“Not long.”
When she did not indicate a timeline, Taylor decided to switch the conversation from personal to professional. “How was the showing at your gallery?”
Sonja’s expression brightened. “It was incredibly successful. We managed to sell everything on display.”
“What did you exhibit?”
“Silver and crystal pieces dating from 1625 to 1710.”
“Is it difficult for you to identify pieces of different styles and periods?” Taylor asked.
Sonja gave him a steady stare. “Not really. For example Derby porcelain was mostly unmarked until circa 1780. After that time to present day there are nearly thirty marks. However, some early pieces were marked only by a model number.”
Taylor angled his head, his eyes meeting Sonja’s. “My family owns a late-nineteenth-century mansion that was abandoned in the 1960s when the last Bainbridge died at the age of ninety-four. My father was the last surviving direct descendant of the original owner. He inherited the property and had planned to restore it once he retired, but never got around to it.”
“Vi sent me a text telling me your father had died, but I was in Europe and couldn’t get a flight back to the States in time to attend the memorial service.”
“Everything was done very quickly,” Taylor explained. “My father had instructed my mother that he wanted to be cremated if he died before she did. He used to tease Mom that he would come back and haunt her if she had a wake where folks came and stared at him in a casket. However, she felt it was only right to host a memorial service for his friends and former employees shortly after following his passing.”
A slight smile played at the corners of Sonja’s mouth. “My dad is the complete opposite of yours. He already has a plot at Arlington National Cemetery with instructions that he wants to be buried with full military honors.”
“Your father is in the military?”
“Was,” Sonja corrected, smiling. “He’s retired, and he and my mom live in a lakefront house in the Adirondack Mountains, where he spends most of his time boating and fishing. After thirty years of moving from base to base he claims it feels good to be in one place for more than a couple of years.”
“Did you grow up a military brat?”
She nodded. “Yes. In fact, I was born in a hospital near Fort Campbell. At first I really didn’t like moving so much when I’d just made friends with other kids on the base, but as I got older and we were transferred abroad a different world opened for me. My mother, who taught romance languages, would take my brother and me on holiday to Spain, Portugal, France and Italy, where we toured museums and medieval cities and soaked up the local culture. Keith, who is ten years older than me, hated it. He claimed he didn’t see the sense in staring at statues and old paintings, and eventually stayed on the base with my father. Whenever we toured a medieval church, art gallery or museum I felt as if I’d been transported back in time. I was sixteen when I told my parents I wanted to study art history.” Sonja held up a hand when Taylor opened his mouth. “And before you ask about my brother. He’s followed in my father’s footsteps and plans to become a lifer. We never know where he is because he’s Special Forces and comes and goes like a specter. My sister-in-law says she’s in a state of constant anxiety until he walks through the door after being away for weeks and sometimes months.”
“It takes a special spouse to be married to an active duty soldier.”
Sonja’s eyebrows lifted slightly when Taylor said spouse rather than wife. Unknowingly, he had gone up exponentially on her approval scale. She’d married a man who had assigned specific gender roles for men and women, and it wasn’t until she’d had enough years of being her husband’s little wife that she finally filed for divorce.
“I agree. But now that she’s the mother of twin boys, she has a welcome distraction.”
A wide grin spread across Taylor’s face. “So, you’re an auntie.”
“I prefer Titi Sonja to auntie.”
“Should I assume you speak Spanish?”
She nodded again. “You assume right. I speak Spanish, Portuguese and Italian, and understand French, although I’m a little rusty when it comes to speaking it.”
Taylor stared at something over her head. “I’m somewhat deficient when it comes to foreign languages.” His gaze swung back to her. “My mother, who is fluent in French, taught all her children the language, but for me it did not come as easily as math and science. I managed to learn enough to read a French-language newspaper, but having a conversation was and still is definitely out of the question.”
“If you don’t speak it, then you’ll lose the facility to have a conversation. Maybe languages came easy for me because my mother is Puerto Rican and my abuela insisted on speaking only Spanish in the home to her son and daughter. Mami said her mother always tuned the radio and television to Spanish-language stations.”
Taylor gave Sonja a steady stare. “How did she learn English?”
“She grew up in West Harlem, but when she entered school for the first time she was fully bilingual. Years later she married her neighbor’s brother.”
“So, that’s why you’re Rios-Martin?”
Sonja laughed softly. “Yes. Mami is an avid feminist and claimed she didn’t want to give up her maiden name when she married, so she opted to hyphenate it.”
“What would happen if you married?” Taylor asked. “Would you be Rios-Martin while adding your husband’s last name?”
“I still would be Rios-Martin.” Her refusal to change her name had become a source of contention between Sonja and her ex-husband. She may have given in to a lot of his demands, but she had remained adamant about not changing her name.
“Good for you. There’s no reason you should give up your identity because of marriage. I know several career women who have opted to keep their maiden name.”
Sonja noticed he’d said career women. Would he feel the same if she did not have a career? On the other hand, that was not her concern. Her association with Taylor, if she did help with the restoration, would be strictly business. She was now thirty-four and no longer the wide-eyed impressionable graduate student that had fallen under the mesmerizing spell of her worldly professor. Her mantra had become once burned, twice shy. And at this time in her life, her focus was on her career and not a relationship with a man.
“There were times when I felt jealous of Vi,” Sonja said, hoping to divert the conversation away from the subject of marriage.
“Why?” Taylor asked.
“It was when she told me she grew up with four brothers. Mine was so much older than me. By the time I’d entered the first grade he was already a teenager, so I always felt like an only child.”
“That’s because we spoiled her. Every once in a while we let her win when we played board games. However, she was a natural when it came to swimming. Even though I was older and stronger than Viola, I rarely ever beat her swimming laps.”
“It sounds as if you had a lot of fun growing up.”
“I know I speak for my brothers and sister in saying we had the best childhood any kid could ask for. Did she tell you we were homeschooled?”
“Yes,” Sonja confirmed. “I’ve tried imagining what it would be like to be homeschooled and having my mother as my teacher. She probably would’ve been harder on me than those in a traditional school setting. My teachers told her I could’ve been an exceptional student if I’d applied myself. For me it wasn’t about making the honor roll but passing my courses. However, I did excel in languages, art and history.”
“Even if you hadn’t lived abroad, do you think you would’ve become an architectural historian?” Taylor asked.
“I would’ve studied art even if we’d stayed in the States.”
“Do you think you would ever live abroad?” Taylor asked yet another question.
The seconds tic
ked while Sonja thought about Taylor’s question. There was a time when she’d wanted to leave the country of her birth and live in Italy to complete her graduate studies. Her personal life had been in shambles and she was experiencing an emotional crisis. She’d moved into her parents’ retirement home, living there while her father awaited approval for his honorable discharge as a lieutenant colonel. It was her mother who had urged her to stay in the States and deal with her dilemma, because running away would not resolve her problem. Maria Rios-Martin had become her staunchest ally and protector as she went through a contentious divorce and was finally able to exorcise the man that sought to control her life.
“There was a time when I’d considered it,” she said truthfully. “Why do you ask?”
Taylor gave her a long, penetrating stare. “I only ask because if you decide to become involved in the restoration project, then I’d like a commitment of at least a year, with an option renewal for an additional year.”
“You sound very confident that I will accept the commission.”
“I did say if. I would never assume anything, Sonja. Especially since you do have a job.”
Although Sonja felt properly chastised, she tried to conceal it behind an impassive expression. “I won’t be able to commit to anything until I see what I’ll be responsible for.”
“That’s understandable,” he countered quickly.
“Viola mentioned the house has more than one hundred rooms.”
Taylor nodded. “Bainbridge House was built in 1883 and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. The main house is designed like a French château with turreted towers and steep-pitched roofs. The outbuildings are tiled-roof cottages.”
“Does it really sit on three hundred acres?”
“Yes. It’s closer to three hundred fifty acres with overgrown gardens, neglected orchards, a vineyard, a nine-hole golf course and a bridle path. I have copies of blueprints for the house and the grounds. If you accept the commission, then I’ll make copies for you.”
Sonja’s smile was dazzling. “You got me when you said French château. When can I see it?”
“Are you free tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“While you two were making plans to get together I decided to bring you your wine. I waylaid your waiter and decided to surprise you.”
Sonja’s head popped up at the same time as Taylor’s. Viola stood over the table holding a tray with their beverage selections and a shot glass filled with an amber liquid. She was wearing chef’s white, and her curly hair was concealed under a white bandanna.
Taylor was so entranced with his dining partner that he hadn’t detected his sister’s presence. Pushing back his chair, he stood and kissed her forehead. “Are you doing double duty as chef and server?” he teased.
Viola placed the wineglasses on the table and then picked up the shot glass. “No. I told Joseph to let me know when you were here and that gave me the excuse to leave the kitchen for a few minutes.”
It wasn’t often Taylor got to see Viola in what she called her zone: the restaurant. As a young girl she’d been drawn to cooking and the kitchen had become her favorite room in the farmhouse. “You’ve got a full house tonight.”
“We’re always busy on weekends. I probably won’t get out of here until well after midnight. We seat our last customers at ten. I just wanted to say hello.” She raised her glass, waiting for Taylor and Sonja to follow suit. Viola touched each wineglass with her own. “Here’s to friends and family.”
“Friends and family,” Sonja and Taylor said in unison.
Viola tossed back her drink while her brother and her friend sipped their wine. She set the glass on the tray. “Sonja, we’ll talk later.”
Taylor waited until Viola had left before returning his attention to Sonja. “How long have you and Viola been friends?”
“We met a couple of summers ago at a Washington Square street fair. I’d overheard her haggling with a vendor selling pen-and-ink sketches. He cursed at me when I accused him of inflating his prices and that I knew an artist selling similar sketches that weren’t overpriced. I told Sonja about a friend who owned a little art store near the South Street Seaport, and said if she was serious about pen-and-ink drawings then I would put in a good word for her. She asked me if I would go with her because she needed artwork to decorate her apartment’s entryway. We went to the store and I helped her select what she liked. Afterward, we went to eat and wound up talking for hours. It was the beginning of what has become a wonderful friendship.”
Taylor recalled the collage of framed pen-and-ink drawings lining the walls in his sister’s apartment and had complimented her on her choice of artwork. “I’m glad you could help her out. By the way, there’s an extensive collection of paintings at Bainbridge House. I have no idea what they are worth.”
“That’s why people hire experts. I’m really looking forward to seeing everything.”
He heard confidence and not bravado in Sonja’s pronouncement. “I don’t think I’d have the patience to go through duplicate sets of china, silver, crystal, paintings and other knickknacks wealthy folks felt they needed to fill up every inch of space in a house. I wasn’t aware my father owned the house until a week ago. My mother kept dropping hints after the reading of his will that he’d left her some property he wanted her to give to their kids, but it wasn’t until I was able to see what she’d been talking about that I was completely overwhelmed with the enormity of it. Talk about sensory overload.”
“That’s because during the Gilded Age those with a higher concentration of wealth became more conspicuous. Art is divided into periods and the Bainbridge House falls between the Gilded Age and the Progressive Era in the l890s.” She paused. “What do you plan to do with it once it’s fully restored?”
“I want to operate it as a hotel and wedding venue.”
Sonja flashed a bright smile. “Long Island has the Oheka Castle, North Carolina the Biltmore House, and now New Jersey’s Bainbridge House will once again become a premier estate in America.”
Taylor’s smile matched hers. “I like the sound of that. I’d like to pick you up around ten tomorrow morning. If that’s not too early.”
“It’s not too early.”
“I recommend you wear boots because it rained earlier this morning and the ground may still be a little muddy.” When Sonja nodded, he continued, “Where should I pick you up?”
“I’ll be in front of La Casa Del Mofongo.”
All conversation about the Bainbridge House ended with the waiter’s approach to request their dining selections. Sonja ordered a mixed-green salad with lardoons and vinaigrette, and an entrée of ricotta gnocchi with white truffle oil, while Taylor selected salad lyonnaise, veal Milanese and marinated asparagus spears.
The seconds ticked while Sonja took another sip of wine, peering at him over the rim of the glass. “I like Vi’s toast to friends and family.”
Taylor nodded. “I like it, too.” Not only did he want them to become friends, he also wanted to hire her as the architectural historian for the restoration project.
“I’d like you to answer one question for me.”
He sobered. “What’s that?”
“How much do you know about your father’s ancestors?”
“Not much,” he answered truthfully. “Dad was raised by an unmarried aunt after his parents were killed in a boating accident. He was twelve at the time, and he claimed his aunt resented having to take care of him because she never wanted children. He left home to attend college and never moved back. His parents had set up a trust fund for him, which he was able to control when he’d turned twenty-one.”
“Once I research the history of Bainbridge House, I will let you know what I uncover on your family.”
It was obvious Sonja was unaware that he and Viola had been adopted; otherwise, she would not h
ave assumed that they’d claimed Bainbridge blood. Years ago, following their legal adoption, the Williamson siblings had pledged not to advertise that they did not share DNA and consciously neglected to reveal they were adopted. It did not matter they were a mixed-race family. They were brothers and sister, and their parents were Conrad and Elise Williamson.
Taylor had had no knowledge of Bainbridge House or of the family for which it had been named until Easter Sunday, when Elise revealed that the property willed her by her late husband now belonged to her children for them to share equally. Bainbridge House and the land on which it sat made them instant multimillionaires. Taylor and the others agreed it wasn’t about money but carrying out the wishes of the man who had provided them with love, protection and selfless support in helping them realize their dreams. Conrad was a businessman, but he had taken on the role of father seriously. Although he’d put in long hours at his office, he always made certain to spend weekends with his family.
“Do you have a timeline to complete the restoration?” Sonja asked.
“I’m projecting at least two years. I have a brother who is an architectural landscaper. He currently has commissions to design the grounds of several A-list actors’ properties, but once he fulfills his obligations he’ll be able to focus on the gardens at Bainbridge House.”
Sonja’s lips parted in a smile. “Are you saying it’s going to be a family affair?”
“Yes.” It was going to become a family affair. “Patrick promised his fiancée he would join her family’s winemaking business once they are married. He’s a CPA and will financially monitor every phase of the restoration remotely.”
Dinner became a leisurely affair as Taylor listened to Sonja talk about the cities and countries she’d lived in and visited during her childhood. He was enchanted with her exuberance when she recalled the first time she saw the Mona Lisa and art masterpieces from the Renaissance. She admitted she’d been so enthralled with the Eternal City that more than once she’d considered moving to Rome to live. Their time together ended all too soon for Taylor when Sonja declined coffee and dessert saying she had to leave because someone was picking her up. He settled the bill, leaving a generous tip, and escorted her up to the street level.
A New Foundation Page 3