“Good,” she answered pugnaciously. “Accuracy is important to me, too. And if you are going to be that close, I hope you don't mind holding a tape measure or a ladder now and then. There are times when I could use an assistant.”
He stared at her, his dark gaze moving over her face, noting the stubborn tilt of her chin and the square set of her shoulders. The light through the dusty glass slanted across the planes of his face, glinting on his thick dark brows, the high ridge of his cheekbones, and the deep cleft of his chin, leaving his eyes with their long, thick lashes in shadow. His skin held an undertone of bronze, partially the legacy of his French heritage, partially from outdoor pursuits. Whether it was the result of his action only moments before or a trick of the fading evening, there seemed also to be a hint of sensuality in the firmly molded curves of his mouth. Laura looked away, another shiver running over her.
“This is getting us nowhere,” Justin Roman said. “Tomorrow I'll talk to Russ. For now, we had better get out of here while we can still see our way.”
There was no electricity on in the house at present, though it had been installed in the early forties. The great upstairs hall was a tunnel of gloom echoing to the sound of their footsteps. Descending the curving staircase to the lower floor where the windows were covered with rags of draperies and the smothering greenery outside was like sinking into a dark well. Only the sunrise fanlight and the sidelights around the great front door provided faint illumination. The scent of dust, disturbed by their passage, hung in the air along with a dry smell of crumbling plaster and mice.
Laura stood to one side on the lower front gallery as Justin Roman closed and locked the doors, fastening the padlock that was all that held the tall heavy panels against intruders. She thought he hesitated, as if considering the possibility of asking her for her key. She deliberately kept her face turned from him. After a moment, he swung toward the stone steps, indicating with a brief gesture that she should precede him down them. With her head high, she moved to where her car sat, reaching for the door handle.
“Good-bye, Miss Nichols,” he said, his face expressionless.
“I'll see you later,” she contradicted him with a grim smile before she slid into her car.
He did not reply, only moving past her to get into the sleek silver automobile parked behind her own vehicle. He reversed down the drive and into the road where he sat waiting for her to turn out in front of him. It was only a courtesy, she knew, a means of seeing her safely on her way, a remnant of Southern chivalry, and yet she had the distinct feeling that she was being escorted under guard from the premises.
“Calm down, Laura. The man can't be that bad.”
“He is the most arrogant, pompous, infuriating person I have ever met. The more I think about him, and about his attitude when he found me at Crapemyrtle, the madder I get.”
Laura's mother sent her a warm smile as she poured lacquer thinner onto the crazed surface of the old secretary-desk she was refinishing. “Don't think about him, then.”
“I can't help it. Everything was just fine until Justin Roman came into the picture. I was finally going to be able to contribute something to the expenses around here.”
“You mustn't worry about it.”
“But I would have been doing the work I've trained for, have been a part of the restoration of Crapemyrtle. Now it may all come to nothing.”
“I meant don't worry about contributing, as you call it. We're doing fine with the shop.”
“I know, Mom, but I would like to do my share.”
Mrs. Nichols had started a small antique business in the front parlor of their old family home two years before, when her husband died. She had gradually built up a nice clientele, people in the town and surrounding area who loved antiques and depended on Mary Nichols to help them utilize them with expertise and taste. Buying old pieces, refinishing, then reselling had brought in a reasonable living, though speculation in good pieces of fine furniture as a hedge against inflation these last few years had also added to the profits. Bit by bit, the concern had taken over the entire lower floor of the Georgian mansion. Laura and her mother had retreated to the second story, installing a small kitchen, turning one of the bedrooms into a comfortable sitting room, trying to get away from the ever-present smells of ancient mustiness, lemon oil polish, and the wood alcohol, lacquer thinner, and varnish used in the refinishing process.
Laura's mother tilted her head, surveying the desk top against the light overhead to be certain the lacquer thinner had dissolved the finish evenly as she smoothed away the cracks and fine lines that marred it. “You do enough. You'll have to admit, however, that Mr. Roman has no reason to think you are as capable as you know yourself to be. You don't look like a historical consultant.”
“So he pointed out. What I look like doesn't matter.”
“Oh? I don't think he would have felt it necessary to warn a man of the dangers of being caught alone at Crapemyrtle—or even a middle-aged female like me.”
“You aren't middle-aged,” Laura said positively.
They were in the room that had once been the kitchen of the old house, but was now the combination refinishing room and display area for American primitive pieces and kitchenware. While her mother worked on the small desk, eager to complete the job before dinner, Laura lounged in a handmade rocker drawn up near a butcher block made of a solid cypress tree round. Sitting on the block was a hand-carved wooden biscuit bowl now being used to hold fruit. Laura reached for an apple, avoiding the other woman's too penetrating gaze. She had told her of the warning, but not of the kiss that had accompanied it.
“Don't change the subject. You know very well I've told you any number of times that you shouldn't go to Crapemyrtle by yourself while it's empty.”
“It's such a peaceful place.”
“Not for long, it seems.”
“No.” Laura sighed and bit into the golden delicious apple in her hand. She leaned back in the rocker, her hair bright against the age-darkened wood.
“I'm sure everything will work out all right. The Romans are a fine old family.”
Laura looked up with a shake of her head. “Mom, you are hopelessly old-fashioned. As if his family made any difference these days!”
“I know it shouldn't, but there's no getting around the fact that certain family traits—spite, stinginess, or generosity—appear again and again, just as surely as generic diseases.”
“Justin Roman's family moved from here before he was born. What can you know about him?”
“His parents moved up to Baton Rouge, but he still has aunts, uncles, and innumerable cousins here. Even his grandparents were residents until their deaths only a few years ago.”
“I wonder why he came back. This is such a small town compared to what he's used to.” Laura frowned at the apple she held.
“That may be its appeal, though from what you told me, it sounds as if he may possibly feel the need to reclaim his heritage, especially since he is going to be married.”
“I would be willing to bet it's nothing so romantic,” Laura said derisively. “No doubt he sees Crapemyrtle as a good investment, which it will be when the restoration is complete and the necessary work is done to have it declared a national landmark.”
“You think he is going to apply to have it come under the National Trust?”
“I don't know,” Laura said with a shake of her head, “and he certainly didn't bother to tell me.”
The National Trust for Historic Preservation was a government program dedicated to saving buildings of historic interest throughout the United States. If a structure was deemed worthy of preservation, there were several programs to help make it possible. Laura was privately of the opinion that Justin Roman would not be willing to put up with the red tape involved, or the guidelines restricting what he could or could not do with his property, for the sake of matching federal funds or low-interest loans, but then he didn't have to worry about financing his project. One great advantage, h
owever, regardless of the need of money or lack of it, was that once a house was on the National Trust list, future owners could not dispose of it without due regard for its preservation. It could not be dismantled or torn down without penalty.
“A woman who works at the motor hotel on the edge of town was in this morning. She said Justin Roman was registered there through the weekend.”
Laura sent her mother a wry smile. “This really is a small town, isn't it?”
Mrs. Nichols assumed a look of mock offense as she put the lid on the thinner she was using and began to wipe her hands on a stained rag. “Do you want to hear what else she said, or not?”
“By all means.” Laura waved her apple in an expansive gesture.
“She is distantly related to the Romans, and she claims Justin's parents are not too happy with his bride-to-be. They think that they are unsuited as a couple and that the girl will never be satisfied away from the city. Moreover, his fiancée doesn't approve of the contract being given to Masters & Masters for the restoration. She thinks it should have been offered to a bigger, more prestigious firm out of New Orleans.”
“It sounds to me as if she and our Mr. Roman deserve each other.”
“The woman from the motor hotel was certain Justin's fiancée wouldn't be allowed to influence him.”
“I don't doubt that,” Laura interrupted.
“The reason is because he is supposed to be a longstanding friend of Russ Masters.”
“I don't know how much truth there may be in the rest of the tale, but I understand from Russ that he and Justin have known each other since their university days.” There was a dejected note in Laura's voice.
“What is there about that to put you down in the dumps?”
“If they are such good friends, and with the fiancée's opinion weighing in the balance, it's possible Russ may actually let me go, to pacify the man.”
Her mother shook her head, a smile curving her mouth. “Not without a fight, I would imagine.”
“It's an important contract for him. Justin as good as said he would bring pressure to bear to be rid of me. The threat to take his business elsewhere, combined with everything else, may be too much for Russ to hold out against.”
“You have something stronger on your side.”
Laura shook her head. “Not really, Mom, and you know it.”
“You may treat Russ like a brother, but that isn't the way he feels toward you.”
“That isn't why he gave me this job,” Laura protested, “and I would almost rather not be kept on if it's going to be for that reason.”
“I didn't say that was it, not entirely.”
“Russ knows I can do the work.”
“So do I, but you still have to prove yourself. I think it was only sensible for Justin Roman to be concerned.”
“Mom, are you taking up for him?” Laura stared at her mother incredulously.
“Of course not, but, Laura, as much as I know you care about Crapemyrtle, the place belongs to him. I can't think what the man said or did to make you so angry, but if you are going to work with him, you'll have to remember this one very important point.”
Laura gave a slow nod, aware of the frown that creased her mother's brow. “You're right, I know. I'll try to be more accommodating, but we just seem to strike sparks off each other.”
“Be careful you don't start a fire that will send the whole Crapemyrtle project up in smoke.”
“My darling mother, are you going to start quoting proverbs at me about getting burned?”
“I wouldn't dream of it,” Mrs. Nichols returned, but the humor in her voice did not match the concern that remained in her fine blue eyes.
2
Dinner was over, the dishes were done. Laura and her mother were reading in front of a blazing fire under the Federal mantel in the sitting room when the phone rang.
“You get it,” Mrs. Nichols said, looking up with a smile. “It's probably for you anyway.”
It had been a mistake to locate the upstairs extension telephone in the wide hall of the old house. Though it was central to the rooms they were using, the hallway was unheated in winter. On their budget, they simply couldn't afford to keep any portion of the house warm that wasn't in constant use. During the day it wasn't so bad; the heat from the display rooms on the lower floors rose up the stairwell to remove the chill, but at night, when that source was turned off, it took a strong constitution to talk more than a few brief minutes.
Russ Masters was well aware of the problem. As soon as he had said hello, he went on, “I'll make this short and sweet, Laura, my love. I've just spent the last hour with Justin.”
“Justin Roman?” Laura's voice was hollow, but no more so than the pit of her stomach.
“Who else? What happened out there at Crapemyrtle between you two?”
If Russ didn't know, she wasn't about to enlighten him any more than had his friend. “Nothing in particular. He took exception to me as consultant for the restoration.”
“That's putting it diplomatically, I'm sure. He as good as accused me of foisting one of my girlfriends on him.”
“Russ —” Laura began, then stopped.
“Yes, what is it?”
“It isn't true, is it? You didn't ask me to do this for personal reasons?”
“Accused, and now convicted! I can't deny that I hoped to see more of you, but you ought to know I wouldn't have offered you the position on such an important deal as this if I didn't think you could handle the job.”
“I suppose so.”
“You aren't trying to back out on me because of this flap with Justin?”
“It would probably be a great relief to you if I would,” Laura said, her tone wry, “but no, I'm not.”
“Good, because if you were, I just wasted a lot of breath and brainpower convincing the owner of Crapemyrtle to give you a try.”
“You what?”
“Didn't you hear me? I persuaded Justin to let you stay on long enough to show what you can do.”
“But what does he have to say about it, one way or the other,” Laura asked, a frown drawing her brows together. “I thought it was Masters & Masters who was paying my salary.”
“So it is, sweetheart, as a matter of convenience. But it will all be charged to the project eventually, which means to Justin.”
“I see.” Justin had no doubt known that at the time she was being so defiant. It must have made her seem that much more amateurish, though she didn't see why he hadn't pointed out her mistake.
“Not to worry.” Russ's voice came down the line in warm reassurance. “As I said, it's all settled now. You are to stay on, and tomorrow Justin wants an organizational meeting of those involved: owner, architect, designer-consultant, contractor, one or two subcontractors, everyone. I understand even his future wife will sit in. He wants us all out at Crapemyrtle in the morning.”
They made arrangements to drive out to the meeting together, setting a time for Russ to come by and pick her up. When Russ had hung up, Laura dropped the receiver into its cradle. She stood for a long moment staring at nothing, hardly noticing the chill of the drafty hall. Then, with a sudden shiver, she went to rejoin her mother.
It was still cold, but clear, when Laura left the house the next day. Bundled in a heavy coat over brown pants and a chunky gold sweater, she swung her canvas tote bag containing her supplies into Russ's car, and gave an exaggerated shudder as she slid onto the seat beside it. They pulled away from the Georgian mansion with its mellow red brick and classic portico supported by white columns, joining the flow of traffic on the side street.
“You look gorgeous this morning.” Russ flicked her a grin, the expression in his gray eyes warm before he returned his attention to the road. The bright sunlight coming through the windows showed up the auburn tint in his brown hair and the tracing of freckles under his fair skin. Laura was struck, not for the first time, by what a thoroughly nice man he was and how easy companionship had always been between them.
“Thank you, sir.” Her reply was as light as the compliment.
“I see you brought your work bag,” he said, nodding at her tote.
“Yes, there's something I need to see about.”
“Today really isn't supposed to be a working day. It's Saturday.”
“You don't recommend a show of industry?” she queried, her tone shaded with irony.
He shook his head, his smile one of sympathy. “I suppose it couldn't hurt, not if you're ready to get started on the job.”
“I'm as ready as I'm going to get.”
She had drawn her hair back, confining it in a knot at the nape of her neck for a look that was both simple and businesslike. Her makeup was minimal for the same reason. The boots she wore on her feet and her fur-lined gloves were practical. It would be cold in the huge, unheated house, and she didn't want to be distracted by being uncomfortable. She fully intended to present herself as efficient and well-prepared, though she doubted that Justin Roman would notice.
“Don't look so grim,” Russ told her. “I know you got off on the wrong foot with Justin somehow, but he's really a great guy when you get to know him.”
“I'm sure he is, if you happen to like the overbearing type.”
“He's not like that, not really. He's one of the hardest-working men I know. He started out with precious little more than an idea and the drive to succeed, and turned a small cash loan from the man who is going to be his father-in-law into a corporation worth millions.”
“Exactly what business is he in?” Her interest was purely academic. It might help to know as much as possible about the man.
“Computers. Time-sharing and leasing was how he got his start. Since then, he has diversified into real estate, oil leases, you name it. In his spare time, now, he's going to be a gentleman farmer. He has bought up the biggest portion of the land that originally belonged to Crapemyrtle.”
Laura turned to stare at Russ. “I didn't know that.”
He gave a firm nod. “Justin plans on dividing his time between here and Baton Rouge when the house is ready.”
“I believe you could say he was investing in real estate, all right,” she commented.
April of Enchantment Page 2