He watched as she poured tea, reached for it, and sweetened it slightly. Jeanne left momentarily and returned from the kitchen with a small serving plate. “I have some macaroons from a local bakery. Please eat them. Carrie bought them and left them for me. She says that cookies bring contentment. I took that as a message of some sort.”
Kevin gave his robust laugh that Jeanne had come to cherish. “Is she right?” he asked, as he reached for a macaroon.
“It is a mantra that doesn’t seem consistent with what we see in the world,” she observed, as she returned to her chair. “If cookies bring contentment, people would be remarkably calm. I see no evidence of that.”
Kevin surveyed the garden, her summer sanctuary, beyond the double patio doors. “Your roses are beautiful, Jeanne.”
“. . . simply the rose,” she mused, “. . . perfect in every moment of its existence.”
“Emerson?”
“Yes. Something we humans can’t be, perfect in every moment of our existence.” She set the cookie next to her tea. “Thank you for coming by, Kevin. I know you’re busy, and I know you have no obligation.”
“It’s okay,” he said softly. Despite everything that had happened, it felt good to be back in her company. “Have Joe and Sandi received any news on their house?”
“I haven’t heard from them.”
“Did you ever find out who put the other competitive offer on it?”
She shook her head. “No, but I have a suspicion that I haven’t been able to confirm as yet. I apologize for suggesting it was you.”
“You seemed upset that Joe was planning to move to the neighbourhood with his father and sister, one big happy family, as you put it. But I wouldn’t try to deny Joe and Sandi something they wanted so badly just for that reason.”
“That would be rather malicious, and that’s not you.”
“I hope not. You said on your phone message that you have something to tell me. What is it?”
Feeling a changing breeze, Jeanne stood and closed the windows.
“Since I saw you last,” she began, “I’ve had an interesting conversation with Jonathan about my father’s papers. As you know, that’s how I found out about Edgar.”
“Yes,” Kevin said.
“I have reason to believe that my father bought the land in Planter’s Bight to hold on to it and to eventually sell it back to you or your family.”
Kevin looked puzzled. “Why in the world would you think that?”
“I couldn’t figure out why he bought it in the first place, in 1952, just after your family left.”
“To make money, the best motive of all, at least for some, and to show my parents who was in control.”
“Yes, that’s one possible assumption, but perhaps not the correct one.”
“I’m afraid I’ll need more to go on than that.”
Jeanne laid her teacup on the table and moved forward in her chair closer to Kevin. “As you know, my father married Virginia Boland, who was not what many would have considered at the time as marriage material. Clarence Boland gave my father money to start his own business on the condition that he would marry his daughter.”
“Good grief. That’s quite a condition.”
“Yes. And he went along with it. A matter of desperation, I assume. Perhaps he actually was in love with her at the time. Then the unthinkable happened. Father had a relationship with a young woman from Falcon Cove. My mother.”
“And his in-laws and his wife were not at all pleased.”
“Yes. Obviously, it would have been scandalous if it had come out. And no one wanted that. They decided it would remain a secret. From what I’ve been able to determine, Clarence Boland insisted that very little money should be spent on the house. That’s why he was furious when Father hired Mr. Gillis, a reputable carpenter, to custom-build a staircase. I think that something happened, that it was Clarence, not my father, who insisted that Edgar be paid off and denied work anywhere else. I believe it was Clarence who started the nasty rumours about your father. My father simply went along with it. He likely had no choice.”
“I’m sorry, Jeanne. Why would either of them do that?”
“Frankly, I have no idea, and neither does Jonathan. Or at least Jonathan says he doesn’t know.”
Kevin doubted that Jonathan would tell if he did know. He sat quietly, his eyes fixed on the design of the coffee-coloured rug. Finally, he looked up at her. “I found a receipt some time ago when I was clearing out the house that Dad and I lived in so that I could sell it.” He reached in his jacket pocket and withdrew the single sheet and passed it across to Jeanne. “Here it is.”
“This simply says he was paid.”
“Yes. Apparently, when it was sent there was a cheque enclosed, a small amount of money from Charles. Father wasn’t paid what they agreed upon at the beginning. This was the balance.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Notice the date—June 7, 1953. We were living in Halifax by that time.”
“Kevin, I have the statement marked ‘paid in full’ for the work your father did on that staircase.” She stood and walked quickly to a banker box in the corner of the room, removed the cover, and pulled out a single sheet of paper. She returned to him and passed along the sheet. “There, as you can see. Paid in full.”
“Except that it wasn’t paid in full.”
Jeanne looked exasperated. “This adds to what I’ve been saying. If Father was satisfied that he’d paid your father what he was due, then why would he send additional money the next spring? Your family had moved. He would never see them again. This doesn’t seem like the actions of a vindictive man. It seems more like a man who was trying to compensate for something.”
Kevin shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jeanne. I hear what you are saying, but I also heard my father talk about Charles Sinclair over the years as the devil incarnate. I refuse to believe that he was wrong and, frankly, there’s nothing to support the idea that it was Clarence Boland who was behind it all.”
“Perhaps your father wasn’t so much wrong as he didn’t have all the information,” Jeanne pleaded. “Did your father ever mention the money he was sent?”
“Sure. He said there was no explanation. Just a cheque.”
“Didn’t they wonder why it was sent?”
“Of course. We concluded that Charles must have felt guilty about not meeting his financial obligation and starting all those rumours about Dad. Guilt is a powerful emotion. And, in my father’s view, ‘Sinclair thought he could take care of anything with money.’”
Their eyes met in silence.
“Listen to me,” Jeanne said, her voice low and quivering. “I realized this morning that Father sold the land in Planter’s Bight to you about a month after Virginia died. A few days after her funeral, Father told me that he had to see his lawyer to make things right. I didn’t know what he meant at the time and, unfortunately, I didn’t ask.”
Kevin shrugged. “It could have been anything, perhaps something to do with Virginia’s estate.”
“No, Kevin, it was something very specific. He sold the property to you, and, you will have to admit, for a very low price. He knew who was buying the land.”
“Okay, yes.”
“My argument makes sense. Once Virginia passed away and with Clarence Boland long gone, Father was in a position to see to it that the Gillis family got their property back. In much the same way as he did in 1953 when he sent your father the rest of the money for his work on the staircase.”
Kevin contemplated her words. If what she was saying was correct, it meant that his father and mother never knew the truth. All along they believed that it was Charles Sinclair who had turned their lives around and sent them to another city, away from home, away from family. Years of pent-up anger and despair finally r
eleased in a request to his eldest son just months before he died. Kevin had promised his father that someday soon he would have the Sinclair house as his own and that the truth about Charles Sinclair would come out for his social circle to judge. He put his head in his hands. He felt a chill from his head to his feet, a chill born from the inside.
“Kevin, it’s very possible that it happened that way. It explains so much.”
“But not everything, Jeanne. It doesn’t explain why Charles waited until Virginia died. He was a coward to wait so long before he did the right thing and return the property to me.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” She thought of all those moments of cowardice in her own life and looked across the room and the garden through the window. We can’t be perfect in every moment of our existence.
He stared at her soft features encircled by waves of blonde hair. He sighed. “Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?”
“No. That’s as much as I know and possibly will ever know.”
“Thank you. I appreciate you confiding in me this much, and I guess we’ll leave it there. As you say, that’s probably as much as we’ll ever know. I’ll accept the explanation for what it’s worth.” He stood and stretched. His muscles ached after a long day. For the first time in a while, he felt his age. He walked across the room and looked out at the clear sky and the sun through the maple trees. He turned back and sighed deeply. “Remember the lunch we had in Planter’s Bight?” he asked.
“Yes, I do. I quite enjoyed it.”
“You made a comment about men in business. I’m not sure if it was aimed at me specifically or all men in business, including Kurt, and including your father. I don’t know. But you said that we are motivated by the next sale, the next acquisition. In any event, it was an assessment that I’ve thought about often. I believe you were right. But you need to understand.” He breathed deeply. His weariness was getting the better of him. “Jeanne, I grew up in a house very different from what you’re used to. My parents weren’t well off. They made sure Daniel and I would be educated. That was important to them. They were proud that we were successful. If I’ve been motivated by my successes, then so be it. I make no apologies for that.”
She nodded in understanding, but her throat tightened with the realization of where this was going. She let him continue.
“I do want you to know that two months ago I came here with the intention of buying up prime real estate and making money. That was it. Get in and get out. But nothing was what I expected. And no one.” He swept back his hair with his hand. “I’ve handled this badly from the start, and I know it. I should have been upfront with you, but I thought if you knew how my father felt about Charles Sinclair, I’d be the last person on earth you’d sell the house to. Isn’t that true?”
She nodded and managed, “Likely.”
“Now that you know the whole story, your version or mine, what have you decided about the house? I assume you are not selling it to me.”
Jeanne stood. She twisted her hands one over the other. “I’ve decided not to sell it at all, Kevin. I’ve decided . . . to keep it and make it an inn myself.” She took a deep, calming breath, hoping it would steady her quickening heartbeat.
Kevin looked deeply at her and considered her explanation. He walked toward the archway in the living room and then turned back.
“You have?” he asked, finding it difficult to believe.
She nodded. “I know you must be disappointed. I’m sorry for that. But I’ve thought about this, and I was inspired by your own encouragement.” She approached him, resting her hand on his arm.
He did not return her affectionate touch. “I wish there had never been a house. I wish I never had an interest in it or listened to my father. Because if there hadn’t, I wouldn’t be feeling like I am right now. I didn’t expect to find you in all this.” He started to reach out to touch her face but withdrew.
“And finding me is so terrible?” she asked.
“Yes,” he gasped, and ran his hand through his hair. “Because the feelings I have for you are as futile as my interest in that house.”
“Kevin, why do you say that?” Her voice was pleading, and her eyes glistened with tears.
“When I came here, I wanted to be angry at you, Jeanne. I wanted to lash out at how horrible your father was for treating my father the way he had. But I couldn’t. Every moment I’m with you, the anger dissipates. Every moment I’m not with you, I think about how much I wish I were.” He heaved a sigh. “But in the back of my mind, when I’m away from here, back in Halifax, and I have time to think about it all, when I lay awake at night, I know I can never compete.”
“Compete? With whom?”
“Kurt.”
Jeanne stared back at him, her eyes wild in anger. “Why would you say that?”
“Anyone can see, Jeanne. Kurt may have left you, but you have not left Kurt. And I doubt you ever will.”
“You’re wrong.”
“No, I don’t think I am.” He emphasized each word.
The clock on the mantel chimed the hour behind them.
Kevin turned away. “Perhaps it’s best to leave it there. No need to show me out.”
* * * * *
Convinced he was too wound up to sleep that night, Kevin changed to casual clothes at the hotel and headed for a walk up Military Road. The last rays of sunshine peeked through the tree branches in Bannerman Park as he turned at the gate and entered. The sun had set, and there were only a few people left to enjoy the warm evening. The park was dotted with flower beds, some round and some oblong, filled with an array of red, white, and purple petunias. He strolled up the left path and sat on the nearest bench under the maple trees. He looked around at the old park and remembered his mother talking about it many years ago. She insisted on coming to this park whenever they were in St. John’s. In the evenings, they would sit in front of the Colonial Building, eating custard cones and watching the changing colours of the fountain. It was a special memory.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his name, and he looked up to see Jonathan Hamlyn standing nearby. “Good evening, Jonathan. Out for your evening constitutional?” he asked, praying he would move on.
“Yeah, I live near here, so this is a regular spot for me in the evening. I didn’t know you were still in town.”
“Just cluing up a few things. Some research.”
Although he was not invited, Jonathan sat on the bench next to Kevin. “I guess you’re not too pleased.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, you came here to get the Sinclair house, and it seems that Jeanne’s dragging her feet on it.”
He doesn’t know. And it’s not my business to tell him.
“I’m sure she’ll make the best decision for her.”
Jonathan let out a laugh. “Mighty casual of you. That doesn’t sound like an astute businessman.”
“I don’t think about business all the time.” Kevin wanted to sit in silence, but Jonathan wouldn’t have it.
“You don’t know Jeanne like I do, Kevin. She’s had much to deal with this year, especially with that mother and sister she just met. They’re underfoot all the time,” he said disdainfully and shifted on the bench. “I assume by now she’s told you all about the Bolands and the Sinclairs.”
Kevin fought to hide his anger. “Yes, she has. I’m not going to ask you why you didn’t tell her all this earlier, because you either won’t answer me or you won’t tell me the truth. I’m sure you’ve fed her a line about how important it is to protect her. Here’s the bad news, Jon, chivalry is dead.” He put his head back and watched as a transatlantic plane flew overhead, leaving a long white contrail behind it. He wished for a moment that he were a passenger.
He was grateful for the prolonged silence that followed.
Jonathan finally spoke. “I guess you’ve enough information on Charles Sinclair to write your article.”
“I’ve done some research on the Water Street businesses and some interviews which were very helpful.”
Jonathan peered at him. “I hope you won’t tell any of the personal stuff about Charles, like his fling with the young maid from Bonavista North.”
“I’m not writing a gossip rag. I’m writing about business people and their management skills. It doesn’t matter to me that Charles had another woman in his life besides his wife.”
“Or several.”
“Sorry?”
“Oh, c’mon, Kevin, you don’t think for one moment that he cheated only once, do you? A man with his wealth and position. Let’s not be naive.”
Kevin looked straight ahead. Finally, he stood. He’d had enough of this conversation. “It’s been nice chatting, Jonathan. I’ve learned a lot. I wish you the best.” He began to walk away. “Good evening.”
“So long. Have a safe trip home,” Jonathan responded, dismissing Kevin with the wave of a hand.
Kevin walked quickly back to the hotel, his mind racing with the events of the evening. It’s strange, when you’re a teenager you don’t think about the consequences of falling for someone. But when you’re sixty, you over-analyze it to death. Damn. Why did I let my anger about losing the house cause me to accuse her of still having feelings for Kurt?
Without the benefit of the sun, the evening air was cooling quickly, so he zipped up his jacket and pushed his hands into the pockets of his blue Dockers. Charles Sinclair and other women. Maybe. Possibly. Likely. I don’t know. I don’t care. But one thing I do know, he realized, as he pushed the revolving door of the hotel entrance, Jonathan Hamlyn told me that for one reason only: so I would go to Jeanne and tell her, and she would despise me forever. Sorry, Jonathan, that’s not going to happen.
* * * * *
Jeanne checked her watch to see that it was already after nine. Deciding she’d had enough of this day, she secured the locks and turned off the lights in her garden. Reminded of her doctor’s advice to increase her calcium intake, she poured herself a glass of milk and took it with her to bed along with a new Vogue magazine she’d bought earlier. She changed and stood in front of the bathroom mirror to begin her nightly ritual of cleansers and moisturizers. But tonight, rather than splashing water on her face, she reached for a soft white face cloth and brushed it several times around her cheeks and forehead. She tossed the cloth in the laundry basket and reached for her moisturizer. She stopped and looked into the mirror. I’m aging, she thought as she stared at the jar. What can this do to stop it? She put the top back on the small bottle and placed it on the shelf.
All Good Intentions Page 31