Katia's Promise (4 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

A
USTIN
M
C
C
REARY
SHOVED
his tennis racket into a battered brown leather cover, zipped it up and waited for Rafe Barzonni to come around to his side of the clay tennis court. Austin had been playing on this court, in his own backyard, since he was five years old. “Great game, Rafe.”

“Anytime, man. You still have the best court in the Midwest. Not to mention a killer backhand I’m never going to beat.”

“You’re just a glutton for punishment.”

“Self-inflicted abuse is not my thing, Austin. Seriously, I’ve seen guys at Wimbledon who look as good as you.”

“Ha!” Austin picked up a white hand towel from the wrought iron table and wiped the sweat from his face. His blond hair was dripping wet. “Tournaments are for young kids. Ones with lots of talent and support. I never had either,” he said, his voice filling with regret.

Rafe grabbed his own towel. “Sorry, bro. I know you have talent—for a lot of things. You just don’t want anyone to know it, that’s all.”

“You’ve got that right. Besides, you’re just bad enough to make me feel good,” Austin bantered back good-naturedly. “Honestly, I appreciate you being able to play this early in the morning. I’ve got fifty-some odd people due here at one, and I swear, I’d never get through it if I didn’t have a chance to work off some steam.” Austin slapped Rafe on the shoulder as they walked through the terrace door and into the kitchen.

At the sink, Austin’s sixty-one-year-old housekeeper, Daisy Kempshaw, was peeling an apple. Daisy was short, as thin as one of Austin’s rackets and capable of taking on both Austin and Rafe in tennis, a shouting match and just about any other confrontation. Daisy approached life on the offensive rather than the defensive. She was rough, scrappy and had the energy of six men.

“No strawberries and cream today,” Daisy announced before Austin had a chance to greet her.

“I didn’t ask for any,” Austin said.

“Wipe your feet, the both of you,” Daisy said. “I just mopped.” Then she pointed toward the hallway door. “The caterer is here unloading in the dining room. She’s taken up all my refrigerator space with her food, and there’s no room for you to eat breakfast with all her whatnots strewn across the nook table.”

Austin glanced at the round walnut table that sat in a huge beveled glass window area on the far side of the kitchen. It was stacked with boxes of serving pieces, rental glasses, china and linens.

“Good,” he muttered. “I didn’t want to use mother’s good china and silver for this event.”

Rafe picked up his small workout bag. “Well, I’m outta here. See you Saturday, Austin. Nine o’clock?”

“Perfect!” Austin shook his friend’s hand.

Rafe strode over to the swinging kitchen door and pushed it open.

“Ow!” came a cry from the other side.

“Oh, boy,” Rafe said. He stepped back gingerly.

Standing on the other side of the door was Olivia Melton, dressed in dark jeans and a chef’s coat, her hair pulled on top of her head in a tight knot. She held a tray of artistically arranged vegetables in one hand and pressed her other hand to her forehead.

“I’m so sorry,” Rafe apologized. “Are you hurt badly?”

“I’ll live,” she said.

Austin raced to the freezer. “Some ice will do the trick.”

Olivia shook her head. “No time. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m really sorry,” Rafe repeated. “I didn’t know you were there.”

Olivia waved him off. “It’s okay. I’m just in a hurry. I have work to do and not enough time to do it in.”

Rafe glanced at Austin, who shrugged. “Okay. I’ll see you, Austin.”

When Rafe had closed the front door behind him, Daisy threw Austin a judgmental look. “You better get showered, mister. Your folks will be here in forty-five minutes.” She checked the clock that hung over the kitchen sink. “Make that forty-two.”

“I’ll be ready.” He turned to Olivia. “I’m sorry about the accident. Are you sure I can’t do anything for you?”

Now Daisy’s warning look was aimed at Olivia. “You? Uh, not a thing. I’ll have the buffet table set up in twenty minutes and the poached salmon to decorate. I’ll put the rest out after your speech.”

“And the bartender?” Austin asked.

“Liz is on her way,” Daisy assured him, continuing to peel apples for the fruit tray.

“Then, I guess we’re ready.”

Daisy speared him with another quelling glare. “We will be when you quit sweating on my clean kitchen floor.”

“Got it,” he said, rushing out of the kitchen and down the hall.

Just as he was about to climb the staircase, he stopped and poked his head into the living room. The noonday sun poured through the windows and illuminated the room with an ethereal glow. Austin and Daisy had moved the furniture to the perimeter, leaving a large open space for the guests to gather around the architect’s model of the car museum he intended to build.

The model sat majestically on a round Sheridan table. It was only balsa wood, glue, paper and cardboard at this point, but for Austin, it was real. Chase Tinsdale, the Chicago architect he’d hired, had transformed Austin’s vision into matter.

Austin’s grandfather, Ambrose, had built the McCreary mansion to be a close, though more modern, replica of the Hermitage, the home of his idol and favorite president, Andrew Jackson. To honor his grandfather, Austin had chosen the same architectural design for the museum.

For three generations, the consensus in Indian Lake was that the McCreary home was the most beautiful in town. The classic lines and elegance befitted the family’s name. To fashion the museum after the house was also Austin’s attempt at building a family brand.

To cut costs, Chase had eliminated the two flanking wings on the north and south sides, since the museum would be facing west. There would be three floors, accessible by elevator, and two sets of stairs, though they wouldn’t be as fancy as the cantilevered one in Austin’s home. Chase had also altered the original design to accommodate an extralarge elevator to move the cars around the building. On the main floor were a small café, a larger restaurant, a gift shop and administrative offices. The inner rotunda was large enough to display four cars. The second and third floors were designated for displaying cars, as well.

Chase had proposed using UV protective glass windows around the building, allowing light in but keeping out the aging rays that, over time, would act like battery acid on historically correct auto paint.

Austin smiled widely. He’d dreamed of this museum since the day his dad died. Finally, his tribute to his father and grandfather would be a reality.

“Austin!” Daisy yelled from the kitchen. “I don’t hear that shower running!”

Austin chuckled to himself. No one had ever bossed him around like his housekeeper. “I’m going!”

Austin took the carpeted stairs two at a time, whistling loudly.

* * *

K
ATIA
ARRIVED
AT
the McCreary mansion at one o’clock sharp. She parked the rental car on Maple Avenue, at the far end of a long line of vehicles, all apparently here for the presentation.

Just seeing the house she had once called home caused her chest to tighten and her heart to pound. Her mouth was so dry she felt as if she’d been chewing on cotton balls all morning. She touched her forehead. Sure enough, she was perspiring already.

Katia, what are you doing?

She didn’t understand what was happening to her. Faced with the possibility of losing her job, she’d responded with arrogant courage. She’d had to come up with company-saving solutions at the speed of light, and she’d had to pretend she believed in what she was saying.

She’d been scared stiff then, but her show of confidence had served her well, because somehow she’d convinced both Jack and Barry that they’d never heard anything better in their lives. Now she just had to persuade herself.

She smoothed the lapels of her navy wool suit, picked up her matching purse from the seat and got out of the car.

The moment she turned to face the mansion, she froze. The house couldn’t have been more imposing if it was Buckingham Palace.

Her reaction was absolutely ridiculous. She knew every inch of the house, the grounds...even the pool equipment. She should have been comforted by the fact that this was simply a reunion of sorts.

But she didn’t feel safe at all.
This has got to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever come up with
.

She couldn’t believe she was back here to see Austin. She had no clue if he was married or had children. Did he have a girlfriend or fiancée now? Did he ever think about her? Katia had always assumed Austin held a grudge against her for cutting him out of her life when she’d moved to Chicago. But maybe she was wrong. Maybe she’d just been the maid’s daughter after all—an insignificant blip in his teenage life. Maybe he didn’t remember her at all.

Yes, Katia carried a great deal of guilt because she’d never contacted him, but there was a case to be made for the fact that after that summer, she hadn’t heard from Austin, either.

Would he greet everyone at the door? And if he did, what was she going to say? She’d thought about sneaking around to the back door and entering through the kitchen. She knew just how to jimmy the latch on the wooden gate to get in. Katia had devised a dozen excuses to give to Austin if he tried to throw her out. She’d settled on the truth.

She would tell him that she’d been passing through Indian Lake on business over the summer and that Liz had told her about the museum. Since his presentation was open to the public, she had decided to use the opportunity to see him again.

Katia couldn’t predict how difficult it was going to be to sell her insurance to Austin. She had tried to factor in every possible angle and outcome of her pitch so that she was somewhat prepared for whatever he threw at her. What she hadn’t considered was this sudden panic attack. She knew she could sell her product to just about anyone, but she had to remain in control to do it.

Katia’s hands were shaking. This was impossible. She had to act cool, professional and knowledgeable. Fear was not acceptable.

She noticed a black Cadillac Escalade pull up in front of the McCreary house. The doors opened, and six well-dressed men and women got out and went into the house.

Showtime.

She inhaled deeply to steel her nerves, lifted her chin and crossed the street.

Time to face my past.

Katia slipped in the front door behind the group from the Escalade. Austin was already addressing the group. She’d only had twenty-four hours to prepare for crashing his party, but even a lifetime wouldn’t have prepared her to see Austin again.

In her mind, Austin had remained eighteen, so this blond, self-assured, handsome, tanned, enthusiastic man who held everyone spellbound was a shock.

Though he wore black pants and a simple white shirt, the way he pointed out the historic details of the Doric columns flanking the entrance and the use of Indiana limestone for the walkways and porches spoke of sophistication and manners that Katia hadn’t seen since she’d lived here.

Katia caught Liz Crenshaw’s eye and stealthily moved along the back wall to stand next to her.

“Glad you could make it,” Liz whispered with a smile.

“Thanks for telling me about it.”

Next to Liz was a petite elderly woman wearing a black-and-white print dress. She smiled at Katia, and her clear, cornflower-blue eyes twinkled. Katia recognized her in an instant. “Mrs. Beabots? Is that you?”

Mrs. Beabots tilted her head to the right, stared at Katia and then her smile grew wider. “Katia Stanislaus,” she said softly so as not to disrupt Austin’s speech. “Why, I’d know you anywhere, my dear. Come give me hug.”

Katia had to bend down to embrace the tiny woman. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Maddie and I were the first ones Austin invited!” Mrs. Beabots grabbed the hand of the pretty green-eyed woman next to her. Katia leaned over and shook Maddie’s outstretched hand. “Katia. Nice to meet you.”

“You, as well,” Maddie whispered back.

Mrs. Beabots nodded. “Maddie made the desserts. You’ll love them.”

“I’m sure I will,” Katia said.

“Maddie’s almost famous. She owns Cupcakes and Cappuccino in Chicago,” Mrs. Beabots said, beaming proudly at Maddie.

Katia’s eyes grew round. She’d been to Cupcakes and Cappuccino with Tina. “I love your café,” she whispered to Maddie. “We should talk afterward.”

Katia turned her attention back to Austin’s speech, thinking how fortuitous it was that she’d made friends with Liz. Now she was reunited with Mrs. Beabots, and she’d come face-to-face with a young Chicago entrepreneur who just might be in need of her insurance services.

Austin continued explaining the museum’s purpose and its benefit to the community. Katia counted over seventy-five people in the room. She kept her face hidden from Austin’s view by ducking behind a tall man in front of her. Fortunately, Austin was so focused on showing off his model and extolling the family history and his grandfather’s creativity that his eyes never settled on one particular face.

Behind Austin were three easels with architectural and designer drawings of the museum interior. He pointed out the features of each of the floors, and when he finished, he asked the crowd for questions.

The journalists peppered him with dozens of particulars about construction, costs and opening dates.

The entire room fell silent when a man who introduced himself as the editor of the
Northern Indiana Times
cocked his head and asked, “And who is the backer for this expensive museum?”

Austin pursed his lips in a self-satisfied smile, nearly bordering on a smirk. “I am.”

The editor gaped at Austin. “Let me get this straight. You didn’t invite us all here today to petition for donations?”

Austin shoved his hands into his pockets. “No, I didn’t. As I told you, I intend to pay for the building myself. Eventually, the museum will be my gift to the city.”

At the front of the room a young woman asked, “Will you be donating the cars, as well?”