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“She’s very creative, though, especially when it comes to marketing the inns.”
“True. And I’m usually stuck with the plumbing.”
“And the decorating. Let’s not forget that, Meredith. You know you love designing the inns, putting your own personal stamp on them, not to mention everything in them.”
“I do enjoy that part of it, yes. On the other hand, I must consider the costs, and more than ever, this time around. Agnes can’t put up any more of her own money, so she won’t be involved in the purchase of the manor or the cost of its remodeling. And the same applies to Patsy in England, she can’t offer any financial help either. I have to raise the money myself. And I will. Agnes and Patsy are somewhat relieved that I’ll be taking care of the financing, but, more so than ever, I will have to keep a tight rein on the two of them when it comes to the remodeling.”
“Are you sure you want to go ahead with the new inns in Europe?” Amy asked. Until that moment she had not realized that Meredith would be doing all the financing, and she detected a degree of worry in her voice.
“Oh yes, I do want to buy them. We have to acquire additional inns in order to expand properly. Not that I want the company to become too big. I think six hotels is enough, Amy, certainly that number’s just about right for me, easy to manage, as long as Agnes is running the French end and Patsy the English.”
“Six,” Amy repeated, eyeing Meredith quizzically. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
Meredith looked baffled. “I’m not following you.”
“You said six inns are easy to manage, but with the two new ones in Europe you’ll actually own seven, if you count the three here. Are you thinking of selling off one of the American hostelries?”
“I have been toying with the idea,” Meredith admitted.
“Silver Lake Inn would bring in the most money,” Amy remarked. “After all, it’s the most successful of the three.”
Meredith stared at Amy.
Suddenly she felt the same tight pain in her chest that she had the week before, when Henry Raphaelson, her friendly private banker, had uttered the same words over lunch at ‘21’.
“I could never sell Silver Lake,” Meredith answered at last, repeating what she had said to Henry.
“I know what you mean.”
No, you don’t, Meredith thought, but she remained silent. She simply inclined her head, lowered her eyes, stared at the financial breakdown, the costs of remodeling the manor in Montfort-L’Amaury, but not really concentrating on the figures.
She was thinking of Silver Lake Inn. No one really knew what it meant to her, not even her daughter and her son, who had both been born there. Silver Lake had always been her haven, the first safe haven she had known, and the first real home she had ever had. And Jack and Amelia Silver, the owners, had been the first people who had ever shown her any kindness in her entire life. They had loved and cherished her like a younger sister, nurtured her, brought out her potential—encouraged her talent, helped her to hone her business acumen, applauded her style. And from them she had learned about decency and kindness, dignity and courage.
Jack and Amelia. The only family she had ever had. For a moment she saw them both very clearly in her mind’s eye. They were the first human beings she had ever loved. There had been no one to love before them. Except Spin, the little dog, and even she had been taken away from her just when they had become attached to each other.
Silver Lake was part of her very being, part of her soul. She knew she could never, would never, sell it whatever the circumstances.
Meredith took a deep breath and eventually the pain in her chest began to subside. Lifting her eyes, focusing on Amy, she remarked almost casually, “I might have a buyer for Hilltops. That’s why I’ve decided to go up to Connecticut tonight.”
Amy was surprised, but she merely nodded. “What about Fern Spindle? Don’t you think you’d get more for the Vermont inn than for Hilltops?”
“It’s certainly a much more valuable property, Amy, that’s true, valued in the many millions. But someone has to want it, has to want to buy. Only then does it become viable to me.”
Amy nodded.
Meredith went on. “Blanche knows I’m coming up tonight. I’m staying at Silver Lake, there’s no point in having her open up the house for one night. Jonas will stay over and drive me up to Sharon tomorrow morning, to meet the potential buyers. After the meeting at Hilltops I’ll come straight back to the city, and I’ll leave for London on Saturday as planned.”
Meredith picked up a manila folder and handed it to Amy. “Here’re my letters, all signed, and a bunch of checks for Lois.” Leaning back in her chair, she finished with, “Well, I guess that’s it.”
“No…you have e-mail, Meredith.”
Meredith swung around to face her computer on the narrow table behind her chair, peered at the screen.
Thurs. Jan 5 1995
Hi Mom:
Thanks for check. Helps. Have a fab trip. Go get ’em. Bring back the bacon. Luv ya loads.
JON
“Well, well, doesn’t he have a way with words,” Meredith said pithily, shaking her head. But she was smiling inwardly, thinking of her twenty-one-year-old son, Jonathan, who had always had the ability to amuse her. He had turned out well. Just as his sister had. She was lucky in that respect.
Left alone in her office, Meredith studied the figures from her French partner. She thought they seemed a bit on the high side, and reminded herself that Agnes was not always as practical as she should be when it came to refurbishing. It might be possible to shave them a bit, she decided.
Agnes D’Auberville and she had been involved in business together for the past eight years, and their partnership had been a successful one. They got on well and balanced each other, and Agnes’s flair for marketing had helped to put the inns on the map. With her long scarves and trailing skirts she was bohemian but stylish.
Agnes ran the Paris office of Havens Incorporated and oversaw the management of the château-hotel they jointly owned in the Loire Valley. She was unable to participate financially in the acquisition of the manor house in Montfort-L’Amaury, although she was eager that they buy it. “You won’t regret it, Meredith, it’s a good investment for the company,” Agnes had said to her during their phone conversation earlier that day.
Meredith knew that this was true. She also knew that a charming inn, situated only forty-eight kilometers from Paris, and within easy striking distance of Versailles and the forest of Rambouillet was bound to be a moneymaker, especially if it had a good restaurant.
According to Agnes, she had already lined up a well-known chef, as well as a distinguished architect who would properly redesign the manor house, help to turn it into a comfortable inn.
As for Patsy Canton, her English partner who had come on board ten years earlier, the story was a little different in one respect. Patsy had fallen upon two existing inns for sale and quite by accident. She believed them to be real finds.
One was in Keswick, the famous beauty spot in the Lake District in Cumbria; the other was in the Yorkshire dales near the cathedral towns of York and Ripon. Both were popular places with foreign visitors. Again, such an inn, with its good reputation already established, would more than earn its keep.
Unfortunately, Patsy had the same dilemma as Agnes. She was unable to put up any more money. She had already invested everything she had in Havens Incorporated; her inheritance from her parents had gone into Haddon Fields, the country inn Havens owned in the Cotswolds.
In much the same way Agnes did in Paris, Patsy oversaw the management of Haddon Fields, and ran the small London office of Havens. Her strong suits were management and public relations.
Meredith let out a small sigh, thinking about the problems she was facing. On the other hand, they weren’t really unsurmountable problems, and, in the long run, the two new inns in Europe were going to be extremely beneficial to the company.
Expansion had been her idea, and hers alone, and she was determined to see it through; after all, she was the majority stockholder of Havens and the chief executive officer. In essence it was her company, and she was responsible for all of its operations.
Henry Raphaelson had told her at the beginning of the week that the bank would lend her the money she needed for her new acquisitions. The inns Havens already owned would be used as collateral for the loan. But Silver Lake Inn was not included. Henry had agreed to this stipulation of hers, if somewhat reluctantly, because she had convinced him Hilltops would be sold quickly. And hopefully she was right. With a little luck Elizabeth and Philip Morrison would commit to it the next day. Of course they will, she told herself, always the eternal optimist.
Pushing back her chair, Meredith rose and crossed to the lacquered console against the long wall, where she had put her briefcase earlier.
Tall though she was, she had a shapely, feminine figure and long legs. She moved with lithesome grace and swiftness; in fact, she was generally quick in everything she did, and she was full of drive and energy.
At forty-four Meredith Stratton looked younger than her years. This had a great deal to do with her vitality and effervescent personality as well as her youthful face and pale blonde hair worn in a girlish pageboy. This framed her rather angular, well-defined features and arresting green eyes.
Good-looking though she was, it was her pleasant demeanor and a winning natural charm that captivated most people. She had a way about her that was unique, and she left a lasting impression on all who met her.
Meredith carried her briefcase back to the desk, a glass tabletop mounted on steel sawhorses, and filled it with the manila folders and other papers she had been working on all day. After closing it and placing it on the floor, she picked up the phone and dialed her daughter’s number.
“It’s me,” Meredith said when Catherine answered.
“Hi, Mom!” Catherine exclaimed, sounding genuinely pleased to hear her mother’s voice. “How’re things?”
“Pretty good. I’m off to London and Paris on Saturday.”
“Lucky thing! Can I come with you?”
“Of course! I’d love it. You know that, darling.”
“I can’t, Mom, much as I’d enjoy playing hookey in Paris with you, having a good time. I have to finish the illustrations for Madeleine McGrath’s new children’s book, and I’ve several book jackets lined up. Oh but I can dream, can’t I?”
“Yes, you can, and I’m so glad things are going well for you with your work. But if you suddenly decided you can get away, call Amy. She’ll book your flight and get you a ticket before you can even say Jack Robinson.”
Catherine began to laugh. “I haven’t heard you use that expression for years, not since I was a kid. You told me once where it came from, but now I can’t remember. It’s such an odd expression.”
“Yes, it is, and it’s something I learnt when I was growing up in Australia. I think it originated in England and was brought over by the Pommies. Australians started to use it, and I guess it became part of our idiomatic speech. Sort of slang, really.”
“Now I remember, and you told us that it meant in a jiffy.”
“Less than a jiffy, actually,” Meredith said, laughing with her daughter. “Anyway, think about coming to Paris or London. You know how much I enjoy traveling with you. How’s Keith?”
Catherine let out a long sigh. “He’s fantastic…yummy.”
“You sound happy, Cat.”
“Oh I am, Mom, I am. I’m crazy about him.”
“Is it getting serious?”
“Very.” Catherine cleared her throat. “Mom, I think he’s going to propose soon.”
For a split second Meredith was taken aback and she was silent at the other end of the phone.
“Mom, are you still there?”
“Yes, darling.”
“You do approve…don’t you?”
“Of course I do. I like Keith a lot, and I was just surprised for a moment, that’s all. It seems to have progressed very quickly…what I mean is, you haven’t known him all that long.”
“Six months. That’s enough time, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
Catherine said, “Actually, Keith and I fell in love with each other the moment we met. It was a coup de foudre, as the French are wont to say.”
Meredith smiled to herself. “Ah yes, struck by lightning…I know what you mean.”
“Is that how it was with my father?”
Meredith hesitated. “Not really, Cat…Well, in a way, yes. Except we didn’t admit that to each other for a long time.”
“Well, you couldn’t, could you. I mean, given the peculiar circumstances. It must’ve been hell for you.”
“No, it wasn’t, strangely enough. Anyway, that’s an old, old story, and now’s not the time to start going into it again.”
“Was it a coup de foudre when you met David?”
“No,” Meredith said, and thought of Jonathan’s father for the first time in several years. “We loved each other, but it wasn’t a…crazy love.”
“I always knew that, I guess. It’s a crazy love between me and Keith, and when he asks me, I’m obviously going to say yes. You really do approve, don’t you, Mom?” she asked again.
“Very much so, darling, and if he pops the question while I’m in London or Paris, you will let me know at once, won’t you?”
“I sure will. And I bet we make you a grandmother before you can say…Jack Robinson.” Catherine giggled.
Meredith said, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“Don’t be silly, Mom, of course I’m not. But I can’t wait to have a baby. Before I get too old.”
Meredith burst out laughing. “Don’t be so ridiculous, you’re only twenty-five.”
“I know, but I want to have children while I’m young, the way you did.”
“You always were a regular old mother hen, even when you were little. But listen, honey, I’m going to have to go. Jonas is driving me up to Silver Lake Inn tonight. I have a meeting at Hilltops tomorrow. I’ll be back in New York tomorrow evening, if you need me. Good night, Cat. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom. Say hello to Blanche and Pete, give them my love. And listen, take care.”
“I will. Talk to you tomorrow, and God bless.”
After hanging up the phone, Meredith sat at her desk for a moment or two, her thoughts with her daughter. Of course Keith Pearson would propose, and very soon, Meredith was quite certain of that. There was going to be a wedding this year. Her face lit up at the thought of it. Catherine was going to be a beautiful bride, and she would give her daughter a memorable wedding.
Meredith rose, walked over to the window, and stood staring out at the Manhattan skyline. New York City, she murmured to herself, the place I’ve made my home. Such a long way from Sydney, Australia…how far I’ve come and in so many different ways. I took my terrible life and turned it around. I made a new life for myself. I took the pain and heartbreak and I built on them…I used them as pilings upon which to build my strong citadel in much the same way the Venetians built theirs on pilings driven into the sandbanks. And I did it all by myself…no, not entirely by myself. Jack and Amelia helped me.
Meredith’s eyes swept around the elegant room decorated in various shades of pale gray, lavender, and amethyst. They took in the rich silks and velvets used to upholster the sofas and chairs, the sleek gray lacquer finishes on the modern furniture, the French and American modern impressionist paintings by Taurelle, Epko, and Guy Wiggins.
And she saw it as if for the first time, through newly objective eyes, and she could not help wondering what Jack and Amelia would think of it…what they would think of all that she had accomplished.
Her throat tightened with a rush of sudden emotion, and she stepped back to the desk and sat down, her eyes now lingering on the two photographs in their silver frames that she always kept there in front of her.
One photograph was of Catherine and Jonathan taken when they were children; Cat had been twelve, Jon eight, and what beauties they had been. Free spirits and so finely wrought.
The other picture was of Amelia and Jack and her. How young she looked. Tanned and blonde and so unsophisticated. She had been just twenty-one years old when the picture was taken at Silver Lake.
Jack and Amelia would be proud of me, she thought. After all, they helped to make me what I am, and in a sense I am their creation. And they are the best part of me.
CHAPTER TWO (#uce7be9ef-4fa8-596f-9714-c6e2eb20b203)
Whenever she came back to Silver Lake, Meredith experienced a feeling of excitement. No matter how long she had been absent, be it months on end, a week, or merely a few days, she returned with a sense of joyousness welling inside, the knowledge that she was coming home.
