Who Rescued Who

by Victoria Schade

  “Why hello, lovely. What happened to your shoes? And you’re muddy and bleeding! What’s this?”

  In that instant, the throbbing pain in her leg coupled with the humiliation of her fall and the intensity of everything she’d been through since she arrived overwhelmed her. Her bottom lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears, but she bit the inside of her cheek to stop the tears.

  “Oh, Bess, oh, dear. Come, now.” Rowan jogged to her side and put his arm around her.

  She turned into his embrace and couldn’t hold back any longer. She didn’t have the strength to keep from crying this time. The feelings of being out of place, unmoored, and alone washed over her. She was angry about her father’s final puzzle, forcing her into a situation far outside her comfort zone. She couldn’t envision what her new normal at home would be. And she was embarrassed by her tears and need for comfort. Rowan hugged her closely, stroking her back and murmuring until Elizabeth realized how pathetic she was and stepped away from him.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just a shoe.” She held it up and sniffled.

  “It’s not just the shoe. You’ve been through so much since arriving. At this point you have to surrender a little.”

  Elizabeth sniffled and changed the subject. “You look fantastic.”

  “Why, thank you.” He pointed to his shirt. “Monet, an early inspiration of mine.”

  Elizabeth looked closer and realized that the muted colorful pattern on the shirt under his fitted green velvet-trimmed blazer was actually one of Monet’s Water Lilies paintings. A silk lily pad and pink lily dangled from the breast pocket. His green driving moccasins picked up the colors in the shirt perfectly.

  “And may I say you look like a vision. Harriet took good care of you. Now if I had to guess I’d say you were . . .”

  “Mist. Fog.” She shrugged. “From your Morning Mist series. It’s a stretch.”

  “No, it’s wonderful! I see it. And that makes your bare feet even more appropriate, since mist is stealthy and fleet-footed, not hobbled by heels.”

  “I feel ridiculous without shoes.”

  “My dear, just wait until you see what shows up tonight. This is an eccentric crowd, so there’s bound to be partial nudity, if not full by the end of the night. Your bare feet won’t even register. Now, are you feeling well enough to face the masses, or do you need a few minutes to freshen up? And how about a plaster for your scrape?” He gestured to the blood that had dripped down to her ankle.

  “I’d like to slip upstairs to fix myself up a bit,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

  He nodded. “Of course. Take your time and come find me or Trudy when you’re ready.” He placed a black bowler on his head, festooned with another lily pad and flower, and they walked into the twilight together.

  chapter eleven

  There you are, you marvelous misty creature! Let me have a look.” Harriet gave Elizabeth a smothering hug, almost spilling her glass of champagne, and stepped back to take her in. “Perfection. The bare feet are a wonderful touch. Nice pedi.”

  Elizabeth was reminded of the once-over Whitney gave her every day when she arrived at work. No matter how put together Elizabeth felt, Whitney always pointed something out in a way that sounded like a compliment but wasn’t, like admiring her blouse and mentioning that she’d seen it in the clearance section. Elizabeth’s bare feet would’ve been an easy target.

  “Can you tell what I am?” Harriet asked as she twirled with her arms out.

  Harriet was wearing a fitted brown dress with tie-dyed patches of white across her chest and on the top of her bulging belly, paired with a diaphanous white fascinator on her head.

  “I can’t make it out. What are you?”

  “I’m an Albert Bierstadt mountain range! Get it? These are the peaks.” She pointed to her stomach and breasts, then to her head. “Clouds!”

  “I see it now, very clever. You look great.”

  “My feet are fuming at me already for wearing these things,” she said, showing Elizabeth black lace-up boots. “Shall we sit?”

  “Oh, I’d love to but I really need to find our hosts . . .” Elizabeth was ready to start clocking boldfaced names.

  Harriet stared over Elizabeth’s shoulder as if she weren’t listening to her. “Finally, there they are. You must meet my husband and daughter.” She waved and grinned.

  Elizabeth checked behind her and saw a man who looked like an ebony-skinned runway model walking toward them, carrying an equally beautiful curly-haired toddler in a flower crown. He reminded Elizabeth of a fitness coach she followed, the one with an eight-pack and cheekbones that cast shadows on his face. The man kissed Harriet and handed the little girl to her at the same time.

  “Really, Des? You said you were getting me a drink. Do I have to cause a scene? The fat lady needs a nonalcoholic drink, now please!”

  He ignored her and held out his hand to Elizabeth. “I’m Desmond, but everyone calls me Des. Or you can call me Starry Night over the Rhone.” He gestured toward his bright blue blazer, dotted with splotches of paint to represent Van Gogh’s signature yellow stars and squiggles. “And this is our daughter, Poppy, dressed as one of Van Gogh’s poppies, of course.” The little girl wore a bright red smocked sundress with an elaborate crown of poppies on her head.

  “I’m Elizabeth,” she replied, putting emphasis on her name so that it would imprint before the nickname could take hold.

  “Of course, I recognized your Hargrave hat. Harriet has always loved that one. Can I bring you something to drink, since I’m clearly on my way back to the bar?”

  “I’m set for now, thank you.” She held up her glass.

  Des gave Harriet another kiss on the cheek and headed into the crowd.

  “It’s almost time for bed, little one,” Harriet said to the child at her side. “Enjoy it while you can. Poppy, can you say hello to Miss Bess, Mummy’s new friend? Isn’t Miss Bess pretty?”

  The little girl stared up at Elizabeth through a waterfall of golden brown curls.

  “You are very pretty,” Elizabeth said to her, then instantly regretted it, remembering how the Duchess moms talked about teaching their daughters to be intelligent instead of pretty. “I bet you’re smart too. Are you smart?”

  Poppy buried her face in her mother’s leg.

  “Shy, this one. Takes after me!” Harriet snorted and shot Elizabeth a look.

  “I’ve got to find Rowan and Trudy, but I’ll catch up with you later,” Elizabeth said, hoping that she could figure out a way to chat with a crowd of strangers without an assist from a working phone.

  Everyone had gone all out to celebrate the guest of honor and find their own ways to stick to the theme, so Elizabeth found herself ducking around human trees complete with towering branch-hats, shiny blue dresses that shimmered like flowing water, rainbow fascinators, and a dapper gentleman wearing a suit and top hat made entirely of AstroTurf. She finally found Rowan talking to a couple dressed like cherry trees.

  “Ah, there she is!” He crowed when he saw Elizabeth. “My sakura friends, allow me to introduce you to my niece, Bess.”

  From that point on Rowan led her around the party like a show pony, glowing with familial pride. Elizabeth was reminded of the lone holiday faculty party she’d attended with her father, shortly after her mother died. She was the only child at a party that was clearly meant for adults, without a Santa or brightly wrapped present in sight. He’d spent the hours talking quietly with his colleagues as if Elizabeth weren’t even there with him. She sat by herself in a corner, twisting the tassels on her Christmas sweater until they started to unravel.

  Rowan, on the other hand, introduced her to everyone within striking distance, always as Bess. Her attempts at correcting him were drowned in polite questions and party chatter. She met an earl, a baroness, curators, collectors, restorers, gallery owners, and too many �
�the thirds” to count. On Rowan’s arm she was the celebrity, not him. He absorbed his guests’ congratulations, then deftly deflected all attention to her, beaming next to her as she charmed his friends in her bare feet and swirly dress.

  Elizabeth spotted Trudy talking with the party planner underneath a rustic wooden arch covered in a flowering purple plant. She had Rosie and Blossom on colorful ribbon leashes, wearing their half-eaten flower crowns. The sheep acted like well-trained dogs, nibbling on the greenery and accepting goodies from passersby. Major, his top hat still in place, watched them from a few feet away in a focused crouch, looking up at Trudy and waiting to boss them into submission.

  Trudy was hard to miss in a brilliant yellow dress that faded to pinks, reds, and blues at the bottom, topped off with a textured navy shawl shot through with glints of silver that she had no doubt woven herself. On her head, a crown of silver stars. It was the first costume Elizabeth could immediately identify; her aunt was dressed as dusk, the magic hour when sun, stars, and moon share the sky at the same time. It was a loving tribute to Rowan’s most famous painting, Sunset over Blenheim.

  Elizabeth watched Trudy while pretending to listen to a performance artist in a sheer silver blouse and lightning-bolt hat talk about her latest site-specific installation. Trudy looked agitated, as if the party planner wasn’t following what she was saying. She pointed to the sky over and over. William Burke, the gardener, joined them under the arch, looking exactly as he had the night he picked Elizabeth up from the airport except for orange and yellow leaves peeking from his pockets and tucked in his cap. He, too, seemed concerned about something.

  Rowan tapped her on the shoulder. “Bess, dear, may I introduce you to our dear friend Reid Burgess, owner of HiveMind Coffee and the finest beekeeper in Fargrove. Reid, this is my niece, who changed her vacation plans to be with us tonight.”

  “We’ve already met.” Reid held his pint glass up to her in a halfhearted toast. “What are you supposed to be?”

  “Mist.”

  “Missed what?”

  Rowan jumped in as if sensing the tension between them. “She’s the mist, an homage to my Morning Mist series, of course. And you are from Seurat’s A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, yes? The gentleman in the front?”

  Elizabeth had recognized the outfit immediately, but she would never have given him the satisfaction of admitting it. His black baseball cap and sleeveless red shirt were standard issue, but coupled with his coppery five o’clock shadow and long prop pipe, he was the embodiment of the boatman in the foreground of the painting. His broad shoulders and sculpted arms caught her off guard. In San Fran a physique like his came courtesy of a trainer, but Elizabeth guessed that his muscles were actually the product of physical labor.

  “Oui, oui, I am the boatman,” Reid replied.

  Rowan looked off in the distance with a concerned expression. “Will you excuse me? Trudy is beckoning me.” He slipped away, leaving Elizabeth and Reid alone.

  “Breaking any mugs tonight?”

  “Funny. Making any lattes tonight?”

  “Ha. I’m off duty. I’ll be back to serving the caffeine addicts tomorrow.”

  Elizabeth sensed an opportunity. “You had quite a crowd when I was there. Do you know all of your customers? Are they regulars?”

  “Most.”

  “The lady with the little dog? So cute.” She kept her voice neutral.

  “Mrs. Redvers and Lark the pug.”

  “And there was a mom and child, and what looked like some old friends chatting, and, oh yeah, that dark-haired guy on his computer.” She tried to play it off, like she was just interested in learning about the locals.

  “Kelly Malthus and her son Ben; Patricia and Judith Balfour, they’re sisters, not friends; and James Holworthy.”

  She felt a ripple of victory at discovering his name so stealthily. “That James guy, he looked very busy. Do you know what he does? I mean, he was the only one working; everyone else seemed to be taking it easy.”

  Reid turned to look directly at her and studied her before he answered. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” He pointed across the yard to a crowd of women tittering around someone. One of the women doubled over with laughter and Elizabeth spotted him, holding court in front of the rapt group. He was wearing a single-breasted black blazer buttoned high with a white silk scarf knotted at his neck. The wild wavy hair was tamed, and he had elaborate sideburns drawn on his cheeks. She wasn’t sure how his costume fit with the theme, but it didn’t matter. He looked like he’d stepped out of a Regency romance.

  James Holworthy was magnificent, and he looked even better laughing. He was gesturing with his pint glass, and the women watched him with eager expressions, ready to laugh again when the time was right. They looked like they wanted to eat him, and she didn’t blame them one bit. He was more delicious than she remembered. How had she missed those cheekbones?

  Elizabeth refocused on the grumpy ginger and realized that she had to make him an ally so that she could secure an introduction. It wasn’t going to be easy given the twin strikes of her Americanness and recent mug murder.

  “So you’re a beekeeper,” she said, hoping that talking about a hobby might open him up. “Are you helping to save the world from hive collapse?”

  “I’m doing my part. Half a dozen hives on top of the shop. Are you an artist as well? Does it run in the family?” Reid scanned the crowd as if trying to find someone else to talk to while keeping the volley of questions going between them.

  “Not anymore. I’m in tech. Gaming, some web design, a little programming.” It wasn’t exactly true at the moment, but it would be soon enough, once she toppled Cecelia with the photo. Everyone would connect the dots and realize that Elizabeth was fired to create a smokescreen for something much worse than a stupid joke.

  Reid stopped scanning everyone else and took a step closer to her. He looked at her in awe, like she’d just told him she was a fighter pilot.

  “Really? I’m in need of an app developer. Can you suggest someone?” It was as if a switch had flipped. Suddenly Elizabeth was irresistible and worthy of his full attention.

  “Depends on what you want. I actually have a development background, so I can do the basics.” Elizabeth suggested it before she could think twice about working with him. Without the cushion of a steady paycheck, it made sense to pursue any and all work that came her way.

  “I think all I need would be the basics,” he replied, locked in on her. “It’s a very straightforward app for the Hive. But we don’t have to talk about it now, not while we have cocktails in hand. Would it be possible to set up a time to meet before you shove off? I’d much rather work with someone I’ve met in the flesh, and developers are hard to come by in Fargrove. If you decide it’s something you can take on, I’ll pay you, of course.” The change in his reaction to her was comical.

  “Sure, I’m heading out tomorrow afternoon, but even if we can’t make it happen before I go, we can Skype or something.” She still needed to work out the details of the land with Rowan and Trudy.

  “Excellent. I’m at the Hive all day tomorrow, so if you can squeeze in a quick drop-by, there’s a coffee and warm pie awaiting you.”

  Elizabeth nodded and tried to think of a way to gracefully request an introduction to James Holworthy before they drifted apart. There was no way she could force herself into James’s conversation with the impenetrable wall of estrogen around him, so she needed an in. And it was almost like Reid owed her, now that she was going to help with his app. But maybe it was rude to ask Reid to introduce her? It felt like Reid was checking her out, and she didn’t want to do anything that might derail their pending work together. She could shut him down gently once the project was complete, tell him that she never mixed business with pleasure. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to juggle inappropriate interest with work.

>   She was just about to ask if anyone else in town needed programming help and steer the conversation to James, even though she had no idea what he did for a living, when Des, Harriet, and Poppy walked over.

  “You two have made peace, I see,” Harriet said, recalling the first meeting that Elizabeth was trying to scrub from Reid’s memory.

  “I’ll make an exception for this American,” Reid said. “She’s going to help me with the new Hive app.”

  Harriet draped her arm on Elizabeth’s shoulder and gave her an approving nod. “Partners, how lovely. I had a feeling you’d get along. I’m an excellent judge of people.” She beamed at the group like a proud matchmaker.

  Elizabeth shivered at the word. She didn’t want them thinking that she needed anything more from Reid than a paycheck. She took the opportunity to excuse herself to look for Rowan and Trudy before Harriet or Des coupled them off. She found them consulting with the planner again, so she stood behind them and eavesdropped.

  “I assure you, Mrs. Barnes, the weather is going to hold. And if not, the large tent can accommodate everyone. Please, I’m begging you, trust that I have it all under control.” The woman’s voice was strained, but she was smiling. Elizabeth recognized the face of a woman trained to please.

  “I’m worried,” Trudy replied. “There are three things I know better than most: plants, animals, and weather. This sky says rain, heavy rain, and I think it’s going to be much more than that flimsy tent can take.”

  “Trudy, please . . .” Rowan interjected. “Let’s enjoy ourselves now and worry about rain when we feel the first drops.” He started swaying to the music. “Do you hear that? They’re playing our song.”

  She paused to listen to the band. “That’s not our song, Rowan. I’ve never even heard that song.”