But Hannah knew her life would never be like that again. She would never recover from leaving her precious little girl with a family she hardly knew, a mother who didn’t know how to be a mother, and who didn’t seem to care. She shuddered at the thought as she squirmed in the chair. She could count on Adelia never to speak of what happened. She had to put her faith in Charles and God that her little baby girl would somehow find the life she wanted for her. She prayed. Eventually, sleep came.
Sometime later, she was awakened by the squeeze of a hand, a man’s firm hand surrounding her hand completely. She opened her eyes and saw Charles’s clear blue eyes. It was the first time she had seen him since their baby girl was born that Saturday.
“Hannah, how are you feeling?” he asked softly.
“I’m okay. Just tired a lot.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He looked around the room uncomfortably and searched desperately for the right words.
“It’s what happens to women when they have babies. My mom went through it nine times. Now I know.”
“I just came to say to you, to tell you . . . that the little one will be fine. I promise you that. You have nothing to worry about. She will grow up in good health, and I’ll see to it that she goes to school.”
“Thank you.” Hannah pulled the quilt around her as she felt a slight chill from the opened window. Charles, noticing her shivering, reached over and sealed the window shut. “Have you thought of a name for her?” she asked.
He pondered her question. “Jeanne,” he said in a half-whisper, with his head down. “My mother’s name, if that’s all right with you?”
“That is lovely.” She choked on the words as she realized that she would likely never get to call her daughter by her name.
“Would you like a middle name?” he asked.
“Amelia. My grandmother.” She doubted that Virginia, his wife, would agree.
“That would be fine. Do you have everything you need to get home safely?”
She nodded. “Yes. But I really don’t need all that money Mrs. Green gave me. It’s more than enough to get home.”
“Let’s not talk about that. Just take care of yourself.”
“I will. I’ll be leaving as soon as the Home arrives in the harbour. Mrs. Green got a message to my father and mother that I’d be coming within the week.”
“Good. That’s good.” That was all he could manage, and he patted her hand. He stood to leave but turned back at the door, grasping the side of the varnished oak door frame to steady himself in the reality of what was happening. He studied the young girl he had known for less than two years, a girl who had come into his life and would leave it now forever. How is it that such a lovely maiden, with only a Sunday school education, who grew up in a home where the next meal was uncertain, had survived the embarrassment of the past year? How is it that after all she has been through, she still has such sparkling eyes and a warm smile? He rubbed his hand up and down his cheek and considered his thoughts, then tried to shake them from his mind. He opened the door, stepped across the threshold into the hall, and without looking back, quietly closed the door behind him. Like Hannah, his life would never be the same, but for quite different reasons.
* * * * *
June 1996, St. John’s
Preferring to control the length of her evening out, Jeanne chose to meet Kevin at a downtown restaurant, one that she had selected, and one that she hoped would have the fewest customers who would recognize her. She was relieved to see him sitting in a secluded corner.
Unsure of what she would appreciate in manners, Kevin stood and held her chair. He was relieved that she did not seem to be offended. “I appreciate your agreeing to have dinner with me, Jeanne,” he said. “Hopefully our evening won’t be all business.”
“You’re welcome,” was her only reply, as she glanced around the room.
Jeanne wore a tailored silk dress of teal blue, accented with a single strand of pearls and matching pearl earrings. As much as he wanted to compliment her on how lovely she looked, Kevin sensed this was nothing more for her than a business meeting. He was glad he had opted to dress up for the occasion, having chosen his best jacket and tie. It had been a last-minute decision to bring that jacket with him. He glanced at the menu and chose the salmon with dill and lemon sauce and roasted vegetables.
After the waitress took their menus and orders, he took a deep breath. “Should we get right to the purpose of our meeting—the Sinclair house?”
“Certainly. You appear to be a busy person with many projects. I noticed several folders in your leather case yesterday. You mentioned property elsewhere, although you did not elaborate.”
Kevin nodded, surprised that she had noticed. “I’m looking into some real estate projects around the island.”
“Are you planning to move here?” Her voice held unintended disdain.
Kevin laughed. “Would that be so awful?”
She caught herself, as she realized that her tone had been inappropriate. “I apologize. It’s just that I assume you are established in Nova Scotia and you are . . . well . . . not a young man, if I may say that.”
“You may, but in case you’re wondering, I just turned sixty.”
“You appear to have been in the land development business for some time. By that, I mean, you talk about it with confidence. Haven’t you made enough money?”
“What exactly is enough money, Jeanne?” he asked, with a broad grin and a raised eyebrow.
When she couldn’t find an appropriate answer, she laughed.
Feeling more composed, he chose to open up about his personal life. “Actually, I’ve had several careers. I attended university in Toronto, got a history degree, and then pursued journalism. It wasn’t for me. I still do a little writing, freelance articles, that sort of thing. I believe I mentioned that yesterday. I’m told that having multiple occupations is a trend.” He shrugged. “Or maybe I can’t decide what I want. In any event, I got into property a few years ago when I joined Winterberry Development. The company’s based in Toronto, but we have an office in Halifax.”
“Do you enjoy your work?”
He had never considered that question before and was unsure how to answer. “I do, most of the time, I suppose.” He shifted in his chair and leaned forward. “I get to meet some interesting people, present company included. But enough about me, Jeanne. Tell me about your life. Do you work outside the home? Surely you’re too young to be retired.”
Uncomfortable with the attention, Jeanne reached for a crusty dinner roll as a distraction and placed it on her side plate. She had no intention of eating it, but the action gave her time to choose her words. “I married in my early twenties. When I was growing up, I was told that marriage was enough of a career for any woman, something that modern feminists refer to as a social construct, I understand. I didn’t question it, so I saw no need to look for anything else.”
Kevin did not understand the reference to feminism but replied to the first comment. “Apparently they were wrong.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I meant that you don’t seem the type who should be left to planning meals and helping with homework.”
Although she did not have an immediate response, her facial expression convinced him that he had struck a nerve. Too personal, he thought, second-guessing himself again. He changed the subject. “I guess we should discuss the Sinclair house.”
“I’m not sure what you want to hear. As I said yesterday, I haven’t decided to sell it.”
“No, I know that, but I am hoping to change your mind, especially if you let me describe what I intend to do with it.”
His words piqued her interest. “I think you’d agree that the house has a special place in this community. It’s a fine example of revival architecture. Over a hundred years old, well preser
ved, and owned by a prominent St. John’s family.”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind sharing its history with me? I know only scant details.”
“I can tell you what I know. It was built in 1895 by the Boland family. Royston Boland had it built on a piece of land that he had inherited from his parents. He owned other properties as well, but this house was his prized possession. When he died, his son, Clarence, took it over, although he had his own home where he lived with his family. In 1925, he gave it to my father and Virginia, on the occasion of their marriage, and it remained with them until I inherited it earlier this year.”
“If I may be so bold, Jeanne, you mentioned at lunch your sister. Emily, is it? Was she bothered that she didn’t get the house?”
“Emily originally inherited the house, but Father’s intention was to leave the house to me. Clarence Boland, his father-in-law, insisted that Emily get the house because . . .” She paused. “He wanted the house to remain in the family.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Emily and I are only half-sisters.” She picked up her napkin and looked down as she folded it several times. “I prefer not to go into details.”
Kevin’s curiosity was aroused, especially since Charles Sinclair was clearly in the middle of it, but the information would have to wait. “Of course. I understand. So, if this man Boland wanted your sister to get the house, how did your father manage to get it to you?”
“With some assistance from Quentin Henderson.”
“Kurt’s lawyer?”
“Yes. My father gave Quentin money to purchase the home after he died. He guessed that my sister and that atrocious son of hers, Gregory, would prefer the money over the house. As soon as it went on the market, Quentin purchased it and gave the deed to me.”
“Forgive me for laughing, Jeanne, but I’m curious about Emily’s ‘atrocious son’ that you mentioned. Your nephew?”
“You wouldn’t laugh if you met him. You’d agree with me.”
“Still, this man, Clarence Boland, I assume is no longer with us. He must be turning over in his grave that his house ended up with you after all, someone who is, as you say, not at all related to the Boland family.”
“To be honest, Kevin, I haven’t really thought much about what Clarence Boland would have felt. I have only vague memories of his occasional visits to our home. We were not a family of close collateral kin.” Jeanne stopped. Sitting across from her, in the shadow of the dim lights and candles of the restaurant, he seemed to be fascinated by her every word. She had casually divulged personal information to a man she hardly knew simply for the satisfaction of his willingness to listen. The realization disturbed her.
“Jeanne, would it be okay for me to see inside the house, possibly even have it inspected and appraised for its value?”
She looked casually out the window at the busy street and taxis pulling up to a nearby hotel. “I guess I could arrange that. As long as you understand that I’m not making a commitment. You mentioned that you thought it would make a nice inn.”
“It’s a perfect location, in the heart of old St. John’s. A large secluded garden. I would arrange for adequate parking. I’d also purchase the best in furnishings that suit its architecture, of course. Is it currently furnished?” he asked.
“A few things. An antique sideboard, Father’s desk, and a bookcase. Emily and Gregory took much of the furniture when they thought the house was theirs. Some select items I placed in my own home for safekeeping.”
“I see. Is your sister interested in buying the house from you?” he asked.
“No, not that she’s indicated. It’s unlikely.”
Kevin desperately wanted more details, but for now he had her talking, and that was all he could expect. “Jeanne, may I ask, is anyone else interested in developing the place?”
“Others?”
“Yes. I would think that someone of Kurt Steffensen’s savvy, for instance, would already be jumping at the chance to develop it, especially since he has an ‘in’ with the owner.”
“An ‘in’? If anything, the fact that I am the owner would be a deterrent for Kurt. To answer your question, no, he has not expressed an interest, nor do I expect him to. Some friends have suggested the possibility, but there have been no concrete offers. Not yet. But then, the place is not on the market. I expect that things would change if I put it up for sale. There would be competition, and I’m not selling it cheaply.”
Bright lady. “Indeed,” he said aloud.
“May I ask you a question for a change?” She leaned forward.
“Certainly.”
“Were you born in Halifax?”
“I grew up in Halifax, but I have some family connections here,” he said with the intention of being deliberately vague. “Newfoundland has a personal fascination for me, and, frankly, it’s a business opportunity waiting to happen.”
A guarded response, she surmised. “You mentioned you’re looking at property elsewhere, not far from the city?”
Kevin nodded. “There are several places around the island that we’re interested in. I have bought and sold property in Planter’s Bight and the surrounding area. Beautiful spot. The American tourists love it. I have recently purchased land there for myself.”
Jeanne finished her salad and sat back. “When you said family connections, did you mean close personal relations, as in a spouse?”
He laughed. “Neither, I’m happy to say. I’ve seen too much of what relationships do to people.” He waved his salad fork for emphasis. “I’ve had some near misses but we both woke up to reality before we made it to the altar.”
“Children?”
He shook his head and took a sip of wine. “Again, in my opinion, an overrated venture.”
He was intrigued by her laugh. “You’re making a judgment. Tell me, what are you thinking?”
Jeanne’s eyes glistened in amusement. “Just that, if anyone walked by this table and decided to put money on which one of us is the more cynical, it surely would be me. But I believe they would lose their bet.”
“Okay. Fair enough,” he responded, holding up his hand. “Pardon my cynicism. Marriage and parenting are not subjects I know much about. You, on the other hand, have experience in both; however, that’s none of my business.” He prayed that his compliment would be appreciated.
“Actually, I asked you some personal questions which I shouldn’t have done. I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable,” Jeanne said.
“Not at all. I see no reason why we can’t get to know each other, especially if we are going to engage in a real estate deal. I know some things about you. That you were married to Kurt Steffensen, for example. That you have two children, Joe and Lauren. And,” he added with a chuckle, “most of this community thinks the Steffensens can walk on water. I’m guessing you have a different view, given that you left Kurt.”
“He left me. Let’s be accurate.”
“Okay.” He knew he had to tread lightly. “Your daughter? Lauren is married to Alan Matheson, the writer, isn’t she? I’ve read his columns.”
“And your assessment of him as a writer?”
“Excellent. I’m looking forward to books that he’ll write.”
“You mentioned that you’re a writer as well. Anything I would like to read?”
Kevin shook his head. “Oh no, I doubt it. I write mostly magazine articles for business magazines, such as profiles of Canadian entrepreneurs and their latest business ventures.”
“Like Kurt?”
He was surprised. “Ah . . . yes.”
“I thought so. Well, if you want information for your article from me, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I prefer not to gossip about the father of my children.”
Kevin paused and tried to read her and determine whether
her words matched her facial expression. She might be bitter about the failed marriage, but there is something more there. More in her feelings for Kurt. She sounded almost protective. But he would not get to it tonight.
The sun had set and the lights of the city glowed across the harbour. In the candlelight Kevin saw a woman who had skilfully shielded herself from the world. He wondered why Kurt no longer wanted this woman in his life. What had started as a simple business opportunity for Kevin was quickly turning into something more, and he felt an uncertainty and nervousness that he had rarely experienced. As much as he tried to fight his feelings, he found her captivating, and that was putting him off his game. He sipped his wine and regrouped, choosing to avoid further personal questions.
Instead, for the next hour, they talked about travel and found that they had much in common with their favourite destinations, disdain for declining standards in air travel, and the service industry overall.
“Dessert, Jeanne?” he asked as he lightened his coffee with a touch of cream.
“No, thank you.”
“Let me guess. You don’t eat dessert.”
She smiled. “No. I don’t. But please feel free to order some for yourself.”
“There’s a bakeapple mousse cake on that dessert tray that’s calling me.”
“Then, answer it. Please, go ahead. In the meantime, finish the story about your trip to Japan.”
All Good Intentions Page 8