All Good Intentions

by Trudi Johnson

  “Yes, and it’s always a good idea to invite former girlfriends to one’s wedding. I didn’t plan to include them.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you would add them for me, if only so I’ll have someone to talk to. It’s the least you can do.” She sat in the chair opposite her son. “By the way, Kevin is returning to town later today.”

  “Really? He misses you?” Lauren asked with a mischievous grin.

  “No. He’s interviewing your father for an article he’s writing.”

  “Kevin and I have arranged to meet on the weekend. He said he has plans for tomorrow,” Joe commented.

  “Yes, he and I are going to Planter’s Bight for the day.”

  “Ah! I see,” Lauren teased. “The man obviously has a thing for you, Mother.”

  “Lauren,” Jeanne admonished her. “I am not an adolescent. People who are sixty don’t fall in love.”

  “Why not?” she asked, still grinning.

  “Because they have better sense.”

  Joe interrupted. “Have you made a decision on the house?”

  “Kevin’s made a formal offer. I’ll take my time to consider it.”

  “I’d recommend that you accept it. What else can you do with it?”

  “I have some ideas,” she responded coyly.

  * * * * *

  In a phone conversation early the next morning, Lauren resisted any further teasing but advised her mother to wear a comfortable pair of shoes to Planter’s Bight. Jeanne searched her walk-in closet and pulled out a new pair of Clark’s loafers that she had bought last year in England.

  She was finally ready to go when Kevin pulled into the driveway shortly after 10:00 a.m. Deciding at the last minute to take a scarf, she grabbed one that matched her outfit and wrapped it twice around her neck.

  “Nice to see you again,” he said, as she settled into the passenger seat.

  “Good to see you as well,” she responded with a smile.

  He backed out of the driveway and headed west. “Have you ever been to Planter’s Bight or the area?”

  “No. I don’t do much highway driving. I drove to Falcon Cove in April, but that was a rare drive for me.”

  “Ah, you should. It’s worth the drive.” He glanced at her in the passenger’s seat. She was, as always, meticulously dressed and coordinated. “You selected the proper footwear,” he observed.

  Jeanne nodded. “Lauren made a suggestion. I learned about appropriate footwear from my trip to Falcon Cove.”

  “For what it’s worth, you look just as lovely as you do in your designer outfits.” Then, realizing the implication of what he said, he groaned. “That was meant as a compliment.”

  Jeanne laughed. “Thank you. I understand.” She glanced at him and decided his casual attire of a polo shirt and cotton pants made him look much younger but just as attractive.

  “Speaking of your daughter, I met her husband at the university library the last time I was there. Alan and I have been in the reading room doing research for several days this summer, so I finally introduced myself. Great fellow. How long have they been married?”

  “Three years.”

  “Now you have another family wedding coming up,” Kevin commented.

  “Yes,” she answered with a deep breath, as she gazed out the window.

  But Kevin was enjoying this too much to let it go. “You don’t sound terribly enthusiastic?” he teased.

  “I’ve not been in Dr. Martel’s company long enough to find out what she’s like. Her mother puts her nose in where it doesn’t belong. That much I do know.”

  “Dr. Martel?”

  Jeanne nodded. “Professor at the university. Sandi Martel.”

  Kevin glanced in the rear-view mirror to make a lane change. “Sounds impressive. If you haven’t spent much time with Sandi, why have you judged her so harshly?”

  “We all make presumptions,” she said, looking over at him. “I’m sure you did about me before we met, especially since Emily got to you first.”

  “No comment,” Kevin said with a laugh. “Have you told Joe how you feel about his fiancée?”

  Jeanne shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what I feel, Kevin,” she said, as she swept her hair back with her hand. “It won’t change anything.”

  * * * * *

  For the next hour, they avoided the topic of family and chatted about some of the newer inns and bed and breakfast places in the Maritimes. Jeanne asked him about The Astilbe Inn, and he proudly described it in meticulous detail.

  “It sounds like you have a real flair for interior design. Did you study it formally?”

  “No. I read books and magazines on home decor. I take notes wherever I travel.” Kevin signalled right on the exit from the highway and turned again at the sign to Planter’s Bight. The older part of the community encircled the sheltered harbour, but in recent years, newer homes had been built farther away from the water toward the highway. A narrow, paved road encircled the town. Kevin slowed to a crawl to avoid the tourists strolling the streets.

  “Did both of your parents grow up here?”

  “Yes, as did their parents. The Gillis family goes back a long way, as you will see by the cemetery plots.”

  “What did your father do?”

  “He was a carpenter.”

  “That explains it.”

  He looked at her. “Why do you say that?” His tone was stern and unexpected.

  “It’s just that you seem to have an appreciation for finely crafted woodwork, that’s all. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to imply anything was wrong with that.”

  “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He could offer no further explanation for his response. He slowed down, pulled onto a narrow dirt road, and drove a few car lengths before stopping.

  Jeanne noted the brisk wind, reached for her silk scarf, and secured it tightly around her hair. Kevin had gotten out of the car and rounded it to the passenger’s side. “Be careful,” he warned, giving her a hand as she stepped out. “Even with those good walking shoes, you’ll find the ruts to be slippery in places.”

  She walked with him across the land to where the house once stood. “This is where you grew up.”

  He nodded. “The house was right here, as you can see from the remnants of the foundation. Joe is designing a duplicate, with a few added features to accommodate what I want.”

  Jeanne made a full turn as she surveyed the property. The salt sea air was cool, but it felt good to breathe deeply. From their vantage point, they could see the entire harbour and the wooded hills beyond. The sun, high in the sky, sent a silvery cast across the water. Jeanne was glad she’d worn her sunglasses as she looked out across the ocean. She welcomed the touch of Kevin’s hand as it enveloped hers.

  “Come this way,” he said, and led her to the centre of the land. “Now, turn around.” He positioned her in one spot. “Look straight ahead. This will be the view from my living room.”

  “Breathtaking.”

  “And this way.” He led her to another spot. “This will be the view from the sunroom. I hope you don’t mind if I copy the layout of yours. I’m adding it to the traditional architecture.”

  “Your land goes all the way back?”

  “Yes, as far as the spruce trees. I’m planning to build a stone wall across the back by myself.”

  She looked surprised. “You’re a mason?”

  “No, but I intend to learn. It’ll take time, but that’s what retirement’s for. A chance to learn new things. Aristotle said that happiness belongs to the self-sufficient. I plan to prove him right,” he said with a robust laugh.

  “I must say, you’re nothing if not determined, Kevin Gillis. And will you have a garden?”

  He pulled up a few blades of grass next to him
and mindlessly twisted them around his fingers. “I’d like to, but I confess, I know very little about gardening. I guess I could learn, or I could hire a landscaper. We’ll see. I do happen to know an expert gardener. Perhaps she will help me?” he asked with a broad smile, and she nodded in agreement. “Now, would you like to see the rest of the community? There’s a small café not far from here. We could park in front of it, walk around the community, and then come back for lunch. What do you think?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Kevin found a parking spot near the café by overhanging dogberry trees. For the next hour, they strolled the narrow paths of Planter’s Bight, stopping on occasion to read historical plaques. Fishermen from England, referred to as planters, initially settled the community in the early 1600s. They fished in the summer, but some of them eventually chose to stay throughout the winter to gain access to the best fishing grounds in the spring.

  Jeanne and Kevin paused to view some local gardens and eventually made their way to a small hill and an old cemetery no longer in use. They carefully navigated across the graves and tried to read the headstones along the way. Jeanne stood at the base of a crooked one near the end of a row. “Kevin, look at this. It says, In Memory of My Beloved Joanna, A Partner of My Joys and Sorrows. What an interesting sentiment!”

  “It is.” They stood in silence, and Kevin noticed that she seemed deep in thought. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

  “I’m wondering what Joanna was like, what her life was like.” She looked around. “I’m thinking about all the people who once lived here and walked these paths, who had special occasions, who lived their lives.”

  “Or were denied them,” he added.

  She turned with a questioning look on her face.

  “I’m just saying that many did not live long. It wasn’t easy living.”

  “No, it was not. But if Aristotle was correct, their self-sufficiency ensured them at least some happiness.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  They continued down a path only wide enough to put one foot in front of the other. It ended at the rocky beach, where waves were pushing in the kelp from the sea. The wind blew Jeanne’s scarf to the back of her head and tossed her blonde curls. Standing nearby, Kevin took in every feature, enchanted by her presence. Without thinking, he reached out and pulled her into his arms.

  He held her for a moment, but she said nothing. Years of disappointment had tamped down the words she wanted to say. But Kevin was content to enjoy the moment as he looked closely into her clear blue eyes, then released her.

  They strolled back along the path to the café. It was busier today than when he and Joe were there, but a small table became available soon after they arrived. Kevin ordered the special, steaming chicken stew with dumplings, and Jeanne selected the cod chowder.

  Jeanne looked around at the local crafts on display. A colourful patchwork quilt hung across a quilt rack by the door, each large square representing a spot in the community. She suddenly noticed that Kevin was staring at her.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  “No, no, nothing at all.” He paused. “Just that you are so lovely, Jeanne.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she said softly, feeling uncomfortable with the rare attention. She looked down at the napkin laid across her lap.

  “You’re uncomfortable.”

  “I’m not used to compliments. It’s been . . . a long time.” Jeanne struggled to grasp what was happening. Clearly, Kevin had growing feelings for her. Strong feelings. While she relished the attention, something inside her compelled her to resist. Fear of being hurt. She would not risk that again. And so, her guard went up.

  She raised her head and was grateful that the waitress interrupted with their meals. She deliberately sought a change in subject. “Are you prepared for your interview with Kurt?”

  “I think so. Perhaps you could help me out with some background of his earlier life.”

  “There’s very little I can tell you that you don’t already know.”

  “Was Kurt born in St. John’s?” he asked.

  “No, Kurt grew up the oldest son of two university professors. He was born in England, but his family moved to Halifax when he was a little boy. Then he moved here after he finished university.”

  Kevin placed his spoon on the side plate, having decided to let the stew cool. He sat back to listen.

  “The family lived in Halifax after the war. I guess Kurt would have stayed at university and made a career of it, but he’s always been a man of ambition, and university would not have satisfied him. Let’s just say he likes to succeed. Most of the money to start the business came from his grandfather on his mother’s side.”

  “Surely, it must be some credit to him that the business succeeded as well as it has. It wasn’t all handed to him.”

  “No, of course not. I wasn’t being fair. He worked while he attended university at a newspaper office. When he started his own publishing and printing company, times were good. It was the 1960s. He has loyal clients, and he knows what he’s doing when it comes to investments. That’s where he makes his money. He publishes because he loves the feel of new books and it keeps his parents happy, given that they’re academics.”

  Kevin was hesitant to ask the next question, but she appeared to be relaxed and comfortable with his presence, so he chanced it. “Would you say he is a better businessman than your father?”

  Her smile disappeared. Suddenly, her head dropped and she folded her hands on her lap, bothered by his question. Her words came in a whisper. “My father was an exceptional man.”

  “And Kurt is not?”

  Seeing her visible response, he wished he could retract his question.

  “They were two very different men, Kevin, in every respect.”

  “But both successful businessmen.”

  “With two different approaches.”

  “The community seems to have different views of them.” He looked around the room. “Certainly in the way they treated their employees.”

  She laid her spoon on the side plate without a sound. “All men,” she started, as if to lecture, “are influenced so very easily by what the community expects. They leave themselves open to the public and become vulnerable. But it’s those little victories, a sale, a deal, a contract with a terrific author, that’s what keeps them going. It defines them in a strange sort of way, and it casts a perception of them to the community that they relish.”

  Kevin listened carefully to her analysis, seemingly chastised for what he did for a living. He wondered which of the two men was more important in her life. Something inside him pushed the thought from his mind into words. “What defined your father?”

  Jeanne paused and stared at him. He looked more serious than at any other point in their conversation. The question was not one of interest; it was one of an investigator looking for answers. She wondered where this was coming from, so she took the easy way out. “My father thrived on business, and he was very good at it. It’s that simple.”

  But Kevin knew that nothing about Charles Sinclair was simple. He just had to find another way. He picked up his spoon. “I must say, I find your analysis of businessmen quite interesting.” He added a chuckle to lighten the mood. “I guess I’m included in your assessment.”

  “No doubt getting this project, as you called it, will keep you moving until the next one comes along.” Her tone had become colder. “I’ve often wondered—is it satisfying to be swept along by the whims of the market? I certainly wouldn’t want my life controlled by the marketplace.” She sounded harsh, and she knew it. And knowing herself so well, she realized her words were nothing more than a reflection of her own precarious effort to resist him.

  He sat back and looked at the woman sitting opposite. He ached to point out that the marketplace directed her cho
ices of clothing, jewellery, and makeup. But any notion of being adversarial had left him. He was finding Jeanne Sinclair far more intriguing than he ever dreamed she would be. He wanted to know more about her with every passing day. His mind raced, reliving the events of the past month. He had come to St. John’s believing that Jeanne Sinclair would be nothing more than a grieving daughter who would willingly dump the family homestead to the first interested party. In the course of negotiations for the house, he would find out what he wanted about Charles Sinclair. Then he would take the house, turn it over to a manager, and leave, content to pen the revealing article he had always wanted to write.

  But in just a few weeks, he had discovered so much more about this woman. He also knew there would be nothing easy about being in a relationship with her, because, quite simply, there was another person between them. As much as he had struggled to deny it to himself, he realized that Jeanne was still attracted to Kurt Steffensen, despite the fact that he had walked away from her. He wondered what it would take to break that bond. He would have to find out.

  Kevin focused back on his meal and ordered strawberry shortcake for dessert. Jeanne was content with her Earl Grey tea.

  “Kevin,” she said, softly, after a few moments of reflection, “I feel I should apologize.”

  “No need.”

  “Yes, there is. I spoke harshly. I confess that I find it difficult to talk about my father and Kurt in the same conversation.”

  “Have you thought about why that is?”

  She shrugged. “They were very different. And they disliked each other. I guess I find it hard to reconcile my feelings.”

  Kevin paid the bill and stood. “It’s okay, Jeanne. No need to apologize. You mentioned that you’d like to see some of the local crafts before we head back to the city.”

  Jeanne purchased a quilt for Lauren’s upcoming birthday and they returned to his car. As they turned onto the highway a few minutes later, she straightened her blazer across her lap and searched for words to let him know how much she appreciated being with him. “Kevin, thank you for the drive and the view of your family property. I quite enjoyed the day. I rarely get to places like this.”