Moonlight on Monterey Bay

by Sally Goldenbaum

  “Two days?” Maddie’s pencil flew through the air.

  “Is there an echo in here?” he asked. He stopped briefly, glancing back across the room.

  Maddie stood up. He seemed perturbed now, as if he had been in the house too long. “Two days isn’t much time.”

  “All I want is some furniture so I can use this place. And once I make a decision on the proposal, I want the place finished. In a week or two if possible.”

  “A week or two! Where do you want the furniture to come from, a flea market?”

  Ignoring her remark, Sam held out his hand to her in a perfunctory manner. His hand was large, Maddie noticed. And tan. A large, tan, firm hand.

  When she shook it, her own hand vanished completely in its grasp. He didn’t let go immediately, as she had expected, but held it a minute longer, and Maddie had the odd sensation that he couldn’t let go, that their hands were pressed together by some magnetic force. A jolt of heat passed through her, straight up her arm to her heart. She looked up at him in surprise, her eyes widening.

  He appeared to be confused. Maddie saw—no, she felt it—something strong and powerful passing between them. She cleared her throat.

  Sam dropped her hand. “I’m going now,” he said. “You can let yourself out, I presume, the same way you let yourself in—”

  The last words were said as he headed out the French doors toward the deck. He had spoken as if a board meeting were waiting for his presence, or perhaps a meeting with the president or governor.

  Maddie gathered her things, and a few minutes later she peered through the trees down to the private strip of beach. He was standing barefoot at the water’s edge, his hands on his hips, looking out over the whitecapped waves as if the ocean itself held some profound message for him.

  TWO

  “Eleanor, come in here for a minute, please.”

  Sam Eastland snapped off the intercom and sat back in his leather chair. He clasped his hands behind his head and waited, gazing out the window. From the fifteenth floor of his San Jose building he had a commanding view of lush, wealthy Silicon Valley, of the mirrored glass-fronted buildings, the new highways, and other signs of how the computer industry had altered the California landscape.

  These days the view brought a mingling of emotions, no longer the pure thrill that had come in the early years when he was building Eastland Enterprises from little more than an idea and a dream. Now his success was also a poignant reminder that he wasn’t the superman he had once set out to be. He hadn’t ended up with it all. On his way to business success, he had failed in some big ways; he had lost a lot.

  He glanced at Sara’s picture, framed in silver and resting on the corner of his wide desk. At five years old, she bore a resemblance to him that was becoming more and more evident—the intense blue eyes, the set to her jaw. A stab of deep remorse shot through him, familiar, yet sudden in its attack, and Sam winced. But when he heard Eleanor walk through the door, he pushed the emotion back in place and looked up, forcing his mind to attend to the here and now.

  “What is it, Sam?” Eleanor Williams stood near the door.

  “Eleanor, I went down to the beach house yesterday and ran into one of those interior-design persons.”

  “I believe her name is Madeline Ames.”

  “Who the hell is she?”

  Eleanor frowned. “I don’t know who she is, Sam, I never used a designer in all my sixty-one years. It’s a shameful waste of money, if you ask me. But I never argue with the boss, so I called, and I suppose she was the person they sent. Now, why do you have this bee in your bonnet?”

  Sam shook his head. So that was it. Eleanor had misheard his instructions. Instead of Oceanic Interiors, the firm he usually used, she had called this other outfit.

  “How was she?” Eleanor asked.

  “Probably okay, but not right for the job. I told her to go ahead with some ideas, but I thought better of it last night. Let’s get Carole whatever-the-hell her name is from Oceanic Interiors out there.” He began flipping through a black Rolodex. Madeline Ames had come back to haunt him on the long, winding drive back from the beach house. There was something in her look; it penetrated, was too personal. At least that was what he told himself. Besides, she wasn’t right for the house. He hadn’t been around a lot of designers, but none of the ones he had met had been anything like her. The old familiar firm would do fine. All he wanted was furniture. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that Madeline Ames would bring more than that into his life.

  Eleanor was standing in front of his desk now, frowning at him. “Listen, Sam, what difference does it make which firm does the beach house? I’m sure this gal is good. She was lovely on the phone, and maybe it will be a welcome change.”

  He shook his head, forked his fingers through his dark blond hair. “We’ve used Oceanic before. It’s easier.”

  Eleanor rested her hands on the shiny desktop. She leaned forward, her handsome face stopping inches from his. “If you want my opinion, Sam, the last thing you need is Elizabeth’s decorator.”

  Sam closed his eyes and sighed. Eleanor had been with him since those long-ago days when he’d been worth little more than the broken-down Chevy he drove. She had stuck by him, and when the computer chips fell in the right place, as she liked to tell people, she had stayed around to reap her proper glory. It was all said with great affection; Eleanor was his mainstay. She made a habit of telling him exactly what she thought—and usually he listened. But today he was tired. And he wanted furniture in the beach house so he had a place to go. The old firm would know what to do without a lot of input from him; it was the easiest way.

  “Call them, Eleanor,” he said.

  “The Oceanic is such a stuffy outfit, and I’m not crazy about doing business with them. And what about Madeline Ames?”

  “Ms. Ames is a businesswoman. She’ll understand. Pay her for her time.” He tapped his Mont Blanc pen on the desk, closing the topic. “And now I need to see the specs on that new program.”

  Eleanor took a deep breath, rummaged through the stack of papers on the corner of his desk, and slapped a, piece of paper down in front of him.

  It was midafternoon when Maddie got the call from Eleanor.

  Her heart sank. “I don’t understand,” Maddie said. “I haven’t even done anything for him to dislike. How can I be fired before I’ve been hired?” And how would she break this to Joseph? He was counting on this job. The beach house was visible in Santa Cruz. It would bring in business and put him in a better position to retire. “Are you sure he won’t reconsider?”

  “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, dear,” Eleanor said. “It’s simply a matter of expediency.”

  Maddie just couldn’t give up without a fight. She had dreamed about the house, even about the kind of flowers that should be planted along the deck. She wanted to design this house for Joseph. She wanted to do it, and she could do it. She had a feeling about the place. She knew she could bring something to it that no one else could.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Ames,” Eleanor said. “Mr. Eastland is awfully stubborn once his mind is made up.”

  Well, Maddie thought, she wasn’t exactly known for being a pushover. Two could play the stubborn game. An idea began to percolate in her mind. Oh, what the heck, she didn’t have anything to lose. “Ms. Williams?” she said. “I think we ought to compromise on this.”

  Eleanor laughed. “You have spunk. I like that. So how would you suggest we effect a compromise, Miss Ames?”

  “The other firm will send in some ideas, correct?”

  “Yes. By next week.”

  Next week? He had only given her two days! “Next week, all right. How about if we, at our own expense, of course, put something together in that amount of time and you can show Mr. Eastland both plans. Let him at least make an informed decision.”

  “That sounds reasonable.” Eleanor smiled.

  “It does?” Maddie held the phone away from her ear and stared at it. For some
unknown reason, this woman whom she’d never met was on her side. Maddie grinned. Guardian angels—they did exist. “Thank you, Ms. Williams.”

  “Eleanor. Since we seem to be co-conspirators in this, the least you can do is use my first name.”

  “And I’m Maddie. Eleanor, you won’t be sorry. Mr. Eastland seemed preoccupied, distracted. I’ll design an interior that will soothe that troubled spirit of his, you’ll see!”

  “I’m sure you will. I have a feeling your instincts for these things are right on target, dear.”

  Maddie sat in her claw-footed bathtub that night and thought about instinct. Would that be enough? She blew a bubble off the bend of her knee and sighed. What had she gotten herself into this time?

  The sound of waves crashing against the rocks in the distance brought some comfort. The ocean’s powerful rhythm always managed to put things into perspective. It was her therapy, she often said, part of what put her back together when life fell apart. She loved the water, and she loved the Eastland beach home sitting on its shores, looking as if it had sprouted there, all wood and windows and beauty. Designing the inside of it would be a dream come true. She closed her eyes and imagined using color to pull the outdoors in, and filling the spacious skylit rooms with comfortable, tasteful furniture. And as she sank deeper into the fragrant cloud of bubbles, images of the house’s enigmatic owner flitted across her mind. Sam Eastland provided a challenge, too, there was no doubt about it. Exactly how great a challenge, she felt she was just beginning to realize.

  The next day Maddie began work with a vengeance.

  The library had everything she needed: several years’ worth of the San Jose newspapers on microfiche and all the recent magazines. Maddie settled into a small carrel near the windows, stretching once before she got down to work. And then she targeted all her thoughts and energies on Samuel William Eastland.

  Six hours later Joseph found her there, and lured her outside with a sackful of Chinese food.

  “Was your search successful?” he asked. He pulled two white cartons from the bag and handed one to her along with a spoon.

  “I don’t know.” Maddie opened the carton and breathed in the delicious aromas. “I found out plenty about the man, but I’m not sure how much of it will help in designing his home.”

  “So tell me what you know.”

  Maddie swallowed a mouthful of Szechuan chicken and began. “Well, he owns a sizable portion of Silicon Valley for starters. He’s a self-made man, was married for seven years—” Maddie paused and looked into the distance. Seven years … that was a long time to be married.…

  “Children?”

  “One. There was a picture of mother and baby on the society pages a few years ago at an Easter-egg hunt. It benefited some charity or another and the guests were people of note, as the reporter put it. What does that make me, Joseph? Person of unnote? Sour note?”

  Joseph patted her knee. “Oh, a little off-key perhaps, but a lovable note all the same.”

  Maddie took another bite and continued. “He’s divorced now, lives alone, but according to the society photos, he shows up regularly at events, always with a beautiful woman. He’s a fine catch, as they say, and apparently plays the field.”

  Joseph nodded, satisfied. “It sounds like a most successful afternoon. I think Sadie would have called this a prime job.”

  “Yes, I believe she would have. But I’m warning you, Joseph, it’s still a long shot.”

  “I have full faith and confidence in you, Maddie.”

  Maddie chewed her food. Joseph did have full confidence in her, and that bothered her sometimes. She had backed into the job, having helped Sadie part-time when she first moved to Santa Cruz and desperately needed work. Sadie trained her patiently, paid for her to take some courses, and slowly moved her into actual design work.

  “Maddie dear, have I lost you?” Joseph was leaning forward, intent on the expression on her face.

  “No, I’m still here. I’m still missing an angle on this man. None of the clippings told me enough about him to help me decide on colors for a closet, much less furniture for a house. I need more.”

  “Maybe you’re going to too much trouble, Maddie. Why not a simple, tasteful design? Something anyone would like.”

  “That’s probably what the other firm is doing. And in that case, we won’t get the job because he likes them better to start with. We need an edge.” She put the empty box back in the bag and faced Joseph. “I think I’ll take tomorrow off and drive to San Jose to nose around. Explore his turf.”

  “For this I pay her a fortune?”

  Maddie laughed and touched his dry, wrinkled cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow night when I get back.”

  Tuesday was bright and sunny, and as Maddie drove through the hills toward San Jose, she thought about the dozens of newspaper clippings she had pored over the night before, and the man whose life they revealed. He had come to San Jose from northern California, a business magazine had revealed. And the rest was business history as he built a support system for the computer industry that was unrivaled in the posh Silicon Valley. What kind of a man gained that sort of success while still in his thirties? she wondered. And at what sacrifice? Her thoughts turned to the beautiful beach house, empty and undefined.

  A short while later Maddie turned off Highway 17 and drove into San Jose, gazing up at the soaring buildings that lined the boulevard. She glanced down at the address lying on the seat beside her, and a few blocks farther she made a right turn. Maybe something about his office would strike her; that’s what she was hoping for, a lightning strike straight out of that gorgeous blue sky.

  The Eastland Building was tall and impressive with a beautiful landscaped park disappearing behind it. Maddie parked and walked into the cool lobby, taking note of the mauve marble slab floor, the curved reception desk, the tall elegant paintings. Was this decor Sam Eastman? She stood near the bank of elevators and closed her eyes. It all disappeared. Nothing remained when she blocked it from her immediate sight, nothing was startling, memorable. No, that wasn’t the man she had met at the beach. She got on the elevator and pushed the button that whisked her silently up to the executive floor.

  At first, no one noticed Maddie. A young woman sat behind a highly polished desk in the elegant reception area. Several men and women sat around on tastefully upholstered chairs; soft music played in the background.

  Maddie walked over to the desk. “Eleanor Williams?” she asked.

  “Certainly,” the pleasant woman said, smiling. She spoke softly into a receiver, hung up, and nodded toward the opposite wall. “Through there.”

  A brass plate on wide double doors indicated the executive offices of Samuel Eastland, and when Maddie walked in, she knew she was in the palace of the king. It was elegant and formal and luxurious. A woman at the other end of the large office stood and walked around her desk. She was a handsome older woman with a kind face. “May I help you?” she asked pleasantly.

  The familiar voice made Maddie smile. She held out her hand. “Hello, Eleanor. I’m Maddie Ames.”

  Eleanor registered no surprise at Maddie’s unannounced visit. Instead she smiled and suggested they sit and have a cup of tea. Maddie grinned. This was some lady that Sam Eastland had as his assistant; the man couldn’t be all bad.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Maddie,” Eleanor was saying, “but Mr. Eastland isn’t here.”

  “I didn’t come to see him. I thought that walking around Mr. Eastland’s kingdom”—Eleanor’s knowing smile stopped her for a moment—“would tell me more about who he is. I’ve read everything ever written about him and it has helped about as much as the Encyclopedia Britannica. Great material for a research paper, but not much help in choosing colors for walls.”

  Eleanor laughed. “Well, you’re an enterprising woman. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  Maddie looked around the outer office. It was like the rest of the building only more so—elegant, expensive, filled with b
eautiful vases and paintings and a luxurious carpet. An Impressionist print hung behind Eleanor’s desk. “Did Mr. Eastland choose the painting?”

  “Oh, no. The ex–Mrs. Eastland worked with a decorator on it.”

  “But it’s what Mr. Eastland likes?”

  “He’s never said he didn’t like it. But to tell you the truth, Maddie, I don’t think he notices. Sam Eastland works very hard, and I believe he feels that his surroundings are simply meant to be tasteful and unobtrusive here at work.”

  “There has to be something here that reveals him.”

  “Don’t you think going to the source is always best?” Tiny lines fanned out from the corners of Eleanor’s eyes. “He’s being given an award today. Why don’t you go downtown and watch the presentation? Perhaps seeing him in action will help you.”

  “That’s a terrific idea!” Maddie was up out of the chair. “Eleanor, you’re terrific. I don’t know why you’re helping me like this, but I do appreciate it. A quite wonderful man owns the firm I’m with, and this job is important to him as well as to me.”

  Eleanor scribbled an address on a piece of Eastland stationery and handed it to Maddie. “If you leave now, you should make it in time.”

  The traffic was blessedly light and Maddie found a place to park, then hurried over to the grassy area in the center of the city park where the crowd had gathered. She had forgotten to ask Eleanor what the award was for, but decided it didn’t really matter. What mattered very much was getting the chance to see Sam Eastland in a setting that might reveal something of the man himself. And what mattered the most was getting the job for Joseph. Up ahead, several distinguished-looking men and women were sitting on a small platform. And then she spotted him, standing alone on the edge of the group of dignitaries.

  In that one brief moment, while she stood wedged between a woman with a baby stroller and a cigar-smoking man in a three-piece suit, her breathing stopped … and she thought she might faint. It was the heat, the smell of the cigar, fames from the buses going by. She shook her head to clear away the fogginess.