The Vineyard (6 page)

Feeling a swell of love, Olivia watched until she blended in with the other students climbing the steps, but the door was no sooner shut on the last of them than her mind shifted south. She saw another door, one she knew well from photographs. It was a screen door leading from Asquonset's Great House to an awning-covered patio. That patio overlooked the vineyard, row upon row of trellised vines growing taller and fuller as summer progressed. Olivia could just hear that screen door squeaking open and slapping shut, squeaking open and slapping shut, squeaking open and slapping shut. It was an enchanting sound.

She wanted that job. She
needed
that job. Worrying about Tess was a full-time chore—testing, tutoring, meeting with teachers, trying to help her out at home. It was a drain, but she wouldn't do any differently. Tess was the best thing that had ever happened to her—and the child was trying, she really was. She was working her little butt off to compensate for the problem.

Boy, they had earned a summer off, she and Tess. Working for
Natalie wouldn't be like working for Otis. It wouldn't be like working at all.

O
TIS WAS IN RECOVERY
, better than yesterday but still a little off—this much was apparent to Olivia when he came in the door. “We're out of fixer,” he said without a hello. “I asked you to put in the order.”

Olivia came out of her chair. “I did.” She held Natalie's package to her chest. “It's on the storage shelf out back.”

“We need it for the Brady prints. I told you I wanted to do the copy work today.”

“It's there. Otis? I have to show you something.” The timing wasn't right. He was not going to be receptive. But she couldn't wait. She had to act on this now.

He walked past her to his desk on the far side of the room, and began flipping through yesterday's mail.

Olivia followed him and held out the package. “This came, too.”

He scowled at it. “What?”

“It's from Natalie Seebring. More photographs. But there was a letter with them. I think you should read it.”

“If she doesn't like what we did, she can stuff it,” he said, but he held out a hand. “Show me the thing. I have work to do.”

She gave him the letter and waited impatiently while he read it. His expression remained dark. The timing wasn't only
not
right. It was
awful
. But if Asquonset was going to happen, if she was going to beat out more qualified applicants, she needed the elements of enthusiasm and speed.

Otis finished the letter, flipped it over, and looked at the blank back, then flipped it front again. He gave Olivia a long look. She held her ground. He read the letter again. By the time he had finished the second reading and looked at the page for a while, she could tell his mood had mellowed.

“I know what you're thinking,” he said with a touch of what sounded like sadness, and Olivia felt suddenly disloyal. Otis was her employer and a friend.

“Well, you're retiring,” she reasoned. “Seven more weeks and I'm out of a job, and anyway, you've stopped taking new work. We can finish what you have in two weeks. We can. Really.” When he was silent, she added, “If we don't, I could come back for a day or two.”

“That's not the point. The point”—he held up the letter—“is that this is only a summer job. You need something full-time.”

“But nothing else has come up. I'll keep looking. I can do it from there. This just buys me a little time.”

He frowned, brooding. “That's not the point either, I guess. There's something else. I've been watching you work on the Seebring job. You've become attached to it.”

“I just love old photographs.” They were rich. They conjured a time when life was simpler and more romantic.

“These more than others. Why?”

She was embarrassed. “I don't know.”

“Yes, you do. Natalie has you wrapped around her little finger.”

“That's not true. I've never even met the woman.”

“Not that I blame you,” Otis went on. “She had me wrapped around her little finger once, too, so I know how that is.”

Olivia was startled. “You knew her?” She had assumed that Natalie was simply another client drawn to the studio by its reputation. Then she remembered the yellow envelope with Otis's name on the front. Horrified, she pulled it from the large manila envelope. “I'm sorry. This was tucked in with the photographs. I didn't open it.”

Otis did that himself and pulled out a yellow card. He was barely ten seconds reading it when he began to smile. It was a sheepish smile that lingered, even when he rapped a fist to his heart and rolled his eyes. “Shot down again.”

“Excuse me?” Olivia asked.

“She's remarrying. Once upon a time, I fancied it would be me.”

Olivia was doubly surprised. This was a whole
other
twist on Natalie knowing Otis. But then what Otis had said registered fully. “Remarrying? Where's Alexander?” Granted, Olivia hadn't seen photos from the last decade, but it had never occurred to her that Natalie and Alexander weren't still together. That was part of the image.

“He died.”

Olivia gasped. “When?
How?”

“Six months ago. Heart attack.”

Olivia pressed a hand to her chest. “I'm so
sorry.”
She had never met the man, yet she felt his death as if he were an old friend. He had played a part in nearly every Natalie story she had created. Now he was dead, and there was a new man in Natalie's life. It was a lot to take in.

“When were you and she together?” she asked Otis.

“A long time ago. And it was more my initiative than hers.” He tapped the invitation. “Obviously.”

Olivia was still trying to process the abrupt shift in her image of Natalie. She was trying to conjure up the face of a man who wasn't Alexander, but kept coming up blank. “When is the wedding?”

“Labor Day, which coincidentally is her deadline for this work.”

That quickly, Olivia resumed her quest. “She needs help meeting it. She's in a bind. I can help.”

Otis sighed. “Again, I have to ask about the source of the attraction. I know what it was for me. Natalie thought I was an artist. She loved my work. But that isn't what's appealing to you.”

“She just seems nice—you know, a grandmotherly type.”

His voice grew chiding. “She isn't your grandmother, Olivia.”

“Of course not.”

“Of course not,” he mocked. His eyes were bloodshot this morning, but they remained knowing. “You're chasing a dream, my girl. You imagine spending the summer at the ancestral home with a grandmother who takes care of everything, but Natalie isn't that way. Natalie takes care of Natalie.”

Of
course
he would say that. Natalie had shot him down. He wouldn't be normal if he wasn't a little bitter or hurt.

Olivia, though, saw only generosity in Natalie. Granted, she had no way of knowing how a new husband might affect the picture. But marriage or not, the facts didn't change. “She's offering room, board, and a stipend. A
handsome
stipend, she says.”

“Her definition of ‘handsome' may differ from yours.”

Olivia didn't blink. “Maybe, maybe not. I need that money, Otis.”

“But this isn't a career move,” he complained. “It's just for the
summer.”

“I
know
that,” Olivia said, desperate to convey her belief that it was the right thing to do. “That's what's so
perfect
about this. I've thought it all through, Otis. Really I have. I can finish up here and get out of your hair. I can let you retire without a guilty conscience, because I'll be in another job that I want. I don't even have to give up my apartment. I can sublet it for the summer, and then I'll have it if I want to come back here in the fall. Tess finishes school in two weeks. We can pack up and be in Rhode Island the next day.”

“How do you know Natalie'll want Tess?”

“What's not to want? She says it herself in that letter—there's plenty of room at Asquonset. Tess is one little girl. She'll be nearly invisible. I'll find a tutor. I'll give her tennis lessons. I'll hire a teenager to be with her while I work. Between the river and the ocean, there's plenty for a little girl to do. Natalie's used to grandchildren. I'll bet they're swarming all over the place. She may even have
great
-grandchildren by now.” Olivia had another thought. “Tess could baby-sit the great-grandchildren. For
free.”

Otis looked unimpressed. “I don't think there are any great-grandchildren. As far as I know, there aren't even any grandchildren running around. They're grown and on their own. Why do you think she has extra room in that house?”

“Because it's so
big,”
Olivia said. “And those grandkids may be on their own, but summer's when they come back to visit. Asquonset is an incredible summer vacation place.”

“How do you know that, Olivia?”

“I just know.” Her gut told her so. Granted, her gut had been wrong in the past, particularly where men were concerned. But this was different.

“Maybe you're tired of Cambridge.”

“No.”

“You've been here longer than you've been anywhere else.”

“Because my job here was so good,” Olivia argued. “But my boss is retiring. Pulling the rug right out from under me.”

“So you're dumping him first, that it?”

She shot him a quelling look.

“What about Ted?” he asked.

“Ted is not in this picture.”

“Have you told him that?”

“No. I don't exactly have the job yet.”

“But you want it.”

“Yes.”

“For the money.”

“For Tess.”

“What if the money's no good?”

Olivia wasn't worried. A “handsome stipend” had to be at least good, and even if it wasn't, room and board counted for something, not to mention nearness to the ocean and the use of a tennis court. The change of scenery alone was worth something.

Otis pushed a pad of paper and a pen her way. “Write down what you want.”

“What I think she's paying?”

“What you want. What'll make the effort worthwhile.”

Olivia couldn't do that. Anything she put down would be too much. She would be embarrassed.

“Okay.” Otis pulled back the pad. “I'll do it.” He wrote down a sum that was roughly twice what he would have paid her for the summer if he hadn't been retiring. While she stared at the figure, slightly stunned but already thinking of what that much money would buy, he picked up the phone, drew Natalie's letterhead close, and punched in her number.

“What are you
doing?”
Olivia cried in alarm. She had the sudden vision of his ruining the whole thing with an ill-placed word.

“Saving a little breath. Let's see if we're in the same ballpark.”

Olivia nearly stopped him. She didn't want to know—if knowing meant the end of the dream.

But the call went through before she could react, and Otis was suddenly greeting Natalie like the old friend she apparently was. There was a minute of warm conversation—talk about the pictures that were done, the ones newly arrived, the upcoming wedding. Again, Olivia mentally tried to pair Natalie up with a suitable groom, but Cary Grant was the only face she saw, and he was long dead.

Otis asked Natalie for details about the assistant she wanted.

Hugging her middle, Olivia watched that pad of paper as he wrote down the answers to his questions.
Typing and editing skills. Writing from notes. Mornings with Natalie, afternoons alone Monday through Friday; weekends free. Living accommodations in a separate wing of the house. Food included. Pets? No. Children? Yes. Stipend?

Olivia held her breath long after Otis had written the answer. Natalie was offering twice what Otis had guessed. It was a windfall for someone like her—an incredible amount by
any
measure. She pressed her fingertips to her mouth to keep glee in check.

Otis seemed likewise stunned. He asked Natalie to repeat the figure, and tapped the paper with his pen to confirm that the amount he had written was correct.

Olivia heard bits of the remaining conversation, things like “very generous … yes … history lesson … clear the air,” but the
words sailed past her. Excited beyond belief, she had let her thoughts loose in a new direction. Up to that point, she had been thinking about money for a tutor. What Natalie was offering opened a whole other door.

By the time Otis hung up the phone, Olivia had pulled out the bottom drawer of her desk and taken a booklet from her personal stash. Returning to Otis's desk, she put it down for him to see. It was the catalogue from Cambridge Heath, a private school that was known to cater to the learning-disabled children of local college professors.

Olivia wasn't a college professor—not by a long shot. She had never even been a college student, having graduated from high school by the skin of her teeth and gone straight to work. She considered herself an artist now—Otis's description, long before hers. That was how she billed herself on the job queries she had sent out. She guessed that any school in the Cambridge area would have a handful of parents like her.

Besides, Tess was the daughter of a college professor. Hadn't Jared been on the faculty of UNC at the time of his death? That had to count for something.

And if not, there were other schools. In fact, she realized excitedly, there was a school like Cambridge Heath in Providence. Providence was an up-and-coming city. Olivia had sent résumés to museums and art galleries there. Providence was only a short distance from Asquonset. It would be nice to be near Natalie when the summer was done.

And, of course, there was the possibility that if things worked out at the vineyard, the summer job might evolve into something else—permanent gal Friday, social secretary. It was very promising.