Love in Another Town

by Bradford, Barbara Taylor

  In no time at all they were turning through white gates and heading up the driveway of Havers Hill, the farm Maggie had been hired to remodel, restore and decorate.

  Jake parked near a big red barn and then walked around to help her get out of the pick-up. He gave her his hands and she took them. As she jumped down she lost her balance and stumbled against him. He caught her, held her in his arms for a brief moment, and she clung to him. They drew apart quickly, staring at each other self-consciously.

  Maggie turned away, straightened her jacket to cover her sudden confusion, and then reached into the truck for her briefcase and handbag.

  After she had moved away, Jake, swallowing hard, closed the door of the pick-up and swung around, glancing about him as he did.

  The property was magnificent.

  Well-kept green lawns sloped away from the drive, rolled as far as the eye could see. Beyond were pastures, and even farther beyond mountains partially encircled the property. Nearby, an old stone wall bordered a smaller lawn where a gazebo sat in the shade of an ancient gnarled maple, and the wall itself made a fitting backdrop for an English-style border of perennials.

  He shaded his eyes with his hand. In the distance he could see an apple orchard. ‘What a place!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s beautiful. I’d like to own something like this one day.’

  ‘Then I’m sure you will,’ she replied, smiling at him. ‘If you want something badly enough you can usually get it, if you work hard at it, of course.’

  Gesturing to a series of buildings just ahead of them, she went on, ‘That’s the caretaker’s house over there, Jake, and the farmhouse is the bigger building to the right. Come on, I want to show you around.’

  She began to walk rapidly towards the house, continuing, ‘I told the caretaker, Mrs Briggs, that we’d be coming over, so the front door’s open.’ She glanced over her shoulder at him as she spoke.

  Jake caught up with her and they went into the house together, their shoulders brushing in the narrow entrance.

  Even though the lights were on, the hallway was dark and Jake blinked, adjusting his eyes to the murkiness of the interior.

  ‘It’s very old,’ he said to Maggie, peering about, moving forward, looking inside several rooms that opened off the entrance hall.

  ‘Yes, it is. About 1740 or 1750, somewhere thereabouts,’ she told him. ‘And it was furnished in Early American style; most authentically, in fact. Most of the furniture’s been sold though. My client only wanted to keep a few choice pieces.’

  ‘Think about it, Maggie, this house was built before the American Revolution. My God, what these walls could tell us if they could talk!’

  Maggie laughed. ‘I know exactly what you mean. I’ve often thought that myself. About other places I mean, especially in England and France.’

  ‘Who owned the farm?’ he asked, turning to her.

  ‘A Mrs Stead. It had been in the Stead family for several hundred years. The last Mrs Stead died about a year and a half ago. No, two years ago, to be exact. She was very old, ninety-five when she died. Her English granddaughter inherited the property, but since she’s a married woman with children and lives in London, obviously her life is on the other side of the Atlantic. So she put the property, the farmhouse and its contents on the market two years ago. She thought she’d sell Havers Hill immediately, because it is such an idyllic place. But the asking price was in the millions and it’s no longer the 1980s. So naturally she didn’t have any takers. She finally had to drop the price.’

  Jake said, ‘A lot of people who want to sell their weekend homes up here are beginning to realize the prices of the eighties are finished. Anyway, who finally bought it? Who’s your client?’

  ‘A married couple. Anne and Philip Lowden. They own an advertising agency on Madison Avenue. They live in Manhattan during the week, and wanted a retreat in the country. Anne fell in love with this place, especially the grounds. She came to me through a client in New Preston, whom I’ve done work for. Anne told me she liked my understated style. “No nouveau riche folderol for me,” she said when we met. She didn’t even bother to interview any other designers, just hired me to do it all. Anne wants me to modernize the farmhouse and the guest cottage.’

  ‘The farmhouse certainly needs it,’ Jake remarked, and turned to look at Maggie. ‘Okay, where shall we start?’

  ‘Let’s go into the kitchen first. We can put our things there: it’s the only place with any furniture in it anyway.’

  Maggie led the way down a short corridor and into the kitchen. This was a medium-sized room with two adjoining pantries, a couple of small windows, and a beamed ceiling. It overlooked a vegetable garden, an old stone well and, to the right, a flower garden.

  ‘A decent-sized room,’ Jake commented as they surveyed the kitchen together. ‘But it’s too dark, not much natural light coming in; you’ll have to supplement it with really good artificial lighting.’

  ‘I know,’ Maggie murmured. ‘And that’s the problem with the whole house, Jake. It’s so … so gloomy. Personally, I find it quite depressing. I like airiness, pale colours, a sense of space. My aim is to get rid of the sombre feeling without having to put in too many additional windows. I don’t want to kill the period look of the place. After all, it’s one of the reasons my clients bought it. For its rustic charm and antiquity.’

  ‘I understand.’ Jake’s eyes scanned the kitchen once more. He looked up at the ceiling and then walked around the room a few times, a thoughtful expression settling on his face.

  Maggie placed her briefcase and handbag on the kitchen table, took out a notebook and made a few notations.

  Jake said, after a moment, ‘I don’t think this room presents too many problems. We could use several large-sized ceiling fixtures, such as old lanterns, something like that, plus wall sconces, in order to introduce proper artificial light. And you might want to think about putting in a new kitchen door, one that has panes of glass in the upper portion.’

  ‘Yes, I had thought of that … it would let in additional natural daylight.’

  ‘What about high hats? Would you or the clients object to a few in the ceiling?’

  ‘No, since they’re fairly unobtrusive. But can you do it?’

  ‘I think so. I’ll have to cut into the ceiling first, to investigate what’s going on up there. But it shouldn’t present any real problems. If I get the job, that is.’

  Maggie stared at him, frowning slightly. ‘Jake, surely you know you’re going to get the job.’

  ‘You might not like my estimate, it might not fit into your budget.’

  ‘We’ll make it fit into my budget, won’t we, Jake?’

  He gave her a long look and was silent for a few seconds. Then he said, ‘I guess so. Have you found a contractor yet?’

  ‘I’m thinking of hiring Ralph Sloane. He’s done a bit of work for me, and I’ve seen some of his really huge jobs in the last few days. I like the way he operates, I like his style. Do you know him?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve worked with him before. He’s a good guy. Are you going to hire an architect? Or don’t you plan on making structural changes?’

  ‘The answer is yes to both of those questions, Jake. I met with Mark Payne the other day -’

  ‘He’s the best!’ Jake cut in, sounding enthusiastic.

  ‘That’s what I thought. I’ve seen a lot of his work now, and he seems to be an expert when it comes to Colonial architecture. He’d like the job, I know that, and I was impressed with his ideas.’ There was a small pause and then she finished, ‘I think I’m putting together a good team, don’t you?’

  He glanced at her and nodded, gave her half a smile and then headed out of the kitchen. ‘Shall we go through the rest of the house?’

  ‘Yes, let’s look at the rooms on this floor first.’

  Three hours later they came out of the farmhouse together, blinking in the sunlight. Slowly they walked back to the pick-up truck.

  Jake leaned against the hood, and
said, ‘It’s a huge job, Maggie, bigger than I initially thought. The whole place needs rewiring. It obviously hasn’t been touched in years. And there’s so much else to do. We haven’t even thought about the exterior lighting for the grounds.’

  ‘I know.’ She threw him a worried glance. ‘You’re not saying you don’t want to tackle it, are you?’

  ‘No. I want the job. I need it. As you know, I’m building a new business. Anyway, I like a challenge. And I want to work with you, Maggie.’ He paused and stared into her face. Suddenly making a decision, taking control of the situation, he said in a firm voice, ‘Let’s go. I’ll take you to lunch. I know a good place for a hamburger or a salad, whichever you prefer.’

  ‘Good idea,’ she responded. ‘I’m starving.’

  CHAPTER

  7

  WHEN JAKE KNOCKED on Maggie’s kitchen door and there was no answer, he opened it and went inside.

  She was nowhere in sight, so he wandered through the kitchen and into the small back hall, heading for her office. But he stopped at once, stood perfectly still, listening.

  In the few weeks he had known Maggie Sorrell he had never seen her ruffled. Nor had he ever heard her raise her voice. But she was doing so now, obviously speaking on the phone in her office.

  ‘He did it on purpose!’ she exclaimed. ‘Nothing you say will convince me otherwise. And he did it to hurt me. He simply doesn’t want me there to celebrate with you.’

  There was a sudden silence.

  Jake guessed she was now listening to whoever it was on the other end of the line. Wanting to be polite, to make sure she was aware of his presence, he walked across the hall, knocked on the open door, poked his head around it and raised his hand in greeting.

  Maggie stared at him so blankly he realized at once how preoccupied she was. But then she nodded quickly, acknowledging him.

  He half smiled in return and ducked out. Swinging around, he headed towards the small sitting room opposite. After placing the envelope he was carrying on the coffee table, he walked over to the window and stood looking out of it at her garden, lost for a moment in his thoughts of her.

  It was apparent to him that Maggie was not only angry but upset as well, and this disturbed him. He had become very protective of her.

  Jake glanced at his watch. They had agreed to meet at six o’clock tonight, and as usual he was far too early. It seemed to him that he was continually ahead of himself whenever they had an appointment. He just couldn’t help it. He wanted to be with her all the time; he hated it when they finished their work and he had to leave her.

  They had known each other only five weeks yet it seemed so much longer to him. He had discovered that they were compatible, liked the same things. She loved music as much as he did and she was impressed with his knowledge of it. He enjoyed talking to her because she was so well informed; she was a news buff and, as he was, a great fan of CNN.

  There were other things that he liked about her. She had a good sense of humour, laughed a lot, and she was a truly feminine woman. For all her ability and talent, strength and independence she was not hard. Just the opposite. He forever felt the urge to look after her.

  Since his first visit to the farmhouse, two weeks ago now, Jake had begun to relax with her and, at the same time, he had acquired more self-confidence. In fact, ever since that Friday morning, when he had taken her for a hamburger in Kent, he had considered himself to be in command of the situation.

  Lately she had seemed to defer to him, and frequently she used him as a sounding board about the work to be done at the farmhouse. It had struck him only the other day, quite forcibly, that she depended on him, and he was pleased about this. They had become good friends; he wished it could be more.

  Tonight he had come over to discuss the detailed estimate for the electrical work at the farmhouse. He had given her a ballpark figure a week ago; then he had had to spend endless hours over at the farm, studying every aspect of the property inside and out. Now he was anxious to talk to her, get her approval of the figures.

  From the doorway, Maggie said, ‘Hello, Jake.’

  He spun around, looked across at her. She was very pale. When she remained standing in the doorway, looking hesitant, he hurried across the room.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked quietly, drawing to a standstill in front of her, his black eyebrows puckering together in a frown.

  ‘I’ll be fine in a minute,’ Maggie answered. ‘I’m afraid I became angry – ’ She broke off, biting her lip.

  ‘Anything I can do to help?’

  ‘No, thanks anyway.’ Her voice was trembling and she paused again. Suddenly tears welled in her blue eyes and she looked at him helplessly.

  ‘Maggie, what’s wrong?’ He could not bear to see the pain settling on her face. Concerned, he took a step towards her.

  And as he did she moved towards him.

  He reached for her, drew her to him, enfolded her in his arms.

  ‘Maggie, Maggie, what is it? Please tell me what’s bothering you?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it … I’ll be all right in a … minute … really I will …’

  But she wept on his shoulder, clinging to him fiercely.

  He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head, murmured gently, ‘I’m here, I’ll look after you. Please don’t cry. I’m here for you.’

  Turning suddenly, she twisted her face to stare up into his. Their eyes locked. He felt her trembling in his arms, and he tightened his grip on her.

  Maggie’s lips parted slightly, almost expectantly, and before he could stop himself he bent down and kissed her fully on the mouth.

  She kissed him back, pressing her body against his. Because she was tall, almost as tall as he was, their bodies fitted together.

  We’re a perfect fit, Jake thought, his heart racing.

  After a few moments of intense kissing, they stopped, drew apart, and stared at each other breathlessly, wonderingly.

  Jake said softly, ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.’

  ‘I’ve been wanting you to do it,’ Maggie whispered.

  Emboldened, still staring hard at her, he went on, ‘I’ve wanted to make love to you since that first night we met.’

  ‘And I …’

  ‘Oh Maggie, Maggie.’

  ‘Jake.’

  He drew her towards the sofa; they sank down onto it. Pushing her gently against the cushions, he leaned over her, looking deeply into her eyes. Bending closer, he kissed her eyelids, her nose, her face and lips, moved his mouth down into the hollow of her neck, then he began to unbutton her blouse. His hand slipped inside, cupped her breast; somehow he managed to release it from her bra.

  When his mouth found her nipple, Maggie sighed deeply and moaned. And then she gave herself up to her feelings entirely, her hurt and pain of a short while ago forgotten for the moment.

  She had thought of Jake constantly, had envisioned making love to him so often, she could scarcely believe it was happening now.

  His mouth was soft if insistent, his touch gentle but firm, and when he stopped with suddenness she held herself perfectly still, wondering why he had stopped. She wanted him to continue.

  A moment later his face was resting against her hair, and he said softly, ‘Please, Maggie, let’s go upstairs.’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered and he straightened, pulled her off the sofa; together they went up the wide staircase, their arms wrapped around each other.

  Maggie pushed open her bedroom door, led him inside, and walked to the centre of the room.

  Jake closed the door behind them and followed her.

  The light outside was changing. The sky had turned a warm golden colour and it was flooding the room with a soft radiance.

  He took hold of her shoulders and stared into her face. ‘Be sure of this, Maggie.’

  ‘I am, Jake.’

  ‘Once this happens there’s no going back. Not for me.’

  ‘Nor me.’

&nbs
p; He brought her into his arms.

  They stood there for a long time, kissing, touching, familiarizing themselves with each other. They pulled apart, gazed at each other, started kissing again, their ardour growing.

  Eventually, Jake began to undress her, taking off her blouse, unfastening her bra, then her skirt. Everything fell on the floor around her feet.

  She stepped over the heap of clothes and stood gazing up at him intently, her emotions written all over her face: She wanted him.

  Jake returned her gaze, recognized the need in her eyes and nodded slightly. He pulled his sweater over his head; Maggie stepped closer to him, began to unbutton his shirt, then took it off. He struggled out of his boots and jeans, and she took off her stockings and they came together totally naked.

  They held each other tightly. Jake ran his strong hands over her shoulders, across her back and down onto her buttocks; she smoothed her hands over his shoulders, pushed them up into his thick hair.

  Finally he led her over to the bed. After he had pressed her down onto it, he bent forward, kissed her, then said, ‘I’ll only be a minute.’

  Maggie lay waiting for him, her heart beating rapidly. It was years and years since she had felt like this, had wanted a man so much. She wished he would hurry, come back. She could hardly wait.

  Jake walked across the room towards the bed.

  She thought he looked magnificent.

  He stood next to the bed, staring down at her. He noticed that her eyes had turned the darkest of blues, so dark they were almost purple, the dark bluish-purple of pansies. They were full of urgent desire for him, he recognized that once more and he felt heat rising in him, his excitement growing as he stood looking at her.

  How beautiful she was in her nakedness, in the soft golden radiance of the fading light, he thought. He had not realized what a lovely body she had, covered as it always was with her bulky sweaters and heavy jackets and long, flowing skirts.

  But she was very slim, he noted, with curving hips, and long, long legs. She had perfect breasts, softly rounded, and her skin was smooth and pale.

  As Maggie returned his long, contemplative gaze she thought that a man’s body could be beautiful. His was. Jake was tall and slim; he had a broad chest and wide shoulders above slender hips and long legs. He was splendid to look at. She could hardly tear her eyes away.