by Donna Ball
“Of course,” his mother pointed out practically now, “you realize it’s rather a weak claim to fame, and if you were actually to receive a restoration grant, it would be all just a bit too fairy-tale, don’t you agree?”
“Absolutely,” concurred Ash, his eyes twinkling. “On the other hand, having given the matter some thought of late—and having read aloud a great many of them over the past few months, too, mind you—I’ve discovered that fairy tales have a good deal more to recommend them than we might first have thought. Besides”—he sipped his champagne—“I’ve a feeling I’m going to need the funds to pay for this wedding.”
“Lindeman, old man!” A stranger clapped him on the back—a stranger in the sense that, at least, Ash could not currently recall his name. That once had been his strong suit: remembering names, faces, hobbies, the names and ages of children. It was his stock and trade. It was his charm.
“Congratulations,” said the stranger. “Well-done!”
Ash extended his hand. “Good of you to come. May I present my mother, Mrs. Jonathon Lindeman?”
Proper acknowledgments were made, Katherine excused herself, and the man turned back to him. “I wondered what became of you. I heard you were ill, or had retired.”
Ash smiled. “Neither one, in fact. I’m taking a few months off, and next year I may open a small branch office in Lyon, with rather more of an eye toward philanthropy. My wife seems determined to go into the hotel business, and I’d like to be nearby.”
The stranger surveyed the château behind them with an appreciative eye. “Aye, clever woman, your wife. I might not be averse to putting money in a venture like that.”
“Then you should meet with her,” said Ash. “I’ll be happy to arrange it. But not today. It’s my wedding day.”
The stranger eyed him with interest. “Philanthropy, do you say? An interesting notion, that. A mind like yours for business, you might actually get a thing or two done. I should put you in touch with some chaps I know.”
“I’d be most grateful. But as I said . . .”
“Your wedding day, yes, right.”
“Papa! Papa!” A small torrent of pink chiffon with a red and angry face flung herself at him and began to spill forth in rapid French the story of how cruel her new cousins were to her. Ash hoisted her onto his hip and told her she was his princess and then he said to the stranger, smiling proudly, “Have you met my daughter?”
Jeff said, “I don’t know, Sara. It doesn’t look that much of a big deal to me—modernizing the rooms, that is. I could probably draw up some plans for you while we’re here.”
Sara beamed at him. “Thanks, Jeff. That’s just what I was hoping.”
Jeff and Dixie were staying at Rondelais with Alyssa while Ash and Sara took a two-week honeymoon to Italy. When they returned, Sara intended to launch into full-scale renovations with the château—with or without the restoration grant. She had already made a few tentative inquiries and had returned a positive interest in spring/summer bookings. There was no time to waste.
“Making the repairs, now,” Jeff reminded her, “that’s going to take some money.”
“You need the stuff fixed,” Pietro interjected, beaming, “you call the Contandinos, sì?”
Pietro and his father had dressed for the occasion: Pietro in an ice blue tux with a green bow tie, and Signor, looking somber and dignified in a bright yellow blazer with red slacks and a dashing blue ascot. Sara grinned at them. “What would I do without you?”
She pulled closed the heavy arched doors to the west wing, careful not to smudge her dress. She had chosen a long, slim blush pink satin suit with a white brocade trim around the cuffs and the deep décolletage, because she had wanted her dress to match Alyssa’s, and because Ash had loved it. She said, “The party is waiting for you. Let’s go down.”
“Sara!” Dixie rounded the corner, looking a little harried. “There you are! This place is as big as a—well, a hotel, isn’t it? How do you keep from getting lost? Everyone’s asking for you.” She slipped her arm through Jeff’s, and added to him, “It’s your fault. Like Sara doesn’t have more important things to do on her wedding day than talk about construction plans? Ash has been very patient,” she told Sara, and smiled. “He’s nice. And I like his mother.”
“So do I,” Sara said.
“But neither one of them is going to be nice very much longer if we don’t get down there,” Dixie added with a stern look at Jeff. “And I want you to have a talk with your sons. They don’t have the faintest idea how to play with little girls.”
Sara turned to follow them downstairs, but was stopped by a solemn, gravelly voice. “Signora.”
She turned, rather astonished, and Signor Contandino said in perfectly accented English, “Your keys.”
He presented her the heavy bronze skeleton keys that opened the doors to the west wing and it felt, to Sara, like a monumental gift. She felt the weight of them in her hands and she was momentarily overcome with awe—for what she had taken on, for what the future held, and, most of all, for what she had been given. She said, smiling at him, her eyes misting, “Thank you.”
He bowed to her, deeply, from the waist.
“Sara,” called Dixie impatiently, from several dozen feet down the hall.
“I’m coming.” Sara hurried to catch up.
“Signora!”
She looked back and Pietro said, “Do you know Sting?”
“Yes!” exclaimed Sara, delighted, laughing out loud. “Yes, I do!”
Pietro grinned and gave her two thumbs up, and Sara hurried after her sister, still laughing. She caught up her hat as she left the château and moved, as quickly as her delicate satin pumps would allow, across the lawn to find her husband.
She loved the way his eyes crinkled when he saw her. “I finally convince you to wear a hat,” he said, “and you have to choose one as big as a boat.” He bent deep beneath its brim to kiss her, and Sara lifted her hand to its crown so that the hat didn’t fall off as she bent back to return his kiss.
“It’s very stylish,” she insisted. “And it goes with the suit.”
“So it does.”
“I see the boys are trying to make peace with Alyssa.”
“She’s a little spoiled, you know.”
“We’re not going to have that argument now.”
“Oh my, no,” he agreed pleasantly. “Not when there are so many more interesting arguments waiting for us to have.”
She slanted him a look that was filled at once with both reprimand and adoration. “You make me look forward to the next fifty years.”
“You make me glad to be alive,” he responded, and their eyes met and, really, there was nothing more that needed to be said.
They stood for a moment beneath the brilliant cobalt sky while the chamber orchestra played in the background and the guests laughed and moved all around them, and the sunlight sparkled and glinted off the moat, watching the twins toss a red ball back and forth while Alyssa scampered between them, trying to catch it. Sara said, not wanting to move at all, “Your mother wants to start the reception line. We should go greet our guests.”
Ash said, “Watch your hat.”
The moment after he spoke a gust of wind snatched the big white hat from Sara’s head and sent it charging into the air like a sail. She laughed out loud and they both leapt at once to catch it, and Ash had never been happier in his life.