  “Oh, that girl. The truth is, Oops, I just wasn’t cut out for motherhood. I don’t have the attention span. It was all worked out by the publicist, even the marriage. Trevor York and I would have a fairy-tale wedding. We were both philandering fools and having a great time, but Hollywood always needs change, so we got married. And actually he could be rather lovely when he wasn’t screwing around. Of course so could I. That kept us on the front page of the tabloids for a while, but when the publicity started lagging, the publicist decided to put it out that we were planning to start a family. I got pregnant with Vivienne.”

  She frowned. “Hollywood loves babies. It eats them up and spits out the bones. And it didn’t take me long to figure out that either I was going to have to leave Hollywood to raise my baby, get a real job like the rest of the weary world of women, or figure out how to protect her. She was already being fawned over and having her pretty little head turned. It was a nightmare.

  “By then Trev and I couldn’t stand each other; he moved out. I hired a housekeeper and threw myself into work. One night he came back to pick up some things he needed; one thing led to another and that led to you.

  “But it couldn’t last and we both moved on. It’s Hollywood. We hardly saw each other after that. Never worked together again and some other ‘packaged’ couple took over the headlines.”

  “Then he really is my father?”

  “Of course, why would you even ask?”

  “There seems to have been some speculation.”

  “Who told you such a thing?”

  “I have a newspaper article from the time.” Issy spread out her fingers like a banner. ‘Who is the real father of Jillian York’s surprise baby?’”

  “Ridiculous, they should never have let you see that. Of course you’re his. You have the York eyes, everything else about you is pure Whitaker. Vivienne got the Whitaker eyes and the York everything else. Funny. I never thought about that before.”

  Jillian’s cell rang. She fumbled in her pocket and snatched it out. “Saved by the—” She dropped her head dramatically. Turned the screen so Issy could see it, then swiped it open.

  “Wait . . . George. How delightful.”

  Issy could barely hear his voice. Jillian touched speaker.

  “. . . Sotheby’s to send someone up before . . . You do know there’s a hurricane coming up the coast?”

  “We’re aware.” Jillian rolled her eyes.

  “Well, they can’t come until afterward, the end of next week probably. Issy will be gone by then, and I expect you will be, too.”

  “Dear George, is that a question or a demand?”

  Silence for a moment. “Just let Issy know that I’m making arrangements for the art appraisers. She can tell Leo and Fae. How’s it going there?”

  “Just fine, we’re on our way to the beach.”

  “The beach? Good, good. Stay busy. Good. And make sure they move inland if the hurricane is expected to make landfall anywhere near there.”

  “I will, George. Thanks so much for calling.”

  If a viper could talk. Jillian’s voice actually sent chills up Issy’s arms and down her back.

  Jillian hung up. “That ass expects us to do his dirty work for him? Really?”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I have no idea. I just know I’m not telling those two old dears that they’re going to be carted off to the check-in-but-don’t-check-out old-folks home. I promised the Theater Fund ladies I would talk at the gala in September, so if my agent doesn’t call, I’ll be here until then. If you can stretch your vacation into a month or two, and if the hurricane doesn’t carry us all off, maybe we can think of something by then.”

  “You’re really going to help?”

  “Be warned. I’m totally useless, but yes. I’ll help.”

  Issy was in the kitchen when Mandy burst in. “Mommy’s crying again.”

  Issy had just gotten off the phone with Dell and she wasn’t ready to deal with her depressed sister. Dell was fidgety. Worried that she wasn’t coming back at all because of Paolo’s quitting. Especially once she told him Paolo was at the Muses with her.

  She assured him they had some great ideas for the Toulouse-Lautrec exhibit and would start on the design in the next week or so.

  She explained that things were more complicated than she’d realized, that the Muses’ future was in jeopardy, and her grandmother and great-aunt had no one else to help them.

  Dell was well aware of the Muses reputation as an artist’s mecca and was sympathetic. Asked if he could help in any way; Issy was so tempted to say she had an idea but it might not be legal. She caught herself in time. She needed to act but she needed to be careful.

  And she should be doing something more constructive about saving the house than taking inventory. But any grant money this year was tied up already and finding a wealthy patron would take time and would be in competition with her own museum, which would get her blackballed for sure.

  She could at least get an appraisal on one of the paintings. Make sure that they were indeed Adam Ellis’s work. She knew who to contact and how to order an appraisal by an anonymous owner. It happened all the time. Though not by her. Still, something held her back. And it was because of something more than the legal questions; she just wasn’t sure what it was.

  She needed to go back to the cabin and take a closer look. And then she needed to do something about ensuring that they would withstand the storm. Time was marching inexorably on. And her options were circling round in her head like a giant catherine wheel. And it kept stopping at the same place. Ask Fae.

  And that was the last thing she wanted to do.

  Mandy tugged on Issy’s shirt. “Aunt Issy, Mommy’s crying again and it made Griff start crying and they won’t stop.” She fisted both hands and stomped her foot. “Why is everything so messed up?”

  Issy pulled Mandy’s pigtail. “Sometimes things just get a little messed up. It will be all right.”

  “I want it to be all right now!”

  “We all do. But we have to be patient.”

  “Ugh!” Mandy
stomped out of the kitchen.

  Issy didn’t blame her. Be patient? Really, was that the best she could do? She didn’t even want to be patient. How could she expect a ten-year-old—eight-year-old?—to be. She hurried out of the kitchen. Yelled up the stairs. “Mandy, how old are you?”

  Mandy stopped and peered over the banister. “Eight and three quarters. Am I going to have my party here?”

  “Sounds like an excellent idea.” Eight and three quarters would put her birthday somewhere in October? “Would you like that?”

  “How would my friends get here?”

  “It’s not so far from Guilford.”

  “Oh, okay. I want a bouncy castle and a pony.” She skipped up the rest of the stairs.

  “All righty, then,” Issy said. A bouncy castle and a pony. I’ll just add it to the list.

  She wandered out into the hallway suddenly feeling at loose ends. Paolo and Chloe were coming out of the parlor. They stopped at Issy.

  “I’m going to put potatoes in the oven.”

  “Need help?” Issy asked.

  “No, you guys talk business for a while.”

  “Meaning stay out of my kitchen,” Paolo said. “She’s just perfect,” he added as he watched Chloe walk away.

  “I hope you’re not taking advantage of her cooking skills to weasel your way into her affections.”

  “You know me better than that.” He smiled so wonderfully that Issy knew she was right about them. It was love.

  “You seem preoccupied this morning, cara. Anything wrong? It’s not about me and Ben’s beautiful sister.”

  “Of course not. I think the two of you are lovely together.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I don’t know. I had to ask Dell for more time off; my mother is either playing a new part as scullery maid or she’s not who I thought she was; my sister is upstairs crying about poor her. And the thing that bothers me most is I kind of feel sorry for her.”

  “So ignore them.”

  “They’re my family.”

  “That’s what I usually say.”

  “I guess you’re finally getting to me.”

  “Well, let me say this. You can love them, or hate them even, but you can’t get rid of them. And you can’t fix them. Families are not beautiful, or curated like a good exhibit.”