Even after Tessa’s admission, the old woman still acted as if she refused to accept that there were people willing to lend a hand with no desire for compensation. “Take that top off before you ruin it. I can’t have you walking around our guests with my shit all over you.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“Don’t be disgusting for the sake of modesty. We’re both women for God’s sake.”
Realizing it was her way of managing a situation that was completely out of her control, Tessa abided by Mems’ wishes, thankful that she had taken the time to put a bra on after her shower since she had fully expected to be alone all day.
“Now that’s better,” Mrs. Collins told her. “I don’t want to be the only one standing here bare-assed naked.”
“I understand,” giggled Tess as she reached for a fresh wash cloth.
Working to finish the job quickly, she could feel the old woman’s eyes boring down on her. Standing at about five eight, even with a slight stoop to her shoulders, Mrs. Collins was regal-looking woman, even in her nineties. It was obvious that Mr. Richards had taken his looks after her with the same dark and chiseled features. Apparently, he had inherited the same sour disposition as well.
“You’re a tiny little thing, but sturdy. I guess all of you people are bred for hard work. Of Irish decent I suppose?”
“Partly. My daddy was half was Cherokee.”
“What a loathsome race of people, alcoholics, all of them. Your father was too, I imagine.”
“Probably. But he never missed a day of work in his life.”
“Your mother, was she a half breed?
“No, German.”
“My Edward fought in World War II against those son-of-a-bitches.”
“So did my grandfather,” Tessa shot back, letting her know it was a subject she would not allow to go any further.
“I still can’t see why Seth hired you. You seem a bit too uppity for manual labor. I tried to tell him if he wanted a decent maid he had to find a Mexican. The best housekeepers are women who actually appreciate having a job. How old are you, anyway?”
“Forty.”
“Why are you lying to me?”
“I’m not.”
“Well, it’s hard to tell anymore, with all the surgery women are having done now days.”
“I haven’t had any work done, but thank you for the compliment.”
“You must have had a beautiful mother then.”
“Yes, ma’am, I did.”
At that point their conversation stalled, both of them choosing to remain silent for the duration of the shower, Mrs. Collins stepped gingerly out on to the bath mat, careful not to get her walker hung up on the edges of it. As Tessa reached upward to towel dry her hair, the elderly woman’s hands slipped off the handles of the wet walker and fell forward, her knees weakened from having to stand in the shower so long. Tessa leapt into action and caught her under the arms, slowly lowering her to the floor,
“I got you,” Tessa told her with Mrs. Collin’s head resting on her shoulder.
“I’m too heavy, call for Seth. Call for my grandson.”
“We can do this, sweetie” she tried to convince her as the woman’s wet body continued to slip through the hold she had on her.
But the stubborn old woman would hear nothing of it and demanded that her grandson be called into the bathroom to assist them.
“Take that towel and cover me up,” she ordered sharply.
Giving into her command, Tessa wrapped the large bath sheet around her shoulders and called out for Seth. In an instant, he was at their side and lifting his grandmother to her feet.
“What happened?” he asked his voice ripe with frustration and concern.
“My old legs just gave out,” Mems replied in a shaky voice that was in contrast to the bitter tone she had just used when they were alone.
“I’m so sorry,” Tessa told them both, rising to her feet to help Mr. Richards get his grandmother into the bedroom.
“It’s not your fault, dear,” Mrs. Collins said weakly, reaching up to pat Tessa’s cheek which caused her to once again loose her balance and begin yet another decent to the floor.
As Tessa watched the scene unfold, with Seth scooping his grandmother up in his arms, she couldn’t help but wonder what sort of game the old lady was playing. Most likely it was a ploy for her precious grandson’s sympathy.
With the elderly woman in his arms, he directed his irritation toward Tess. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then get dressed.”
“Now don’t be so cross with her, Seth. I’m fine. Just take me to the bed and let me rest a minute.”
Humiliated beyond belief, Tessa hurriedly grabbed her top and held it against her breasts. Once Seth disappeared through the doorway, she slipped it over her head and washed her hands thoroughly, giving herself time to calm down.
Before she was finished drying them, she heard another woman’s voice enter the bedroom. From the conversation, it was easy to surmise it was Mems’ private duty nurse, explaining excitedly how she got there as soon as she could from the mainland once she received the call. Of course, Mems acted as if her arrival was the second coming of the messiah, and went on and on about how glad she was to finally have someone there to assist her who actually knew what they were doing.
Wanting to escape the ridiculous scene, Tessa slipped from the bathroom and out the bedroom door while everyone’s attentions were focused on Mrs. Collins. She managed to make it downstairs and past the driveway with only a few guests noticing her. Thankfully, they all looked away quickly as if she wasn’t worth a second glance.
The walk back to Mr. Richards’ beach house did little to numb the frustration she felt. Even while in the shower, she continued mumbling out loud. He had asked for her help, not whether she was a qualified caregiver. And what right did the old biddy have insulting her while she was helping out of the goodness of her heart? She could have refused like everyone else. But no, after what Mr. Richards did for her son, she owed it to him, though she could have done without the verbal slap on the hand when his clever Mems decided to play the helpless senior citizen card.
It was only then, when she recalled the sound of Shane’s voice when he had called to tell her about law school, did Tessa’s irritation finally began to wane. It was worth a million insults from Mems, and all the tongue lashings Mr. Richards wanted to give her.
Wrapping her hair in towel and slipping on a bathrobe, Tessa went to her bedroom and stretched out across the bed. She had to stop being so sensitive and taking everything to heart. It was time to toughen up, if she didn’t, she would spend the rest of her life an emotional wreck, always allowing others to steal her joy.
Upon hearing her cell phone ring, Tessa scrambled to retrieve it, hoping it was Gregory to distract her and put her back in a good mood. The caller ID dashed her hopes when it read, Lord Richards.
“Hello.”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m absolutely wonderful, thank you for asking.”
“You don’t sound wonderful.”
“Well, I am. I hope everyone can relax and enjoy the party now.”
Mr. Richards scoffed derisively, “Yeah, the limbo line is forming as we speak. Mems is the first one to go.”
The mental image of Mrs. Collins doing a back bend as she made her way underneath a pole forced Tessa to laugh out loud. “You make me chuckle, boss man,” she told him, continuing to smile to herself.
“Only because I pay you to laugh at my jokes.”
“No, I laugh at you for free.”
“It’s always at my expense, so technically speaking, it’s not free.”
“Mmmmm…yeah…I see your point.”
Once their brief conversation ended, Tessa lied there staring up at the ceiling. Although she couldn’t deny the fact she was still disappointed the call hadn’t been from Gregory, she was glad to have the opportunity to clear the a
ir between her and Seth. He may have snapped at her, but it was evident to her now that she had a chance to calm down, that his frustration had not been directed at her, but at the circumstances. When she relived the scene in the bathroom, Tessa shot straight up in bed and cursed under her breath. Mr. Richards had seen her practically naked.
Oh the horror…the horror.
Chapter Eleven
The exterior of the restaurant was sea-side rustic like every other establishment on the island, which made Tess wonder what all the fuss was about. She had resisted eating out on their last night of vacation, contending that she would have been much happier staying home and having that wienie roast on the beach, but Mr. Richards would hear nothing of it. His argument being that he had promised her a night out, and was not going back on his word, even if it meant forcing her to purchase an outfit she considered far too expensive, as well as putting on makeup and fixing her hair; which she hated. It wasn’t that she was a slob; it was just way out of her comfort zone. Never in all her years had she been required to go through so much trouble to simply have dinner.
Stepping out of the SUV and on to the curb, she tugged at the hem of her black cocktail dress that hung just above her knee, and wished she hadn’t let the sweet young girl at the shop talk her into buying it. If it had been her own money she was spending, she would’ve found something on the clearance rack and called it a day, but with her employer’s credit card in hand with the directive to purchase something nice, Tessa figured why not make him happy if it meant the clerk would earn a nice commission from it after all the trouble she went through to find something that would fit.
When Mr. Richards walked around to escort her to the entrance, he caught Tessa trying to stuff the tops of her bosom down into the dress. Although he was polite enough not to comment on it, he smiled at her.
“Designers must assume because a woman isn’t six feet tall, she doesn’t have breasts either,” she grumbled on the way into the restaurant.
“It would seem,” was Seth’s only response.
A Maitre D greeted them cheerfully at the door, delighted to see Mr. Richards. Tessa guessed she would be too the way he threw his money around, slipping the man a twenty dollar bill just to show them to their table. Now she understood why he was so adamant about her dressing for the occasion. The place was packed with patrons who were clearly from the upper epsilon of society. The reflection of light from all the diamonds being worn was practically blinding.
This definitely was not another local seafood dive. The interior was authentically faux French country. Blue carpeting, mass produced oil paintings of quaint Parisian scenes, and yellow toile table cloths all skillfully set the mood. Candles from the tables and wall sconces cast an intimate, romantic ambience. Even the close proximity of the tables to one another made it feel very French, well, as much as she knew about France from the old movies she watched.
“Here is your table, sir; would you like our wine list?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Taking it from the Maitre D’s hand, Mr. Richards made his choice quickly then gave him a curt nod which served as a silent cue that he was no longer needed, for the man turned and left the table without another word.
“Have you ever had French cuisine before?” he asked, peering across the table at her with mild curiosity.
“Do éclairs count?” she giggled, embarrassed that she had not. She then leaned forward and whispered, “And I haven’t had wine since I was ten years old?”
Mr. Richards grinned in amusement, “Ten?”
“Growing up, old man Philpot lived across the mountain from us, and he made the best blueberry wine…ever. All the grownups went on and on about how good it was. So my two brothers and I stole a bottle of it from the springhouse where my daddy kept it hid. We climbed on top of the chicken coop where no one could see us and drank the whole gallon jug. When momma found us we were too drunk to even stand, so my oldest brother had to climb up and get us.” The memory caused Tessa to smile. “I think it was the worst whupping I ever got, accept for the time we were smoking corn silks on back of the wagon coming home from the corn fields. My baby brother got so dizzy he fell off the back of it and broke his collar bone. None of us could sit down for a week. I think I still have a scar on my back side from daddy’s razor strap.”
Although Tessa laughed about the experience, she could see that Mr. Richards failed to see the humor in it, for he sat silently and watched her with an illegible expression.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blather on like an idiot.”
“You’re fine.”
“I’m not use to all of this.”
“All of what?”
“The pomp and circumstance.”
“We’re at French restaurant, there’s nothing pompous about that.”
Shrugging her shoulders, Tessa looked around briefly at her surroundings.
“It is when your idea of fancy dining is Olive Garden, and splurging means ordering something not on the two meals for twenty dollars menu.”
“If you’re that uncomfortable, we can leave.”
“No. I’m not complaining, I appreciate the fact that you had enough nerve to bring me to a place like this, especially with my bits and pieces busting out all over the place,” she grumbled, trying once again to force the tops of her breasts back down into her dress as she hid behind the menu.
Leaning forward on his elbows, with his chin resting on his folded hands, Mr. Richards smiled, and continued to smile as the wine steward arrived with their bottle of Chardonnay and filled their glasses. When they were alone again, he finally spoke as he lifted his glass.
“Here’s to new experiences.”
Offering him a timid smile, Tessa dipped her eyes briefly in humility and gratitude before raising them again to meet his gaze.
“Et nouvelles amitiés.”
Mr. Richards chuckled aloud and leaned back in his seat to admire her in surprise.
“Let me get this straight, you speak French almost fluently, but you’ve never had French food? Ms. Maguire, you are a dichotomy.”
“Well, a woman my age has to have a little something something to make her appear at least a mildly mysterious.”
“Oh, don’t worry. You have a little something something…it’s called game, little sister,” he teased her playfully.
Tessa’s jaw dropped. What was he talking about?
“I do not have game!”
“You most certainly do, so don’t even try to deny it.”
“Of course I’m going to deny it, because it’s not true.”
“Be quiet and drink your wine,” he quipped, appearing quite pleased for being able to put her on the defensive.
“Fine, but I’m not going to speak to you again until you apologize for the defamation of my character.”
“Only after you apologize for wearing that dress.”
“What’s wrong with my dress?”
“Absolutely nothing. Now figure out what you want so we can order.”
Tessa did as she was told but covertly adjusted her dress throughout the evening whenever Mr. Richards wasn’t looking, since he was insensitive enough to tease her about it.
By the time the meal was over and the second bottle of wine had been consumed, by mostly Tessa, finding that the alcohol helped soothe her self-consciousness; Mr. Richards escorted her to the SUV and drove them home. Her heels had come off the moment they were in the vehicle, and she carried them now as they walked toward the front porch of the beach house. Stumbling over something invisible on the sidewalk, she giggled and pulled away when he tried to steady her gait.
“Hey, I’ve got game remember? I don’t need your help, it’s all a ruse; part of my diabolical scheme to seduce you.”
“Fine, fall on your ass then,” he chuckled, though she could feel his hand on her lower back as they ascended the steps.
As he fumbled to find the correct key, Tessa leaned back against the door fasten for support, closing her
eyes as she listened to the distant roar of the tide coming in.
“This week has been like heaven—especially the part where you’re grandmother accused me of being inbred,” she laughed. “Good times…good times…” Then growing more serious, Tessa told him honestly, “I’ll never forget it, thank you.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” he remarked before cursing under his breath when the third key he tried failed to unlock the door.
“Sailing was fun. Did you know I’d never been on a boat before, besides one of those things you paddle with your feet like a bicycle?”
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