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Gerald Reeves called Wall’s Intrigue the next day.
“Oh, Yes, Mr. Reeves, I called the framer, Joe Barton,” Ivy answered in the pleasant, professional voice she’d learned at sixteen. “He suggested you have someone bring the frames into his shop. Didn’t you receive the message I left on your machine?”
“Yes, I have it. And since Mr. Barton is also an art restorer, I’ve asked him to come to the house to check the conditions of our older paintings. But I’d like you to come as well, if you don’t mind, and give me an opinion of what we might do in an upstairs hall and a couple of rooms I’m thinking of redecorating. I’ll pay the going rate for your time, naturally.”
“Of course I’d be happy to,” she replied, a little surprised and flattered, too. If Gerald Reeves wanted to hire her, it meant her store had gained a notch in reputation.
She hadn’t done much in the way of home calls in her consulting work until now—the store kept her too busy. She did keep a list of interior designers for that purpose, two of whom had excellent reputations, and offered to call either of them now.
“No, I’ll be quite satisfied with your services, Ivy. And call me Gerry, please? See you Friday at eleven,” he said, not giving her a chance to say no.
“Yes, that will do nicely.”
Ivy hung up the phone and happily picked up the work roster to make sure she had enough help in the store on Friday. Sherri was scheduled to work Friday evening, she recalled. She really couldn’t ask her to work all day and evening, too.
That meant she’d have to make do with Tina, who was inexperienced and new. But she couldn’t leave Tina alone; the girl was too nervous. Too many things could go wrong. Especially now that the year’s busiest season was getting under way.
Yet she couldn’t miss this opportunity to work on Reeves House. It could mean a lot in future recommendations.
She sighed and straightened her shoulders. Keeping good help with only part-timers always meant a juggling of schedules; she sometimes bent herself into a pretzel to keep a reliable clerk. She appreciated Sherri, who worked on a small commission above her minimum salary. Ivy considered her worth every penny, but the store profits simply wouldn’t stretch to offering that kind of arrangement to another clerk.
Tapping her pen against her notepad, she wondered if she should hire the busy mother who applied for work last week. Emily only wanted to work through the holidays. Emily had retail experience, but she’d have to find a baby-sitter if she worked days, she’d said.
Perhaps Aunt Arietta…
No, no, no! For heaven’s sake, what was she thinking? The last time she’d asked Aunt A to watch the store for a morning the older woman sold an expensive window treatment for half price and Ivy’d had to pay for the installation, as well. All because Aunt A had read the price chart wrong. Not wanting to give the shop a bad name, Ivy hadn’t felt it was good business to try to correct the mistake with the customer.
There was always the college kid Noah recommended. Without giving herself time to think about it, she looked up Noah’s number.
“Morning, Old Garden Gate,” his deep voice rumbled out, sending a current of warmth right through the line. Every time she heard his voice, Ivy wondered if it made other women feel like warm syrup ran through their veins, too.
“Hello, Noah,” she said in her business voice while tamping down a desire to soften her response. “This is Ivy. I called for the number of the young man you suggested might be interested in working for me.”
“Ah, yes. Brad. Just a moment.” She heard a bit of paper shuffling before he gave her the numbers, then said, “He’s probably in class this morning, though.”
“All right.” She tapped her pen and circled the number. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
That was easy enough. She didn’t have to engage him in more talk. A business call didn’t have to extend to anything personal.
“Ivy?”
“Yes?”
“There’s a single’s potluck on Saturday night at church. You going?”
The singles from church gathered together for social purposes on a regular basis. His invitation sounded too general. Why should she jump to go? “Oh, I don’t know. Usually I’m pretty ragged out by Saturday night.”
“C’mon.” His tone took on one of a coaxing big brother—but the melting inside her heated up just the same. “You have to have a little fun now and again and you close at six on Saturdays. When was the last time you just relaxed with a group of people your own age? And it’s usually a good-size group, I’m told, and I’m new to this bunch.”
Uh-huh. Right. As though he’d ever feel a stranger in any gathering.
“I’ll see how I feel on Saturday.”
“You could make me feel at home.” The invitation, spoken in a deeper voice, made her heart skip a beat. There wasn’t anything brotherly about it.
“Well, maybe.”
Now why had she gone and said that?
“Good.” His tone changed from coaxing to commanding. “I’ll pick you up around half past seven. Meanwhile, if Brad doesn’t work out for you, let me know. I might have someone else who could help you out.”
Uh-huh. Right. Since when was he her employment agency?
She left a message on Brad’s answering machine and went back to checking over her work applications. The young mother, Emily, was her best choice after all.
On Friday morning, she left a nervous Tina and Emily in charge of the noontime walk-in trade, and giving a silent prayer that all would go smoothly in her absence, left for Reeves House. Brad would come later in the afternoon to work with Sherri. She could trust Sherri to train him. And she’d be there until closing herself, and could observe how the young man worked out.
At Reeves House, a brown-haired young woman answered the huge old oak door, a duster in hand.
“Hello, I’m Ivy York,” Ivy announced. “I’ve come to see Gerry.”
“I’m right here, Ivy,” Gerry said, smiling at her as he appeared from the hall’s interior. His glance at her curvy figure, dressed in a cinnamon-browncolored business suit that nearly matched her hair, was openly appreciative. Warming, she returned his smile.
“Thanks, Cam.” He spoke smoothly in a practiced manner, and gave the girl an impersonal nod. “Joe Barton is just arriving, I believe. Let him in, please, and show him back to the office.”
Turning, he led Ivy to the library room where they’d first met. Picking up a bone china coffee mug, he asked, “Coffee first or after we conclude our tour?”
“Afterward, I think. I’d like to get started.”
“Fair enough. I have a long hall on the third floor that’s rather dark and definitely plain, and four bedrooms there. After we finish with Joe, I’d like you to view them. Haven’t thought about fixing up the top floor before now because we really don’t use it. It was originally intended to house the servants, but times being what they are, we don’t employ full-time housemaids and such anymore.”
“I would think a house this size needed full-time care,” she murmured.
“Oh, it does, indeed, and careful attention to upkeep, as well.” Gerry brushed his hair from his eyes and glanced around him as though considering her thought. “But most of it is farmed out to companies who specialize in services. Some with long-standing associations with Reeves House, of course. But only an older couple live in full-time, the Marshalls. They have an apartment off the kitchen. Grace cooks if either Barbara or I want a meal at home, and Tom assists wherever he’s needed.
“But we have a completely different crew when entertaining at Reeves House or leasing it out. We contract a catering company, a party planning service, and landscape company, of course, all of which take care of needed details to keep the old place in show condition. But we’ve had occasions when we’ve been asked to rent the entire house for a period of time, you know, like a house party or small company retreat, and Barbara thinks it’s time to consider the idea of redoing the top floor.”
“In here, Mr. Barton,” the young house duster said. She disappeared again and Joe, middle-aged and paunchy, appeared in her place. Ivy made introductions.
“Let’s go, then,” Gerry said, directing them back into the main hall. “I’ve several pieces of original art that need cleaning, and quite a few old frames need both cleaning and repair. I considered having the Nelson Gallery experts look at them, but when Ivy told me she had someone she trusted to look after them, I decided on you.”
“Then you’ll be happy to know I’m registered with the Nelson and the Art Institute,” Joe responded.
“Good. I had a feeling Ivy only dealt with the best,” Gerry answered, a grin tugging at his mouth while his blue eyes threw her the compliment intended in his comment.
They began with the first-floor library, studying the old paintings that had hung without disturbance for half a century. Ivy recognized several paintings by local artists from past generations, two of which she thought quite valuable, and a few others of very good quality.
“I’ve a print of this one,” Ivy remarked in surprise. “I didn’t realize the original was in a private collection.”
“My great-grandfather believed in supporting the local talent, as you can see,” Gerry replied. “When he inherited the house, he trotted out his collection for display.”
Joe gave his suggestions as they proceeded into the formal parlor, through the huge dining room, the large ballroom where the wedding had been held, and up the long stairway. Along the way, Ivy glanced at the furnishings, recognizing various styles of mixed generations. On the second floor, where the principal bedrooms surrounded a comfortable-looking informal lounge, they viewed half a dozen lesser artists.
“That takes care of the lot on display,” Gerry said. “You can start after the first of the year. The house is in use most of December.”
Barbara joined them as they concluded. “Oh, hello, Ivy. My goodness, yes. We are hosting a major charity do the first week in December, and three weddings before Christmas. A body can scarcely call her home her own anymore.”
“Now, Barb, it isn’t that bad. Besides, we have all of January to ourselves. Do you want to come along to hear what Ivy may do with the top floor?”
“Oh, I suppose. Otherwise, my dearest brother, you might choose to paint it all in circus colors.”
Gerry laughed at his sister’s sally and took Ivy’s elbow to guide her back through the hall.
Joe excused himself and left, and they climbed to the third floor. Ivy studied the four bedrooms, ideas flowing like a steady breeze, and gave a couple of spontaneous suggestions. Chatting about ideas to cheer the dark rooms, they returned to the first floor.
Ivy glanced at her watch. Almost one.
“Well, that took longer than I’d imagined,” Gerry said. He reached for the thermos coffee keeper, then put it down again. “Won’t you stay for lunch?”
The invitation caught Ivy by surprise. Social engagements with customers didn’t usually come out of her kind of business. “Why, that sounds very nice, but I really need to return to the store. I have a new clerk who can only work until two.”
“How disappointing,” Barbara murmured, flipping her lovely hair behind her shoulder. Ivy envied that sleek, sophisticated look that only a steady visit to a beauty salon could produce. Other than a good cut every six weeks, she usually took care of her own hair.
“Well,” Ivy said, picking up her purse from a side table. “I’ll put some of the ideas we discussed in writing, along with estimates of the costs and a time frame for the work. I should have it ready by the first week in January.”
“Sounds great.” Gerry said. “Come on, it’s raining. I’ll walk you to your car.”
He grabbed an umbrella from a brass container near the “front stairway. Outside, he opened the car door for her, but held it open after she slid inside, his gaze taking on a personal appeal.
“I have a committee dinner thing tonight. Boring as blue Monday. Wouldn’t be if you’d come with me.”
“Why, Gerry, that’s sweet of you to say,” she said, surprised again, reassessing what she saw in his eyes. He’d really meant his invitation to lunch. “But I have to work until eight, when I close the store, and it usually takes me another thirty minutes to wrap up.”
“Oh, well.” He let his disappointment show, then brightened. “But we can salvage the evening if you’ll let me take you out for dessert afterward. And it’ll give me an excuse to leave the meeting early.”
She considered it a moment. Dating a client wasn’t exactly good policy. And two dates on the same weekend? She hadn’t had so much male attention in months.
But one invitation came from exactly the kind of man she’d been looking to meet. Gerry had charm, social polish, a prominent family background and wealth. She warmed to the idea.
“That does sound nice. All right.”
Ivy arrived at the store just in time for Aunt Arletta’s visit, her friend Shirley in tow. She didn’t have to wonder how they’d got there. The church’s gray van took up a prime parking spot just in front of Wall’s Intrigue and Noah strolled in behind the two.
“Noah agreed to help the seniors shop once a week until after Christmas,” Aunt Arletta said. “The others went to poke around the other shops, but I told Shirley you had just the right thing for her sister’s birthday. And at a reasonable price.”
“Sure, Aunt Arletta,” Ivy told her, knowing her aunt intended for her friend to gain a healthy discount. Ivy didn’t mind that much; she liked occasionally indulging her aunt’s generosity, and Shirley had certainly filled many a lonely hour for Aunt A. But she sincerely hoped the holiday seasonal buying would make up for all the times her aunt had offered “reasonable prices” to her friends.
“Ask Emily to help you,” she whispered near her aunt’s ear. “She’s new just this morning. Then you can evaluate how well she relates with customers.”
“Oh. Well, of course, dear. Shirley, come look at these lovely candlesticks.”
“Wall sconces,” Ivy said under her breath as her aunt moved away. She began to straighten a cluttered display of tiny ceramic carolers near the checkout counter.
“They’re still candlesticks,” Noah said low.
Ivy glanced over her shoulder, catching the teasing glint in Noah’s eye. One edge of his mouth twitched.
She sighed. He would be picky about exact descriptions. In fact, she could think of several annoying traits she was learning about Noah Thornton. “They’re electric lights in the appearance of brass candlesticks.”
“‘An honest answer is like a kiss on the lips,’” he replied, his tone low and velvety. His words evoked in her a sudden reminder of how attractive he was, and she briefly wondered what it might be like to kiss a gardener.
“Proverbs 24, verse 26.” Aunt Arletta’s voice rang out from across the way, effectively bringing Ivy’s wandering thoughts back with a jolt. Aunt Arletta heard anything quoted from Scripture.
“Right,” he said, raising his voice to carry, then proceeded to nod and smile to the other two customers who glanced their way.
Ivy went to offer them assistance, deciding she could do without this entanglement during working hours. But the natural avoidance only lasted long enough for her to ring up their purchases. Noah hung around the checkout counter, picking up and putting down a trio of ceramic angels.
“I’ll take these, Ivy, if you please,” Shirley said in her shy way as she handed her the wall sconces. “They’re just perfect for my sister’s birthday and Christmas gift combined. She’ll love them.”
“Glad you found what you wanted, Shirley.” Ivy quoted an amply reduced price as she packed them into a gift box.
“Oh, but the price sticker says…” Shirley’s faded eyes went round with happy surprise which Ivy felt more than made up for her lost profits.
“Yes, I know. But you see, I’ve had those in the store for months now and it’s time I turned over the stock. Cash flow, you know,” Ivy insisted staunchly. “I’m just happy you like them.”
“Well, in that case, if you’re sure,” Shirley murmured tentatively.
Behind Shirley, Aunt Arletta smiled with a pleased nod.
From the corner of her eye, Ivy caught Noah’s musing glance of approval.
What? Just because she wanted to make a decent living and an occasional profit as well, even hoped to make her store really successful, she couldn’t be generous when a little charity was in order? So she’d fibbed just a bit. Those candlesticks would have eventually sold at the retail price, but Ivy knew how tight Shirley’s budget was, knew she lived on a fixed income just as Aunt Arletta did. She also knew when not to call her generosity by the name of charity.
Did that mean her answer no longer merited a kiss?
Shocked at her own shot of disappointment at the unbidden thought, she quickly glanced away.
Moments later, Noah’s silent response, given swiftly as they left the store, glinted from half-closed lids. His brown eyes made her a promise. A promise Ivy felt all the way to her toes.
About ten minutes before closing, Ivy glanced up and spotted Gerald pausing to gaze at her window display. He wore a camel-colored cashmere topcoat, and his hair gleamed like spun gold in the streetlight.
Like his sister, once he came inside, he gravitated toward the artists’ wall and studied the work Ivy featured. He was used to viewing the finer art galleries with their high price tags, she was certain, while her artists were still struggling to make a name for themselves. Covertly, she studied his expression for a reaction.
Ivy strolled to stand beside him. “Hi.”
He turned and smiled beguilingly as though he knew it was she. As if he were used to being admired.
“Hi, yourself. My meeting turned out shorter than I anticipated.” He glanced around the store, empty now except for Sherri. “Any chance you can get out of here early?”
