by Rita Hogan
“I think that is fair compensation. We can look at the photos I take of the scenery. There may be some you might want to include in the brochure. I should be able to use them for my other project without a problem. Do you want me there at the time on the itinerary or earlier?”
“Is 6 a.m. too early?”
She shook her head.
“Good. If we’re lucky, we can get some shots of the ship at sunrise. I would also like some taken of the interior before the passengers arrive. Then, of course, I’d like photos during the trip of some of the events and amenities.
“We actually have two separate brochures: one for the luxury three day cruise, and one for the daily excursions we offer. Would you be open to attending the one day trip to obtain photos? It will give you another chance at some shots of the lake, in case something didn’t turn out quite right the first time.”
Taking a sip of her wine, she looked thoughtful. “Will you also be joining me on the daily trip?”
Heat filled his body at the thought of spending more time with Brooke. “I’m certain I can manage some additional time away.”
Over the remaining four courses, Landon did have a chance to hear more about her. He listened with rapt attention as she described her life in the small northern town of Kalispell. Her tag line was Living Under the Big Montana Sky. The way she described the sparsely populated state made him want to see the place from which Brooke Johnson came.
Using her phone, she showed him some pictures she had taken of the marvelous landscape. After seeing the photos, he understood why people called Montana God’s country. Everything was so far out in the middle of nowhere, it was as if only God and nature met in the quiet beautiful places of the northern state.
Two hours later, and wonderfully sedated with good food and wine, Landon escorted Brooke to her room. When they arrived at her door, she turned to him. “Thank you for a lovely dinner.”
Almost forgetting, she reached for the shawl he had lent her from the boutique and held it out to him. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness. It did keep me warm.”
Landon didn’t accept the soft cashmere but held her gaze. “It is a gift. I want you to have it.” Suddenly, her face was flushed, and he could see an increase of air intake in the rise and fall of her chest, as if she were trying to catch her breath.
“Thank you. I will bring it on the cruise tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He nodded, watching as she removed the key to her room from her clutch with trembling fingers.
When she entered the suite, Brooke took one more look at Landon through the narrowing gap of the door as it closed.
On the other side of the heavy paneled wood, Olivia leaned against the hard cool surface to steady herself. Sliding to the floor, she stifled the sobs that threatened to erupt from her, but allowed the tears to flow freely from her anguished heart.
The gift of the shawl had been her undoing. He had been very kind and attentive throughout the whole evening. It was as if they were back in Portland that long ago summer and nothing had ever changed.
Images of Landon at Dragonfly in his blue sports coat and tailored khaki pants flooded her mind. His smile and the pained look that clouded his face tugged at her resolve. Why had she asked if he laughed often? Memories from her dream played through her head. She heard her father’s voice again, He’s suffering too.
Olivia knew it was true, she could see it in his hazel eyes. She desperately tried to hold onto her planning. It felt like she was pouring water back into a rain cloud.
Standing from the floor, she knew now wasn’t the time to decide. Olivia would take things one day at a time. The cruise would give her time to think about what to do with Landon Gray.
CHAPTER NINE
Dawn would soon be arriving. Landon needed to be on board his cruise ship, The Absolution, before seven. On the way back from Dragonfly, he had instructed Brooke to report to the concierge. Alonzo, one of the hotel drivers, would ensure that she made it to the ship in time.
The cruise idea had been one of Landon’s first upon entering the family business. After cutting through all the red tape to launch a ship the size of The Absolution onto the waters of Patagonia’s Lake District, Landon worked with the Tidal Ship Building Company to custom build his two-hundred passenger ship.
The sleek vessel contained one hundred luxurious state rooms, each with their own private balcony. For entertainment there were six onboard lounges, a spacious spa, a theatre, and outdoor and indoor pools. The elegant and posh dining room featured a panoramic view. For the fishermen who chose to cruise on board The Absolution, a section of the ship was designated for fishing. Catches could be cleaned and packaged for shipping to anywhere in the world, or cooked onboard by the team of highly trained chefs.
For the three-day cruise, a limited number of guests, those who could afford to pay the additional cost, were treated to a private dining experience with a classically trained Michelin-rated chef. The chef and six assistants prepared a six course meal in a mini stadium kitchen while the guests looked on and engaged with the master.
The idea to add this extra to the cruise experience came about when Natasha had first observed Gaston in the kitchen. For foodies of all ages, watching the brilliant chef was like watching a live performance of Mikhail Baryshnikov in the Nutcracker. His charm and his excellent mastery of food and ingredients was a sight to behold.
During one of the early planning meetings with the ship builders, Natasha had scrawled a note on her legal pad, pushing it toward Landon, Do you have a name picked out?
He read the question, then scribbled back a reply, The Absolution.
When she read the words she looked at her brother. With her heart in her throat she drew a question mark.
With a firm set to his lips, he wrote back, I can’t forgive myself. Every time I set sail on her I’ll always hope to find absolution.
The christening of the boat had been an emotional day for both brother and sister. While Landon hoped for forgiveness, Natasha prayed he would find it.
With his belongings stored in his suite and the long checklist reviewed with the crew, Landon stood on the bow and waited for Brooke. The glow of headlights in the predawn morning signaled her arrival.
He walked down the ramp to meet her on the dock.
Brooke waved to him as she approached. She was wearing dark slacks and a cream-colored, lightweight, wool jacket.
When she was close enough, Landon relieved the photographer of her bags. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Landon. Have you been here long?”
“Only since five. The captain and I have to arrive then to ensure everything checks out. He takes care of preparing the ship and I take care of the guest checklist.” He nodded his head toward the vessel. “Let’s take your bags to your room.”
When he opened the door to her suite, he turned in time to see her smile of pleasure.
“I take it you are satisfied with the accommodations?” he asked.
“More than satisfied. Now I know why you charge what you do. It’s exquisite.”
Every piece of wood from the desk to the wardrobe was polished to a high gleam. The dark varnish warmed the small intimate space. Brooke could see into the bathroom, noting the marble tile on the floor.
Landon placed her bags on the bed. He reached for her hand and led her to the private balcony. Her small hand felt good in his, a perfect fit. He savored the contact for as long as possible.
The quarter moon lingered in the pre-dawn sky. Leaning against the rail, Brooke could see the dim light rippling on the surface of the water. The tell-tale signs of dawn were showing on the horizon.
Landon’s smooth deep voice broke the peaceful silence of the early morning. “You’ll have time to enjoy more of the view later. The sun will be up soon and I’m sure you have some work to do with your equipment.”
Quietly she nodded.
“I’ll meet you up on deck by the ship’s entrance. Do you remember h
ow to find your way back?”
Her response was hesitant. “If I get lost, it won’t take me long to find my way.”
Landon looked at her for what seemed like the longest moment before turning to leave.
For the next two hours Brooke roamed the deck of The Absolution, snapping everything in sight. Initial review of the shots of the ship at sunrise looked good. She had also taken pictures of the sun as it rounded the horizon, its red glow beaming across the water.
Landon had been watching her when she took them. After what seemed like a thousand clicks of her camera, she lowered her arms and the heavy lens and stared at the morning light for several long moments. He would have given his fortune to know what thoughts sifted through her pretty head. He turned to leave before she found him watching her.
By nine o’clock the guests began to arrive. Landon and the captain stood at the top of the ramp, greeting each person as they arrived. Guests were escorted to their rooms by what seemed like an army of men and women dressed in perfectly starched white uniforms.
The ship was due to push off at ten o’clock. With every passenger accounted for, the escorts disembarked as the dockhands prepared for departure.
Brooke was in the dining room taking pictures of the gourmet food laid out for the champagne brunch. There were enough entrees to feed a small country. Fresh fruits and vegetables lined tray after tray. One section of the spread contained an omelet station. The chef who would prepare the hot egg dishes was busy putting out the last of the ingredients, which she noticed included caviar. She was sure it was the most expensive kind.
She took several shots of the tantalizing display before turning her attention to the dining room. The guests would begin to trickle in once they had settled into their rooms. Brooke needed to get some shots of the comfortable seating and the panoramic view.
“You must be the photographer. Landon told me about the work you would be doing.”
Upon hearing the French accent, Brooke knew before turning whose voice it was. The memory of last night’s delightful conversation about the chef made it difficult for her to suppress the giggle that formed in her throat. With a warm smile on her face, she turned toward the chef.
“I am the photographer. Hello, my name is Brooke,” she introduced herself while extending her hand.
The world-renowned chef shook her hand. “My name is Gaston. I am the executive chef of the Grand Vue, and Landon is my brother-in-law.”
“Yes, he told me. It is nice to meet you.”
“He did not tell me you were an American.”
“Actually, I am from Ireland.” How Brooke managed to say it with a straight face and not erupt into a fit of laughter was something she would wonder about months from now.
The puzzled look on Gaston’s face deepened when she added, “And I’m a horrible cook. It’s why I signed up for the dinner demonstration tonight. Perhaps I will learn something.”
“But you have no accent,” was all he could manage to say.
Using her best Irish brogue, she remarked, “Oh, that. I worked that out the moment I left my bonnie country.”
Before Gaston could respond, Landon arrived with the first of the brunch guests. After escorting the elderly lady on his arm to her table along with her husband, he walked over to where Brooke and his brother-in-law were standing.
“I see the two of you have met.”
Brooke gave Landon a brilliant smile. There was a look of mirth in her eyes that he did not understand but would ask about later. It warmed him to see the way she looked at him with humor. “We did, and now I must find some of your guests who are open to being photographed. Please excuse me.”
Before turning to leave for the kitchen, Gaston eyed his brother-in-law. “You could have told me she was Irish.”
For a moment Landon was very confused and was about to question his friend’s comment but the chef added, “And she proves my point.”
“What do you mean, Gaston?” Landon asked, still perplexed.
“Your Irish photographer said she doesn’t know how to cook.”
Brooke knew the precise moment Landon had figured out her little joke when she heard laughter erupting near the kitchen.
Later when he found her in the starboard lounge sipping on a Pellegrino, Landon couldn’t diminish the huge grin on his face.
Sitting in the chair beside her, he chuckled. “Irish! That was good. I wish I could have been there to see the expression on his face when you first told him.”
Grinning, Brooke took another sip of her drink. “It was everything I could do to not laugh after saying it. Did he believe me?”
Landon’s eyes were moist from his own laughter. “He absolutely believed you. And it’s because of your little charade that I have found myself in a quandary.”
Brooke lifted her hand to her chest in a gesture of mock innocence. “Moi?” she said.
He smiled. “Yes, you. I will now have to explain to him why you chose to fib about being Irish. Not only will he be irate that I went to Dragonfly, Gaston will be mortified that I told you what he said about the lovely people of that country.”
“Will it matter since I’m not really from Ireland?”
“Perhaps he won’t be as embarrassed, but he’ll probably ban me from his kitchen for the next two weeks for going to Dragonfly. It will be a high price to pay, but it was worth it.”
“If he refuses to feed you, then you will have all the more reason to go back to the wonderful restaurant.”
“Will you come with me?” he asked in a more serious tone.
Before Brooke could answer, one of the staff members approached the table and whispered something into his employer’s ear.
Landon nodded to the young man and stood. He looked down at Brooke before leaving. “I have an issue to address. May I escort you to dinner tonight?”
She nodded.
“I’ll pick you up at a quarter ‘till seven.”
* * *
Olivia looked at the clock in her stateroom—6:30. Landon would be here in fifteen minutes. She put the final touches of mascara on her fair lashes and remembered the first time her Aunt Sarah taught her how to apply makeup.
SIXTEEN YEARS AGO
“Aunt Sarah, why do women wear makeup?” Olivia asked as she watched the older woman apply a soft shade of pink to her lips. With her hand paused in midair, Sarah looked from the mirror to her niece, who was sitting next to the vanity.
She looked tenderly at the blossoming young girl before lowering her hand and placing the cap back on her tube of lipstick.
“That question is a little more difficult to answer than I realized,” Sarah replied. Unsure of what to say, she attempted to satisfy her niece’s curiosity. “In today’s world, wearing makeup can almost be viewed as a rite of passage. It’s a point in every young girl’s life when they begin to feel more like a woman. But in years past, eye shadow, blush—or as they called it, rouge—and lipstick were only worn by certain women.”
“What kind of women?”
“Well, you know, those kind of women—the kind that attract the attention of multiple males.”
“You mean prostitutes,” Olivia stated bluntly.
Sarah laughed. “Precisely.” By the time Olivia was born, Sarah’s two sons were becoming teenagers. Helping to raise her niece and nephew after Valerie died had her pulling out all of her parenting books to try and navigate through the more challenging process of raising a girl. They were much more complex compared to boys.
“So we wear makeup to be more attractive to men,” Olivia remarked.
“I suppose so, but mostly to enhance our appearance in general.”
“When can I start to wear the stuff?”
Smiling at her sweet niece, she touched the tip of her nose. “That, my dear, is up to your father. What has he said about it?”
“Never.”
Sarah laughed. The response was something Josh would say. “How about I talk to your dad, and if he agrees I’ll take y
ou to Nordstrom’s and we’ll pick out some of the basics.”
Josh knew he was cornered. He couldn’t keep his daughter a little girl forever. She was maturing into a young lady quicker than he wanted. Knowing he could not postpone the inevitable, he agreed to a mere touch of makeup.
The following weekend Sarah and Olivia went to Nordstrom’s. After an hour spent gazing at the multitude of cosmetics, they returned to Sarah’s home with their purchases. They had picked out skin care items, a deep brown mascara and eye liner, a pale pink, barely-there blush, and sheer lip gloss.
To demonstrate the effect of makeup, Sarah did up only one side of Olivia’s face. When she was done, she turned her niece toward the mirror.
“Wow! I see what you mean, Aunt Sarah. I actually have eyelashes. They are the same red as my hair, hard to notice, but now I see them. Mascara is my new best friend.” The teenager beamed at her aunt through the mirror.
The older woman laughed. “It does make a difference. But never forget you are beautiful the way you are. Let me finish the other half of your face and then I’ll take you home so you can show your dad and Jacob.”
When they pulled into the Nelson’s driveway, Jacob was shooting hoops. He had known about the makeup excursion and hadn’t said much about it. When Olivia got out of the car, excited to show her brother her new look, he seemed underwhelmed.
“Don’t you like my new face, Jacob?”
Her brother finished his shot before giving his sister his full attention. “I liked your old face better,” he said flippantly and then aimed for another toss at the hoop.
Jacob had always been his sister’s biggest supporter. When she decided to try out for the swim team, he not only encouraged her, he worked alongside her to train and prepare for the trials. When she came home frustrated in art because she would never be a Picasso, it was Jacob who framed her finished project and hung it on his bedroom wall with a label below it that read, “Picasso.”
Knowing her brother and expecting a much more supportive reaction, his unenthusiastic response baffled and hurt Olivia. Unsure of what to say, she went inside the house to find her father. The response her father had was more of what she had been looking for from Jacob.
