The Village of Gerard's Cliff (2 page)

The couple finally
arrived, later than she expected. After seeing them to their room,
she closed up for the night, and went to her own small room in the
back of the inn, off a small hallway on the other side of the
kitchen. Just weeks after Patrick died, Allie had changed the
bedding, coverlets, and pillows on the high, antique bed they had
shared. Now the gleaming brass headboard and footboard were
accented by new sheets, a fluffy down comforter, skirting, and an
assortment of plump pillows, all in fresh, clean, white. The walls
of the room were repainted a very pale, soothing shade of
blue-gray. In the corner to the right of her bed sat a wicker
rocker that had belonged to her mother. Allie had left it the
original slightly worn white, but had re-covered the cushion with a
co-ordinating blue and rose floral print. A reading lamp stood next
to the rocker, as well as a round oak side table. She slept much
better in the room after she had made the changes. It would have
been too difficult to keep things the way they had been. Allie
changed into her flowered flannel pajamas and climbed into her
inviting bed. She pulled the comforter up around her chin, and in a
few short minutes, fell into a sound sleep.

"Good morning, Tilda."
Allie smiled as she entered the kitchen and nodded toward the
short, plump woman, who was whisking eggs in a large ceramic bowl.
Tilda had insisted on wearing a uniform that consisted of a gray
dress, and a crisp white bib apron with deep pockets. Allie had
been thrilled when she and Patrick had hired her as their chef five
years ago. "She's our "jewel," Patrick had been fond of saying. It
was Tilda who had suggested the menus for the gourmet breakfasts
The Colborne Inn was known for. Allie never ceased to be awed with
Tilda's creations in the kitchen. "Mmm...this smells so
good!"

"Good morning,
Allie...only three guests this morning, I see." Tilda's cheery face
was topped with graying brown hair, pulled up into a neat bun. She
turned and smiled at Allie, continuing to beat the eggs into a
foamy froth.

Nodding agreement, Allie
poured herself a cup of coffee, and went to peer around the kitchen
door into the dining room. The couple...the Hollands, were seated
in front of a window, holding hands across the table. Allie set
down her cup and walked into the dining room and over to their
table.

"I hope you had a pleasant
night's sleep." She smiled at the young couple. It was pretty
obvious to her that they had only been married a short while, as
they continued to hold hands while talking with her...and smiled
and laughed a lot, looking into each other's eyes more frequently
than at hers. She discussed with them their various options for
sightseeing in the tiny village, then left the besotted couple to
continue their romantic breakfast.

Allie felt a sudden pang of jealousy. What went wrong, she
thought as she left the couple to return to the kitchen. Why
did we drift so far
apart so quickly. Memories flooded back of Patrick, who only a few
short years after they moved to Gerard's Cliff and opened their bed
and breakfast, started to pull away from her emotionally. She had
wondered at one point if he was having an affair. But, as time went
on, and he became even more reticent, she, in turn, tired of trying
to revive their marriage. They adjusted to a life of running the
inn as an estranged team, each having his or her own duties around
the place. Other than their necessary discussions about the inn,
their interactions became almost non-existent. She might as well
have been single for the last few years, she thought.

As she walked slowly back to the kitchen, Allie shook the
thoughts of the past out of her head and focused on her here and
now. The kitchen smelled glorious, and Allie watched appreciatively
as Tilda plated the steaming French toast on two delicate,
flower-patterned plates.

"Oh, Tilda, what would I
do without you!" Allie breathed in the warm, cinnamon-laced air
permeating the kitchen. "That smells heavenly." Tilda laughed and
placed two small pitchers filled with the warm syrup and pecans on
the serving tray. As she carried the tray to the Holland's table,
Allie was sure that she would never tire of her life as it was
now.

"Who is that mystery man?"
Sarah, a petite young woman who cleaned the guestrooms for the inn,
had come in the back porch door while Allie was in the dining room.
She was perched on a tall stool, leaning on the island in the
middle of the kitchen. She eyed Tilda, who was pouring coffee for
her into a green mug, and turned as Allie walked in, raising her
eyebrows in question.

"You mean Mr. Garrison?"
Allie, hearing the last comment as she returned to the kitchen,
gave Sarah a quizzical look as she set the tray down on the
counter. "Why is he a mystery man?" She laughed at the absurd
phrase.

"I don't ever remember a guest not wanting their room
cleaned, do you? He was very stern, too, no...more like rude," she
snorted. "He gave me strict orders not to enter his
room.........very strange if you ask me." She sipped her coffee
from her mug with one hand, while smoothing the sides of her short
blonde bouffant hairdo with the other. "I'm not sure I like him. He
said to leave the clean sheets and towels by the door and
he
would take care of
it. Don't you think that's strange, Allie?"

"Well, he didn't mention
any special requests to me when he checked in last night." Allie
walked over to the island. "I'll speak to him about it if he comes
down for breakfast."

"Speak of the devil....."
Sarah didn't finish as the other women turned and followed her
gaze.

The three women stared,
transfixed, as they watched the tall, and very masculine Mr.
Garrison enter the dining room. He was wearing dark blue jeans, and
a pale blue shirt which was open at the neck. The long sleeves of
his shirt were rolled halfway up his lower arms. He is a
good-looking man, Allie thought with a frown, biting the inside of
her lower lip. He appeared oblivious to the trio eyeing him from
the kitchen, as he nodded affably to the Hollands, then sat down at
a small table across the room from the couple, his back to the
kitchen. Allie noticed that his hair was slightly wavy in the back,
as if still damp from a shower, and his shoulders seemed extremely
broad...or were her dining room chairs too small?

Allie, for no reason she could think of, suddenly felt
slightly flustered, and she discovered that her hand had
inexplicably flown up to the front of her throat and was fiddling
with her blouse button, while she, along with Tilda and Sarah, had
been furtively watching Mr. Garrison enter the room.

"Okay, ladies, enough of
this!" She laughed softly, shook her head, and rolled her eyes at
the other two women as she went out to greet the mystery
man.

"Good morning, Mr.
Garrison. I hope you had a restful night."

Connor looked up from
reading the travel pamphlet he had picked up in the front parlor,
and met Mrs. Colborne's smiling, but slightly quizzical eyes. Why
did he get the feeling she was studying him and not liking what she
saw? His eyes narrowed. He laid down the pamphlet, and resting his
elbows on the table, interlaced his fingers.

"I had a very good night,
thank you," he smiled, his blue eyes crinkling. As she described
the breakfast menu to him, he couldn't help himself from checking
out the rest of her face, which now seemed rather strained. She had
an oval face, with large brown eyes set below straight brows, her
hair pulled back again...this time in a single braid. Her
not-too-full lower lip was being chewed by even white teeth as she
watched him, her brows raised, and he realized that she was waiting
for his reply to a question he had not heard. She seemed
uncomfortable. "Would you like a carafe of coffee with your
breakfast?" she obviously was repeating the question, her eyebrows
still raised, as she stared down at him.

"That would be great." he
smiled.

"Oh, by the way, our maid,
Sarah, told me this morning, that you wish to take care of your
room yourself during your stay." She rested her right hand on the
back of the chair to his right. "While that's a bit unusual, we can
accommodate you. I'll tell Sarah to handle the details." She turned
to leave. "Oh, and no one will enter your room, I assure you," she
added. "Enjoy your breakfast, Mr. Garrison. It will be out
shortly." He turned his head ever-so-slightly to watch her walk
off, and out of the corner of his eye noticed that the maid, Sarah,
and a large lady in white, their heads together, were staring at
him from the kitchen. He turned his head back abruptly, sighed, and
resumed reading the pamphlet, hoping his breakfast would arrive
soon so he could get the hell out of there.

After finishing his meal, Connor went back to his room to
grab his khaki jacket. He descended the stairs quickly, and as he
walked toward the front door, nodded to Mrs. Colborne as he noticed
that she had lifted her eyes slightly from whatever she was working
on at the desk to watch him.

"I'm going into the
village to look around," he called to her. "I'll be gone a few
hours." She nodded. As he walked to his car, he hoped that her
promise was good - that no one would enter his room....that would
not be a good thing - not at this point anyway.

What a difference daylight makes
.
Connor looked around him as he walked to
his car. While the morning was cold, the effect of sunlight on the
house was astounding. Instead of the bleak, forlorn feeling he had
gotten the night before upon first seeing the inn....well, now it
had transformed into a cheery, well-taken-care-of , homey place. He
was impressed. And, the landscaping was perfect...he could see a
path from the front of the house, that, he assumed led to the ocean
cliffs. He would have to check that out at some point, he vowed to
himself.

Allie sat on the stool behind the desk, and worked on her
monthly figures as she munched on an apple slice.
Not too bad so far
this month, she thought, with satisfaction. Some inns in Gerard's
Cliff closed their doors from November until April, but she liked
to keep hers open as long as there were guests who wanted to
reserve a room. Tilda and Sarah both worked shifts at other
businesses when The Colborne Inn slowed down to a halt, and Allie
was appreciative of their loyalty in coming to work even when there
were few guests. Ben, the sweet, older widower who was her
gardener, was basically retired, and only worked there in the
warmer months because he enjoyed it, not because he needed the
income. They all must have known the situation between Patrick and
herself, she thought....how could they not, working in such close
proximity. But none of them ever let on, or said a word to her, and
she appreciated that. Overall, she was very content with her
situation. She even enjoyed the days alone, after Tilda and Sarah
finished their shifts, and the guests had left the inn to go their
own way; she had plenty to keep her busy and her mind
well-occupied.

Not bad at all, she repeated to herself as she picked up
another apple slice and took a bite.

She heard the crunch of
tires on the gravel, and peered out through the window next to the
desk. A short, stocky man got out of the driver's side of the
silver Lincoln Town Car, and pulled down on both sides of his
jacket. He ran his hand sideways over his thinning brown hair as he
strode toward the front porch, a determined look on his
face.

Ethan...Allie slumped on her stool, her pleasant solitude
now forever ruined...she slowly placed the remainder of the apple
slice back on the plate. Why today
?

She had never cared for
Patrick's brother, from day one. Ethan Colborne had always seemed
much older than his actual years, and he was just an all-around
unpleasant person in her opinion...Patrick had seemed flamboyant in
comparison to his stodginess.

She waited until the last
possible moment to get up off the stool and walk to the front door.
She dreaded seeing him again - the last time she had seen him was
at the funeral, and the distasteful discussion over the inn still
made her feel queasy.

"Hello, Ethan." Allie
opened the door and leaned against its side, not offering him
entrance. "What do you want?" She didn't mince words with him - she
really did not want to talk to him at all. Allie didn't care if she
was rude....she preferred to have no more contact with him at
all...why did there need to be with Patrick gone.

"Hello Allison...may I
come in? I have something to discuss with you." Ethan stared at her
with watery eyes. Allie realized, with an inward smile, that he was
trying to look forceful. His face seemed flushed and puffier than
she remembered, the result of years of heavy drinking.

Allie sighed loudly, looked down at the stoop in
resignation, and opened the door. "I haven't much time, Ethan. My
guests are due back shortly."

"Oh, you have guests this
time of year?" Ethan walked past her, looking around him with
interest as he entered the front parlor. "I'm surprised, Allison, I
would have thought you would have this place closed up by now." He
walked across the room and pulled a book from the shelf, made a
pretense of looking it over, then slid it back into
place.

"Why are you here, Ethan?"
Allie tried to speak calmly, even though she could feel her blood
pressure rising. She left the front door open, not planning on
moving any further into the inn, for fear he would follow her.
Sitting down would just encourage him to stay, she figured, so she
planted her feet, crossed her arms, and stayed put.