Strawberry Lace

by Amy Belding Brown

  She slid the book off the shelf and opened it. The pages were crisp with age, yet the corners had a subtly curled appearance that suggested frequent use. She flipped slowly through the book, studying the elegantly detailed illustrations. One picture in particular caught her eye: an etching of Jane in Mr. Rochester’s arms. Her head was leaning on his broad chest and his face was in profile. Strands of hair hung over his forehead, and his dark eyes seemed to be regarding her with great tenderness. Chelsea felt a strange tingle in the base of her spine as she stared at the picture. Mr. Rochester bore a startling resemblance to Jeff Blaine.

  She shut the book quickly and glanced at her watch. It was nearly twenty past ten. Muriel Winter had already kept her waiting for almost half an hour. It occurred to her suddenly, and with a little shock of anger, that the delay was a punishment, the calculated prelude to a scalding reprimand. Muriel had it all planned; she was going to humiliate her before she scolded her. And then she would deliberately and strategically destroy the reputation of Strawberry Lace.

  I don’t have to take this, she thought angrily. I was here on time. I kept the appointment. If Muriel Winter was going to insult her, she’d have to do it some other time. Chelsea straightened her shoulders, stalked to the door and yanked it open.

  She gasped and stepped back into the library.

  There, staring at her with a pair of narrow, ice-blue eyes, was the elegant figure of Muriel Winter. And standing right behind her, giving Chelsea the same dark-eyed smile that had first taken her breath away the day before, was Jeff Blaine.

  Chapter Six

  Miss Adams?” Muriel extended her hand and stepped into the library. She was just as slim and elegant as Chelsea remembered, wearing a blue sheath dress with a white jacket. Large pearl-drop earrings hung from her ears. Her dark hair was swept back gracefully from her face; her small eyes had been enlarged by makeup. Chelsea could see only a vague resemblance to Jeff, in the high forehead and full lower lip.

  “Yes.” Chelsea shook Muriel’s hand quickly. The woman’s fingers were almost icy. Not that it should be surprising. What else would she expect from someone as cold and calculating as Muriel Winter?

  “You look familiar.” Muriel was studying her with those small, cold eyes. “Have you done any parties for us before? I was given to understand that Strawberry Lace is a relatively new operation.”

  “Actually, we’ve been in business for three years.” Chelsea was intensely aware of Jeff’s gaze. He was standing quietly behind his mother, his hands loosely clasped in front of him. “Maybe you remember me from your Columbus Day cocktail party two years ago. I’m a good friend of Holly Martin.”

  The eyes narrowed even farther. “Holly Martin? I don’t believe I recall the name.”

  Chelsea’s back muscles tightened in anger. The woman who had ruined Holly’s life didn’t even remember her! She had to force herself to keep smiling. “She was engaged to your son, Brandon.”

  “Oh. Yes.” The elegant head went up; the eyes closed very briefly; the perfect hair caught a shaft of red light from the stained-glass window. “Well, that’s neither here nor there. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” She said it without a trace of regret in her tone. It was, Chelsea realized, merely a formality, the sort of thing sophisticated people said to each other at such times. She didn’t even wait for Chelsea’s acknowledgment before she continued. “Certain contingencies have made it impossible for me to proceed with my initial arrangements for the Independence Day party.”

  Here it comes, Chelsea thought. The big brush-off. Why didn’t the woman just come right out and say she was fired? Why beat around the bush with all these fancy, hundred dollar words? “Look,” Chelsea said, “you don’t have to spell it out. I know what’s going on.”

  The blue eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

  “I’ll just leave now, so I won’t waste any more of your time.”

  “I hardly see how that will accomplish anything.” Muriel’s voice was colder than ever. “And I don’t possibly see how you could know the purpose of this appointment.” She turned to Jeff and placed a hand on his arm. “I arrived at my decision very recently.”

  Chelsea noted Jeff’s smile, which was laced with mischief. Was this some trick the two of them were playing?

  “Jefferson, this is Miss Adams,” Muriel was saying. “You’ll be working with her.”

  “We’ve already met.” Jeff’s grin widened.

  “Working with me?” Chelsea had to tighten her jaw to keep from gaping. “But I thought you . . . I thought the party . . .”

  Muriel graced her with a thin smile. “I’m turning the party supervision over to Jefferson this year. As I tried to explain, certain contingencies make it impossible for me to oversee things.”

  “Oh.” Chelsea felt her cheeks redden. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand.”

  “Apparently not.” Muriel gave her an indifferent stare. “Jefferson has all the information, including budget ceiling, seating arrangements, and placement of flowers. I want you to work very closely with him. I don’t want any complications at this party. It must run like clockwork. Do you understand?”

  “Of course. Strawberry Lace has earned its reputation, Mrs. Winter.”

  “I certainly hope so.” Muriel nodded briefly. “I’ll leave you to your deliberations, then.”

  As Muriel left the room, Chelsea detected a slight sway in her stride. She wondered if she’d been drinking. Was that what had delayed her this morning? A need to get enough booze into her so that she could function? She felt a shiver of disgust.

  “So we meet again.” Jeff was standing a few feet away, still smiling. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine.” Chelsea faced him angrily. “Why didn’t you tell me what the meeting was about? You knew all along that you were going to be in charge of this party, didn’t you?”

  He shoved his hands down into his pockets. “Mother mentioned something about it, yes.”

  “Is everything a game with you? This is the second time you’ve set me up!”

  “I didn’t set you up.”

  “You certainly did! Yesterday, you let me think all day long that you were the gardener. And you never even mentioned the reason for today’s meeting! If I’d known you were going to be in charge, do you think I’d have spent all last night dreading this meeting, terrified that my whole business would go down the drain?”

  His eyes danced. “Judging by your reaction right now, you might have been even more disturbed.”

  She glared, wishing she could afford to turn on her heel and walk out on the contract. If only Strawberry Lace weren’t so dependent on its reputation, on the word of a few influential people. She detested the thought of working with this man.

  “As far as yesterday goes,” Jeff continued, “I felt complimented that you thought I was the gardener. It proves that I don’t give off affluent vibrations all the time.”

  “And you think it’s all right to just string somebody along like that, just because you feel flattered?”

  His smile disappeared. “I was going to tell you, Chelsea. It’s just that I enjoy remaining anonymous sometimes. It keeps people from making a lot of false assumptions about me.”

  “You’re saying I’d have acted differently if I knew you were rich.”

  He smiled. “I doubt that you would have been so honest about my mother.”

  Her cheeks blazed.

  “I didn’t tell her,” he said quietly. “Your opinion of her remains confidential.”

  It took her a minute to register his meaning. “Thanks,” she mumbled. She sensed the anger draining out of her slowly and she felt a little ashamed. She’d overreacted to the situation. So Jeff Blaine had a propensity for cat and mouse games. She’d just have to stay on her toes, put the past twenty-four hours behind her and act like the professional she was. She straightened her shoulders. “Well,” she said stiffly. “Perhaps we should get down to business.”

  “Good idea.” He walked to
the table and slid out a chair for her.

  She sat down, took a pen and small notebook out of her purse and flipped the notebook open to the page marked Winter. It was already half filled with information from yesterday’s tour of the estate.

  Jeff sat in the chair beside her. “Where do we begin?”

  “I just have a few questions.”

  “Ask away.” He was sitting much too close to her. She could feel the warmth of his thigh under the table next to hers. His arm rested on the polished surface only millimeters from her hand.

  She swallowed. “Since it’s an Independence Day theme, I thought a barbecue might be appropriate. Is that agreeable?”

  “Maybe you’d better spell it out.”

  “Well, I was thinking of a fresh clam bar, barbecued ribs, grilled chicken, lobsters, coal-roasted corn.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Is it similar to what was served last year?”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with it.”

  “It’s important not to repeat the theme or the menu. Strawberry Lace has a reputation for originality.”

  “I’m sure it does.”

  She sensed that he was mocking her again. “It would help if I knew what was on last year’s party menu. Who catered it? What was the theme?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. I was in Africa at the time.”

  “Oh.” Probably he’d been on safari in Kenya. Or maybe buying diamonds in South Africa. “Well, perhaps you could get me the information.”

  “I’ll do my best.” He was smiling right at her and leaning very close. “How about dinner tonight? There’s a new place on the Portland waterfront. Very classy.”

  She felt unexpectedly drawn to the idea and pushed it quickly away. “I’m sorry. I have a party to cater.”

  “Another time, then.” He slid back in his chair, and Chelsea was grateful for the slight increase in distance it put between them. The scent of his cologne had left her dizzy. “So, what else do you need to know from me?”

  “Nothing for the moment.” She closed her notebook and stood up. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Good.” He got to his feet and held out his hand for her to shake. She hesitated only a moment. She could hardly refrain from a handshake. This was, after all, a business arrangement.

  “It’s a pleasure working with you, Chelsea.”

  She replied without thinking, the standard response dropping out of her mouth with the promptness of habit. “The pleasure’s mine.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” She was startled by a sudden flick of his finger across her wrist and down into her palm. Her eyes widened and she jerked her hand away quickly. When she looked up at him, his dimple had appeared and he was giving her a long, meaningful wink.

  When Chelsea arrived at the Cumberland Country Club, Lori was already busy slicing cucumber rounds for the smoked trout mousse. The kitchen was large but poorly laid out, and whenever Strawberry Lace had a party at the club, they liked to do as much of the work in advance as possible. Chelsea unloaded the van, first carrying in the tins of mousse, caviar, curried chicken, and shrimp and storing them in the big stainless steel refrigerator. Then she lugged in the rest of the food and the silver serving trays that had been specially etched with the Strawberry Lace logo.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said to Lori. “I’m all thumbs today for some reason. I dropped a whole box of smoked turkey just loading the van.”

  Lori murmured her empathy. “How did the meeting go with Mrs. Winter?”

  “Oh, that.” Chelsea placed a box of petits fours on the counter and stretched to ease her sore back muscles. “It seems I panicked for nothing. Apparently, Jeff didn’t breathe a word to the old lady. In fact, she’s put him in charge of overseeing the party.”

  “You’re kidding! I thought Muriel Winter wouldn’t let anyone touch her gala affairs.”

  “That’s what I heard too. But it seems this time she’s backing off.” Chelsea opened the box and lifted out the tray of tiny sandwiches. “To tell you the truth, I think the old hag’s under the influence. She could hardly walk straight this morning.”

  “Really?”

  Chelsea nodded. “And she kept me waiting almost twenty minutes. Thankfully, though, she didn’t use the drill sergeant approach I expected.”

  “Hmmmm.” Lori started laying out the cucumber slices on a large baking sheet, ready for spreading. “I guess you must be relieved, then. Not to mention happy. Jeff seems like a real nice guy. He should be fun to work with.”

  “I don’t know. He’s got a weird sense of humor. And I think he might be the demanding type.”

  “Seriously? I didn’t get that impression at all.”

  Chelsea sighed. “Frankly, I’ll be relieved when the Fourth is over. I think it’s going to be one big headache after another.”

  “You want me to be the liaison?”

  “No, you don’t need the aggravation. Believe me. Expose that baby to the rarefied Winter atmosphere too often and he’ll be deprived of oxygen.”

  Lori laughed. “To tell you the truth, if I were in your shoes and still single, I’d jump at the chance to work with Jeff Blaine.”

  “Well, it just proves that we’re nothing alike, sis. I’m not the least bit interested. Besides, I’ve got Stuart.”

  “Right. Good old Stuart.”

  “Which reminds me. We’re going out to Eagle Island tomorrow afternoon. Do you mind making up the paté for Saturday’s party on your own?”

  “Not at all. Besides, I owe you one for baking the cakes last night.”

  “That’s right. You do.”

  They worked feverishly through the afternoon, and by six-thirty everything was ready. The waitresses had arrived on time, four attractive college students dressed in the signature pink blouses and navy-blue skirts. The tables were set, the flower arrangements put out, and the hors d’oeuvres artistically arranged on the silver trays. It wasn’t until the guests had started to arrive that Chelsea realized she’d forgotten to bring the trademark basket of strawberries.

  “Oh God!” she groaned. They’d never done a party yet without their basket of strawberries. It was almost a good luck talisman. “I’d better go back for it!”

  Lori shook her head. “There isn’t time. Just forget it.”

  Chelsea sighed. “Well, let’s hope the spirits don’t notice.” She directed the waitresses to start circulating the hors d’oeuvres trays, but the usual exhilaration she felt at the beginning of a party was gone. She only had a strong sense of dread. Something awful was going to happen. She was sure of it.

  It occurred just after the petits fours had been served. Two waitresses collided with trays of red caviar, and several guests were showered with the sticky red substance. A few minutes later one of the graduates vomited into the punch bowl. Chelsea rushed to help clean up, but the damage was already done, and when the party was over, the hostess stalked into the kitchen and made her displeasure known in a shrill, penetrating voice. It was short of a stinging rebuke, but it might as well have been, as far as Chelsea was concerned. Even Lori looked stunned, which gave her normally rosy cheeks an alarming pallor. Chelsea felt sick.

  “Well,” Lori said, as they were loading the van, “we were bound to have a catastrophe eventually, I suppose. We’re lucky to have been in business three years before our first one.”

  “How can you be so philosophical?” Chelsea moaned. “All that needs to happen is for word to get around that the college graduation party was a disaster and we’re finished! We’re looking down the wrong end of a drainpipe here.”

  “You’re exaggerating. Besides, we’ll probably be serving a whole new clientele after the Fourth of July.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Chelsea set the box of trays in the back of the van and closed the gate. “I just pray this isn’t the beginning of a streak of bad luck.”

  “You’re still drained from your big beach adventure yesterday,” Lori assured her. “You’ll feel b
etter after an afternoon with Stuart.”

  “I hope so.” Chelsea gave her sister a farewell hug and climbed into the driver’s seat of the van. She had to admit, a long afternoon on the water sounded like heaven right about now.

  She called Stuart as soon as she got home. When she told him what had happened at the party, he suggested she spend the whole day on Chelsea’s Choice.

  “You could come hauling with me in the morning. You haven’t done that in weeks. Then we’ll picnic on the island, and just play it by ear for the rest of the afternoon.”

  She hesitated. “I’m not sure I ought to spend the whole day.”

  “Come on, Chels. You know how much you love it. And how hard you’ve been working lately.”

  “Okay, but you’ll have to give me a percentage of the lobster catch if you’re going to put me to work.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  Chelsea hung up. She smiled at the thought of spending a whole day on the water. She enjoyed hauling the big lobster traps; it was good exercise, and a break from her normal routine. The one thing she didn’t like about the catering business was being trapped indoors all day.

  Early the next morning, she drove out to Stuart’s cedar-shingled cabin. Chelsea’s Choice was moored in Bryant’s Cove, just a few hundred yards beyond the meadow in back of his place. She could see it between the tall pines as she drove along the narrow dirt road. The water was choppy, whipped up a bit by an offshore wind, but the sky was clear and it looked like it would be a good day. She had packed a picnic lunch and brought along the mystery novel she was reading. Stuart, she knew, would be in a good mood. The price of lobster was up, and he’d had a good catch three days in a row.

  She found him on the end of his sagging, wooden dock, stacking traps on his little dinghy. He was wearing faded jeans, a flannel shirt, and his beloved Red Sox baseball cap. His sun-bleached blond hair curled brightly on his neck. He looked up when he heard her footsteps on the wooden planks.