“Just yourself for lunch?” the waitress asked, standing near the entrance.
“Ah, actually, I’m looking for someone who may be eating lunch here. Do you know a Jeanne Sinclair?”
“Goodness, yes. Everyone knows her. Not personally, mind you. But I know her to see her. That’s her right down there at the last table sitting by herself.” She pointed without being conspicuous. “Is she expecting you?”
“No, no, I’m hoping to surprise her. We’re friends.” And before he would let the waitress say anything else, he moved away quickly toward the far table, hoping that a public place would deter her from dismissing him immediately.
His first impression was of an attractive, blue-eyed blonde with perfect poise and impeccable taste in clothes. She looked much younger than her apparent age. For the first time since he could remember, he felt overwhelmingly nervous. She was a Sinclair. Charles Sinclair’s daughter. And he was finally face to face with her. He swallowed hard, but his mouth was very dry. “Excuse me?” he managed.
She looked up. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry to bother you. Are you Ms. Sinclair? Jeanne Sinclair?”
“Yes. Do I know you?”
He smiled broadly in an attempt to put himself, as much as her, at ease, but realized the strategy was not working. “No, but I’d like to speak to you, if possible. May I sit down?”
“No, you may not, sir. I have no idea who you are and, furthermore, I do not appreciate being approached . . .” She looked around, hoping to catch the eye of service staff to have him removed discreetly.
He interrupted before she got to the point of no return. “I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. I should explain. My name is Kevin Gillis. I’m here in the city on business. I am interested in property, and of course, the Sinclair home is on my list.”
“Gillis?”
“Yes, please call me Kevin. I’m sorry to take such a direct approach. I did go by your home, a lovely place on Exeter. Your housekeeper mentioned you were out for lunch, so I took a chance that you’d be here.”
“I see.” She showed little interest. “Well, Mr. Gillis, the Sinclair house is not for sale at the moment. You would know that if you’re so interested.”
“Yes, I do. But I drove by there earlier. It appears to be empty. I’m aware that the original owner, your father, Charles, passed away within the last year. My condolences.” He waited for a response that didn’t come. Mentally, he crossed off feigning sympathy as a strategy. He continued. “It’s a beautiful home. I’m not one to be intrusive, but I would just like to know whether you’ve given some thought to selling it.” Noting that she seemed to have little interest, he reached back for his best tactic and prayed it would be effective. “I spoke to your ex-husband, Kurt, on Friday, and he recommended that I talk to you.”
A waitress appeared with a garden vegetable salad for Jeanne, and a small carafe of oil and vinegar dressing. As Kevin had hoped, at the mention of Kurt’s name, Jeanne relented. In a hushed tone, she said, “If you must stay, sit down.”
He had won, if only out of expediency on her behalf. “Thank you. I hope you don’t mind my approaching you this way. I thought that Newfoundlanders preferred to be casual.” He immediately regretted his choice of words.
Jeanne did not look at him as she carefully unfolded the white linen napkin across her lap. For her part, this man Kevin Gillis was both bothersome and intriguing at the same time. She couldn’t help but be drawn to his dark brown eyes that glistened when he smiled. But she wouldn’t let the lesson go unfinished. “You need to do more research, Mr. Gillis. You will find that some people who live here are not comfortable with others knowing their every movement, especially without their permission.”
“Ah, then you’re becoming more like the rest of the country.” Kevin was far more relaxed, even amused at being admonished by such a lovely lunch companion.
“I certainly hope not.” Moments passed as she ate in silence. Kevin tried not to stare but could not help but study her every feature. The emerald green scarf tied in a perfect knot neatly around her neck set off her flawless complexion. Not a line nor a wrinkle to be seen. She was, in his view, a classic beauty.
“Would you mind if I ordered? I only had coffee for breakfast . . .”
“Go ahead.”
Nervous about his impression, he ordered the same meal as his lunch companion, although it was not what he wanted.
Jeanne quietly replaced her fork to the plate. “List? What list?”
Kevin was startled. “I’m sorry?”
“You said the Sinclair house is on a list. What list?”
“Of potential properties to become an inn, upmarket, of course, five-star. I’m hoping it will be on the market soon, and I want to be the first to make an offer.”
“I see. And how did you find out about me?”
Kevin hesitated. “It’s a small community. Ask anyone who owns that home on Forest Road and they’ll tell you. By the way, I hope you don’t mind that I pulled into the driveway, walked around, and took some photos. It’s perfect for what I’m looking for.”
“It would need some work to become an inn.”
“It appears to have had some recent alterations made to it. Is that correct?”
“Yes, my son is an architect. He specializes in renovations of heritage homes. He designed the work that’s been done.”
“Kurt mentioned Joe’s architectural skills. Actually, I’ve made an appointment to see him later this week. I’m interested in developing some property outside of the city, and I’d like for him to give me some plans to build a house there. By the way, the name Steffensen, is it northern European?”
“Yes. Kurt’s father was born in Bergen, Norway. Tell me, why did you meet with Kurt? He’s not into real estate.”
Kevin waved his hand nonchalantly. “Business. I’m a writer in my spare time, and I’d like to do an interview with him about business practices in Newfoundland. I also presented him with a business plan because I thought he might be interested.”
“And is he?”
“I hope so. I think you’d agree that your ex is not about to walk away from a profitable business proposition. A man who is so wealthy is not used to turning down a good thing. I’m waiting to hear from him.”
“I hate that word . . . ex. It sounds like you’re leaving a blank in the sentence and will fill it in later when you think of the right word. That’s how they teach children to write these days. It’s appalling.” Jeanne’s tone had become markedly bitter suddenly, leaving Kevin to wonder if the cause was his mention of Kurt. What had happened to their marriage? What man had made this beautiful woman so cynical about life? He watched as she gingerly picked at each cherry tomato and slices of green pepper in her salad, eating all the same ingredient at a time. Fascinated by her every move, for a moment, he forgot that she was a Sinclair.
“I’m sorry. I’ll refer to him as Kurt.” He hesitated momentarily, then took a leap. “Perhaps you and I could have a serious conversation sometime about the Sinclair house? If you don’t want to do it now, we can meet at another time. Over dinner?”
“Business conversation is not good for the digestion,” she said in her best matter-of-fact tone, like she was repeating it as a mantra she had heard elsewhere.
Kevin tried to hide his frustration. “I understand.” There must be another way into her confidence. After a moment, he began again. “Your home on Exeter—is that the family home? I mean the one you lived in with Kurt and your son?”
Jeanne nodded and sipped water. “Yes, and our daughter, Lauren.”
“I see. I’m just curious as to why you chose to live in that house, now that you’re divorced, rather than in your parents’ house, the home I assume you grew up in.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I understand
you inherited the house from your father. Mr. Sinclair had quite the reputation as a Water Street businessman years ago,” Kevin stated, being careful not to indicate whether the reputation was good or bad.
“Thank you. I must say you have done your research.”
“Some things are a matter of public record.”
There was an uneasy silence. Finally Jeanne spoke, without making eye contact. “What makes you think Kurt would be interested in your business proposal? He’s not one to collaborate. Kurt likes control. He doesn’t have the patience to work with others.” She pushed the remaining celery around the plate, then laid her fork down. She wiped her hands unnecessarily in her napkin.
“I’m being hopeful and confident. Kurt’s a rich man, and wealthy men want to be wealthier. I believe I can make that happen.”
“And yourself as well.” Now she was actually looking at him with a half-smile and sparkling eyes.
He laughed. “Of course,” he announced, relieved that the mood was improving.
She shook her head. “I credit your forthrightness, Mr. Gillis . . . Kevin.”
“Then I’ll continue to be. Would you consider having dinner with me? How about tomorrow night?”
She stared at him as if to study his whole being for flaws that she knew had to be there. Kevin was aware that he was being assessed by a woman of astute powers. But he also knew he was getting to her. He had selected the right tactic, bold, direct, and flattering. He’d better make a mental note for future reference. Now, he smiled and stared right back into her deep blue eyes, lightly accented in the corner eyelids with a pale blue shadow. He could not have even guessed or hoped for her response.
“Fine. I guess that would be okay.”
“Excellent!” He smiled broadly and decided his fortunes were turning around.
* * * * *
When Doris returned from lunch, shortly before 2:00 p.m., she found Kevin Gillis waiting near her desk. She was pleased that she had turned off her computer and closed all of her files and notebooks before she left, since he seemed intent on reading what was on her desk.
“My apologies for disturbing your day, Mrs. McKinlay, but I’m hoping to catch a word with Quentin . . . I’m sorry I don’t know his last name. I understand he’s Kurt’s lawyer. That’s what I heard someone say.”
Doris doubted that he’d heard anyone say. “Quentin’s last name is Henderson, and his office is not in this building.”
“Henderson?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
Kevin stumbled momentarily. “Oh. I see. I thought he would be in this building. I just assumed he would be sitting on the right hand of Kurt.” Kevin’s attempt at humour fell flat.
“Mr. Henderson runs a law practice. His office is in the building across the street. Sixth floor. I’d recommend making an appointment.”
“Thank you. You’ve been most helpful. I’ll take my chances.”
As he turned to leave, Doris stopped him. “Oh, and Mr. Gillis, I’ve made some times available for you to choose from to interview Kurt.” She passed him a slip of paper with three dates on it. “You said you lived in Halifax, so I thought I’d provide you with some options.”
Kevin glanced at the paper. “Excellent. I’ll check my schedule this evening and call you to confirm. Thanks so much.”
As soon as she could see him heading for the elevator, Doris reached for the phone. Beth Ann, Quentin’s assistant, answered immediately and put her in touch with Quentin.
“Good morning, Doris! You need me?”
“Always,” she replied with a laugh.
“You didn’t laugh in my fantasy dream last night, Doris. And your voice was far more sultry.”
“Listen, stop kidding around. This is a heads-up. A man by the name of Kevin Gillis just left here. He’s looking for you. I have no idea what he wants, but I thought you should be forewarned. I assume Kurt has mentioned him.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about him. Thanks, Doris. I appreciate that.”
“As I said to Kurt, I don’t like his type.”
“I know, Doris, you like only shy, introverted men like me. It’s a power thing. Thanks for the warning.” Quentin hung up the phone, laughed out loud at Doris’s assessment, and swivelled his chair around to face the window. He was curious to find out what Mr. Gillis was all about.
* * * * *
While Jeanne hung up her ivory-coloured blouse in her bedroom closet, she heard the doorbell and, realizing that Leah was grocery shopping, she hurried downstairs. She opened the door to a visibly distraught Caroline Kavanagh.
“Jeanne, I got a call from Brittany. I came right over.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” Caroline brushed past her and headed for the living room, dropping her blue blazer and matching purse on the way. “Why in heaven’s name didn’t you tell me? Brittany said she was talking to Lauren, and Lauren told her about this woman, Helen or Anna, or something like that, who claims to be your biological mother. What in the world is going on? What woodwork did she come out of?”
Well done, Lauren. And so it begins. Noticing Caroline’s reddened face, Jeanne decided to give her some time to calm down before she revealed the story. It also gave her time to choose her words. She sat in the armchair across from her and straightened the cushion behind her. “The woman’s name is Hannah West,” she began quietly. “She lives in Falcon Cove.”
“Where in the world is that?”
“The north side of Bonavista Bay.”
“Good grief,” Caroline uttered with disdain.
“She worked in service for Father and . . . for Virginia . . . when she was just a young girl. She and Father became close. As it turns out, yes, she’s my mother.”
“And you just found this out? That must have come as quite a shock!”
“No, Caroline. I’ve known for a few years,” she answered, and decided not to reveal any more details than she had to.
“Really? And you kept it to yourself all these years!” She breathed deeply. “Of course, it’s understandable, I suppose. It’s such a black mark on your father’s reputation. But still, to keep that to yourself. Oh my, how ever did you cope? So now I suppose she’s looking for money from your poor deceased father. God rest his soul.”
“No, it’s not that at all. Father left her some money in his will, that’s all. I’d rather not go into the details. I met her back in April.”
“Here?”
“No, I drove down to Falcon Cove. Pretty little place, actually. Very cold and damp but, then, it was April. That’s all one could expect.”
“Oh my!” Caroline jumped from her seat, and Jeanne smiled at her friend’s sense of melodrama. “You drove by yourself to that place! I can hardly take it in.”
“How so? I made it there and back.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I’m sure my father is neither the first man nor the last to engage in something like that.” Jeanne was tempted to mention Caroline’s husband, but refrained.
“No, I realize that. But think about how it tarnishes his wonderful reputation, Jeanne. We all had the utmost respect for Charles.”
“You mean my reputation.”
“Of course not, Jeanne. You and I will always be friends no matter who your mother is. But don’t you think it will be hard to explain?”
“To whom?”
“Everyone!”
“It’s not everyone’s business. And I doubt, given the standards of today, it’ll matter to anyone, Caroline.” Jeanne wasn’t sure who she was convincing, herself or Caroline. Still, it was the line she knew she had to take.
Caroline sighed heavily and sat down again. “Yes, I s’pose. A mother you didn’t know you have. How old is she?”
“She’s in her la
te seventies.”
“Really, Jeanne, after all you went through with Charles, do you want to go down that road again? Another elderly person to care for?”
Jeanne looked around the room, wishing to be out of this conversation. But she knew she was trapped. “From what I saw when I met her, Hannah’s quite capable of taking care of herself. She doesn’t want anything from me. Besides, she has a daughter, or I should say another daughter.”
“What?” Caroline’s voice rose again. “Who’s her father?”
By now Jeanne was starting to see some humour in their conversation. She didn’t bother to hide her smile, knowing that it would likely drive Caroline over the edge. “Her name is Carrie. Her father was Marshall West, who was married to Hannah for over fifty years. She’s single and she’s the United Church minister in Falcon Cove.”
“Oh my, oh my. Is there anything else? A minister? That’s something for her to live down,” Caroline said breathlessly, feigning a fainting demeanour. “This is all too much. Why didn’t you tell me? I’m your best friend.”
“I intended to, in time, but it seems that Lauren got ahead of me. The fact is that Hannah and Carrie are coming to St. John’s this week. My guess is that Lauren mentioned that she’s having them for dinner on Thursday.”
“Who else will be there?”
“Joe and Sandi, I presume.”
“Another nightmare. Jeanne, your life is crumbling before your eyes and you don’t seem particularly bothered.”
“No, it appears you’re distraught enough for the both of us,” Jeanne quipped, unwilling to show Caroline how she truly felt inside.
* * * * *
Quentin Henderson’s office was not what Kevin Gillis expected. As he would soon discover, neither was its occupant. He had taken a chance that he could see him without an appointment.
Beth Ann hesitated, but after consulting her employer, she invited Kevin to sit. She informed him that he would be seen shortly. A few minutes later, Quentin came around the corner to greet him with a firm handshake. Despite his receding hairline, he had a boyish look. He was also meticulously dressed in a navy suit with a white shirt with a blue-striped tie. Kevin assumed that the young man not long out of law school would be easy to deal with, his youth forcing him to impress his elder and, more importantly, impress his employer. But there was a surprising air of confidence about him.
All Good Intentions Page 6