The Inn at Angel Island (3 page)

Very efficient, Liza thought. Though without her coat, she felt a sudden chill. Claire quickly took notice of that, too.

“I’ll turn up the heat a bit. It is a raw night.”

As the housekeeper stepped away to adjust the thermostat, Liza glanced around, feeling a bit stunned by the sights that were so familiar yet, at the same time, almost forgotten. The wallpaper patterned with vines and flowers. The Tiffany lamp softly glowing on an Eastlake-style table. The blue and red Oriental rug beneath her feet. Such familiar and comforting sights. But all a bit faded and worn looking now—the wallpaper peeling at the edges and stained in spots, the rug almost threadbare.

The place even smelled the same, a mixture of sea air, cooking, and her aunt’s special blend of lavender and rosemary. Elizabeth would gather the herbs from the garden and hang bunches in various spots around the house. Liza spotted a bunch, tied with a thin blue ribbon, just beside the doorway.

When she turned, Claire was standing nearby again, looking at her expectantly. Liza didn’t know what to say. Aunt Elizabeth had been very loquacious. She talked enough for two, Uncle Clive always said. Maybe that’s why Elizabeth and Claire had gotten along so well—her aunt had done all the talking?

“Well . . . thanks for waiting. But it is late. I’m sure you want to get home.” Liza heard the forced, false note of friendliness in her voice. Claire was being so kind to her, it made her feel even more guilty about having to tell her that she would soon be out of a job.

If she leaves now, I won’t have to tell her until tomorrow,
Liza realized.

“Are you hungry?” Claire asked, ignoring Liza’s hint. “I’ve fixed you some dinner, just in case.”

Liza was hungry. As much as she wished she were alone and out of this woman’s company, her stomach easily won out.

“I am. I didn’t stop to eat. It was raining so hard, and the places on the highway have such horrible food.”

Claire nodded, seeming satisfied by that answer. She headed down the long hallway to the kitchen that was at the back of the house, and Liza followed, aware of her heels clicking against the wooden floorboards. Had she ever worn heels in this house? They didn’t seem right here.

“I made some rosemary bread and chowder with plenty of cod and potatoes. I used the tomatoes from your aunt’s garden. We put them up together last fall, before she got ill.”

By
put them up
, Liza knew Claire meant preserved them in glass jars. Her aunt had been a devoted gardener and a very practical one, too, cultivating both beautiful flowers and rows of vegetables and herbs, which she and Liza’s uncle would pick and preserve, then eat throughout the winter.

Claire stood at the wide, black cast-iron stove with her back to Liza. Solidly built, Claire wore a long dark blue cardigan over brown wool pants and heavy brown shoes that looked waterproof. A practical outfit for a rainy day in this part of the world, Liza thought. The housekeeper’s fair hair looked as if it had once been blond but was now blended with gray and white strands, all wound in a coil at the back of her head.

Claire lit a burner beneath a large pot. The flame sprung up with a whooshing sound that Liza suddenly remembered. The stove was the same one her aunt had used to cook on, so old it had probably come with the house.

Liza rinsed her hands at the sink and dried them on a towel. The big farm table was long enough to accommodate a houseful of guests. Tonight it had been set with one place: a blue and white cloth place mat, a white linen napkin, silverware, and a water glass.

Liza sat at the spot, which was obviously meant for her. She suddenly realized it was the very same seat she had always sat in as a little girl. Had Claire somehow known that? But how could she?

It seemed an odd coincidence, considering the size of the table and the place Claire had chosen. Not some obvious spot at the head or even a corner. Liza glanced at the housekeeper, who stood at the stove, stirring the chowder, and felt an uncanny chill. She marked it up to her damp clothes and to being so hungry and tired.

“That soup smells good,” Liza said, mostly to break the silence.

“That must mean it’s ready. Or you’re ready to have some.” Claire glanced over her shoulder and smiled briefly. Then she filled a large bowl with chowder and carried it, along with a basket of fragrant bread that had just been taken from the oven, over to the table.

Liza noticed a small dish of butter near her plate. This was the perfect kind of bread for butter, and Liza did want to indulge, knowing it would melt instantly and taste very good. But she resisted. This was not vacation, and she didn’t want to go home bursting out of her clothes on top of every other inconvenience. She would stick to her usual diet, thank you very much. No butter, no sugar, no empty carbs.

She took a bite of the bread, which was still delicious on its own, then glanced at her dinner again. There was a lot more floating around in the chowder than just some cod and potatoes. Bits of celery—or was that fennel? Some carrot, onions, and herbs. Some shellfish, clams and mussels and even a few plump shrimp. The scent was rich and fragrant, hinting at saffron.

Liza dipped her spoon and took a sip, then closed her eyes, savoring the mixture of flavors. It really was . . . divine. It was more like a bouillabaisse and very much like the chowder her aunt had made. Had Claire followed the same recipe? Liza wanted to ask her, but for some reason, she held back and simply took another large spoonful.

Claire set a mug of tea near Liza’s place along with a jar of honey. Liza was a coffee person, an absolute caffeine addict, but for some reason, tea was just what she wanted tonight. Somehow, Claire had guessed without asking.

Claire took another mug from the counter near the stove and sat at the table across from Liza and a few seats away, so that they weren’t directly facing each other.

“This soup is very good,” Liza said between bites.

“Put it up this afternoon. The General Store had almost everything I needed. You can’t be too particular about recipes here. You have to learn to improvise.”

Her aunt used to say the same thing. You had to be flexible in the kitchen. If you couldn’t find a potato, a turnip would have to do.

“Thank you for fixing it for me,” Liza said politely.

“It was no trouble.” Claire sipped her tea, then sat with her hands folded on the tabletop.

They had run out of conversation again. Liza took a few more spoonfuls of chowder and a bite of bread, then pushed the food away and sat back. Ten minutes ago, she had felt very hungry. Now she just felt tired, worn out.

Claire glanced over at her. “So, you’ll be here two weeks. Is that right?”

Liza nodded. “That’s right. Two weeks.”
Unless everything is settled sooner,
she added silently. Meaning Claire North would be out of a job sooner, too.

“At least you’ll have your brother. You won’t be doing this all alone,” Claire said.

“Yes, he’s coming tomorrow.” Peter had not been able to come east for their aunt’s funeral, so he and Claire had never met.

Claire nodded. “Good. I’ll get his room ready.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that,” Liza said honestly. She forced herself to smile back. Claire North was very kind—and making it even harder now to impart the bad news.

Liza sighed and took a long sip of her tea.

“Would you like anything else? There are some oatmeal cookies,” Claire offered.

“No thanks. Not right now.” Liza paused. She felt so tired. It was probably a bad time to talk to Claire about serious matters, but Liza knew if she didn’t say something tonight, she wouldn’t be able to sleep.

“There is something I need to speak to you about, Claire,” she began.

“Yes?” Claire turned her head and met Liza’s glance. She didn’t seem nervous, Liza noticed. Perhaps she already guessed what was to come.

“You must be wondering what my brother and I plan to do with the inn, now that we own it.”

Claire’s mild expression remained unchanged, her clear blue gaze serene. Liza was beginning to think that the house could come down all around her and Claire wouldn’t bat an eye.

“We appreciate that you’ve stayed on here, after my aunt’s death, and taken care of the place. But we’ve decided to put it up for sale. We’ve been in touch with a real estate firm in Cape Light, Bowman Realty. We’re hoping to find a buyer and have everything settled within the next two weeks.”

There. That was clear enough, wasn’t it?

Claire calmly sipped her tea. “I thought that might be what you would do,” she said at last. “I guess we’ll see how it goes.”

We’ ll see how it goes?
What was there to see? The answer got under Liza’s skin. How blunt did she need to be? Did she have to tell Claire that once they sold the place, she would be out of a job?

Unless someone came in and wanted to keep running the inn and kept Claire on. That was possible of course. Maybe that’s what she was hoping and hinting at? It was extremely unlikely considering the condition of the place. Even Claire North must realize that, Liza reasoned.

“There really is no question,” Liza told her. “The agent we spoke to already has a few clients lined up to see the property. It could happen quickly.”

Claire didn’t answer. But Liza still wasn’t sure that her point had come across.

She’s been here a long time, and my aunt’s death was a blow. She must be in denial about having to leave,
Liza realized.

I won’t say anything more,
she decided.
Not tonight. Maybe after Peter comes, we’ ll talk to her again and offer her some compensation or a gift.

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?” Claire asked finally.

“That’s it, I guess.”

Liza rubbed her eyes. This first evening was not going at all the way she had planned. She had imagined meeting Claire and really being able to talk with her, asking questions about Elizabeth’s last days. But you had to feel comfortable with someone for that kind of conversation, and Liza had a feeling that she had just ruined any possibility for that kind of ease. Instead, she was sitting in this cold, damp kitchen feeling awkward. And she was fairly certain that in two weeks’ time, she would leave here without ever having asked those questions.

It was her own fault. She shouldn’t have to ask a stranger about her aunt. She should have just taken a few days off from work and come out here to visit once she knew Elizabeth was sick.

But it hadn’t seemed that serious. And there always seemed to be some crisis in the office that she couldn’t abandon. And then her marriage had blown up, right in her face. Like a balloon that looked so pretty and harmless one minute, then shocked you with a big bang.

And she was still picking up the pieces of that mess.

Elizabeth had promised it wasn’t serious and she would be better by the time spring came. That’s what her aunt had told her. But Elizabeth must have known something. She just didn’t want to be a bother. Liza should have realized.

Liza suddenly felt she might cry. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose.

“I think I’ll have some more tea. I must be coming down with something.” She stood up and carried her plate to the sink, then ran some water and filled the tea kettle. “Can I make some more for you, Claire?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

Liza set the kettle on the stove and sat down again at the table. She felt Claire gazing at her but didn’t dare look up to meet her eyes.

“It must be hard for you, coming back here after all this time,” Claire said quietly.

Liza nodded. “It is hard,” she admitted.

“I would like to help you, Liza. Any way I can. Just let me know whatever it is you’d like me to do. I promised your aunt Elizabeth that I would. So you must let me,” Claire added, as if there were some argument.

“Thank you . . . I appreciate that. I’m going to need your help sorting this place out,” Liza said honestly.

Claire smiled mildly and nodded at her, looking pleased that they had come to this agreement. “If you don’t mind me saying, you ought to get a good night’s sleep. Things might look a little bit better tomorrow.” She rose from the table, her movements economical and surprisingly graceful. “If there’s nothing else you need, I’ll head on home. I made up the room on the second floor for you. Third room down on the right.”

The third room down? Liza wasn’t sure if she remembered correctly after all this time, but she was pretty sure that had always been her favorite room in the whole inn.

She remembered it with sky blue walls and white curtains, and wondered if the decor had changed in all this time. It had a big bay window with an ocean view and a padded window seat.

It was not the room she used to stay in, though. It was always reserved for guests. Though she did sometimes sneak in, when it was vacated, and stretch out on the bed and pretend it was her room. Her aunt would laugh and never got mad at her.

Odd that Claire had picked that room out of so many, Liza thought. Maybe she thought Liza would enjoy the view. But all the rooms on that side of the building had good views.

“Do you know the room?” Claire’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Does it suit you?”

“Sounds fine.” Liza was almost tempted to ask Claire how she had made that choice.

Then the kettle whistled. Liza stood up and shut off the flame, then fixed herself more tea. Claire walked into the foyer and put on a thick parka and gloves, definitely dressing for protection from the elements, not fashion.

She briefly waved to Liza from the front door. “Good night, Liza. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Liza waved back and watched her step out the door. “Good night, Claire.”

The heavy door closed, and Liza felt a sudden stunning silence close in around her. She sipped her tea, conscious of the creaking sounds in the walls and of the wind rattling the windows.