And Mistress Makes Three

by Francis Ray

  “God, I miss you.”

  He felt the soft brush of wind on his face and could almost imagine it was her sweet lips. It had been seven years since he lost her, three years since he’d stopped feeling sorry for himself, not caring about anything—he’d been at the top of the list of self-pitying people. It hadn’t been easy finding his way back.

  He’d blamed himself for not being with her when she needed him, hated all the time he’d wasted running after the corner office in the insurance firm he worked for and all that an executive position entailed. He’d always thought there would be time to start the family he’d insisted they put off, to take the vacation to Hawaii she had wanted.

  None of those things had happened. He’d lost her after five short, pitiful years of marriage.

  Tears no longer stung his eyes; the lump didn’t form in his throat. He’d brought her dream of a bed-and-breakfast to life. There was a satisfaction in that.

  He stepped off the porch and glanced around the lush green lawn. The three-story white Victorian sat one hundred feet from the street and gleamed in the mid-morning sun. The newly repaired concrete walkway led to the driveway that circled to the back of the house where the unattached garage was located.

  To his eyes, the place looked restful. He’d tried to envision what Sharon would have wanted, tried to remember their many conversations of one day retiring and buying a B and B near the water just to keep busy and have a place for their children and grandchildren to visit.

  There were no children, but the three-story house backed up to the Ashley River. It was as painful as it was pleasurable to be here, but Max felt a strange peace that he’d found in no other place since the day he’d rushed back from the airport after being unable to get Sharon on the phone to find her unconscious on the den floor. She’d never awakened.

  “The caterers are almost finished setting things up.”

  Max turned at the sound of his aunt’s soft voice. Sophia Durand was a tall, slender woman with strong features, and Max’s favorite aunt of his mother’s three sisters. She’d never been married or engaged.

  She’d retired from being a principal at an elementary school in Memphis at the end of the last school term and had accepted Max’s invitation to come live with him and help run the inn. It was she who had tracked him down and made him realize that he was dishonoring Sharon’s memory by turning his back on life.

  “How does it look?” Max asked as he came back up the wooden steps that no longer swayed with his weight.

  Sophia shrugged. “It’s pretty and tastes as good as the samples. They want to know if you want the trays set out or for them to serve.”

  Max opened the screen door for them to enter the house. A cool breeze from the ceiling fan and central air he’d installed greeted them. “What do you think?”

  “You know I don’t have a clue, but I’m guessing it would be better if the caterers served. You don’t want people bunched up around the food. They’re here to see what a great B and B this is,” she answered.

  “Good answer.” He threw his arm around her shoulder. “I’m glad you decided to come and help me.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure how much I helped. I can’t cook, can’t decorate, and I kill a plant just by looking at it.”

  “You’re here for me, and that’s enough.”

  Her face softened and she palmed his cheek with her wrinkled hand. “I’m proud of you.”

  He smiled back. “It feels good to say I’m proud myself. Now let’s go talk to the caterers. The first guests should be arriving soon.”

  “We’re here,” Celeste said as she parked her BMW convertible at the end of a long line of cars leading to a pristine white three-story Victorian.

  “Whoop-de-do,” intoned Gabrielle from the backseat, her slim arms folded across her chest, her expression belligerent.

  Gina barely kept from sighing as she opened the door of Celeste’s metallic silver convertible and pulled her seat forward for her daughter to get out. She honestly didn’t know how to handle Gabrielle anymore. She often wondered where her sweet, lovable daughter had gone and who was the surly teenager in her place.

  “Wow! The yard is as big as a soccer field,” Ashton said as soon as his feet hit the ground.

  “All you think about is soccer,” Gabrielle said.

  “It’s better than talking about silly stuff like eye-shadow colors.”

  Gabrielle rounded on her brother. “How dare you listen to my phone conversations!”

  “If you don’t want me to listen, you shouldn’t talk so loud,” he promptly came back.

  “Stop it, both of you,” Gina ordered, well aware that the heated exchange could go on for several minutes. Lately Ashton had been going word for word with his older sister. “I’m here on business, so please be on your best behavior.”

  “He started it,” Gabrielle said.

  “Did not,” Ashton said, copying her pose with his hands on his hips.

  “I don’t care who started it, but I’m going to finish it if I hear another word out of either of you,” Gina said, staring at Gabrielle first, then Ashton.

  Gina could hear her mother’s voice as clearly as if she were standing beside her. Her mother had raised four children with love and a strong hand. None of them would have dared talk back as Gabrielle did.

  “Come on; let’s look at the grounds so your mother can tell her clients about this place,” Celeste said into the silence. “Then we can go inside.”

  Throwing Celeste a thankful look, Gina placed her hand on Ashton’s head to get him moving. He and his sister were developing the habit of seeing who could outstare the other.

  “The backyard is beautiful, but there’s not even a walkway to get you to the edge of the water,” Gina said as they started around to the back of the house. She didn’t think the owner would mind, as other people were walking on the grass as well. “I don’t see a boat, but at least he should have built steps on the uneven incline for the guests to get to the water, and a short pier so the guests could fish or simply walk out to the water’s edge.”

  “You’re right.” Celeste glanced around. “There are only a couple of unattractive stone benches behind the house. They’re not even under the trees.”

  “Let’s go see what the inside looks like,” Gina said, going up the slight incline.

  “I can’t wait,” murmured Gabrielle sarcastically.

  Gina paused, then continued around to the front of the house. Reprimanding Gabrielle or reminding her that this was business, which paid for the new tennis shoes she wore, wouldn’t help. She’d bring up her usual reply that started with, If Daddy was here . . .

  Not up for an argument, Gina kept walking and tried to remember that Gabrielle had a right to be angry and miss her father. Besides the divorce, she was having a difficult time dealing with the changes in her body and wanting to fit in.

  She’d missed the coveted spot of a cheerleader but snagged the position of captain of the booster squad, which meant she had, in her words, “to be cooler than cool.” There was also a boy she liked who hadn’t noticed her, which added to her problems. Ashton was right. Gabrielle didn’t talk softly.

  People in casual attire for the warm September afternoon spilled out onto the wide front porch and sat on the heavy black cast-iron furniture. Two huge baskets of ferns swung gently in the breeze. Opening the screen door, they went inside.

  Directly in front of them was a staircase. Instead of a picture or plant at the top of the stairs that arrested the eye, there was nothing. The foyer contained an uninspired wooden bench. Nothing invited or enticed or compelled a visitor to want to stay or see more of the establishment.

  “The place needs work,” Gina said quietly.

  “That’s an understatement,” Celeste said in an aside.

  Gina walked into the separate dining room to the left. A sideboard, an enormous china cabinet with four fret grilles and Gothic cathedral window tracery, and a double pedestal table with ei
ght ladder-back arm-and side chairs were crowded into the room. Two other straight-back chairs with twisted-ribbon carvings were on either side of the lit china cabinet. The furnishings were dark, antique, heavy. Simple and uninspiring red velvet curtains draped the windows and made the room even more oppressive and uninviting.

  “Welcome to Journey’s End,” greeted a slender woman with stylishly cut gray hair, a lived-in face, and one of the warmest smiles Gina had ever received. The woman looked cool and poised in a celery green linen pantsuit.

  Gina had never been able to wear linen. She looked as if she’d slept in the outfit thirty minutes after putting it on.

  “I’m Sophia Durand. Max Broussard, the owner, is my nephew.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Gina greeted. Giving the woman her business card, Gina introduced herself, Celeste, Gabrielle, and Ashton. “I’m an independent travel agent. I wanted to evaluate Journey’s End for my clients.”

  Sophia’s brown eyes brightened even more. “Wonderful. I’m sure you’ll agree that Journey’s End is the perfect place to come and de-stress, or just have a quiet place to vacation. There is nothing like being near the water to calm a tired soul, and we’re less than ten minutes from downtown.”

  “Your location is wonderful,” Gina said, wishing there was something about the interior that set it apart from every other B and B she’d seen. Unfortunately, there wasn’t. “Can we look around?”

  “Of course,” Sophia said. “I’ll let Max know you’re here.”

  Gina didn’t speak until the friendly woman had moved away. “Let’s see what the living room and kitchen look like.”

  “We’re right behind you,” Celeste said.

  Gina was pleased to see the living room’s furnishings were kept to a minimum, leaving room to move around. The spacious kitchen had a vegetable sink in the large island, and Viking appliances, a Sub-Zero refrigerator, a double oven, and a microwave.

  On the screened-in porch was more black wrought-iron furniture with flowered seat upholstery. The large room cried out for something softer, like white wicker with plump seat coverings that would match the window treatment in the connecting kitchen. Instead of dark green, she’d paint the walls white. At least he hadn’t painted the wooden beams in the ceiling green. “It’s pretty, but it needs work.”

  “Exactly.” Celeste leaned in closer. “I don’t see one thing that will make a person book here instead of another B and B. On second thought . . .” Her voice dropped even lower and she said, “Unless it came with the gorgeous hunk coming up the back steps with Sophia.”

  Gina didn’t even look around. Celeste was like a homing device when it came to attractive men. If one was within a hundred-foot radius, he found his way to her with one lame pickup line or another. Gina was more interested in the one-hundred-year-old house. There was something reassuring about a house that old.

  She had grown up in a seventy-five-year-old house and had always wanted to live in an older home when she married. That hadn’t happened. After Gabrielle’s birth, Robert began complaining about their one-bedroom apartment being too small. Almost every morning, he’d grumble that they needed more space, that the baby kept him up so much he couldn’t work.

  To make him happy, Gina had asked her parents for a loan for a down payment on the house she now lived in. She’d given up her dream of an older house because Robert had wanted a new one.

  Then, as when they were dating in college and throughout their marriage, she’d given in to please him, and in the end it hadn’t mattered. He’d walked away from her without a backward glance.

  The nostalgic creak of the screen door opening behind her caused her to turn and see Sophia entering the house. Behind her were two couples and the man Gina knew immediately Celeste had been talking about.

  He was tall, at least six feet two, with wide shoulders and an impressive chest in a sky blue polo shirt, and tan slacks. He had the kind of handsomeness that would turn heads and make hearts flutter. It popped into her mind that Robert would envy the man as much for his muscular build he carried so easily as for the full head of thick wavy black hair.

  “Max, this is Mrs. Rawlings, the independent travel agent I was telling you about,” Sophia said, and then went on to introduce those with Gina. “I thought you could give her a personal tour.”

  He smiled, warm and welcoming, then extended his large hand. Dimples winked in his toffee-colored face. Gina absently wondered why he wasn’t still looking at Celeste. Men tended to ignore Gina when she and Celeste were together.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Rawlings, and thanks for coming.” His voice, a rich baritone, stroked and soothed. His handshake was gentle and self-assured.

  Celeste was right. Customers, females at least, would enjoy being the center of attention of such a gorgeous, attentive man. “It’s my pleasure. I want to be able to advise my clients.” Gina handed him her card.

  “A conscientious travel agent.” He smiled. He glanced at the card, then slipped it into the pocket of his pants. “Then let me help. I can give you a personal tour if you’d like.”

  “Oh, bro—”

  Gina’s stern look at Gabrielle stopped whatever she had been about to say. Hoping she didn’t flush with embarrassment, Gina said to the owner, “I’d like that very much. Thank you.”

  “It will be my pleasure. This way,” he said, extending his arm for her to proceed ahead of him.

  Gina turned toward the open doorway, hoping Gabrielle would behave, but somehow she doubted it.

  TWO

  Max kept the pleasant smile on his face as he led the travel agent and her party through the kitchen, the separate living room, and then up the polished oak stairs, pointing out as they went the various improvements to update the house that he had completed in the past two years.

  It was in the best interests of Journey’s End for him to be cordial, even when it wasn’t deserved. Besides, he had been around his friends’ teenagers and knew their brains often lagged behind their mouths.

  “This place was in pretty bad shape when first I saw it. It took a lot of hard work to bring it back to its former glory, but it was worth it,” Max said as he walked down the hallway with Gina. “The pine flooring beneath our feet is original. This is the first of four guest bedrooms.” He paused to let them enter the open door, watching Gina’s face closely.

  Neither he nor his aunt was a decorator, but they had both decided that all the guest rooms should have a complete suite of furniture. He tried to see it from an outsider’s point of view. The queen-sized bed was covered with a bedspread splashed with small pink and red roses. The topper over the single window—at least that was the name he thought was on the package—was in solid pink. It wasn’t so overly feminine that a man would go “yuck” if he had to spend the night there.

  Gina went in, looked around, glanced at the friend beside her, then, wearing the same placid smile on her face, came back out. The teenager, Gabrielle, didn’t bother going inside. She just kept the bored expression on her face.

  He’d expected more of a reaction from the women and began to worry. He led them to the next room. “This is the largest of the rooms. As you can see, all have antique furniture and adjoining baths,” he said, hoping to get some reaction out of the two women as he opened the door to the bathroom.

  Gina peered into the rectangular mirror over the new, upright basin and ran her hand over the stack of freshly laundered white towels on a shelf next to the white commode. “The claw-foot tub is nice. Does the other bathroom have a shower?”

  “Yes. It even has a bench.” Finally, some interest, Max thought. Perhaps he should have hired a decorator, but he had wanted to do it himself. It had been important to Sharon’s memory that he do this on his own, just as they planned. But Sharon had been great with colors and design.

  Worry creeping through him, he followed Gina and her friend and children back into the hallway and watched them enter the next bedroom. He hung back a bit to let them have a better view
of the room.

  “Do you have your first booking?” Celeste asked, looking at him over her shoulder.

  “Yes,” Max answered, watching Gina out of the corner of his eye as she opened the armoire, her son stepping in front of her to peer inside. The space for the television contained an extra pillow and a down comforter. Max figured people on vacation would want to be out sightseeing and not watching television. He had put a small alarm clock radio on each nightstand. “Some of my friends from Memphis are coming up.”

  Gina closed the doors. “What is your official opening date?”

  “October second,” he answered. “A month from now. I wanted to give travel agents, such as yourself, and potential clients a chance to see Journey’s End and book.”

  “You must be excited,” Gina said, her hand on her son’s shoulder.

  “A bit.” Max was buoyed by the warm smile on her face. “There’s another bedroom, and then you can tell me what you think,” he said, watching Gina’s eyes widen, her gaze dart toward Celeste. Max knew that look couldn’t be good. “Or perhaps you’d like to tell me now.”

  “I, er—”

  “Mama thinks it needs work,” the little boy blurted.

  Gina gasped, her eyes widened with embarrassment. “Ashton!”

  “Can we go home now?” Gabrielle asked with a loud sigh. “This is boring.”

  Gina whirled on her daughter, then took her arm. “I—” She turned, her gaze stopping in the middle of Max’s chest. “Forgive me. I’m sorry.” With her daughter’s arm clasped tightly, she hurried from the room with her son close behind them.

  “Thank you for the tour, and good luck,” Celeste said, then followed.

  “Well, that went dismally,” Max muttered.

  Gina didn’t release Gabrielle’s arm until they were by Celeste’s car. “What is wrong with you? How could you be so rude?”