I nodded and took a sip of my steaming coffee. I’d met Colin Easton just before I’d started working on this project. He was a man of around forty, with sandy-blonde hair and a perpetually flushed face. He’d been very kind and interested in the methods I would be using to restore the mural. I thought he’d be impressed with my progress, so I wasn’t worried about his imminent arrival. He wasn’t the Mr. Easton, the head of the Easton Empire. I got the impression he was some sort of distant relation, who liked to keep a firm hold on his genetic ties to the place.
I had never met the head of the family, my employer. All my dealings had been through Mrs. Wicker or Mr. Colin Easton. I thought it was sad that such a beautiful house wasn’t enjoyed by his owner. What was the point in owning property like this if you were never here to enjoy it? It didn’t make any sense to me.
After Mrs. Wicker left me with my coffee, I tried to concentrate on my task for today. I looked closely at the mural, judging relative colours and trying to decide which varnish would work better on different areas. But my mind kept flipping back to this morning. That man, his strong hands, those smouldering eyes… I groaned in frustration and picked up my brush.
Chapter 3
Once I finally focused on my work, the morning passed quickly. On the surface, it looked like the bulk of the work had been finished, but the true skill of a restoration artist came at the end of the project. It made the difference between a mediocre result and a spectacular one.
By one o’clock, I was getting a slight headache from the chemical fumes of the varnish. Over the past couple of weeks, I’d taken my sandwiches down to the Cliff Walk at the boundary of the estate and eaten lunch looking out over the ocean. But today I was a little nervous about making my usual walk down to the path. What if I saw the gardener?
I tried to convince myself I was being ridiculous. If I did see him again, I would give him my number with a witty remark and ask him to call me after my work here was finished.
Despite the little pep talk I gave myself, I still looked around anxiously as I descended the stone steps. I scoured the lawns and pretty gardens, but there was no sign of him. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. For goodness sake, get a grip, Kate. Annoyed with myself, I strode off around the side of the house.
At the back of Cliff House, the gardens were even more impressive. The lush, green lawn stretched right to the edge of the property and met the sparkling blue of the Atlantic. The scent of roses mingled with the briny tang of the sea, and I took a deep breath, savouring the fresh air. I smiled at the sight in front of me and quickened my pace.
Cliff House was one of the most majestic properties in Newport, Rhode Island, and with the Vanderbilts’ mansions in the area, that was really saying something. Most of these houses were owned by old money or donated to the Newport Preservation Society, so people could pay their dollars to hear about how the other half had lived opulently a century ago.
I reached the cliff path and began to walk along it. I wanted to be out of sight of the main house. I’d walked the length of it a couple of times and even walked along the beaches below, but today I didn’t have time for a long lunch.
I settled on a grassy mound, placed my sandwiches on my knees and began to unwrap them. I stared out at the water, which was softly rolling into shore today.
I bit into my chicken sandwich and puzzled over my problem. My work here was almost finished, and I would be paid well, but with rent and a truck to run, it wouldn’t be long before money started running low. I needed to get another job. I’d only managed to get this one through my friend Suzanne. So much in the art restoration world depended on contacts and recommendations, and since I’d fled Miami in the middle of the night months ago, I didn’t have any of those things. I couldn’t even work under my own name.
I put the sandwich back in my brown paper lunch bag. I’d lost my appetite.
When I returned to Cliff House, Carter, the butler, hovered by the doorway, looking down his long, pointed nose at me.
“Do you have to use that entrance?” he asked in his low nasal voice.
“Mrs. Wicker told me to.”
Carter sighed heavily. “It’s not right. You should be using the tradesman’s entrance. Traditions must be upheld.”
I ignored him and got back to work. He wasn’t any more obnoxious than usual, so I was pretty sure he hadn’t seen me in flagrante delicto this morning. I began to think I’d imagined the whole thing. The hot gardener was nowhere to be seen either.
At just after two, Colin Easton was welcomed into the Great Hall by Carter.
He strode up to me with his hands outstretched. “Ah, Miss Taylor, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
I’m pretty sure Carter harrumphed. I raised an eyebrow, but let the moment pass.
“Please call me Kate,” I said and gestured towards the mural. “I suppose you are anxious to see my work.”
“Oh, yes.” He stepped past me and moved close to the mural.
The smile slid from his face. For a terrifying moment, I thought he was displeased. But when he turned, he had tears in his eyes.
“Miss Taylor … Kate, this is unbelievable, wonderful work. I do believe you can work miracles.” He beamed down at me, dimples appearing in his flushed cheeks. “What did Mr. Easton say?”
“I haven’t spoken to him,” I said. “I’m not sure if he’s seen it yet.”
Colin
