Newport Dreams: A Breakwater Bay Novella (7 page)

Chapter 7

G
EORDIE PULLED OUT
of the Gilbert House parking area, barely aware of where she was going. She couldn’t believe she’d let that jerk trick her into walking out.
Walking out.
She’d just walked out on a job. Even in her most ridiculous attempts at working, she’d never walked out without completing the project or honoring her two-week notice.

But she’d just run out on the most interesting job she’d ever had.

Okay, maybe she didn’t love the documentation part. The actual, realistic details didn’t rock her world like it did Meri’s and Doug’s and even Bruce’s, damn him. But the other stuff, the photos she got after the initial photographs, the play of light, the distortion of detail, the people caught in an unsuspecting moment, their expressions frozen yet alive, the color modulated by filters or natural light.

That was good stuff. Maybe she was a fake. And the worse kind, begrudgingly doing their work so she could have some fun with hers. But she’d gotten some dynamite shots.

Unfortunately, dynamite shots did not constitute a career. Maybe she would be better off giving in and joining the corporate office and doing some menial job to fund her “hobby” of photography.

Of course she wouldn’t be allowed to do some menial job. She’d be forced into corner-office stuff. Her sister Alicia, who was in marketing, had married a podiatrist just to get out of the family business.

Somehow that seemed like a really unacceptable choice.

About as unacceptable as not being able to climb up a ladder. Why, oh why, had she refused to go back to therapy? Even on the breakers, she’d totally forgotten the techniques that she’d used in the past.

And now she was screwed.

Had her parents really bribed someone to take her on? Had they donated the money for her salary? It was just like something her dad would do.

Her mouth opened into a soundless scream, followed by an ear-piercing bellow of hurt and anger. She pulled to the curb and banged on the steering wheel. The car shuddered in response.

When she finally looked up, she realized she was on Bellevue Avenue, a block from Marble House. One of her favorites. She couldn’t imagine it ever being half as neglected as poor Gilbert House.

Gilbert House had fallen on dire times, had been misused and disrespected for decades. And frankly, Geordie didn’t see how they would even get it halfway back to where it might have been a century ago.

Well, to hell with it. It was no longer her concern. Let them do their own documentation. Let Bruce climb up that scaffolding and snap a few shots with his phone. Then he’d be sorry.

The thought totally deflated her. They didn’t need her. They didn’t even want her. Neither Meri nor Carlyn had stood up for her.

Made excuses for me.

“Oh, stop whining.” She huffed out the last—hopefully the last—of her anger and hurt. She pulled into the Marble House parking lot, took a camera out of her bag, put the rest of her equipment in the trunk, and struck off across the street to do her own kind of pictures.

She didn’t even slow down at the gate of Marble House, just strode up the circular drive, showed her membership card and went inside. She knew she wouldn’t be able to take any shots, not with her camera anyway. But she could in her mind. Implanting it on her brain, playing with it in her thoughts. It was a way to train the eye so you didn’t miss opportunity when you suddenly came upon a shot.

She walked through the foyer, passing the guided tour offer. She’d been here plenty of times. Loved the steadiness of the architecture, the security of the thick, hard walls tempered by ridiculously ornate decorations.

She tried to imagine the people who had once lived here, died here during the height of the Gilded Age with their reckless making and spending of money. Up and down the avenue year after year, moving between Manhattan and Newport, chasing entertainment, attention, power.

She could almost see them moving around the rooms, ghostly and restless, trapped in a gilded cage, replaying their scandals, their power plays, their triumphs, their failures over and over and over into eternity. The famous and the infamous.

Those people were trapped as surely as if they had been locked inside, dependent on their wealth to make them feel secure. She didn’t really want to consider whether she, too, was trapped by her family’s wealth. Oh, she could travel and be semi-independent, but she could never get free. Not really. Not yet anyway.

And suddenly she wanted to be free. Break the bonds, breathe fresh ocean air. She retraced her steps and walked straight out the door, earning a strange look from the docent and leaving the old rooms behind. Leaving the ghosts behind. They would still be there the next time she came.

But today she’d had enough of mansions, even beautiful ones. What made them special were the people who’d inhabited them. That’s what interested her. Not the ceiling paintings or the Siena marble, not even the tiles hidden beneath the paint layers on the old front steps of Gilbert House.

They didn’t speak to her like they did to Meri and Doug and Bruce, even Carlyn, with her background in finance.

So what ignited her passion? Not the hot, hunky guy kind of passion but the soul-deep kind, the kind that would make her spend her life struggling to make ends meet just so she could keep doing what she was doing. Working long, uncomfortable hours only to come back and do it again.

Meri had said it would take months to clean and strip the ceiling. Working through the years of paint layers in increments of inches, not just painting on some solvent and wiping the whole clean. Cataloguing each layer for color and composition, until she came to the first layer of paint. She didn’t want to lose one bit of the underneath layers. Because there might be something fabulous there.

Meri couldn’t wait to get started.

Geordie wanted to feel that, too. But she’d wrecked any chance she had of finding it at Gilbert House with Doug’s crew.

She sat on a bench by the drive, her camera forgotten on her lap. Frowning into space. In limbo.

A butterfly flitted by and landed on a shrub. Geordie didn’t care much for photos of butterflies, but she couldn’t just sit on a bench all day. So she took a shot. When it swooped to another bush, she stood and took another.

And another, catching it in flight, on a branch. She walked down the path to the lawn until it finally led her to the Chinese tea pagoda, where tourists stopped for refreshments.

It landed on the stone wall where two young girls had taken their sandwiches. Tweenies, Geordie guessed, staying as far away as possible from their parents and little brother, who were sitting at a table across the patio.

When the butterfly landed on the lid of a soda bottle, Geordie was ready, capturing the look of delight in those faces that were trying so hard to be mature. Geordie smiled. She didn’t even have to look at the shot to know she nailed it. Had caught them at their most secret, vulnerable moment. Two girls and a butterfly.

The butterfly flew away. The two girls, heads nearly touching, giggled over some shared secret. Four older women who had been having tea at one of the tables got up in a flurry of laughter and conversation. They moved down the path toward the sea, and Geordie moved with them.

They walked slowly, since one of them used a cane and another was supported by the arm of her friend. Geordie could tell they had known one another for a long time.

The four ladies came to the edge of the lawn and stopped to gaze out to the ocean. The cliff walk followed the water below them, tunneling beneath the teahouse before reappearing on the other side. Beyond the walk, the ocean spread out to the sky. Geordie moved closer, keeping the ladies between her and the drop to the cliff walk, and took a few shots of blue.

The expanse of ocean was beautiful, commanding, inspiring, but she’d missed seeing it the day before because she hadn’t been able to climb the breakers. The fear was all in her head. She knew that. For all the good it did. It had the power to paralyze her.

She moved closer. The women must have heard her coming up behind them because one of them turned around and smiled.

“Dear, would you mind taking a picture of us?” She held up her camera.

“I’d love to.” Geordie moved close enough to take the camera from the woman.

The four of them crowded together.

“On the count of three.” Geordie knew that was the surest way to kill spontaneity, but she also knew they would like it.

They did, and when she handed the camera back they thanked her profusely.

As they walked back to the mansion, Geordie called out, “Oh, ladies.”

The four of them turned around and Geordie took a series of shots as they laughed, became flustered, and finally settled into that rigid smile that people use to take photos.

“If you’ll give me an e-mail address, I’ll send you photos. Or I can print some out and send them to you.”

“No need. I have a photo printer,” the lady with the cane said. She gave Geordie her e-mail addy and with another round of thanks, they walked away.

Geordie watched them go and with them her brief flurry of excitement, which left her feeling bereft and more despondent than ever.

She needed her job back. So what if she didn’t know much about architectural documentation? She could learn. And if it wasn’t the end all of professions, she might grow to like it. And at least it would be better than waiting tables or working in the corporate office.

But would Bruce hire her back? Had she really gotten the job by herself, or was it like he thought, due to her parents’ influence? She’d thought she’d really aced the interview, but maybe she was full of it. Maybe she hadn’t gotten the job at all. Maybe . . . She reached for her phone. There was one thing she really needed to know.

Her mother’s social secretary answered on the second ring.

“Hi Val, is the lady of the manor at home?”

“Good day, Geordie. If you’re looking for your mother, I’ll see if she’s available.” Without waiting for an answer, she put Geordie on hold.

Geordie made a face at the phone. The woman had so sense of humor, no good moods, actually no bad moods that Geordie could remember. She was an automaton. The only sane way to work for the Holt family.

Her mother’s voice came on a few minutes later. Before she could ask Geordie how her job was going, Geordie asked her own question.

“Of course he didn’t,” her mother said. “If your father was inclined to pay anything it would be for them not to hire you. You know how stubborn he is.” A sigh that whooshed over the phone. “I suppose it’s my fault.”

“Your fault?”

“For giving him three girls instead of a son to take over the business.”

Geordie looked up at Marble House. The Victorian “cottage” was a perfect setting for her mother’s attitude about women, a totally different era—at least a hundred years behind the times. Never mind that Alva Vanderbilt had held suffragette meetings in the teahouse before leaving Newport for good.

“Actually I was half Dad’s fault.”

“Not you, darling. You weren’t a fault. Anyway, you got that job on your own and should be very proud. How are you liking it?”

I got fired after four days.
“Fine. I’m really liking it. Interesting and challenging.”

“Oh, I’m so glad.” Her mother’s relief was palpable. “You’ll have to come to dinner one night when your father and I are both here. God knows when that will be. I’ll put Val on and you can ask her to put you on the calendar.”

She had to make an appointment with her parents through the social secretary. Surely this wasn’t normal. “I will, but I’ll have to call her back later. We’re pretty busy at work right now. I’ll see when I can get off.”

They said their good-byes and hung up. Geordie returned the phone to her pocket.

It was almost six and the grounds would be closing soon. She’d spent the whole day here following butterflies and strangers, when she should have been at work with the others.

She must have been out of her mind to walk out like that. She
had
been out of her mind.

And she’d have to do something to rectify her temporary insanity. Because if it was a choice between facing her parents knowing that she was again career-less or standing up to Bruce Stafford and making him take her back, it would go to the cranky architect.

But she couldn’t approach him with things the way they were now. And she couldn’t challenge him when she was still land bound.

No. She would do what she needed to do . . . somehow. She’d get up that scaffolding one way or the other. Then he’d have no reason for not taking her back.

She would do it now, before she had time to talk herself out of it.

Chapter 8

I
T WAS AFTER
six when Bruce finally gave up looking for Geordie. The only thing he hadn’t done was call her parents’ house. Somehow he didn’t think she would want them to know that she was AWOL.

He was hungry, tired, and beginning to feel a little panicky. If she was afraid of heights, what other things might she be afraid of? Were there other phobias? Just how fragile was she?

Surely she wouldn’t do anything drastic just because he’d been a little rude to her. Okay, more than rude.

They’d all been excited and anxious to begin and had left her to figure out things by herself. They wouldn’t have done that with an intern. And he’d been particularly mean to her.

He didn’t know why she brought that out in him. Or if it even had anything to do with her at all.

God, he’d made a mess of it.

He found himself driving past Gilbert House, made a sharp turn and pulled into the parking lot. Maybe someone was still there, had heard from her or had an idea where to look next.

But everyone else had called it a day; the lot was empty . . . except for one little sports car.

Damn. Had she been here the whole time while he’d been searching all over Newport for her? Why hadn’t someone called him? And where was everybody else? Surely they wouldn’t have left her to lock up by herself. Bruce was willing to give her another chance, but he didn’t trust her with the security of the building and he couldn’t believe Doug would either.

He pulled up to the back entrance. Jumped out and tried the door. It was locked. He rifled through his keys and unlocked it. It was dark in the hallway and in the kitchen. She must be in the annex.

Maybe Doug had already hired her back and Bruce could get by with a quick apology. But she wasn’t in the annex. The room was dark. He stood in the doorway, listening. Nothing overhead.

Should he check her car? He would have seen her if she was sitting there. So help him, if she had been out at the local pub with Meri and Carlyn while he spent the day looking for her, he would be pissed.

He took a breath. No he wouldn’t. His temper had caused enough trouble for one day. Now he was sorry. And worried.

He retraced his steps and was about to return to the kitchen when he heard something. He turned and walked into the foyer. It was dark, the scaffolding was barely discernible in the dying light.

A choked cry.

What the hell? He looked around, then up. Didn’t understand what he was seeing for a good three seconds. Then it hit him all at once.

Geordie was three quarters up the scaffolding, her body plastered to the frame, her hands clenched around the rungs.

“Geordie?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t even acknowledge him.

“Look, I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

Nothing.

“Geordie, come down. You don’t have to do this.”

A spasmodic jerk of her head.

“Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

No response.

“Okay, just hold on. I’m coming up.”

He started to climb; the scaffolding was firm but it vibrated with his first step, and he heard her swallowed cry. He stepped more gently, at least he tried. His pulse was racing, his mouth was dry. What if she had fallen? What if he’d startled her and she fell when he was trying to help? What if she resented him seeing her stuck up the scaffolding like a cat up a tree?

He climbed until he stood a rung lower and reached for her back. His touch only made her press harder against the pipes.

He placed his hands on the bars on either side of her, effectively trapping her there. “I won’t let you fall. Let go and I’ll help you down.”

Still no response, but being this close he felt her body convulsing. She was shaking so hard that the scaffolding rattled.

“Come on, Just one hand. Let go.”

Another one of those spasmodic jerks of her head. He reached up and enclosed one of her hands in his. It felt tiny and delicate. He tried to gently pry it loose from the bars. But her grip was strong; panic had frozen her fingers around the rung.

What did he do now? Climb down? Call the fire department? He tried to reach in his pocket for his cell. But her hand came away with his and she fell back, nearly causing him to lose his balance—and hers.

He gave up the phone idea. Wrapped his free arm around her waist. Pulled her close. She was still shaking so violently that for a minute he was afraid she might knock them both down.

But he managed to drag her down one rung, though one hand still clung to the bar. He stepped down one more and pulled her with him. The hand came away, but she was stiff, stuck in that half crouch like she was still clinging to the ladder.

It was like carrying a manikin.

Until he reached the ground. He pulled her away from the scaffold. He tried to set her on her feet, but she went boneless and he just managed to throw his other arm around her waist before she slipped from his grip.

She was still shaking violently and he really didn’t have a clue as to what to do.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” It was all he could think of to say.

It wasn’t okay. What had possessed her to come back and climb the damn thing? How did she even get inside? Surely Doug hadn’t given her a key.

They were standing melded together, her back to his front and he didn’t think she had a clue as to where she was or who she was with. He turned her around, meaning to take her by the shoulders and get her to pull herself together. But her eyes were clamped shut and as soon as she faced him, she grabbed the front of his shirt in a death grip. He pulled her close, patted her back, smoothed her crop of short hair.

She was a nice fit but he was feeling anything but amorous. “Geordie. Open your eyes; you’re on the ground. You’re safe.” He spoke as soothingly as he could, though he felt like yelling,
You idiot, what do you think you were trying to prove?

She sucked in a harsh breath, the shaking became slower and less violent.

“How long were you stuck up there?”

She shook her head.

“A long time?”

“Wh-what time is it?”

“Nearly eight o’clock.”

A ragged laugh. “An hour.”

“Jesus.”

She turned her head away, her eyes squeezed tight.

“Look at me.” He tilted her chin up. “Look at me.”

Finally her eyelids fluttered open. “Sorry. I’ll leave now.” She pulled away and her knees gave way.

Bruce pulled her even closer. It was easier to say what he had to say over the top of her head. “Look. I don’t want you to go. I just let my own shit get in the way of my judgment. It didn’t have anything to do with you.”

Except that it did, because her lack of experience and her rich-girl status weren’t the only things that bugged him about her. As they stood in the center of the foyer, glommed together, the danger past, he recognized what he was feeling.

In civilized terms he was attracted to her. In a man’s terms, he wanted her. And he wanted her bad.

Which was not happening. Still, as she relaxed into his arms, he couldn’t stop himself from running his cheek along her hair. It was soft and straight and feathery. He kissed the top of her head.

She pulled away. “I’m okay now. I’m so stupid. I should have told you why I couldn’t go up the scaffolding. I just . . . I wasn’t expecting to have to go up. It just took me by surprise.”

She tried to move away but he held her close. He wasn’t quite ready to let her go. “No, I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I do that a lot.” He smiled down at her and was flooded by unexpected warmth when she smiled back at him, though it was a smile tempered with disbelief. “I’ve been looking for you all day.”

She looked up then. Really looked at him. “Why?”

“I told you. I was out of line. You’re a good photographer.”

“Just not good at documentation.”

“You can learn. If you still want to. If you want to come back to work.”

“You mean I’m not fired?”

The hopeful look on her face nearly broke his heart. It was weird. He’d never seen a vulnerable side from her. Had not even guessed she had one.

“Well?”

“Actually, I didn’t have the authority to fire you. Only Doug does, and he read me good for stepping over the line. So please, come back. And save my bacon.”

“What about . . . ?” She jerked her head toward the foyer.

“You don’t have to climb any ladders. Meri can do those shots.”

“No. It’s part of the job. And if I can’t do the job—”

“To hell with the job.” And now he said what he’d been thinking all along. “What the hell were you trying to prove by going up there? You could have been hurt, you could have broken your damn neck. God knows what.”

“I know, irresponsible. I get it. I said I was sorry. You should have left me up there.”

He let go of pent-up breath. “Good to see you’re getting back to normal.”

“I would have been fine, but I missed lunch and I just got a little light-headed.”

“Fine. You can try again. But not now. Right now I’m taking you to get something to eat.”

“I’ll just get something at home.”

“Then I’m driving you.”

“But my car.”

“I’ll drive it over.”

“What about your car?”

“I’ll come back for it later.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I don’t have to. But I want to.” He needed to make amends. And besides he wasn’t in a hurry to leave her.

She began to recover quickly, too quickly; he was rather enjoying holding on to her. By the time he’d locked the exterior door, she was walking on her own and headed for her car. He hurried to catch up. He didn’t trust her not to jump in her car and drive away without him.

And he did have a few questions, starting with, “How did you get in? Was Doug still here?”

She shook her head.

“He gave you a key?”

Another head shake.

“Then how?”

“I left by the emergency exit by the annex. I guess it didn’t lock.” She flinched as if she thought he was going to yell at her.

Until a few minutes ago, he would have. But he let it pass. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t be doing that again.

“I’d better go make sure it’s locked now.”

“It is. I made sure to lock it when I went inside. But check it if you don’t trust me.”

She stopped by the driver’s side of her car. Waited. He really wanted to make sure it was locked, but he’d have to take her word for it. The situation was fragile at best. He could come back later and double-check, once he’d made sure she had something to eat.

He shook his head and held out his hand. “Keys?”

She hesitated.

“Don’t trust me?”

She begrudgingly reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a key ring. Handed it to him and walked around to the other side of the car.

They didn’t talk except when she gave him directions. She seemed really reluctant to—maybe she didn’t want him to see where she lived. God, maybe she lived with her parents, or with her boyfriend? Which would be worse?

And what the hell was he thinking. He’d given her a hard time all week and was suddenly wondering what her social life was like? He must have been breathing in too much lead paint.

“You can stop at the next corner. I can park the car.”

He gave her a look.

“I’m fine really.”

“Glad to hear it, but I’m driving your car and I’m seeing you into your apartment. And making sure you eat something.” One look at her face and he changed tack. “We’ll order out. Or we can go out. But either way, I’m not leaving you until you’re safely inside for the night. And in case you think I’m just being a control freak, well, I am. Can’t help it. And besides, you scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry.” She sighed heavily. “Okay, but I have my job back, right?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Turn right at the next corner.”

They were down by the wharf. Prime real estate.

“Left into the parking lot.”

Of course. Waterfront condos. Luxury building. She didn’t even need this job. What the hell was she doing working in restoration? A hobby? She never needed to climb a ladder again. What was the deal?

He parked the car in the allotted spot.

Geordie got out and started walking toward the entrance of the complex. She waved her key card at the electronic reader and stepped inside.

He stepped in right behind her.

She cut him a sideways look, then walked straight to an elevator, pressed the button, and stared at the doors until they opened and she stepped inside. He stepped in with her.

She glared up at him. “Just so you know. This is not my apartment. I’m just staying here until . . .” She trailed off.

Until what, he wondered? He was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He didn’t belong in a building like this. He was dirty from poking around the old house, then scouring the town to find her.

Geordie looked like she’d been through hell and back.

He had to admit he liked her better this way.

The doors opened and he followed her down a hall, waited while she unlocked the door and stepped inside. The first thing he saw was the lights of the harbor. Not too shabby.

She turned on the lights.

It was white, sleek, open concept. Sterile and cold. She dropped her keys on the granite kitchen counter, walked to the Sub-Zero fridge and looked inside. “I have bottled water and Moët Chandon.”

“I’m fine.”

She took out a bottle of water, opened it and guzzled half of it.

“I guess you’re not going to forgive me without making me suffer a little, are you?”

She snorted and nearly choked on her water.

“You’re an enigma, Geordie Holt.”

“No I’m not. I’m a mess. You just noticed faster than most people.”

She continued through the space, turning on lights. Came to a dimmer switch and light flooded the apartment. White, white walls, white couch, white drapes, white desk, glass tables.

And set in a line, propped up along one wall were photographs, some in color, some in black-and-white. They were all the color and design the place needed.

There were landscapes, still lifes, and abstract designs, but it was the portraits that caught his attention. Young and old, beautiful and ugly, sad, happy, pensive. Words didn’t come close to describing what he was seeing. The nuances of their expressions, their feelings and thoughts just out of reach, their lives outside of the camera. She’d captured them all. This was the last thing he’d expected.