a bald, “Okay, it’s me, I’m the one who needs to bridge past and present. You’ve never been in this office. You’ve never told me about your work or about the pottery studio or about Devon. Honestly?” he said with an element of pleading, “I feel lost. Okay, I know I just got here. I have to pay my dues. But people stare at me like I’m an alien.” He paused, pleaded, “Lunch? Here? Please?”
* * *
It didn’t take long to walk from the Spa into the body of the Inn and up the nearest stairwell to the second floor. I had to fudge my way from there, making one wrong turn that took me down a corridor of guest suites before heading in the other direction and spotting the glass double doors. They were frosted with a handsome pattern of horizontal bars, the name of the Inn, and a discreet BUSINESS OFFICE marking that was obvious enough to steer away even a tipsy guest. It would be locked at night, of course. And now?
There was still time to turn back. I didn’t have to do this.
But he was right about layering new memories on the old. His needing it, too, helped. And then there were Mom-isms marching along to the beat of my feet, like For old times’ sake and Once and done.
After knocking softly, I carefully lowered the brass lever and pushed. I slipped inside before anyone could enter the corridor behind me, and closed the door.
Edward was just coming from the inner room that had to be his office, but I was already looking around in dismay. The walls were maroon, though only small strips of it could be seen past a world of Currier and Ives. Large, small, etchings, oils—each one was beautiful but a throwback to an early era. Same with the carpets underfoot, which were Oriental and worn, and with the conference room, whose long table and dozen chairs were classic. “Chippendale.”
“None other. It’s a little much for me. Take it in, though. The best is yet to come.”
I followed him to his office. The walls here weren’t maroon but dark-paneled wood bearing oils with a fox-hunting theme. Names like Turner and Kilburne came to mind, but the claustrophobic feel of the room quickly squeezed them out.
“Well,” I said, “they do say something about the founder of the Inn.” None were Edward’s style—or mine—but they were textured and rich. I approached a large one. “These have to be originals.”
“Yup.”
“Sell a few, and you’d have money enough to buy tablets for every employee and then some.”
“Can’t sell. It’s part of the contract that’s passed from owner to owner, but that doesn’t mean I have to look at them. I may turn some of the larger guest rooms into theme suites and hang them there.”
“Isn’t there a theft risk?” Some of the pieces were small enough to fit into luggage.
“Funny you ask,” he said, scratching the back of his head in a sheepish way. “The computers may have lacked security, but the art has always been sensor-protected. Everything that we display is for sale—except the ones in this office,” he tacked on with resignation. “Obviously.”
My gaze slid to the desk. It, too, was of an age and had the same heavy look as the rest of the room. The fact that its work surface held a large iMac, a smaller laptop, and overlapping piles of papers that had to be in some sort of order, though I couldn’t see what, brought it firmly into the present.
An arm on my shoulder turned me away. “Don’t look there. It’s depressing.”
“Confused,” I blurted without quite knowing if I meant the desk, the whole office, or his touching me.
“Isn’t that a statement,” he muttered and steered me to the far end of the room. It was anchored by a large leather sofa, a pair of tartan club chairs, and a low coffee table, on one end of which were our lunches. Caesar salad for you, tuna sandwich for me. Some things never changed.
Escaping his warmth, I sank into one of the club chairs. My hand settled on its chubby arm, finger checking out the faded plaid.
“Yup,” Edward said before I could. “It’s seen better days.” He slid the salad toward me, along with a plastic sleeve of utensils. “The last few owners were rarely here. Once they realized the foxes had to stay, they didn’t care to redo the rest.”
“Will you?” I asked and opened the lid of my salad.