“Oh, he may try.” Another chuckle, self-deprecating this time. “But I don’t think he’ll get very far. I plan on digging my heels in if he even suggests my leaving. And I do have my own set of friends, you know, and a bit of power there.”
“After—what, twenty-five—no, thirty years at that place? I should hope so!”
“Yes, yes, but I can still fight my own battles.” Finished, he pushed aside his plate in favor of a side dish/dessert. Something pale yellow and custardy. “Now, tell me what you’ve been up to. As much as I enjoy our occasional chats, we did just see one another back in early June. What’s up, Kate?”
“Oh, Elwin!”
She sighed a deeply contented sigh; then laughed a light fluttery laugh. Not at all in character, and her companion surveyed her with amused surprise. “I haven’t seen you like this since—well, I’ve never seen you like this. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were—but, no…that isn’t possible.”
“It is. And I am.”
Her broad smile brought a day’s worth of sunlight skimming into the room, almost blindingly so.
The Professor blinked.
Quickly but enthusiastically, Kate went on to describe the catalyst for her remarkable adventure of the past couple of months: Boston attorney Timothy Lord’s letter, which had led to her subsequent appointment with him at his firm, then her flight of discovery to Toulouse, and all that had happened since.
“Ah.” He was sipping from his coffee cup with appreciation. “And this man you met, this Christophe. He’s someone special, eh?”
“Very special.” Her voice lowered, although no one had approached either to offer more service or to choose a nearby table. They were alone in this tucked-away corner. “I’m in love with him, Elwin. I never thought it would happen to me. In fact, I was prepared to go through the rest of my life alone. But then I met my wonderful, amazing Chris…”
Eventually, after rhapsodizing for a few minutes, she got down to the business at hand: her real reason for contacting Professor Donahue.
“Chris has a ten-year-old daughter, Chantal, who is an absolute prodigy at the keyboard. I’m looking to buy a harpsichord for their upcoming visit, and I’d like your advice.”
“Harpsichord, eh?” Musing, he pulled a pipe from his jacket pocket and glanced abstractedly about for an ashtray; smoking his favorite blend of fragrant cherry tobacco, he had once told her, helped clear all the cobwebs out of his brain and clarify thought. Now, though, stymied, he sighed and tucked it regretfully away again. “I think that’s quite doable, my dear. And I know exactly where we should go.”
“I knew you would,” she told him with relief. “I can always count on you, Elwin.”
*
Modern homes come equipped with numerous areas designated by a special title: the great room, the conservatory, the en suite master bathroom, the “man cave,” the media room, and so on.
Two of the downstairs sitting rooms had already been given over to conversion for upcoming visitors, repurposed; but Kate couldn’t bring herself to sacrifice the study, her office away from the office, when that space was truly a necessary one.
Instead, the parlor, a large enough chamber that looked out over the back gardens, would serve ideally as a music room. It was here that the new harpsichord was delivered.
Since Elwin had helped her in its choice, he was there, some three weeks later, to oversee its placement. Its accompanying selection of sheet music. Its setup by a qualified tuner.
He had, through his numerous resources, managed to track down a John Phillips masterpiece of craftsmanship. The body itself had been built of a deep rich red wood, and the lid and soundboard had been hand-painted in the delicate floral design known as chinoiserie. Its two manuals were designed in the Parisian Franco-Flemish style of the early 18th century.
“Magnificent,” he murmured, practically rubbing his hands together in glee.
“It is, isn’t it?” Kate agreed with a fond smile in his direction. “Thank you so much, Professor. This is perfect. Not nearly as ornate as the one she has in her home, but I’m sure Chantal will love it.”
“She’d be a fool if she didn’t.” A hint of asperity sharpened his tone. “This is a fine instrument, with keyboards just begging to be touched. You will invite me to hear the child’s first concert, right?”
She tucked her arm through his. “Absolutely. That’s the least I can do. Come on, let’s go to the kitchen for some hot tea and something to eat. I’m starving.”
*
It was a cool, foggy early December day when Kate’s pre-holiday party took place.
Weeks ago, she had ordered the printing of special invitations that, once received, had been handed over to Barbara to be mailed out to Cachet‘s every current employee. Traditionally she hosted a festive get-together every year, but the event had always come about, due to the number of attendees, within the confines of a hotel’s convention center.
A very snazzy hotel, to be sure, complete with every amenity and every luxury. Still, the somewhat impersonal feel could not be denied.
This time, the blowout, as Gigi humorously referred to it, was held at Kate’s home.
Except for her three closest female friends, Elwin, and Barbara, of course, she had kept the line between personal and business clearly marked since the day of Cachet’s birth. No one, other than those five privileged individuals, were privy to any details of her private life, whether her home address or her past, her likes and dislikes, her political views or her religious views.
For this, she had decided to lower the barriers, to let those upon whom she depended see her more as she really was. Caterers had already arrived, bearing trays of appetizers to be warmed or chilled, and various concoctions that boded well for diners; long buffet tables had been arranged with floral centerpieces, and small intimate tables ranged from room to room to provide seating for guests.
Decorations had been done to perfection, from the wreath and greens surrounding her front door to the electrified candles at every window to the two stone fireplaces beaming out warmth and good cheer. The piéce de résistance could only be the twelve foot live Douglas fir in the main lounge, covered in tinsel and bows, colorful glass ornaments, and lights that twinkled from each branch.
Her staff and friends had come early, to help out with any last-minute details and offer moral support.
“Oh my gosh, Kate, it’s breathtaking!” Barbara gasped, upon entering the foyer. Circling slowly, goggling, she took in all the ways the house had been beautified for the holidays. “Somebody sure did a great job!”
As the maid slipped in to accept coats and wraps, Kate offered a smile and a hug. “I can’t take any credit for all the physical work involved, but at least I could stand still and point.”
“That’s half the battle,” chuckled Elwin, as he relinquished a heavy tweed jacket and wool scarf. “Just knowing where you want things, and how you want them done.”
“I’ve never seen the place looking so wonderful,” commented Lisette. “Or, for that matter—you, yourself, boss lady.”
Laughing, Kate smoothed the sparkly top, held the filmy red skirt wide and sketched a brief curtsey. “New dress, just for the occasion. You like?”
“I love it. Except…” Pausing, Gigi gave her friend a onceover, top to bottom. Then again, in reverse. “It isn’t just the dress. It’s you. I swear, you rival that Christmas tree for brilliance.”
“I’m happy,” Kate confessed almost shyly. “I’m so very happy. And I’m delighted that all of you will share in the fun this afternoon, when everyone else gets here. I’ve been so looking forward to this day!”
“Me, too,” came a chorus of agreement.
“Now lead me to the bar,” ordered Lisette. “I am so ready for a drink!”
Shortly after, the first arrivals began pouring in, all dressed in party mode; then the ring of the doorbell became a constant that wouldn’t stop. Two domestic staff members were kept busy just ushering gu
ests inside and hanging up coats. The appetizing aroma of king crab puffs and Spanish tortilla squares drifted out from the kitchen to mingle with the scent of peppermint-flavored candles and evergreen boughs. Were it possible, Kate would have thrown in a dash of midwestern snowflakes, as well.
As it was, she circulated from one group to another, greeting employees and meeting spouses, deftly accepting compliments, steering some to the buffet and some to the bar and others to similar convivial clusters.
Both curious and appreciative comments followed in her wake, as she moved here and there with chiffon skirts softly floating and silver sandals flashing pure light.
“Did you see the ramp at the front door? I wonder if Kate has some elderly relative coming to stay with her?”
“There’s a downstairs bath set up that way, too. She told us to feel free to wander around, so I took a peek. Beautiful, like everything else I’ve noticed in the house. Just sorta odd, don’t you think?”
“Uh-huh. She’s a great boss, and all, but we sure don’t know much about her. Keeps to herself most of the time. Throwing this part in her own home is a first. Did you get a gander at that music room? Wow. Grandest piano I’ve ever caught a glimpse of.”
“Not a piano. A harpsichord. Looked like quite a special one, too.”
“Harpsichord? What the heck is that?
“Ladies,” a new voice interjected. Elwin, feeling called upon to explain his choice. “Professor Donahue, at your service. Let me tell you all about that most unusual instrument.”
Much later, while everyone was laughing and chatting and clearly enjoying themselves, Kate wriggled through the crowd to the soaring staircase, where she ascended several steps to gain their attention. And clapped her hands, for good measure.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you please,” she called, raising her voice above the background noise. Once things had settled down, she sent her usual radiant smile beaming from wall to wall like a shaft of golden light. “First of all, thanks to all of you for coming here this afternoon.”
“Thanks for havin’ us!” came the raucous return from a far corner.
Ah. She made a mental note to cut back on the booze. No point in letting this party turn into a drunken brawl.
“As everyone probably knows,” she went on, with utmost good will, “I took a lengthy sabbatical this summer. It began as a necessary trip, due to family matters. But then other things came along.”
She had already gone into detail to her immediate staff, upon returning from France, and she knew how much they appreciated being kept in the loop. Now she proceeded to explain some of what was involved in her travel abroad, and some of the plans that were being put into place with her marketing program, progress of the newest Cachet addition in Santa Rosa, the acquisition of property in San Jose that would soon become number nine in the chain, and so on.
A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd as Kate ticked off each point. Expansion was healthy; expansion meant an increase in personnel and probably in salary and an improved chance for employees to move ahead.
Laying one hand on the well-waxed banister, she revealed her idea for opening a number ten shop somewhere in the heart of France.
This time the reaction came as gasps of surprise and delight. “France!”
“Christophe Beauchene, the solicitor I met while I was visiting the area around Toulouse, will be arriving here soon, to consult with me as to the feasibility of such a project. Also to help me decide on a location. After that, the biggest decision will be who I choose to send overseas.”
The excited murmurs began again, rising in volume and intensity until Kate was forced to raise her own voice to compete.
“Okay, everyone, that’s about all I have for now. If you have any questions you’d like to ask, simply come find me. I’ll be here the rest of the day.” She chuckled, waved in a friendly manner, and made her way to the main floor.
Where, as she had expected, she was accosted by a number of employees ready and eager to work on site in France—France, of all wonderful places!—and were quite anxious to tell her so.
*
December was an exciting month to be in San Francisco.
One could participate in the Half Moon Bay Winter Wine Walk, to wander about selected areas and sample appetizers, sweet treats, and wines from participating merchants.
Or, one could enjoy the Festival of Lights, a great surreal arch of multicolored twinkle lights—listed as containing some several million individual bulbs—that also offered the charms of strolling Victorian carolers, a jolly Santa in fake fur, street side stores showing open houses, and outdoor activities for children.
Then again, one could delight in the pageantry of a miles-long Christmas parade, packed with tissue paper floats, marching bands, several local Mounted Police Patrols, and a vivacious Santa—possibly, but not probably, the same jolly old soul from the Festival of Lights, and using the same fake fur suit.
Besides the holiday preparations, one could always explore The Mission District, or meander through Yerba Buena Gardens, or check out Fisherman’s Wharf, or certainly travel across the Golden Gate Bridge, or ride from here to there and back again on the city’s famed cable cars.
This time of year, everything everywhere seemed magical, touched by mystery and wonder. Kate could not feel more proud of her adopted home town than now. Especially when she was about to show it off.
Residents, tourists, long-time or short-time visitors—all could disappear into this holiday world with its holiday sentiment, step back from reality for just a little while and indulge the child that lives inside all of us.
Soon, very soon, Kate could share all this. She had left corporate offices behind for the San Francisco International Airport, all the way south, just off the Bay, in a rented limousine and hired driver. Fighting the usual heavy traffic on a Monday mid-morning, they arrived, fortunately, with plenty of time to spare.
“Ha. Good thing I insisted we leave earlier than planned, right, Denny?” she crowed to the liveried man behind the wheel.
He shot a sheepish grin at her in the rear-view mirror. “Absolutely, Miss Waring. I’ll never argue with you again.”
“Oh, pooh. You always argue with me. And, sometimes, you’re even right!”
They shared a laugh as he made his way through various lanes and into the Greenbee Parking, where gigantic leaf-shaped skylights let in the crisp cool December sunlight. After carefully parking the cumbersome vehicle into a restricted space, he emerged to open her door. “This is a good long way to walk, Miss Waring. You want I should wait here for you?”
“Yes, I’ll know where to find you. Pull out a book or something, my friend. The last time I checked, their Lufthansa flight was on time, but it may take a while to get everything together.”
He offered her a respectful salute as she turned busily away. “Not a problem. Got my cell all charged up. You just give me a holler when you’re ready, and I’ll swing by as close as I can to pick you up.”
All was momentum inside the towering glass and steel structure: people hurrying to emplane, others striding past after deplaning to collect baggage or fellow travelers, uniformed employees, shopkeepers, worker drones. Overhead, colorful and fantastical shapes hung draped from the ceilings to lift the eye ever upward and out.
Excited beyond all measure, Kate found a seat and waited impatiently for the plane’s arrival.
Finally there was a landing, and disembarkation, and another wave of passengers flooding through the terminal. And, through the crowd, she saw him.
He looked different somehow. A fresh haircut? A new suit? And yet so much the same. So wonderfully, reassuringly the same. It seemed years since they’d last been together, instead of just a few busy months; and, as she stood there, holding the sign she’d teasingly designed that showed his last name, Kate’s throat closed up and she fought for breath.
If she had ever wondered whether Christophe was destined to fill her life, if she had ever felt a smidg
en of doubt about their being together, that was instantly gone now.
This man was her love. He was everything she had ever dreamed of, ever hoped for. Any little quirks or kinks of personality could be easily ironed out and disposed of. Kate was not naïve enough to think that love was the final answer to all problems. But it certainly did help a lot in smoothing the way through relationships!
“Chris!” she called out, suddenly released by excitement from her momentary paralysis. “Over here, Chris!”
He saw her, and his dear face lit up enough to rival every string of Christmas lights in the huge interior. “Kate!”
His steps quickened into a flat-out run. Reaching her, he skidded to a stop and pulled her exuberantly into his ready arms. She felt brawn and muscle, an endearing little shiver, a hard force that met in her very center. And then she felt nothing, as his mouth found hers for a desperate, ravenous kiss, and she fell tumbling into the whirlwind of some other realm.
It wasn’t until she finally came up for air, laughing a bit, that she found Chantal in her wheelchair watching with interest, and Bernadette right behind.
“Kate,” Christophe was murmuring, cradling her flushed face in both his hands and drinking in her appearance as if he could not get enough. “Kate, my dear one. Calls through the telephone and our email exchanges have been no proper substitute for an in-the-flesh meeting like this. Mon cher, how I have missed you!”
“He has, indeed,” Chantal agreed frankly, looking up. “My father has nearly gone into a decline over your absence from his life, did he not, Bernadette?”
“Non, little one, it is not my place to say.” The attendant spoke primly and courteously, as always, but a twinkle in her eyes belied the words for what she might have said. “You are well, Mademoiselle?”
“I am very well,” Kate assured her with gladness. “Even better, seeing all of you again. How was your flight?”
The girl gave a back-and-forth motion of the hand. “Some rough skies at one time. With—what do you call it, Papa?”
“Turbulence, ma petit. It is called turbulence. But, as you see, we survived. And with such a long flight, we slept part of the way.”
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