A Small-Town Homecoming

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.

“Have a seat, Tess.” Geneva crossed to a cabinet. “This won’t take long.”

Tess perched on the edge of one of the delicate chairs near Geneva’s desk. Neatly stacked on the desk’s surface were correspondence and newsletters, no doubt from the Historical Society, the Garden Club, the Ladies’ League, the University Foundation Committee. As one of the Cove’s leading citizens, Geneva liked to keep a finger in every social pie in the county.

“I know it’s a bit early for this,” she said as she dribbled sherry into two dainty goblets, “but I think we can indulge ourselves just this once.”

Tess hesitated before taking the glass. She rarely drank—her mother had done enough of that for everyone in the family. She stared at the golden liquid in the elaborately etched crystal and told herself there was no harm in it, just this once. She sipped and braced for the burn along her throat, and then she lowered the drink to her lap and waited for her grandmother to explain the reason for her summons.

“I spoke with Arlie Ratliff again today.” Geneva settled in one of the high-backed chairs flanking the fireplace and regarded Tess over the rim of her glass. “He’s had a change of heart.”

Tess clutched the arm of her chair. The city councilman had been on the fence about changing the zoning of Geneva’s waterfront property to allow for commercial development. “Would this change have anything to do with Tidewaters?”

“Yes. He assures me he’ll vote for rezoning at tonight’s council meeting.”

“And we’ll have the building permit in hand by tomorrow afternoon.” Elated, Tess raised her glass in a toast. “You did it.”

“Arlie owed me a favor or two.” Geneva swirled the sherry in her glass with a sly smile. “I simply had to jog his memory a bit. And then promise him I’d forget all about it myself.”

Tess held up a hand. “Whatever it was, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Are you sure?” Geneva’s smile widened. “It would make for some excellent lunch conversation before it gets wiped from my memory for good.”

“Geneva Chandler, you can be one hell of a scary lady.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Tess rose and paced the room, unable to sit still. “I can’t believe it. Tidewaters—it’s actually going to happen. I’m going to build it.”

“Yes.” Geneva lowered her glass to the piecrust table beside her chair. “In a manner of speaking.”

“It’s going to be gorgeous. Fabulous.”

“Tess …”

“I know you’ve seen the model often enough—and I did a fabulous job on that, too, if I do say so myself, but—”

“Tess.” Geneva raised a hand. “Please. Sit down.”

Something in the tone of her grandmother’s voice had Tess’s stomach jackknifing to her knees. “What is it?” she asked as she sank back into her chair.

“It’s about the contractor I’ve chosen for the project.”

“You’ve chosen—” Tess took a deep breath, slamming a lid on her temper and her anxiety. “You promised to consult with me on that. I explained how important it was to find someone who could work with me to implement my vision. Our vision.”

“Well, yes, I did. But that was before my meeting with Arlie.”

“I see.” Tess set her glass on the desk. “Someone else helped him change his mind.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking.” Geneva twisted her fingers through her pearls.

“You couldn’t possibly know what I’m thinking.” Or what I’m feeling. Tess sucked in another long breath and ordered herself, again, to stay calm. “This is someone I’ll be working with so closely it’ll be as if we’re the same person. Someone who’ll have to practically read my mind and help fashion what’s inside me.”

“I’m sure you two will figure things out as you go.”

Tess narrowed her eyes. “Who is it?”

“Quinn.”