An Unexpected Suitor (3 page)

“So you will talk to Nola? Miss Burns?”

“I will not. What I will do is offer you two pieces of information about that young woman that may possibly keep you from making an incredible fool of yourself and losing any chance you may have of working with her.”

Harry grinned. “You know, cousin, it’s been said that I do know a thing or two about charming the ladies.”

Rachel spewed limeade in the air as her laughter exploded. “Ah, yes, I had forgotten to calculate that famous male arrogance into the equation. Very well, first piece of advice—you cannot charm Nola, especially when it comes to business. That young woman has had a lifetime of hardship. She knows how to take care of herself and frankly does not trust anyone else to do so for her.”

“And the second piece of advice?”

Rachel sobered. “Find another property to buy—leave the woman in peace. She’s earned it.”

“Can’t do that,” Harry said as he drained the last of his limeade and stood up.

“Then tread lightly, Harry. Nola is a good woman, and she’ll be good for Nantucket long after you’ve moved on to your next venture.”

Business in the tearoom was already slower than usual for May. The current trade was mostly locals, but that generally set the tone for what Nola might expect over the summer. Even so, Nola recognized that she and Judy could become quickly overwhelmed if the signs were wrong.

After getting past the initial shock of the news from the employment agency, her first move had been to contact her attorney to get her deposit refunded. Then she had asked him to wire other agencies on the mainland to ask what they might offer in the way of help.

“I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, Miss Nola,” her attorney, John Humboldt, had told her the day before.

“Just tell me the worst of it so I can decide what to do,” Nola had replied.

Humboldt had folded his fingers and stared up at the tin ceiling of his office. Nola realized he was avoiding having to look directly at her as he delivered his news. “The agency has not simply closed its doors,” he began, and Nola stiffened her spine as if about to receive a blow. “The owners have disappeared. I’m afraid there are a number of other creditors in addition to yourself who have been left empty-handed.”

“And the other agencies you contacted?”

Humboldt sighed and leaned back in his cracked leather
chair. “The other agencies sent responses that barely concealed their mirth at the very idea that they might have help available at such a late date.”

“I see,” Nola had replied as she pulled on her gloves and stood. “Thank you, Mr. Humboldt.”

The attorney had walked her to the door offering ideas Nola was well aware were his desperate attempts to help.

“I understand Harry Starbuck has some interest in your property, Nola. Perhaps this would be a good time to give that some serious consideration.”

“Never.”

“Be careful about rejecting the idea, Nola. You need to consider not only your future, but Mrs. Lang’s as well. She’s not getting any younger, you know.”

“There just has to be another way.” But the truth was that at the moment she couldn’t think of a single solution.

When she returned to the tearoom and gave Judy the news, Judy suggested asking the owner of the Beach Hotel to lend her three or four members of his staff until she could find her own. It was a good idea, but Nola really hated asking people she knew for favors. Since her mother’s death, she had taken on the mantle of “the strong one” in her family, in the community and certainly in her business. But the truth was that she often longed for the kinds of close friendships her siblings had enjoyed while living on the island. True, she had Judy and there was Rachel Williams in Nantucket. She had even thought of stopping to see Rachel in order to seek her advice after leaving the attorney’s office.

But Rachel was Harrison Starbuck’s cousin and surely her loyalty to him as family would color any advice she might offer Nola. She stood at the kitchen window staring out and seeing nothing. She was so tired of shouldering the
entire burden of the business. Her siblings would send money if she needed it, but they could not leave their busy lives to return to ’Sconset for a summer and help out.

Sometimes, Father, it just gets so hard. And so lonely.

“Nola?”

She turned her attention back to Judy and smiled. “We’ll get through this,” she assured the older woman. “We’ve been through worse, haven’t we?”

Harry stared at the scattered pages of the script for his new play. If he was going to stage a reading of this for opening night at the cabaret, it was going to need work. A lot of work. His investors were not convinced that this particular play would attract enough of an audience to recoup their investment and bring them a profit. The reading would be his one opportunity to convince them of its merits.

The theme of the play was getting back to the very foundations that had made America great. Over the last several years Harry had become increasingly alarmed at the growing gap between those who had vast sums of riches and those who struggled to get by. The same scenario was playing out around the globe. Surely God’s plan had always been that the rich would share their wealth so that no one had to suffer. How to bring that message home through a play? How to touch the hearts and minds of those very people he hoped to reach? How to deliver a play based on a message of charity and interconnection without having it come across as “preaching”?

He forced his concentration back to the script. When he’d first thought of the concept, the lines had practically written themselves. Never before had he written an entire script so quickly. Surely God had been guiding his imagination, his
thoughts, his fingers around the pen. But now the words seemed stale and lifeless and he was glad for the interruption of Jonah Lang’s slow heavy tread on the steps outside his office.

“Got some bad news, boss.”

Starbuck removed the wire-rimmed glasses he always wore when he was working. Jonah Lang was a glass-half-empty kind of a fellow and his definition of bad news usually wasn’t that bad at all. “On a glorious day like this?” Starbuck said with a smile.

“Roofing materials got held up in New Bedford,” Jonah reported.

Starbuck’s smile froze. “Because?”

“Well, now, the skipper of the
Maximus
took another job and left ’em high and dry, as they say. Shipment’s been loaded but there’s nobody to captain the boat.”

“So what’s wrong with moving the shipment to a vessel with a captain and crew ready to sail?”

Jonah shrugged. “Busy time, boss. Everybody’s got winter repairs to get done before the season gets going and things are tight.”

Starbuck placed his glasses carefully on the desk. “Any idea how long before the materials arrive?”

“Week—maybe two.”

Starbuck stood and braced his hands on the table that served as his desk. “Two weeks?”

“That’s the company talking. Ask me, you’re looking at maybe three weeks—maybe a month.”

“The acting troupe I hired arrives on Monday. They won’t have lodgings until that shipment arrives,” Starbuck muttered, thinking out loud.

They could move in with those performers already in ’Sconset for the summer, he thought. Hardly room enough
in those cottages for the families already there, though. He paced his office. Hotel? It’d cost him but it was early in the season and just maybe…

He was aware that Jonah was still talking but he’d stopped listening.

“…little chance that Miss Nola would put them up. She’s got the rooms just sitting there,” Jonah continued and chuckled. “I must be clutching at straws, boss. The very thought that Nola Burns would put a bunch of New York theater folks up there at her place?” Now he was laughing out loud and shaking his head. “Oh, the ladies at the church wouldn’t like that.”

He certainly had Starbuck’s attention now. “Say that again,” he said quietly.

Jonah stopped laughing and blinked. “About the ladies of the church?”

“About Miss Nola having rooms to let. Are you saying that Nola Burns has enough space above her tearoom to house a company of six actors?”

Jonah scratched his balding head. “Well now, there’s four rooms on the second floor and probably another two or three on the third. Haven’t been up there in some time myself. You’ve been keeping me pretty busy and Miss Nola hasn’t called for repairs in a while, but yep, I’m thinking she’s got the space. But, boss…”

Starbuck pulled on his jacket and slammed on his hat as he headed for the door. “Let me know the minute that shipment sails,” he said. “I’ll pull a crew of workers from the cabaret project so you can get the roofs on and the interiors painted as soon as possible.”

“Will do,” Jonah replied as he followed him out the door and down the stairs. “Anything else?”

“See if you can get enough tarps to cover the open roofs on the cottages and get going on the inside work.”

“They might have extras down there at the cabaret construction site. You headed there now?”

“Later. Right now, I’m going to have a little chat with Miss Nola.”

Harry headed straight for the tearoom and this time, the fact the place was closed for the day did not stop him. He knocked on the frosted etched glass of the double front door and, because he was impatient to get this matter settled, rapped again louder.

“W
hat on earth?” Judy huffed as she opened the door, but the minute she saw Harry she smiled. “Why, Harry Starbuck, did you come for tea?”

Harry grinned and sniffed the air. “Why, Mrs. Lang, is that your sweet lemon bread I smell?”

“Fresh from the oven,” she replied. “Come on back to the kitchen and I’ll cut you a slice.”

“Maybe later,” Starbuck replied, then glanced at the wide circular staircase that wound its way up to the vacant rooms Jonah had mentioned. “Is Miss Nola here?”

On cue, as if she’d been standing just offstage awaiting her entrance, pocket doors leading to the parlor slid open to his right and there stood the woman herself. As usual her lips were pursed as if she had just been sucking a lemon and not yet quite gotten past the startling sourness of it to enjoy the unique tart flavor. Her spine was as stiff as her starched apron, and her hair was pulled so tight he wondered how she could work up the frown that creased her forehead. “May I help you, Mr. Starbuck?”

“I’ve come to discuss a business proposition. A
different
proposition,” he added with a grin. “Truth is, I need to ask a favor.”

Instead of replying, Nola turned to Judy. “Thank you, Mrs. Lang. Mr. Starbuck and I will continue this conversation in my office.”

How could Starbuck have momentarily forgotten Judy Lang’s love of gossip? She stood there looking first at him and then at Nola, curiosity making her eyes fairly dance as she sopped up every nuance of the exchange.

“Sorry, Miz Lang,” he said, ducking his head and looking at her with eyes that both apologized and flirted with a single blink. “Could I take you up on the offer of lemon bread another time?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Now, don’t you go causing trouble for Miss Nola here, Harry Starbuck,” she warned. “She’s already given you her answer about selling this place so just see to it that you mind your manners, young man.” And with that she turned on her heel and marched back to the kitchen.

Harry faced Nola. She indicated the room beyond the pocket doors. “Won’t you come in?” she invited, her voice cool. “I have a few minutes.”

Starbuck took heart. At least she hadn’t thrown him out. Yet. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” he said and stepped into the inner sanctum of her private quarters.

The parlor that doubled as her office was surprisingly spare in its furnishings. Despite the preference many women had for filling every square inch with doodads and furniture, Nola’s place was light, airy, inviting. The sea breeze stirred the lace curtains that covered open windows. The wood floors were polished to a high sheen with only a single,
pastel-colored Oriental rug interrupting their flow. There were library bookcases to each side of the Carrara marble fireplace. Instead of being crammed with volumes they featured a selection of books interspersed with a few of the most impressive seashell specimens Harry had seen on the island. Her desk was positioned near the large bay window, carefully placed at an angle to take maximum advantage of the view. In front of the fireplace were two matching chairs, their armrests covered with dainty lace doilies that matched the curtains, and a single large ottoman.

In spite of its sparse furnishings, the room was cozy and welcoming. It felt peaceful, nothing at all like what he would have expected from the very prim Nola Burns.

She took the chair at her desk, leaving him little choice but to stand, hat in hand, the inviting chairs being turned away from her position at the desk.

“Now then, what is this all about?” she asked.

“Jonah Lang tells me that you have rooms upstairs to let.”

“Exactly how is that your concern?”

“I’d like to rent them.”

He could not help but be fascinated by the range of emotions that flashed across Nola’s features at that simple admission. Surprise was followed by wariness, followed by the sheer will to maintain control and reveal nothing. “It’s true that on occasion I rent out the upstairs rooms, but I only do so at the height of the season when the hotel is fully booked and then only to people of unimpeachable character,” she replied evenly.

Starbuck saw a potential opening. “I would only need the rooms for a short time now at the start of the season, before the real crowds arrive.”

Nola frowned and her eyes narrowed. “If this is a ploy to
offer your city friends a preview of the luxury inn you hope to create here…”

“I wish to rent the rooms to house my troupe of performers until such time as the cottages I secured for them can be repaired. A month—perhaps less.”

“I’m afraid, Mr. Starbuck, that you…”

“Will you stop with the Mr. Starbuck? It’s me—Harry. I went to school with your brothers. You were no more than what? Two years behind me?”

“Three,” she replied.

“Exactly. We grew up on this island and as you pointed out the other day, you know exactly who I am, Nola.”

“But you have little knowledge of who I am,” Nola said as she rose and came around the desk. “I am sorry that you have run into a problem of housing your company, but I’m quite sure with your considerable resources you can find a solution.”

“I’ll pay you well, Nola, and in light of recent developments with the employment agency going out of business and all…”

She arched one eyebrow as she passed him on her way to the door. “This is not about money,” she said. “Besides, I should think that having heard about my staffing shortage, you would see an opportunity to acquire my property.”

“I’m not following you, Miss Nola. I simply need to rent some rooms. You have rooms to rent. I’d pay you, which adds to your business income. How exactly does that help me in getting you to sell?”

“I should think it’s obvious. You would have your people here in residence, watching, listening, snooping about.”

“I’m not that devious and my friends don’t stoop to such tactics, either. Now will you rent me the rooms or not?”

“No. And I will not be selling you this property. Now,
may I suggest that we both get on with finding alternate solutions to our business difficulties?”

“This isn’t over, Nola,” he murmured as he headed for the door.

“Yes, it is. Have a good day, Mr. Starbuck.”

On Sunday, as always, Nola was up with the sun but she could not seem to decide on her costume for church. She was well aware that Harry Starbuck was the reason for her hesitation. The man made her painfully conscious of her plainness, although why she should care one iota what his opinion might be, she had no idea. Well, she had some idea.

After his visit a few days earlier, it had dawned on her that Harrison Starbuck was not going away any time soon and for the time being the two of them were locked in battle. In her view he could afford any piece of land he wanted, so why set his sights on her property? The answer was as clear as the cloudless sky and calm sea outside her bedroom window. He didn’t give one minute’s thought to the fact that this had been her family’s home for decades. Well, if Harry Starbuck wanted a fight, then she was prepared to give him one.

After finally settling on her standard Sunday garb, Nola took one last look at herself in the gilded mirror that dominated the entrance to the tearoom. You look fine, she thought to herself. Now go to church.

It was her habit to arrive at the church a full hour before services were scheduled to begin. She liked having the time to run through the hymns and her prelude on the temperamental pump organ before the congregation began to gather. But on this morning, as soon as she approached the church, she realized that she was not to have that quiet time to herself.

There was no mistaking the sound of Harrison Starbuck’s
laughter as it rolled up the center aisle and out through the open church doors to greet her. His obvious good humor rumbled from the depths of him, like a wave building power before finally exploding onto the beach. In the environment of the church with its high beamed ceiling and echoing acoustics, the sound reverberated, hanging on the morning air.

Nola stepped into the small vestibule and considered her options. He had not yet spotted her. She could take a walk through the church cemetery until he had vacated the premises, or she could refuse to abandon her normal routine. She chose the latter, squaring her shoulders as she marched into the sanctuary.

“Ah, here she is now,” Oliver Franks, the choir director, announced.

Nola walked straight to the pump organ across from the choir loft at the front of the chapel. “Good morning, Oliver. Mr. Starbuck.” She removed her gloves and set them down along with her purse as she slid onto the polished organ bench and positioned her music for the prelude.

“Harry has agreed to favor the congregation with a solo this morning,” Oliver said. “And not a minute too soon since Minnie has come down with laryngitis and won’t be in church today.” Oliver’s wife, Minnie, often sang a solo while the ushers accepted the offering.

“I’m so sorry to hear that Minnie is ill,” Nola said and meant it. Minnie Franks was a good neighbor and friend. The two women shared a great deal in common, including their concern over the influence of the actors’ colony on the young people in the village. “Is there anything I can do for her?”

“Not a thing. She’ll come around,” Oliver assured her. “Now then, Harry here has suggested ‘Holy, Holy, Holy,’ and I completely agree that the hymn was made for a rich
baritone like his.” Oliver opened the hymnal and set it on the organ in front of Nola. “Shall we give it a try?”

During this entire exchange, Harrison Starbuck had said nothing, but Nola was keenly aware that his eyes had never left her face. She adjusted the hymnal and pulled out several of the organ’s stops. Then she raised her hands high over the keys and struck the opening chords. But when Starbuck touched her shoulder, she missed the timing and the organ screeched to a halt. She glanced first at his hand still resting on her shoulder and then up at him.

The scoundrel was smiling jubilantly. “Perhaps a bit less pomp and circumstance?”

“It is a hymn of praise,” she reminded him stiffly.

“Sometimes praise can be whispered as effectively,” he countered.

“Perhaps you would prefer no accompaniment at all.” She could see Oliver nervously wringing his hands as he observed the exchange.

“Interesting idea,” Starbuck said as he leaned past her and struck a key, his face close enough that she could see the smoothness of his freshly shaved jaw. He hummed the note, then stood straight and tall and faced the empty pews.

“Holy. Holy. Holy.” He sang each word as if it stood alone, allowing the sound to build without increasing the volume. And then he paused as the third
holy
echoed across the rafters. When all was silent, he continued. “Lord God Almighty.” This he held as if sending up a plea for God’s attention.

Nola could not help it. His fresh interpretation of the old standard was mesmerizing and for that moment she completely forgot who was offering the hymn. Her fingers found the notes and ever so softly, she began to play as he sang, “Early in the morning, our song shall rise to Thee.”

Starbuck looked back at her and nodded and indicated with hand gestures how the rest of the hymn should build. When they came to the final phrase, instinctively, Nola lifted her fingers from the organ keys, allowing his voice to carry the final words without accompaniment.

“God in three persons,” he sang softly, his inflection filled with wonder, and then “Blessed trinity” with the emphasis on
blessed.

“Oh, my,” Oliver gasped as the last note died away. “Oh, that was just splendid.”

And hard as she tried not to take pleasure in the moment, Nola found herself beaming up at Harrison Starbuck.

But her smile faded when his eyes locked on hers for he wasn’t smiling at all. He was studying her as if she’d suddenly turned into a completely different person. And then it was as if he tore his gaze from hers as he accepted Oliver’s compliments.

“In the theater, the actors are well aware that often they are made to look better than they are by those who support them.” He gave Nola a little bow. “We make a fine team, Miss Nola. Are you satisfied with the arrangement or shall we try it your way?”

Was Starbuck mocking her? He knew very well that what he had done was magnificent. Nola stiffened. “I doubt there’s time for testing other arrangements,” she said, deliberately looking at the gold brooch watch she had pinned to her jacket lapel. “And if you’ll forgive me, gentlemen, I should like to run through the prelude and review today’s congregational hymns before people begin arriving.”

“Of course,” Oliver said. “Nola always uses this hour to rehearse. She’s so busy during the week. I’m afraid we have intruded on your time, my dear.”

“Not at all,” Nola assured Oliver. “The prelude today is a standard that I’ve done many times before. Mostly,” she added for Starbuck’s benefit, “I rely on this time to make sure the organ is working well and to warm up for the service.” And not waiting for a response, she turned her attention to the music and began to play.

To her relief the two men moved up the aisle and she assumed they had gone outside to give her privacy while they enjoyed the warm spring morning. Reverend Diggs arrived and nodded to her as he went through his own preliminary preparations for the service. He placed his notes on the pulpit, marked each hymn page with a bookmark and then headed into the small side room where she knew he would don the black robe he wore for services.