by Amberlee Day
Mrs. Fortney shook out a red and white quilt, folding it with practiced efficiency. “Swimming lessons? Lily doesn’t need swimming lessons. She swims like a little fish already. Didn’t Mr. Rivers explain why you’re here?”
“I’ve never spoken to Mr. Rivers,” Cleo said, feeling foolish. She turned away, concentrating on finding something to wear so she didn’t have to see Mrs. Fortney’s face. What would the woman think of her when she realized that Cleo had come to work in an isolated house without really knowing what her position would be? “I only spoke to his assistant once, and he said I was being hired to give swimming lessons. After that it was all emails. From the assistant, that is.”
Mrs. Fortney harrumphed. “Leonard. I swear, that young man doesn’t have the sense of a brook trout. If he still has his position with Mr. Rivers by spring, I’ll be shocked.”
Cleo turned around, her nicest pair of capris and a semi-dressy blouse in her hands. “If I’m not teaching Mr. Rivers’s niece how to swim, what am I doing here?” She could guess, but she didn’t want to be wrong again.
Mrs. Fortney set the folded quilt firmly on a side table, and took the clothes Cleo was about to change into right out of her hands. “I’ll give you a hint,” the older woman said. “You’re Lily’s birthday present. And you won’t be wearing these when you meet her, either.”
CLEO MANAGED TO EAT the warm, spicy oatmeal Mrs. Fortney brought to her room, dressed as the housekeeper recommended—“Are you sure?” Cleo had asked more than once—and followed the older woman out of the bedroom and down a long, intimidating hallway. Cleo shivered as she hurried to keep up. Wearing only a bathing suit, she felt the cold from her exposed shoulders to her bare toes. Her room had been so wonderfully warm, but a draft blew along the passage, reminding her that just beyond the walls of this house the cold winter air persisted. They’d come up a back staircase the night before, one that led from the kitchen to a part of the house that Mrs. Fortney called the north wing. This morning, they returned down that same narrow stairway and through a series of twisting corridors and rooms, ending up in what looked like a large study.
Or library, Cleo realized, cringing inwardly. Let’s make this more humiliating and surround the nearly naked woman with leather-bound books and ... what looks like priceless artwork.
“Mr. Rivers and Lily will both be coming in from there,” Mrs. Fortney said, pointing to a larger door than the one they had entered. She walked briskly to the room’s one window, and turned on a lamp. “I think over here would be a good place for you to wait. On the settee. Do you need any assistance before I go?”
Cleo shifted where she stood, trying to pretend she wore more than a bathing suit. She shook her head and took the wrapping off the blue mermaid tail she carried, hoping her movements came off as casual. “No, thank you. I can manage.”
“All right, then. I’ll head downstairs and make sure lunch preparations are underway.” She gave Cleo one more critical look. “My, you are a tall girl, aren’t you?” Just before pulling the door closed behind her, she added, “Don’t mind the dog. He sleeps most of the time anymore. As long as you don’t startle him, he’s harmless.”
Cleo looked around the room for signs of a dog she might have missed, but only saw books and furnishings. Then again, Mrs. Fortney had only turned on the one small light, leaving most of the room murky. She shook her head. In this whole strange setup, unsure if coming here was a good idea or even a safe one, the comforting presence of Mrs. Fortney had gotten Cleo through her harrowing arrival and now this unconventional morning. Cleo wanted to think of the older woman as a stabilizing factor here at ... wherever this place was. She wasn’t sure what to think when the woman said cryptic things like Don’t mind the dog, when there was no dog in sight. When she’d said that Cleo was Lily’s present, and now gave her a warning about a dog ... Does she mean someone is going to bring a dog in here with them? Cleo wasn’t particularly used to being around dogs. She giggled at the thought that maybe a small dog was already in the room, snoozing away beneath a chair or couch pillow. Oh well, she’d just be careful where she sat.
The settee Mrs. Fortney had suggested was currently bathed in the morning sunlight, turned a bright white by the snow outside. Mrs. Fortney hadn’t said how soon Mr. Rivers would be coming in, so she’d better be ready. Shaking out the mermaid tail, she slipped her feet into the shimmering fabric and tugged it up until it covered her one-piece blue swimming suit right above her midriff. It was a tight fit, comfortable for swimming in, but more than a little awkward out of the water. She wiggled around on the seat until she managed a semi-comfortable mermaid pose, and then she waited.
Like in her bedroom, a fire warmed the library. The fireplace in this room, however, was massive, almost big enough to stand in. It was a cluttered room, with books stacked on tables and floors, and too many paintings on the walls. The comfortable furnishings, including the settee, were made for someone who truly wanted to use the room for reading. If Cleo was really going to stay there for two months, maybe she’d be allowed to come here and peruse the books. The room’s one small desk held only an expensive-looking vase and a small statue of a dog.
Maybe that’s the dog she meant. The thought made Cleo giggle nervously again.
The room didn’t seem to be particularly dusty, but there was a faint musty smell, and something like lavender.
Probably meant to freshen things up a bit.
Cleo’s nose began to tickle. She sniffed, trying to suppress a sneeze. It might be a cold, after the chill she’d had last night. But this made her eyes water a bit, too—lucky her mermaid makeup and false eyelashes were waterproof. She’d felt this sensation before, something like an allergy, probably, though she couldn’t remember what triggered it. Might have been dust. That made sense, with all these ancient books around.
She readjusted her position on the chair, fanning her tail out to its best advantage, and waited. There wasn’t a clock in the room to keep track of the time, but she already felt antsy wondering how long they would be. And what was she supposed to do when Mr. Rivers and his niece came in? Probably wish the girl a happy birthday, or just smile and wave, like she did for the children in the mermaid show. If only she’d had more instructions than Mrs. Fortney telling her to suit up and sit in the chair.
Cleo wiggled her nose, even put her finger up to hold back the sneeze she felt coming, but it wouldn’t do. Whatever the microscopic bits were that floated in the air and tickled her nose, the harder she tried to hold in her sneeze, the more she realized she wasn’t going to win this battle.
Some girls, Cleo had learned long ago, managed to sneeze quiet, polite little kerchoos. Cleo was not one of those girls. In fact, it felt unnatural to her to hold in a sneeze, as if the strain might cause some sort of implosion or aneurism. That is why, when the dust or whatever was tickling her nose to the breaking point finally succeeded in making Cleo sneeze, the sound was loud and forceful enough that it sounded like a gun had shot off inside the quiet, dignified library.
As she tried to regain her composure, a scratching, scrambling sound reached her ears. She watched through watery eyes as something long and dark suddenly rose up from in front of the fireplace, growing legs and a head, and galloping awkwardly across the room toward her. It barked, deep barks that reverberated through the room and through her very being. She scrambled backward in some effort to get out of its reach, and while she still couldn’t see clearly, she heard a thud and a crash in the beast’s path.
Just then, the large library door opened, and an angry male voice swore over the dog’s baritone bark. “What is going on here?” The voice surely belonged to Cleo’s new employer. It bellowed in her direction. Despite her fear and blurry vision, she sat a little taller in her seat.
The show must go on, and I’m getting paid a lot for whatever this is.
“Hi there,” she said in her best fairy-tale voice. “I’m Mermaid Cleo.”
Chapter 4
Van Rivers saw t
hree things the moment he came upon the chaotic scene in his library: a priceless Chinese vase that had belonged to his grandmother lying broken on the floor; his Great Dane, Samson, who was almost as old in dog years as the vase, riled up and looking ready to go apoplectic; and the mermaid, who was clearly terrified but determined to perform her duty.
Anger bubbled up inside him at both the disruption and loss of a treasure, hence the yelling and cursing. But something else stole his attention, and for a few heartbeats his rage hung suspended in the air. Who was this girl sitting in his house, who forced a smile in the face of Samson? Whom Van knew was harmless, but she would know nothing of the kind.
What surprised him even more was that it affected him at all. He notoriously shunned soft-heartedness, had no time for it. And yet somehow he felt a lurch of sympathy at how bravely the girl faced Samson.
Also, it hadn’t occurred to him how odd it would be to see a sparkly blue mermaid in his dark library, even more so with the sunlit snowy morning glistening through the window behind her. Talk about opposites. He’d become somewhat jaded, and not much surprised him anymore. He’d thought he’d seen it all, from the fantastic to the dismal, but the magic of a mermaid in his house frankly took him off guard.
And how had he not noticed in Tampa what a beauty this one was? And tall. Sheesh, even sitting down she looked like she must be within a few inches of six feet. Or maybe the tail just gave her that appearance, it was hard to tell, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
The suspended moment ended, and Van resumed what came naturally to him: he yelled.
“Samson! Lie down.” The brief exertion had exhausted the dog, and the tired old thing resigned to his station by the fire, presumably happy to turn guard duties over to his master. Van scowled at the vase before turning his attention back to the mermaid. “Do you bring this kind of chaos wherever you go?”
The young woman still smiled, blinking rapidly.
“Good heavens, are you crying?” he asked. “Here I thought you’d managed to brave out an assault of Great Dane howls, but I overestimated you.”
“I’m not crying,” the girl finally said. Her voice had lost its fairy-tale quality, and turned rich, confident. “Is there a tissue? I seem to be allergic to something and it’s making my eyes ...”
A loud sneeze erupted from the girl just then, making Van jump and setting Samson’s howls off again.
“Good night! Quiet, boy!” Van had been taught as a youth to keep a handkerchief in his pocket, and before she could sneeze again he’d crossed the room and grabbed her hand to give her his.
That hand ... His fingers lingered over smooth skin before he released her. She really was lovely, and in her one-piece suit was fairly modest as far as mermaids went, he supposed. Her tan, bare shoulders looked as supple as that hand.
He scowled as unexpected attraction to this stranger alerted his defenses, and he stepped back. Wasn’t he above being swayed by a pretty woman at this point in his life? He had to be. He’d practiced it. There were responsibilities now, not time for petty flirting. “What’s the matter, are you allergic to dogs?”
She dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief. “Not that I know of. I think it must be dust.”
Amusement bubbled up over his anger. “Dust? In a house that’s over a hundred years old? Heaven help us. I suppose I should pass your housekeeping inspection on to Mrs. Fortney.”
The mermaid frowned. “Certainly not. I might need some antihistamine, that’s all.”
Van harrumphed, not wanting her to see his approval. His first impression was right: she wasn’t one to give up easily. But then, there was a lot of money on the line for her if she stuck with the job.
“I don’t remember your name,” he said. “Carol the mermaid?”
She’d managed to dry her eyes, and he waited while she inspected him. He didn’t have to wonder what she saw: strong, dark features from his French ancestors, the solid build of his grandmother’s Dutch roots. He’d been called handsome before, but he suspected the size of his bank account biased that assessment. He waited out the scrutiny with what he hoped looked like boredom, but was more self-conscious. It was an unfamiliar sensation, and he stood taller in an effort to shake it off.
“Now what?” he half roared. “Do I need dusting, too?”
“No, Mr. Rivers.” The girl spoke with intelligent, slightly teasing tones. “I think all that yelling would shake any dust right off of you.”
Her directness surprised him, and he had to remind himself that he was the one in charge. “That and your earth-shattering sneezes. You’re right,” he said, “and I don’t have much time for this today, so let’s get formalities out of the way so I can pass you off to my niece and get back to more important business. Your name?”
“Mermaid Cleo.” The cocky tilt of her eyebrow irked him.
“I don’t imagine that’s the name you were born with.”
“Cleo Willey.”
After a thoughtful pause, he asked, “It’s actually Cleo?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Is Cleo short for something? It sometimes is.”
He enjoyed when she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but she still responded with that same calm confidence. “If you need me to complete my full name and social security number on a tax form, Mr. Rivers, I can provide you with one.”
Reminding me that this is a business relationship. Good move. “That will likely be required. I will let you know.” He looked at her closely, inspecting. He hadn’t gotten this close to her during the brief process of mermaid shopping. “You have blue streaks in your hair. Was it that way last week?”
Mermaid Cleo tilted her head at him. Long brown hair lightly streaked with blue flowed in waves, nearly touching her elbows. “Yes,” she said. “All the mermaids at Florida Adventures have colorful highlights. It’s part of the costume. Is it a problem?”
He frowned. “Any tattoos?”
This time she really did look irritated. “Tattoos.”
“Yes. I don’t want my niece around wild influences. Blue hair is a bit wild, I’d say.”
“For a mermaid it’s pretty normal,” she said. “And no, I do not have tattoos. Even if I did, I’d be unlikely to try and influence a child to get one.”
He wasn’t going to let this young woman get the best of him, or make him feel bad for questioning her character. After all, she would be influencing Lily, whether she expected to or not. He should have thought more about that when he was in Florida. “I would hope not, Cleo. As for your duties—”
“And do I call you Mr. Rivers? I mean, if you’ll be calling me by my first name.”
Amusement bubbled up again. He gave her what he knew was a wicked smile, and was pleased to see it unnerve her a bit. “People call me Van. Not usually people who work for me, but if it would make you feel better, go ahead.”
“Van is an unusual name. Is that short for something?”
“Do you want my full name and social security number, too?” he asked.
She almost rolled her eyes, but then a very pretty smile appeared—different than the professional smile she’d pasted on her face when he’d first entered—and stirred that same attraction in his veins. Before any more could be said, the library door burst open, and in walked the sassy, spoiled lady of the house. She carried two bright pink suitcases, which must have been heavy the way she dropped them on the carpet.
“Good morning, Uncle Van,” Lily said, catching her breath. She beamed at him, clearly ready for the perfect birthday, though he didn’t understand the suitcases. “I’m ready to go to Mermaid Camp.” Suddenly the girl’s eyes landed on Cleo, and the brilliant smile faded in an instant. “What is this? What’s she doing here?”
Chapter 5
Cleo still blushed at the look Van Rivers gave her when they were interrupted by—presumably—the birthday girl herself. Glad for the distraction from her new employer’s intense and confusing looks, Cleo focused on processing Lily’s entrance. She�
��d had a lot of experience working with preteen girls, and this one wasn’t very hard to read.
Spoiled. Not used to knocking before entering. Clearly expecting something. And where is she going with those bags?
When Lily announced, “I’m ready to go to Mermaid Camp,” realization dawned on Cleo. Lily was expecting a trip to Florida Adventures on her birthday, not have it come to her. And the look she gave Cleo was anything but excited.
“What’s she doing here?” the girl demanded.
“Not a very gracious response to your birthday present, Lily Bean.” Van finally stopped looking at Cleo, and with a couple of brisk steps greeted his niece with a fierce, one-armed hug. “Happy birthday, munchkin.”
The munchkin was having none of it. “I said, what is she doing here? I hope it’s because she’s taking me to Mermaid Camp herself. Is that it? Are we flying, and this mermaid is my chaperone?”
Cleo bristled at being referred to as if she wasn’t in the room. She waited for Van to correct his niece, but he only came across as irritated.
“Lily Bean,” he said, less kindly than before, “I’m not sending you to Florida. You’re fine here. You wanted Mermaid Camp.” He moved closer to Cleo, and extended his hand like he was presenting the mermaid to her. “Here you go. Your very own mermaid, in the convenience of your own home.”
“That wasn’t what I asked for,” Lily complained. “You know that’s not what I wanted, Uncle Van. I wanted to go somewhere.”
Cleo felt like a fly on the wall, watching the interaction unfold. Even she was starting to think of herself as the mermaid.
“I’d call that ungrateful,” Van said, anger rising in his voice. “If you can’t show more gratitude than that, I suggest you go right back up to your room.”
Lily, her face an angry red, stomped one foot and started to leave. Van’s voice stopped her.
“Take those bags with you, young lady. Now.”