Blessing in Disguise

by Danielle Steel

  “No, I don’t,” she smiled back at him, “and my dry cleaner delivers. I might need help with clients, but not at the moment.” She was looking toward a possibly bleak future as she said it. “I bid for art at auctions, mostly on the phone. And I could use some help with the computer, with research. I travel to visit my daughters, but it’s planned well in advance.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “My oldest in India, my youngest in Tuscany.” He looked startled when she said it.

  “That should be interesting. I’ve never been to India, and I haven’t been to Europe in a long time. Do you have other children in New York?” He was watching her closely, and paid attention to everything she said.

  “One, my middle daughter,” she answered. “To be honest with you, I haven’t fully figured out the job yet, and exactly what my needs are. I want some help, but maybe not enough to occupy you in a meaningful way at first. You’ve got a lot of experience in areas that don’t relate to what I do.”

  “I’m good with repairs, and happy to fix things around the house. And I’ve got all the usual computer skills.” He rattled them off and she nodded. “Would you want me to travel with you?”

  She thought about it for a minute and nodded again. “I probably would,” if what the doctor said was true. Even if she didn’t lose her sight completely, it would be reassuring to travel with someone, although she never had before. “Would that be a problem for you?”

  “Not at all. I live with my sister, who needs assistance, but I can make arrangements for her if I know ahead of time. And I don’t mind filling in where you need me to. I liked being a personal assistant to the senator. It was different every day. And I enjoy making people’s lives run smoothly, whatever it takes.”

  “I travel to see my clients’ homes too, or to install a painting, mostly in the United States, in California or on the East Coast. Occasionally on a boat, usually in the Caribbean. But most of the time, we’ll be here in New York.”

  “It sounds great to me.” He smiled pleasantly. “I don’t mind buying groceries, or serving lunch if you have a client here.” He seemed accommodating and willing to do anything she needed, however menial, unlike Margaret the day before.

  She showed him around the house, and he seemed totally at ease. He said he spoke a little Spanish, which she didn’t need. He was just an all-around easygoing guy, who was willing to do whatever she needed on any given day, and said he liked the variety of being a personal assistant, and not being confined to a corporate office, which he admitted he had never really enjoyed. She asked him about driving, because the doctor had said that could become a problem for her. She had a car in a garage nearby but she rarely used it. And he said he would be willing to drive her. He seemed to be tailor-made for the position, however the degeneration of her vision progressed, or even if it didn’t. She wasn’t used to anyone helping her to that degree, or at all.

  She ended the interview at eleven and said she’d call the agency. He had to duck his head as he went through the front door but he was used to it. She called the woman at the agency immediately.

  “He’s perfect for the job,” Isabelle said, sounding hopeful. “He’s exactly what I need, and willing to do anything.”

  “I like that about him too,” the agent said, pleased that it had gone well. He was an unusual candidate for any job, because of his varied experience, and Isabelle thought the salary he wanted was reasonable.

  “I hope he doesn’t take the job at NBC.” Isabelle was suddenly worried about it.

  “He won’t. It’s an office job, in sports, and he thought it sounded too confining and too limited, but he was an obvious candidate for it so I sent him. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear.” She called Isabelle back ten minutes later and said that Jack had just called her, and unless NBC offered him a fortune, which they wouldn’t for the opening they had, he wanted to work for Isabelle. He had liked her a lot, and the fact that he’d be a PA again. He had enjoyed what he had learned with the senator about being a personal assistant, having a real bond with an employer and making their life easier.

  She called again at one o’clock as Isabelle was eating a yogurt at her desk and waiting for an auction call, so she couldn’t stay on long.

  “He wants the job with you,” she said, sounding pleased about it, and so was Isabelle.

  “That’s great news. When can he start?”

  “Tomorrow, if you want him to.”

  “I think that will work out just fine. I have a client coming tomorrow, he can sit in on the meeting, to see what I do.”

  “I’ll tell him. Coat and tie?” It was more formal than she needed, although he would look nice in a suit.

  “More like jeans and a blazer, or something along those lines. He doesn’t need to wear a tie. I’m very pleased.” She had a feeling that he would be helpful to have around, and unobtrusive. She had a desk in the kitchen she was going to have him use, so he would be nearby, but not close enough to be intrusive.

  “He really does seem like the right fit for the job.” She liked it when that happened. Isabelle’s auction call came in then, and she had to get off quickly.

  She did well in the auction for a client in Palm Beach. She called Xela afterward, who returned the call that night, while Isabelle was getting ready for bed. Jack had emailed her earlier about how pleased he was to get the job. His email was short, friendly, and polite.

  “I hired an assistant today,” she told Xela, almost forgetting the somber reason why she had hired him, he seemed like such a stroke of good luck.

  “You did?” Xela was surprised, she’d never had one before, but she took it as a positive. “Business must be good.”

  “I’m busy, and I thought I needed some help. How are you doing with your investors?” They always talked about her business, it was all that mattered to her.

  “They’re driving me crazy. The venture capital guys are sharks.” Her startup centered around delivery services in several cities, and her dream was to make it nationwide, and she needed their money for that, and to take it public eventually. Ultimately, she wanted to sell the business for big money. She wanted her Harvard MBA to pay off and to make a fortune of her own one day. She knew she’d never have as much as Theo, but she had dreams of being a millionaire in her own right and a self-made woman, and she was willing to do anything she had to to get there. She already owned her own apartment in SoHo, but her mother had been the guarantor on the mortgage. She didn’t want her help in the future, she wanted to make it on her own and was extremely proud and independent.

  “What’s she like?” Xela asked her about the new assistant.

  “Who?” Isabelle didn’t know who she was talking about.

  “The assistant?”

  Her mother laughed in answer. “She’s a guy, and about ten feet tall. He had to stoop over to get through the front door.”

  “Sounds scary,” Xela said with no further interest.

  “And don’t forget, you said you’d be here for lunch on Thanksgiving. Theo will be home for it.”

  “Saint Theo,” Xela said in an acid tone that her mother was used to but didn’t like. “I’m surprised she’s coming all the way from India.”

  “She has meetings with the bank in Boston, to get the hospital up and running. And I don’t want any trouble between you two. She’s coming a long way to be here, and I don’t want either of you ruining Thanksgiving. I want you to respect that, Xela.” She knew her middle daughter well and the tension between the two sisters and what it led to.

  “I will,” she said grudgingly. Theo tried to avoid the arguments, but Xela had a way of making it happen. She couldn’t be in the same room with her older sister without being resentful about something, and making barbed comments.

  “I’m counting on you both,” Isabelle said in a firm tone. She didn’t want either of them s
poiling the day. The holidays meant a lot to her and she saw too little of them to have it go badly.

  “I can hardly wait to meet the new assistant,” Xela said, changing the subject. “What’s his name?”

  “Jack.”

  “As in Jack and the Beanstalk? He sounds like a giant.”

  “He seems like a nice guy. I’m sure he’ll help me a lot.” She felt wistful after she hung up. She would have liked to have been able to tell her daughter that she was terrified of what the doctor had told her. It would have been comforting to be open with her. But she never liked to show signs of weakness to her children. They counted on her to be strong for them. She always had been. But she wondered how long she would be able to do that. She intended to fight this battle alone. With Jack Bailey’s help, even though he didn’t know it was why he was there, and she wasn’t going to tell him either. At least not yet, and hopefully not for a long time.

  Chapter Ten

  Jack showed up for his first day of work as promptly as he had for the interview. He had gotten up at five A.M. to get things ready for his sister, prepare food for her and leave it in the refrigerator. He’d showered, shaved, and dressed carefully, and helped her to the couch where she liked to spend the day, dozing and watching television. Her condition had worsened dramatically in the last year, which was why he had moved back from Washington. She could get around the apartment with the walker, and he took her out in a wheelchair on weekends.

  “Play nice at school,” Sandy admonished him gently as she looked him over. She was forty-nine years old, had two children, and was divorced. Her son had moved to Sweden after college and was married there, and her daughter had married a somewhat difficult commercial fisherman in Alaska. She didn’t want to live with either of them and be a burden. She couldn’t afford a nurse. And Jack had seen clearly how hard it was for her to manage. With great regret, he had given up the job in Washington and moved in with her.

  Living together reminded them both of their childhood in Seattle. Things hadn’t turned out the way they’d planned for either of them. Her husband had left her when her kids were very young, and she’d been struggling ever since, and lived on disability payments now. And Jack’s romance with his high school sweetheart evaporated when his promising career ended in an instant, and several dead-end relationships had left him childless and unmarried at forty-six. But he felt it had worked out for the best since it left him able to take care of his sister, and he had always found good jobs he liked, which also allowed him to help her financially. He didn’t like to think about what would happen when her condition worsened, which it would inevitably. She was starting to talk about moving to a nursing home, so she didn’t become too big a burden on him. She was thrilled for him about the new job, and grateful to him for living with her.

  “You look very handsome. I hope this woman knows how lucky she is to have you. You could probably run her business blindfolded,” she said with total faith in him, which wasn’t entirely unjustified. He had done well at every job he’d had, and had become essential to all his employers. He had a wonderful way about him and was a caring person. Sandy knew just how lucky she was to have him with her and the sacrifices he made.

  “Hardly. I don’t know a damn thing about art,” he confessed nervously. “I’d better do some boning up. Maybe we should go to a museum this weekend, so I can tell the difference between a Picasso and a Rembrandt. I read about her online, and she has some major league clients, and some very big-deal art.”

  “You’ll do fine. You’ve never had a job where they didn’t love you.”

  “Thank God for biased older sisters. I should have asked you for a reference.” He had gotten the job on his own merits, and his serious, straightforward demeanor and willingness and flexibility in the interview. Everything about him had felt right to Isabelle, he had asked her all the right questions about the job, and she’d figured that a man his age dedicated to taking care of a sick sister had to be a good guy. And she liked that he was single and had no kids, which gave him more spare time than if he had a family. She knew from her years at the gallery that employees with young children were always a problem, and their childcare arrangements were never as fail-safe as they said.

  He took the subway to work from their apartment downtown near the Bowery. It was an old rent-stabilized building and there was no doorman, but the Puerto Rican super was a kind person, and he let himself into the apartment to check on Sandy from time to time when he knew Jack was out.

  Isabelle had just finished coffee and a piece of toast when he rang the bell. She went to let him in, and led him back to the kitchen, where she’d been reading The Wall Street Journal, and he noticed a magnifying glass on the table. Reading it online made her eyes burn from the strain. She saw him notice the magnifying glass and said she was waiting for new glasses and had been to the eye doctor a few days before.

  She showed him where the coffee machine was, told him there were several delis and small restaurants nearby for lunch on Lexington Avenue, led him upstairs to her office, and sat down at her desk.

  “I have a client coming in this afternoon,” she said easily, “and calls to make this morning. You’re welcome to sit in on the meeting to see what I do. We’re going to go over photographs of Mary Cassatt paintings with the client. He wants to buy one for his wife for their anniversary, and we’re trying to pick one from what’s currently on the market, either at auction, or in galleries here and in Europe.” She took a book out of her bookcase then, about Mary Cassatt, and handed it to him. “She’s an American Impressionist and was a remarkable artist. She painted mostly women and children. Have you ever seen her work?” It was a straight question and not meant to embarrass him, and he answered honestly.

  “Not that I know of. Unless she was in women’s basketball, I don’t know her.” She laughed.

  “That’s a little more recent than her body of work.” He looked grateful for the book. He was willing to do homework to learn the job. “And I’m putting together a collection for a man from Tulsa, who just bought a house here, and has a yacht in Antigua. I got the first two pieces for him yesterday from a Christie’s auction. We have a lot to buy for him.”

  “You sound busy,” but he still wasn’t sure exactly how he fit in. Neither was she. “Will you want me to deal with clients?” he asked her, nervous about it since he knew nothing about the art world.

  “Not unless you’re with me, not on your own. But you can make notes during the meeting, and I’ll need you to do research. I’m sure you’re a lot better on the computer than I am. Just when I find what I want, I hit the wrong button and it disappears.” He smiled. “There are two spotlights burned out in the living room if you don’t mind replacing them, and I want to send some catalogues to the man we’re doing the collection for.” She pointed to a stack on her desk. “I have a FedEx account, just call and they’ll pick up. The boxes are in the pantry closet.” It all sounded easy so far, and interesting. And very different from the multitude of tasks he’d done for the senator.

  “What kind of paintings do you put on a yacht?” He was curious about it.

  “I suggested contemporary, but he wants Old Masters, and he fell in love with a Turner, and he loves some scenes of Venice by Felix Ziem that I showed him.” She stood up and handed him two more books. “Basically, paintings with boats in them.” She smiled at Jack.

  “Makes sense, even to me.” He picked up the stack of catalogues, and then he turned to her. “Do you like sports? I still have some connections for tickets, at the network where I worked.” The senator had loved that, and was a huge baseball and football fan. Isabelle smiled hesitantly at him.

  “I know as much about sports as you do about art. Maybe we can trade information sometime. My last husband died twenty-six years ago, and I have three daughters. I’ve been to the US Open and Wimbledon, but that’s about it. And that reminds me, if we have time late
r, I want to pull out the Thanksgiving decorations today. My daughter is coming home from India for a few days, and I want to get out the things for the table. They’re on a high shelf I can’t get to.”

  “That’s right up my alley.” He grinned at her from his considerable height. “And thank you for lending me the books.” He went to find the FedEx boxes for the catalogues, and Isabelle spent the morning making calls about various paintings, while Jack read the books, sitting in the kitchen. He showed up with a cup of coffee for her on a tray with cream and sugar, halfway through the morning. She smiled and nodded her thanks while deep in conversation on the phone, and he discreetly disappeared again, and let her know when he left for lunch. The morning had gone well.

  He was back in less than an hour, and had taken a brisk walk after he ate a turkey sandwich and a cup of soup at a deli. She showed him where the box of Thanksgiving ornaments was. He didn’t need a ladder to get to them, which she would have, and they unpacked them together. There were some silver birds from Asprey in London, and a brightly colored porcelain turkey as the centerpiece, and some smaller things that would make the table look festive and autumnal, some of which were relics of when the kids were younger. She was holding a small ceramic turkey one of the girls had made at school, and Isabelle smiled as she held it and set it down on the table, but she missed the surface by several inches and it fell on the floor, but didn’t break. She bent to pick it up and set it down in the center of the table then as he watched her, having noticed that she had dropped it in midair, but he didn’t comment. He volunteered to polish the silver pieces to cover the awkward moment, which had clearly upset her. She went back upstairs a few minutes later.

  He set out the decorations on the dining room table, after he polished the silver birds. And a little while later, the client who wanted the Mary Cassatt for his wife arrived. He was a distinguished-looking man in his late sixties or early seventies, and Jack had had a few minutes to glance through the Cassatt book by then. He was quiet during the meeting, but the few comments he made were intelligent, and he made careful notes of what happened, typed them up on his computer afterward, and handed them to Isabelle. She looked surprised.