Memory House

by Ruth Hay

  Keep safe my dear. I think of you more often than you know.

  Yours always,

  Mitchell.

  Chapter 25

  Vilma had just returned from an early morning brisk walk with the dogs. It was chilly in the woods and she felt the first touches of fall weather. She changed quickly into the dark red, velour suit that was both cozy and comfortable for the early part of her day. She was about to serve the dogs their breakfast when they rushed to the front window and set up the most awful barking in chorus with each other.

  What on earth is this about? Who is coming?

  She only had time for a quick glance outside. She saw a different car parked by the front path.

  A Mercedes, possibly? Who could it be at this hour?

  She managed to get the dogs calmed a little, when she heard a knock at the front door that set them off again. There was nothing else for it. If the entire house was not to be disturbed, she had better see who was calling at this ungodly hour.

  She got out of her room by dint of wrestling the dogs back. It was clear they were alarmed. She stayed within reach of them so she could let them out if necessary.

  The man at the door had turned around as if to leave, so she saw only his back view. For a disconcerting moment she thought of Nolan, then realized this man was younger and taller, with thick brown hair, and wearing a smart black overcoat. When he turned around again, he was a stranger.

  “Excuse me! I did not intend to cause a disturbance with the dogs. I am looking for Stuart Ingleby.”

  “Stuart and Grant leave early for the hospital. I’m afraid they will not be back until much later in the day. May I take a message? I am Vilma Smith and the owner of these noisy animals who are now on full alert.”

  He hesitated, then spoke quickly. His accent was American with a hint of Scottish.

  “Stuart has talked of you Miss Smith. He mentioned your dogs, specifically. If you would be so kind as to introduce me to the dogs, I believe we could have a chance to talk more comfortably.”

  It was a highly unusual request from a stranger and Vilma was almost ready to send him on his way.

  And yet, something about his confident manner persuaded her to take a risk. Only a fool would volunteer to encounter two, large, angry dogs……… and this man did not look like a fool.

  “If you insist,” she replied.

  She opened the door and simultaneously grabbed the collars of Astrid and Oscar. Mr. Ingleby reached forward and let the dogs sniff his hand. At this, they calmed down, and their tails began to wag. Vilma stood upright and let go. The dogs went straight to him, sniffed around his legs and feet and listened to his voice.

  “These two are magnificent specimens. Australian Shepherds? I have Irish Setters at home in Boston.”

  Astrid and Oscar sat back on their haunches, ears perked as if to listen to the rest of the conversation with interest.

  Vilma could not believe her eyes. First of all, most men would have fled from the very sight of these two. Secondly, she had never before seen her dogs react like this. Whoever this Ingleby guy was, he was not like his son who cowered from the dogs, and not like any other man she knew………….. with one exception, of course.

  He reached for her hand and introduced himself again.

  “Jamison Ingleby, recently arrived from Boston, on my way to view property in the Muskokas for a client. Much too early to sign in to the Idlewyld Inn, and hoping against hope to be invited to see this amazing house about which I have heard so much.”

  Before Vilma could open her mouth to reply, Mavis arrived, a little flustered at the unusual circumstances, but just in time to hear the introduction.

  “Ah, Mr. Ingleby, last night your son mentioned you might be stopping by. We expected you later in the day when I had time to alert everyone.” She glanced apologetically at Vilma and mouthed sorry!

  “Please come upstairs and have a cup of coffee. I will show you around. Vilma will join us shortly.”

  It was simultaneously a request, and a command. Vilma signalled the dogs to return inside with her and heard the beginning of talk about entrances and skylights as the pair ascended the staircase.

  For some reason, she decided to dress properly and tidy her hair. She finished with a dash of lipstick and then looked at herself in the mirror and shook her head.

  Get a grip, Vilma! What are you thinking?

  She left the dogs with their food bowls and went upstairs to find Mavis and Jannice deep in discussion with Jamison Ingleby. They were talking about the recent renovations and he was commenting on the value of adding the larger balcony.

  “From what I have seen of the glorious gardens here I believe it is a crime not to complete the project. It will require serious underpinnings, but a stone staircase would be the perfect finishing touch and give the direct access to the garden from this floor that the house currently lacks.”

  Who does he think he is, telling us what to do? He’s been here mere minutes and he thinks he should be giving advice?

  Vilma went to the coffee maker to pour herself a cup and suddenly she put it together.

  Jamison Ingleby. J. Ingleby and Associates, Architects, Boston Massachusetts.

  They were a renowned company, employed all over the States in projects varying from single family mansions to museums and other public buildings. She had read about him in a magazine. She did not immediately connect Stuart Ingleby from Scotland, with this urbane man with the immaculate clothes and stylish haircut. He had tossed the black overcoat over the back of his chair at the kitchen table, and he wore a business suit with matching shirt and tie. She particularly noticed his hands. His nails manicured and polished discreetly to a pale shine. Whatever Jamison Ingleby did to earn his money, he was not the one who did any digging in the dirt.

  “Please sit, Miss Smith. I must apologize for upsetting the dogs earlier.”

  She took Jannice’s place as she left to go downtown for work, but not before she had produced a plate of muffins for the table, saying, “Your son made these, Mr. Ingleby. He’s quite the chef.”

  Vilma took Jannice’s remark as an opportunity to ask some leading questions. If this man thought it appropriate to march into Harmony House without proper warning, she, Vilma Smith, would make it her business to find out all she could about him. It was a way to protect the other women from a possible predator.

  “Stuart has not mentioned your relationship, Mr. Ingleby.”

  “Jamison, please! That is not a surprise. Stuart’s mother and I divorced many years ago and he was brought up in Edinburgh.”

  “I see. What took you to the States and the very successful career in architecture?”

  This was beginning to sound like a job interview, but Vilma was well into it now and she decided to continue.

  Across the table, Mavis was signalling dismay at her rudeness.

  Jamison Ingleby did not seem perturbed at all by her abrupt manner. Rather, he leaned in and steadily met her gaze with eyes the colour of green grass.

  “I had a small business in Scotland originally, but I could see the opportunities to expand there were limited. I suppose it was all about making a new start in a fresh, new environment and testing my skills in a larger marketplace.”

  “It worked out well for you, I guess.”

  He chuckled at the understatement. It was a low, intimate sound and it made Vilma’s neck hair stand up.

  She immediately called a halt to the interrogation, and asked Mavis if she was ready to continue the house tour.

  “I have to see to Hilary’s morning coffee now. Why don’t you take Jamison to see the rest of the house, and the garden, of course. Start out with the elevator, Vilma.”

  His dark eyebrows arched in surprise at the word ‘elevator’. “I see you have thought ahead at the planning stage. Well done!”

  There was no polite way to back out. Hopefully, Honor was working downstairs and she would take over the tour duty. Vilma had no desire to be at close quarters wit
h this man. His gaze was disturbing enough.

  The elevator ride was short but she was close enough to catch the scent of his aftershave. Sandalwood.

  She tried to step back from the tantalizing scent but there was no escape.

  There was no sign of Honor in the lower level.

  Jamison’s eyes scanned the entire space and he walked around automatically estimating the square footage and looking at the storage facility.

  “This is an excellent use of a lower level. Most people ignore this area. Opening it up to the garden is perfect, particularly with this modern folding-glass door system. I recommend it to my clients all the time. This is the second laundry facility? How many residents do you have? May I stroll around the garden? Please join me. Vilma? May I use your first name?”

  It was as much as she could do to follow along. He moved fast and purposefully, as if he was assessing the value of the property. She had the dreadful thought that he might in fact be an imposter.

  A developer sent to purchase Harmony House and later demolish it for a highrise building on this spot.

  Her brain told her this was not so, but the feeling of fear lingered. She would watch this man very carefully in an attempt to judge his sincerity. Whatever else he was, he was, for now, an interloper.

  * * *

  Much to Vilma’s amazement, a short time later she found herself with Jamison Ingleby, walking the dogs in the woods, discussing the development of the surrounding area and enjoying the untouched woodland that he fervently hoped would remain.

  “These breathing spots are so important in an urban setting. From what I can see, London benefits from a number of sizable parklands and multiple branches of the river, of course. I’d say you picked a good spot for the house.”

  “The house was here already. The developer was selling. We decided to make alterations so it could serve as a co-housing project for six women.”

  “Interesting! How did my son and Grant Caskie manage to get into a female-only enclave?”

  “Oh, they were not the first. Over the years we entertained a teenage runaway, two young, South American, independent internet workers, one of whom was a man, and the odd man friend for periods of time.”

  “How odd were these men friends?”

  Now he was getting into personal territory and Vilma was becoming annoyed.

  “One of them saved my life one winter day in these very woods, as it happens.”

  She marched on ahead and called for Astrid. Thinking of Andy Patterson was upsetting her. This Jamison Ingleby was definitely unnerving her with his impertinent questions and his easy manner.

  It was time to turn the tables on him.

  “So, why is it your son has not spoken about his famous father? We have heard about Grant Caskie’s mother’s garden in Edinburgh at great length.”

  He had the grace to look uncomfortable for a second, but he owed her an explanation, and he knew it.

  “The truth is we have been out of touch for several years. It was only when Stuart arrived in London, Ontario, that he thought to call me. We spoke on the phone several times and when I mentioned my trip north for business reasons, he asked if I could divert here in order to see him. Naturally, I could hardly refuse a chance to see my only son again.”

  “Naturally!” She was thinking there was nothing natural about this whole situation.

  “Did Stuart have a step-father growing up?”

  “Yes. His mother re-married when Stuart was five years old.”

  That explains a lot. Clearly, Ingleby’s ex-wife did not encourage visits. It’s a miracle Stuart even knew how to contact his father. I wonder if Stuart has step-brothers and sisters?

  “Stuart has a fine singing voice. He and Grant entertain us once in a while.”

  There was a silence.

  He does not know much about his only son, it seems. What a shame!

  * * *

  Astrid was now leading the way home. She set her pace to Oscar’s slight limp and stuck by his side.

  “Vilma, would you be so kind as to accompany me to lunch when I check into my hotel? You have been generous with your time this morning. I will return later to talk to Stuart, if that is acceptable to the women of the house. If not, I am happy to take the doctors out to eat.”

  “I will accept your invitation to lunch but I think you might prefer to eat with your son in private, later in the day, without all the chatter of a full table of curious women in Harmony House.”

  In a moment of weakness, she had accepted the lunch date. Mostly, so she could ride in his car, see his luggage and get a look at the hotel he chose to stay in. It was surprising that he did not pick one of the larger hotels in the centre of downtown. She had never eaten in the boutique Idlewyld Inn although it had a reputation for fine dining. He owed her a decent lunch and it was more than likely he could afford it.

  Jamison kept the dogs on the porch while she freshened up and changed her shoes. When she returned, she discovered he had wiped the dogs’ paws and loosened their collars. He was definitely a dog lover. Astrid and Oscar were gazing at him as if they had found a juicy bone.

  Traitors!

  Vilma slipped a note under Mavis’s door and made sure the dogs were supplied with water and treats.

  She followed Jamison down the path to his Mercedes and soon relaxed into the plush leather seats, answering his insightful questions about London along the way.

  In ten minutes time, they were in South London and turning into the driveway of the Idlewyld Inn. It was a charmingly converted old Victorian house with portalled entrance and circular driveway. Jamison found a parking spot and hefted one leather bag from which he extracted his phone. The way in which he spoke to the desk manager, showed her his phone reservation, and requested lunch in a few minutes, to be served at a secluded table, demonstrated his familiarity with a certain kind of wealthy lifestyle. One in which any request is automatically met, with all speed and without debate.

  Vilma offered to wait in the foyer for him.

  “Why not come upstairs and see what the suites are like?”

  The manager was still within earshot, and smiling encouragingly, so Vilma felt awkward about refusing. She really did want to see the rooms. What she glimpsed so far was definitely superior décor, but the sleeping accommodations were the proper way to judge a hotel.

  The room had a four-poster bed with floral chintz bed hangings to match the window dressings. She did not follow him into the ensuite washroom but it, too, looked luxurious.

  “Won’t be a second.”

  She was alone in a man’s bedchamber for the first time in many years and it felt strange. She hardly knew this man. How had things moved so fast? Normally she favoured the slow progress of a glacier in relationships. That was how it was with Andy.

  She shook her head and dismissed the memory.

  Jamison Ingleby was ‘here today and gone tomorrow’. Passing through on his way north.

  She would enjoy what there was for the moment, and expel him from her life and memory forever.

  Chapter 26

  Lunch was in an alcove at the far end of the dining room. It had its own window, wreathed in trailing ivy. The other table and chair in the secluded spot were quickly removed by servers in order for them to have complete privacy.

  Vilma remembered what wealth and influence could create. It was the way Nolan had operated everywhere he went.

  They required several minutes to peruse the menu. Vilma chose grilled fish with vegetables. Jamison selected a medium-rare steak and fries then he ordered the correct wine pairings.

  “Save space for dessert,” he whispered.

  “I always read the desert menu first,” she countered. “It’s flourless chocolate cake with creme fraiche for me.”

  As they ate their salads, Vilma asked why he did not prefer larger hotels.

  “I travel a lot. After a few years, all those big hotels look alike and feel the same. You never get a sense of where you are when you wa
ke in the morning. I prefer small boutique hotels like this. If I want to take a stroll before sleeping, I can easily step outside and no one will remark on it.”

  “I imagine you will sleep well tonight. By the time you get your talk with Stuart, you will have had a very long day.”

  “That’s true, but I don’t need a lot of sleep usually. I am a bit of a night owl these days. What about you?”

  She had to laugh. “My hours are governed by those two dogs. There used to be a young girl living with us. She relieved me of the burden sometimes, but she moved on and into her own life.”

  “You don’t regret having the dogs, surely? They are beautiful specimens and well trained.”

  “Yes. I love having them.”

  “Vilma, if I may be so bold? Your eyes grew dark when you spoke about them just now. Why does it make you sad?”

  She knew he was right. Normally, she would not reveal matters of the heart to a perfect stranger but he would be gone by midnight like a daytime vision disappearing in the mist. He had no one to tell her secrets to. She sipped the wine if the full knowledge it tended to loosen tongues. She was beyond caring.

  “I guess I am lonely. There was someone a few years back. He trained my dogs and for a while, it looked like we would be a couple. It did not work out in the end.”

  “Sometimes that happens.”

  His voice had lowered by a register and the sweet sound of his concern felt like balm on her heart.

  He was attractive and companionable, and no doubt pursued by a flotilla of women in the United States.

  “Look, enough about me! Tell me about your work in designing buildings.”

  He was wise enough not to press for more confessions. Their talk turned to matters architectural and he was a brilliant conversationalist in his sphere of interest with exciting stories of successes and desperate failures rescued from disaster at the very last minute. Vilma was captivated and she could have listened for hours.

  When he glanced at his shiny Rolex watch, she knew their time was over.