Tess shifted her shoulders, uncomfortable with the possibility of comparisons to Geneva Chandler. She loved the old woman, but her grandmother could be powerfully intimidating.
A streak of sunlight pierced the low-lying fog along the bay, and the interior of Tess’s office brightened. The fog would clear by midmorning, and another gorgeous spring day would lift her spirits. Good weather for building something.
And time to get started on the day’s work.
She turned to face her desk, ready to draw the bowling alley plans on her computer’s CAD system, and saw her answering machine’s red eye blinking from beneath a messy stack of bills. The display listed the number for Chandler House.
“Tess, dear,” scolded Geneva ’s recorded voice. “You’re late.”
“I know.” Tess snatched at the bills before they toppled over the edge of the desk.
“If you’re going to advertise office hours, you must make more of an effort to keep them,” the machine continued. “It’s part of a polished professional appearance.”
“Get to the point,” Tess muttered.
“But that’s not why I called.” Grandmère paused for dramatic effect. “I want you to cancel your morning appointments-”
“As if I had any,” Tess said with a sigh.
“-and meet me here, at Chandler House. I’ll expect you by eleven. No later than eleven,” Grandmère emphasized. “You can practice your punctuality on one of your relatives, who manages to love you in spite of your shortcomings.”
Tidewaters. She had news-that had to be the reason for this summons. Tess pressed a hand to her jittery stomach and sank into her desk chair.
A city council meeting was scheduled for tonight, and the waterfront zoning issue was on the agenda. Again. Grandmère had been pulling strings behind the scenes, postponing a vote until she was sure the results would go her way. She still carried plenty of political clout in this town, and several of the council members already agreed with her plans.
They were right to agree-Tidewaters would be a genuine asset to the city. It would develop a weed-choked gap along the waterfront, provide new jobs and help reinvigorate the quaint, older business section of town-and all on someone else’s dime. Tess had been astounded that anyone would refuse Geneva Chandler’s offer to build such a wonderful, beautiful place in the heart of her community. But the opposition to development had been fierce. There were many here who wished things to remain as they were, who viewed progress with suspicion and the land at water’s edge as untouchable.
Tess set the remains of the maple bar aside, wiped her sticky fingers and tried to concentrate on her work. But she couldn’t shake the case of nerves or the unsettling swings from elation to dread that kept her stomach churning. Even if her grandmother had won this battle, even if construction were about to begin, Tess wondered if the war over the waterfront would quietly move underground.
And she didn’t like the idea of building on such a shaky foundation.
PRECISELY one hour later, Tess drove her roadster up the long, winding approach to Chandler House. Early shrub roses edged the drive, and puffs of cotton-candy blooms dotted the rhododendron bushes spreading beneath the lacy canopy of a redwood grove. With each bend in the road, she caught a glimpse of the creamy yellow shingle-style mansion rising at the edge of Whaler’s Bluff.
Her great-grandfather, an ambitious man who rose from lumberjack to mill owner, had purchased the site and planned for a great house overlooking the growing town. His son, a clever man who launched several local businesses and invested in others, created that house to showcase the family’s wealth. Both men had used their money-and that of the heiresses they married-to benefit Carnelian Cove and their own positions in the community. Both had filled various city political offices; both had served as mayor.
Tess’s mother had spent her childhood in the fairytale house, her room overlooking the crescent-shaped sprawl of Carnelian Cove. The building’s fanciful bays and jutting windows, its wide porches and shadowed niches had filled Tess’s imagination with romantic scenes during the holidays and summers she’d spent here as a girl, and she wondered-as she so often did lately-whether this grand old place was the source of her fascination with architecture.
She slowed as she passed through the gap in an imposing black iron gate, admiring the stone steps that marched from the leaded-glass entry to meet the dramatic sweep of pristine lawn. Pale green ferns spilled from wicker stands, and the porch swing sported bright new pillows striped in sherbet shades. One of Grandmère’s fussy, yappy little terriers dashed to the top of the steps and sounded the alarm.
Though she’d have preferred to continue to the rear service area and enter through the modest kitchen door, Tess pulled beneath the stately porte cochere shading the side entrance. She was a grown woman now-and gathering every one of her thirty-one years about her like a shield. She didn’t need the additional fortification of a cookie stolen from Julia’s fat jar to help her face her formidable grandmother. But she did take a moment to run a comb through her hair and freshen her lipstick before she stepped from her car. Geneva Chandler wasn’t simply Grandmère this afternoon-she was a business associate.
The heavy oak door opened and two more yipping, beribboned dogs escaped to circle Tess’s car. Geneva stood in the doorway, a tall woman whose regal stance was softened by pink cashmere, pearls and a welcoming smile. “Right on time,” she said.
“I can manage when it matters.” Tess grinned and waded through the pack of terriers sniffing at her ankles. “And I was hoping you might reward me with lunch.”
“I might at that, if you don’t mind sharing a plate of cheese and fruit.” Geneva wrapped her in a quick, tight hug that smelled of Chanel and felt like summer. “Julia has the afternoon off.”
If Julia had prepared the plate before she’d left for the day, the cheese would be brie and the fruit would be fresh and arranged with artistic flair. Grandmère’s cook may have rapped Tess’s fingers with a wooden spoon more than once when they’d inched toward the cake frosting or strayed into the sugar bowl, but she’d always found time for a kitchen visit, inviting Tess to perch on one of the tall stools around the gigantic island, oohing and aahing over the news of the day while she stirred the makings of something fabulous in one of her huge crockery pots.
“Sounds like you might be needing some company,” Tess said as she stepped into the cool side hall.
“Depends on the company.”
“I could manage to be on my best behavior.”
“Don’t beg, Tess, dear,” Geneva said with a shiver. “It’s so…unnerving.”
Tess laughed and bent to scoop one of the terriers into the crook of her arm and then grimaced as a quick pink tongue scored a direct hit on her lower lip. “Ugh.”
“You’re getting slow in your old age.” Geneva turned and headed down the narrow servants’ passage. “Please wipe your mouth and join me in my office.”
Tess set down the dog, tightened her fingers around her purse and followed her grandmother. A summons to the office had rarely ended well. Grandmère had always favored that spot for issuing difficult requests or doling out punishments.
Her grandmother ushered her into the small, thickly paneled room and then pulled the tall pocket door closed on its silent track. Tess’s heels sank into the thick Aubusson carpet, and she inhaled the familiar scents of old books and furniture oil. Sunlight shot through the ruby reds and cobalt blues of the stained-glass panes above the lace curtains and pinned rainbows on the portraits of Chandlers in military uniforms and Victorian gowns. The spired mantel clock, wedged between a pair of smudge-snouted Staffordshire spaniels, ticked away the seconds.