They didn’t go down to the beach for a picnic but sat around the kitchen table. No one spoke much as they ate, but they reacted to every sound. On high alert. Looking, listening—as if they were waiting for a tumbrel.
Issy took her plate to the sink. “If we’re all finished, I think we should get back to work. If you’re up to it, Grammy.”
“Of course, dear, I haven’t had so much fun in I don’t know when.”
Issy smiled. She didn’t doubt it. As Leo reminisced she came alive, her cheeks bloomed, she sat straighter, her voice sounded stronger. It was because her life had been exciting then; now it was lonely. She was enjoying the grandchildren, and Paolo, and especially reminiscing about the past.
It broke Issy’s heart to think she would be turned out of her house. She didn’t need that. Not yet. Assisted living could flock the wallpaper, and put in chandeliers and pretty couches, but it wouldn’t be home, it wouldn’t be filled with memories and artwork of the most creative minds of the era.
Would she sit at a communal table with the ladies and talk about how the Coastal School of landscape painting began and flourished at her home, Muses by the Sea. What kind of audience was that for a grande dame, hostess to the artistic and the infamous?
If Issy could just keep her here and bring a new audience to her . . . And there it was again. The perfect idea, a pipe dream that would cost a fortune she didn’t have and would take too long to raise. She’d had an inkling of an idea before Paolo came with the plans for the Toulouse-Lautrec exhibit, which normally she would already be focused on. Instead those plans had just solidified the thought that the Muses could become a permanent collection of art, in situ, where it belonged. Not separated and sitting piecemeal in galleries and museums across the country, but as it lived. And now she couldn’t get that idea out of her head.
Maybe she was the crazy Whitaker. Maybe Leo needed to be around other people, any kind of people, not sitting alone with the past.
But looking across the table at her grandmother, she knew it would make a difference. Leo’s life, her reason for being, was back then, not making new friends because she had no choice.
After a quick cleanup, everyone went back to the parlor, where Jillian reapplied Leo’s lipstick and gave her a few pointers on speaking to the camera. Then she placed Leo in a chair and started rearranging things around her.
“Wait,” Issy said. “What are you doing?”
“Dressing the set. You don’t want your grandmother to look like she’s talking from a fishbowl, do you?”
“No, but you do realize this is for inventory purposes.”
“Yes, I didn’t move anything that you’d already counted. But really, Oops, even PBS has a set decorator.”
“Some very good ones,” Paolo said, then added, “do you think we should turn our inventory into an Art in America presentation?”
Jillian shrugged, thirties-movie style. “The idea has potential.”
“As long as we don’t have to pay for it,” Issy said.
“Of course not, Oops. You need a producer—or two.”
Issy fought not to roll her eyes.
“Do you know a producer who would be interested?” Leo asked.
Issy gave up the fight. Her eyes rolled upward.
“She might,” Paolo whispered to Issy.
“In the biblical sense, maybe,” she whispered back.
He grinned. “Whatever works.”
It seemed like an inevitable losing battle and yet Issy wouldn’t rush Leo through the smallest part of the inventory. Let her have her time with the artifacts of her life. They—and she—would be gone soon enough.
They’d filmed another hour when the room grew dark. Clouds scudded in to hang above the house, and Issy was hard put not to consider it an omen of the afternoon to come.
Paolo turned on a lamp, pulled the tripod over to take advantage of what light was left.
“You’ll need more than a few little lamps,” Jillian said. “There used to be some Fresnels in the closet somewhere. The painters used them in bad weather when they painted in the conservatory.”
“That’s right,” Issy said, forgetting for the first time to bristle when talking to her mother.
“I think they got moved to the back storeroom,” Fae said. “Come, Paolo, you can carry the light to the Whitaker cause,” she intoned.
Paolo followed her but threw an amused “what have I gotten into?” grin toward Issy as he followed Fae out of the room. While they were gone, Jillian fussed over Leo and Issy, and Steph moved to one side and watched.
Fae and Paolo returned laden down with dusty spotlights, which they proceeded to set up on the floor and shelves.
“Mainly from low to high,” Jillian ordered. “Makes everyone look taller.” She seemed to catch herself. “If that’s all right with you, Oops.”
They stopped work at three. Issy wanted to have time to regroup before George arrived. She’d considered calling the first ever Whitaker family meeting to discuss a plan of attack, but decided against it. She couldn’t keep Jillian out, and if Jillian knew their plans, she would have the upper hand.
Besides, Issy didn’t have a plan. She opted for the wait-and-see approach.
They all heard it. The car turning onto the graveled drive.
Everyone straightened.
“False alarm,” said Fae, who had been watching from the window. “It’s Chloe and the children.”
There was a collective sigh.
Issy and Paolo went out to meet them.
They ran in as usual. “Is Grammy awake?” Mandy demanded.
“Yes, she’s in the parlor. Why?”
“No reason.” Mandy ran past her, followed closely by Griff.
“Wait,” Chloe called after them.
“Relax. He hasn’t come yet.”
“Whew, I didn’t know whether to bring them in or hold on to them. Not sure if I could even I’d wanted to. Field trip next week to Fun Town. Permission slips were sent home today.”
“If there is a next week.”
“Do you want me to try and take them back?”
“No, thanks. You go ahead. I’ll call and let you know how it goes.”
“Should I make myself scarce, too?” Paolo asked. “It’s hard to remember I’m not one of the family.”
“If you’d rather hang out with Chloe, sure, go ahead.”
“Cara. Though I would love to run away with the lovely Chloe, I wouldn’t desert you and Fae and Leo for anything. If you think I can help.” He stopped. Listened. “Was that . . .”
Steph ran through the archway. “He’s here. Aunt Fae said to hurry.”
“I’ll wait in the kitchen,” Chloe said.
“I think I’ll go with her,” Paolo said. “Yell if you need reinforcements.”
Issy pushed her hair back, tugged the hem of her T-shirt down, and went to answer the door.
George Whitaker was tall, like Wes, but more thickset, probably from years of sitting behind a desk. Issy hadn’t seen him for almost a decade, but he hadn’t changed much. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been carrying a briefcase. He was holding one now.
“Issy, how nice to see you.” His voice was deep and full-bodied. No hugs, no perfunctory kisses, no pressed hands. “Shall we?” he said, and gestured ahead of him into the parlor.
The rest of the Whitakers were seated there, perfectly posed—even Mandy and Griff, who stood on either side of Leo’s chair like figures in a family portrait. And Issy’s first thought was of the Bennet women pretending to be busy at their embroidery when Mr. Bingley came to call.
Issy cleared her throat. “Steph, could you please take Mandy and Griff back to the kitchen for a snack?”
For a second she thought Steph would balk, but she stepped from behind the chair, took both younger children by the hand, and ferried them out the door.
George said a cursory hello to everyone as he moved several items aside to make room for his briefcase on the writing table and c
licked it open.
“First things first,” he said, taking out a sheaf of papers. He stopped to look at Jillian. “Can I assume that Leo has been apprised of the financial situation?”
Fae moved closer to her sister-in-law.
“I know that you say Dan has stolen the money that Wes entrusted to him.” Leo lifted her chin.
Issy held her breath. Glanced at Fae. She should have told her grandmother to say nothing. What if she started talking nonsense? George would have additional proof that she belonged in assisted living. But she hadn’t told her. She hadn’t prepared any of them. She’d been too busy trying to get things inventoried, when she should have been planning a strategy to thwart George and Jillian.
George’s mouth tightened. “I’m sorry, Mother. Father misplaced his trust in Dan Bannister. I warned him, but he wouldn’t listen, and now we’re all going to have to deal with the repercussions.”
“Are you sure Dan took the money?”
“My forensic accountants have traced the money out of the country. And have traced Dan to Panama.”
“And Vivienne?” Issy asked.
“There was a woman with him. I can only assume it was Vivienne.”
Jillian, who had been standing, sank onto the arm of Leo’s chair.
“We have to accept the fact that the money is gone for good. Even if we could freeze Dan’s bank accounts, it doesn’t mean that we would be able to recover the funds. I’m sure we’d all be glad to never see him again. Vivienne is another story. Jillian, if you want me to—”
“No.”
“I don’t think we want to pursue this in court,” he continued.
“Why not?” blurted Issy. “He stole Grammy and Fae’s money.”
“Firstly, it costs too much. And secondly, think of the scandal.”
“Really, Uncle George. You’d let your mother and your aunt live in poverty to prevent a scandal?”
“Well, if you don’t care about the family’s name, I do.”
“We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Oops, please, George is just trying to help.”
Issy glared at her mother.
George cleared his throat. “Which leaves us with the problem of this house. Jillian and I have discussed this, and I’m sorry, Mother, but it will have to be sold. And since, unfortunately, Wes’s will forbids the breaking up of the land in order to sell off any parcel by itself, the whole thing must go.”
Leo’s hand went to her chest. Jillian knelt beside her. “Mother, you can’t keep this house up. It was impossible even with the money. Look at it; it’s falling to pieces. You and Aunt Fae will be so much happier in a nice clean place where you can be taken care of. You can enjoy life instead of being strapped all the time.”
“We do enjoy life,” Fae said.
“Really, Fae, I think you should stay out of this.”
“No, Mother,” Issy said. “You stay out of it. You were never here. You don’t get a say. If Leo doesn’t want to sell, then we’re not selling.”
“How do you propose to keep it?” George asked.
“I don’t know. I’m working on it.”
“It’s too late. Fortunately, I have someone interested in the property.”
“Waiting in the wings with their millions?”
“Issy,” Fae said on a breath, but it was too late for Issy to calm down.
“As a matter of fact. It’s quite a nice offer.”
“And how do you and Jillian plan on spending millions of dollars?” In her crazed state, Issy heard Leo gasp, Fae’s bark of bitter laughter.
“It will be used to pay for Leo and Fae’s keep.”
“Our keep?” Fae exclaimed. “Leo and I are not barn animals.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Fae. Truly, I only want to do what’s best.”
“Then leave us alone.”
“I can’t leave you alone. At best, you’ll lose the house to back taxes. Better to cut your losses.”
Leo pushed herself out of the chair and started toward the door. George went after her. “Mother, be reasonable.”
She turned on him. “Max would never have sold the Muses.”
“No, he just went blindly off to an unwinnable war and got killed for his effort.”
“How dare you.” And she slapped him hard across the face.
His hand came reflexively to his cheek. “I apologize, I had no right to say that. But that doesn’t change any of the circumstances.”
“Issy will figure it out.”
“Issy has a job and a life in the city, don’t you, Issy? How much longer can you stay here, a week? Ten days? Are your vacations even paid?”
“I—”
“They can’t stay here alone.”
“I’ll stay with them.”
“Issy, I admire your loyalty but—”
“I’ll stay, too.” Stephanie stepped through the doorway and came to stand by Leo.
“Who are you?”
“Stephanie Whitaker. I used to be a Bannister, but not anymore. And I’ll stay here and take care of them.”
“We will, too!” Griff and Mandy rushed in to join Stephanie and Leo.
Issy hoped Jillian was paying attention because as far as directing a scene, Frank Capra couldn’t have done it better.
In spite of knowing it was a losing battle, she felt a fountain of pride and hope. She stepped next to the others. “And we Whitakers stick together.”
“I’m a Whitaker, too,” George said. “The children are not my problem. If you want to adopt them, be my guest. But they’ll be better off going to the system.”
“Nooooo,” cried Mandy. “I don’t want to be an orphan.” She started to cry.
“I want my mommy,” cried Griff.
Leo pulled them both close. Issy could feel Steph shaking beside her.
“That was gratuitously cruel, George.”
“I’m sorry, Mother. I know you don’t want to sell, I don’t want you to, but the house is too expensive. I couldn’t begin to keep it. And Wes has made it impossible for us to keep any of it.
“You can blame me if you must, but Wes, by trying to save it all, has lost it all. Trust me, you and Fae will both be happier once you have this behemoth off your backs.
“Issy. You can finish your inventory if you must and can do it in a week. But I’m having Sotheby’s come in.” He closed his briefcase. “Mother, Fae.”
Fae didn’t bother to acknowledge him.
He leaned over and kissed Leo’s cheek. He could as well have been kissing wood.
He turned on his heel, and without looking back, left the room.
Jillian jumped off the arm of the chair she was sitting on. “George,” she called, and ran after him.
The others stayed right where they were, but Stephanie started to cry.
Mandy and Griff clung to Leo, and Leo, swaying on her feet, held them tight.
Issy looked through the window where she could see George and Jillian standing at George’s car. Talking intently. Probably over how fast they could divvy up the money. Issy knew she was being unfair; George might have Leo and Fae’s best interests at heart. But the fact remained that the millions that Muses by the Sea would bring would go to their inheritance.
Jillian turned away and stalked toward the house, George jumped into the car and drove away.
Fae helped Leo to her chair and Mandy and Griff climbed up beside her.
“Perhaps Jillian and George are right,” Leo said just as Jillian stepped back into the room. “I didn’t understand. I was so in love with Wes. Our life together was so perfect, I didn’t see how unhappy my children were.”
“Mother.” Jillian stepped toward her.
Leo stood, nearly dumping Mandy and Griff from their chair. “Excuse me, I need to talk to Wes.” And she sedately left the room. They all rushed to the window and watched silently as she crossed the lawn to the knoll.
“Aunt Fae, do something,” Steph begged.
“It’s not up to me,
child.”
Steph turned on Jillian. “Why did you have to come? You’ve wrecked everything. You’re not our grandmother, you’re a traitor.” She gulped back a sob. “And Aunt Issy isn’t a mistake. She’s the only one who cares. You’re just like my mother and I hate you.” She ran from the room. Mandy and Griff ran after her, leaving Issy, Fae, and Jillian alone in the parlor.
“Well,” Jillian said. “Looks like it’s a wrap. Who’s up for a drink?”
Chapter 23
“I’m sorry,” Chloe said. “They heard George’s threats and they just ran before I could stop them. It’s amazing; kids just seem to have this sixth sense about stuff.”
“They were pretty upset,” Issy said. “Especially Steph.”
“They all ran upstairs. Maybe you should go talk to them.”
“And say what?”
Chloe shrugged. “Maybe just that you love them and everything will be all right.”
Love them? Until a few days ago, Issy wouldn’t have recognized them on the street. But Chloe was right. She did love them. But how on earth could she tell them that everything would be all right. Everything was going to hell. And there didn’t seem to be one thing she could do to stop it.
But maybe the kids didn’t need to know that yet. Maybe their mother would see the errors of her ways and return. Yeah. To jail; not to raise her children.
“All right. I guess I can do this. I love you. Everything is going to be fine.”
Chloe nudged her toward the stairs. “I love you and everything . . .”
She found the three children in Steph’s room, sitting on her bed, Steph in the middle with an arm around each of her siblings.
This was so unfair. Summer was a time for kids to have fun, not be deserted by their parents and left in fear of their future.
Mandy saw her and slid off the bed. “Please don’t send us to be orphans, Aunt Issy. Please, please.” She threw her arms around Issy’s waist and clung there.
Issy caught Stephanie’s eye and was hit with a staggering intensity of hope, defiance, embarrassment, and fear.
“You were fierce, girl.”
“I’m not in trouble?”
What to say? They were all in trouble. “Nope. And thanks for sticking up for me.”
The Beach at Painter's Cove Page 25