Читать книгу Family By Design - Callie Endicott - Страница 13
ОглавлениеRACHEL DROVE TO the office on Monday morning feeling as if a hidden thought was nibbling at her mind. She’d experienced the sensation before and it often turned out to be something important she needed to consider.
Hopefully it would emerge in time.
As she pulled into the lot, she saw Matt Tupper stepping down from a transport van. He didn’t have his guide dog and was using his cane. She walked his direction, and he turned at the sound of her footsteps.
“Hey, Rachel,” he called. “Good morning.”
“I didn’t know my walk was that distinctive.”
“It isn’t hard to deduce. Not many people arrive this early and Nicole usually wears heels. You wear flats most of the time and walk with a different pace.”
Rachel didn’t explain that heels made her left leg ache.
She was learning about the importance of listening from Matt. Even if she hadn’t seen the tension in Simon Kessler’s face, his voice would have told her a great deal about him.
“Is Pepper all right?” she asked, trying to dismiss Simon from her mind. “She’s usually with you.” Pepper was Matt’s guide dog and she was devoted to Matt.
“Pepper is fine, but she’s due for her annual vaccinations. My brother offered to take her to the vet so I could get to the studio for an early recording. He’ll bring her by later. I’d give her the day off, but she’s restless when she isn’t with me.”
“How has it been going since you expanded?” she asked.
“We’re still getting the equipment installed for the second live studio, but it’s already booked ahead for months. Tara is coming in this weekend to ensure they finish the work.”
“That’s Tara Henley, your assistant.”
“Right. With the schedule so full, it looks like I’ll still end up doing books for the blind on Saturdays. Maybe it’s just as well since my volunteer readers have more available time on weekends.”
Matt owned a recording studio and had been one of the renters Rachel and her friends had inherited when buying the building along with Moonlight Ventures. He recorded radio spots, music and audio books, often hiring his vocal talent through the agency. Instead of being off the atrium area, he was in a rear div of the building where they had few renters, so it hadn’t been a problem to lease him additional space for the second studio. Ironically, their agency also needed to expand, but the space next to them was occupied, with several years left on the lease.
“That’s terrific,” Rachel said. “You may have to add a third live studio.”
He chuckled. “Maybe. As my dad says, success is a two-edged sword. Have a great day.”
ONCE INSIDE HIS STUDIO, Matt didn’t really need his cane. His employees knew to leave everything in its place or to tell him if something had been moved. He walked around with assurance, occasionally putting out a hand if he sensed something wasn’t right.
Even before losing his eyesight, he’d been aware of sound and how pitch and modulation changed in relation to everything else. He navigated relatively well for that reason, usually able to sense larger objects nearby, though he still stubbed his toes often enough. Losing his sight hadn’t even changed his college plans—he’d always intended to major in electronic communications.
The phone rang and he hit the speaker button. “Tupper Recording.”
“It’s Conan, Matt.” Conan’s voice sounded gravelly, as if he’d just got out of bed.
“What’s up?”
Conan started to say something, then broke into a fit of coughing. Obviously it was more than a rough morning voice.
“Got a cold,” he finally choked out. “We can’t make it today, but we’ll still pay a full fee for the recording session.”
“The cancellation fee in the contract is fine,” Matt said firmly. It made him uncomfortable when people tried to pay more than their contracts required. Maybe he was being ultrasensitive, but it felt as if they were giving alms to the blind.
“When can we reschedule?” Conan asked. He was an account executive for a major bank...who also blew a mean saxophone. His jazz band played in local clubs periodically, and they’d decided to record a CD under their own start-up label.
“Let me check the schedule.” Matt pulled it up on the computer. He used both a braille and audio reader, but preferred having the electronic braille device translate from the screen when other people might be able to hear. “I don’t have an opening until three weeks from today, 4:00 p.m.”
“That’s—” Conan had another fit of coughing. “We’ll take it,” he said when he could talk again. “Sorry about this. My kid brought the bug home from preschool and must have spread it to the whole band when we practiced a few days ago. I’ve been getting emails from everyone that they’re sick.”
“Get well soon,” Matt returned, entering the booking in the system and setting an electronic reminder to send a revision to the contract for signature.
“Thanks.”
Matt disconnected and automatically reached to rub behind Pepper’s ears, only to remember she wasn’t there. He missed her. He’d resisted getting a guide dog for years, but Pepper had become a friend who sensed his moods better than any human had ever done.
Sitting back, Matt listened to the sounds coming from the street and the whisper of the HVAC system blowing air through the vents. This was his kingdom and it was exactly where he’d always wanted to be...even if his life hadn’t been changed by a driver jumping the curb and plowing into a group of high school seniors.
RACHEL’S DAY PASSED quickly between desk work and site checks, which included visiting two photo shoots where new clients were booked. Everything was going smoothly in both locations.
Late in the afternoon she and Adam enjoyed rejecting a business owner who was supposedly searching for a model to represent his used-car dealership. The guy had raised alarm bells when they’d talked, so she’d checked him out further. Apparently he used what he called “casting calls” to meet and then try to date female models. Adam had wanted to be the one who told him to get lost but in the end agreed they could do it together.
She drove home in a good mood, encountering Gemma and Livvie when she stopped in the lobby to check her mailbox.
“Hi, Rachel,” Livvie cried. “We’re going to the lake. Can you come with us?”
Gemma nodded and smiled, but Rachel hesitated. When she’d mentioned spending time with Livvie if her father agreed, he hadn’t responded one way or the other. But surely he would have told Gemma if he didn’t approve.
“I’d love to,” Rachel said. “Can you wait a minute for me to change into something else?”
“Okay.”
She rushed up the stairs and slipped into casual clothes. Livvie’s face bloomed with pleasure when she got back and they headed toward the water. Once there, the child concentrated on her boat, while Rachel chatted with Gemma.
“It’s beautiful here in Washington,” Gemma murmured after a while. “So green and fresh. I missed it in New York, though we were able to see things like the Statue of Liberty and museums. I especially enjoyed Greenwich Village.”
Once again her clear, musical voice impressed Rachel, and she suddenly recalled the elusive idea that had been buzzing in her brain. She should have thought of it when she’d run into Matt Tupper that morning.
“Gemma, would you be interested in doing side jobs?” she asked. “At the agency we get calls for people to do narration or voice-overs and other vocal work. I’m sure you’d be great at it.”
“Oh, I never thought of such a thing. I’m not... I mean, I don’t have any experience and can’t imagine anyone would be interested in hiring me.”
“They might. I’m not saying you’d make a fortune or anything. You could even ease your way into it by doing volunteer reading. One of the tenants in our building has a sound studio and he records books and magazines for the blind—regionally published stuff that the National Library Service is less likely to do. He’s always looking for readers willing to give time to the project.”
The nervous clutch of Gemma’s fingers relaxed. “I’d be happy to volunteer, only I doubt I’d be very good.”
“Think about it. There isn’t a deadline.”
They stayed quiet after that, watching Livvie direct her boat in the water. It was a beautiful late afternoon, and Rachel enjoyed just sitting and watching the rippling lake.
“Hey, kiddo!” called Simon Kessler out of the blue.
“Daddy,” Livvie cried, “come see how I make my boat move.”
Rachel’s pulse had jumped when Simon Kessler’s voice intruded into her musings. She watched as he went to the water’s edge, crouching to speak with his daughter—from what she’d read, getting down to eye level was the best way to talk with kids. At the moment, Livvie seemed to be pleading with him for something and Rachel restrained a grin. Livvie would be hard not to spoil with her funny adult manners and earnest eyes.
Gemma looked at her cell phone. “Oh, dear, we’ve been here longer than I thought. I need to go, I have a class tonight at the community center. I’m learning sign language.”
She went over to speak with her employer, then waved and hurried away. Rachel stood to leave as well, thinking she needed to develop more hobbies or take classes. She loved cooking and reading, but having other interests would be good.
“Rachel, wait,” Livvie screeched, dashing up the pathway. “Please come with us for dinner.”
Wishing she’d made her escape earlier, Rachel smiled. “That’s nice of you, Livvie, but I have leftovers in my fridge that need to be eaten. I hate to waste food.”
“Pleeeze? I want you to come. Daddy, please ask Rachel to come.”
“Livvie, honey, get your boat out of the water while I talk with Ms. Clarion.”
“Okay.”
Rachel looked at Simon, whose face wore the same closed expression she’d seen before. He was darkly handsome, with chiseled features that might photograph well. Strange, now that she was a talent agent, it seemed as if she was always assessing how someone might look in an ad or appear on television or in film. She’d have to work on that, because she didn’t want her view of the world becoming too narrow.
But maybe it wasn’t just from becoming an agent. In all honesty, she would have noticed Simon’s looks regardless.
He was a hard man to ignore.
SIMON HADN’T WANTED to agree to Livvie’s request about inviting Rachel to dinner, but the little mischief maker had asked for a treat and he’d impulsively said yes before learning which treat she wanted.
His daughter had taken a strong, instant liking to their downstairs neighbor. He just didn’t know why. While Rachel had an almost otherworldly beauty, it probably wasn’t something that would influence a child. He’d questioned Gemma to find out if Rachel had done something special to catch Livvie’s attention, but she’d said nothing unusual had happened aside from the minor earthquake. Rachel, it seemed, had been exceptionally calm during the event, which had really impressed Gemma.
“We would very much like having you as our guest for dinner,” he said formally.
“Thanks, but as I told Livvie, I have food in my refrigerator that will go to waste,” Rachel explained, her gaze seeming straightforward.
“I hope you’ll reconsider,” he urged. “She rarely asks for anything, so it’s hard when I can’t give her what she wants.”
“Well...there’s far more than I can eat, so maybe you could have dinner at my place.”
He went rigid, recalling a few meals to which he and Livvie had been invited since Olivia’s death where there’d been a clear ulterior motive.
“Really, Rachel? Can we eat with you?” Livvie asked from behind him.
Was it possible Rachel had seen his daughter coming and spoken when she did, counting on getting his child’s support? Or was he being unreasonably suspicious again? He desperately missed Olivia’s sensible way of keeping him grounded.
“It’s up to your father,” Rachel said.
“Thanks, that would be nice,” he agreed finally. After all, one dinner didn’t mean anything.
“Great. I’m going to head back to my place. I’m in 2B and can have everything ready in an hour. Does that sound okay?”
“It works for us.”
He kept himself from watching her graceful figure walk away, and concentrated on spending a while longer with Livvie, putting the little motorized boat back into the water and sending it around in circles. Then they went home to wash up for the meal. Livvie wanted to put on the dress she’d worn for a Christmas party, but he talked her out of the frilly outfit before changing his business suit for less formal clothing.
Shortly before seven, he rang the doorbell to 2B.
Rachel was still wearing jeans and a T-shirt and had a dish towel tied around her waist instead of an apron. A delicious, faintly exotic scent wafted through the air.
“Welcome,” she said, waving them inside.
Simon glanced around. It was the first time he’d seen one of the other condos in the building. This one seemed spacious and had a nice lakeside view. The living room was decorated with eclectic touches from around the world and an electronic picture frame shifted through scenes he recognized from his own travels.
Rachel had gone into the kitchen and returned with a tray holding serving bowls. She carried it toward the French doors opening onto the deck.
“I enjoy eating outside when the weather is nice,” she said. “Is that all right?”
“Sounds fine.”
“Sit wherever you’re comfortable.”
A minute later she reappeared with a large platter. “As I mentioned, this is all leftovers.”
“I like leftovers,” Livvie announced.
His daughter seemed determined to like everything connected to their neighbor, though Simon wasn’t sure Livvie knew what Rachel meant. Neither he nor Olivia had bothered with leftovers much.
“So do I,” Rachel said. “Since my parents were caterers, I grew up on food left from their catering jobs. Maybe I’m biased, but I think some dishes are better the second time around.”
Simon looked at the platter of meat and roasted vegetables, alongside bowls of salads.
“You made all of this?”
“Just the salads. My friends grilled the meat and veggies for a get-together on Saturday. Fewer guests came than expected, so they sent a container of the excess home with me. I meant to share it around the office today and forgot.”
“What’s that?” Livvie asked, pointing to a vegetable.
“Eggplant.”
Livvie giggled. “That’s silly. Eggs don’t grow on plants.”
“No, but some types of eggplant have an egg shape, or at least that must be what people thought.”
“Do I have to eat a whole serving if it’s yucky?”
Rachel’s lips twitched. “Simon, I don’t know your rules about food, so you should probably answer that.”
“I want Livvie to try things, but she doesn’t have to finish anything she truly dislikes.”
“There’s your answer, Livvie,” Rachel said. “If you want to try it, fine, but I won’t be upset if you don’t want to finish.”
“Okay,” Livvie said, looking relieved. While she seemed eager to please Rachel, she was decidedly picky about her food.
Simon served his daughter before filling his own plate and taking a bite of the eggplant. He’d eaten it in eggplant parmesan, but this was different and quite delicious.
Livvie chewed a small amount of the eggplant and made a face before swallowing. But she ate another bite, so perhaps she was merely concentrating.
“This is excellent,” he said, tasting a salad of noodles and various vegetables.
Rachel didn’t appear flattered by the compliment. She simply shrugged. “Thanks to my parents, cooking has always been part of my life.”
“But you didn’t decide to become a caterer?”
She grinned. “I’d rather cook when I want, not on demand.”
“To keep it a hobby, not a job.”
“Right.” Rachel cocked her head. “I was thinking about hobbies earlier. It’s interesting that you mentioned them.”
“How do you define a hobby?” he asked politely.
“I’m not sure. I used to think it was to create something lasting, but that isn’t true of activities like mountain climbing. And food only lasts until you eat it.”
“Perhaps it leaves lasting memories.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Or a little extra on the hips.”
Simon tried not to look at her figure; he’d already noted how attractive she was. Sandra’s determined efforts to get him in front of an altar had left him suspicious of women, yet he didn’t think Rachel was fishing for compliments.
He glanced at Livvie. She was exploring the food on her plate. Some dishes she obviously liked, but others she seemed less certain about. He decided it was best to let her continue experimenting without comment.
“Rachel, what other hobbies would you enjoy?”
“I’m still thinking about it. Gemma mentioned being in a sign language class, so I thought about taking classes, as well. I’ve always been fascinated by anthropology.”
Simon was so busy he couldn’t imagine needing a hobby. “I’ve never had to worry about it, but I suppose something like that would help fill your time.”
She sent him a look tinged with annoyance. “I don’t need to fill my time,” she said crisply, “but I’m essentially self-employed now. It would be easy to lose myself in work. Instead I want to expand my mind and explore new things. But I suppose some people don’t care about doing that.”
It was a not-so-subtle gibe and Simon belatedly realized he must have sounded condescending.
“New things like eggplant?” Livvie asked, innocently breaking the tense moment.
Rachel smiled at her. “New foods are one thing to explore, and I want to find others. There are so many choices, I’ll have to think about what to do.”
He half expected a suggestion his daughter could “help” her figure it out, but Rachel merely served herself more vegetables, then spent a moment gazing at the view from the balcony. The sun had sunk behind the building and the lights of the surrounding community were beginning to glow.
“I love this time of day,” she murmured. “It’s an in-between moment, where maybe you can...”
She stopped and Livvie looked intrigued. “Do what?”
Rachel waved her hand. “Just a fancy of mine. It’s silly. What’s your favorite part of the day?”
As his daughter chattered about mornings and her daily activities, Simon focused on her face, rather than the lake and sparkling lights. Twilight wasn’t his favorite time; it signaled the beginning of evening, a period that reminded him of his loss.
Olivia had worked hard, trying to build her clothing design business into something the world would notice. He’d worked equally hard, but they had set the evening aside for family. And once Livvie had gone to bed, they’d focused on each other.
Well, it had been that way a good deal of the time.
When Olivia had got an idea for a design, she’d wanted to capture it right away. Otherwise, she had explained, she risked losing the nuances. On those evenings, she had quietly disappeared into her work.
Their marriage hadn’t been perfect, but it had been good. Since her death, he’d wondered if she had guessed her life would be short and whether that explained how determined and driven she’d been.
RACHEL SAW A faraway look on Simon’s face and wondered what it might mean. Not that she needed to know. The Kesslers were merely neighbors, and based on her contacts with Simon, she’d rather not get closely acquainted. The only reason she’d offered the dinner invitation was for Livvie’s sake.
“The part I don’t like about mornings is when Daddy leaves,” Livvie finally said.
Simon brushed a crumb from his daughter’s cheek. “Sorry, Livi-kin-kinnie, but that’s what daddies do.”
Livvie let out a huge breath of air. “I know. When I grow up I’m going to work at Mama’s place.”
“Your mama’s place?” Rachel asked.
“She made dresses and things. Daddy, you ’splain it.” Looking sad, Livvie slipped off her chair and wandered to the end of the balcony to stare at the lake.
Rachel glanced at Simon and saw his expression had gone tighter than usual. “My wife, Olivia, designed a line of clothing. When she... Well, she left the business to Livvie and I’ve been trying to run it the best I can.”
“Was it based in New York?”
“No, in Seattle.”
Rachel straightened in her chair. “Good grief, are you talking about Liv’ing Creations?”
His eyebrow shot upward. “Yes. You sound familiar with the label.”
“I should hope so. I know my agency used to provide models for their shows and catalogs. I’ve also enjoyed their clothes and have several items in my closet. Older ones, that is, not...” She stopped, aware she might be treading on sensitive ground.
“You mean nothing from the more current lines, not since Olivia’s last designs were released,” he said in a low, flat tone, possibly to keep his daughter from hearing.
“Basically.” Rachel kept her volume equally low. “The line has radically changed direction over the past few seasons. It no longer has the vitality and style that originally caught my attention. In particular, the rich colors have become muted.”
From the little she could read in Simon’s expression, she didn’t think he’d enjoyed hearing her opinion, even if he knew—or suspected—something was wrong with his wife’s company.
“Maybe it appeals to other people, just not to me,” Rachel added awkwardly.
“I hired Janine Jenkins, a clothing designer from New York, to keep things going. Sales have been indifferent,” he said, “but the manager of Liv’ing Creations feels it’s because consumers know Olivia is gone and are avoiding the label for that reason. She and the designer are convinced another season or two should turn things around.”
“I see,” Rachel said carefully, not sure how else to respond.
She hadn’t been aware of Olivia Kessler’s death; she’d simply lost interest when the designs no longer showed the unique flair she had first appreciated. It seemed unlikely that the original buyers would return if the current designer stayed in her conservative mode, though interest might pick up in a new market. The designs weren’t awful, but they felt like something you’d find in any nice department store.
As Simon started to say something else, Rachel saw Livvie heading back to the table.
“Hey, Livvie, does your daddy allow you to have dessert?” she called in case he hadn’t heard the soft footsteps.
Livvie brightened. “If I eat a good dinner. I ate a good dinner, didn’t I, Daddy?”
“That’s right, honey.”
Rachel was relieved to be talking about something else. “In that case, I have strawberry sorbet, along with cookies that a friend made.”
“Yum!”
Rachel began clearing the table and Simon got up to help, despite her urging to stay put and relax.
“Should I put these in the dishwasher?” he asked, carrying the tray into the kitchen.
“Just leave everything on the counter and I’ll clean up in the morning. Would you like coffee? I got decaf at the Java Train Stop.”
“Sounds good.”
She filled two cups from the insulated carton and offered cream and sugar, but Simon declined.
“Is that homemade?” he asked as she served the sorbet.
“Yes. I made it for a gathering a couple weeks ago. As promised, tonight’s dinner is all about leftovers.”
“Everything was excellent.”
They carried the coffee and dessert to the balcony.
Livvie tasted the sorbet and grinned. “Double yum.”
“Rachel made it,” Simon told her.
The child’s eyes opened wide. “I didn’t know you could make ice cream stuff at home.”
“You can make most things if you know how and have the right tools.”
While they ate, the pink glow in the sky faded entirely and the lights from homes and streetlamps shone in the blackness.
When the dessert and coffee were finished, Simon smiled politely. “Rachel, thanks for a pleasant evening, but we’d better get going.”
“I’m glad you could come.”
“I like eggplant,” Livvie said, her eyes shining. “And I looove strawberry ice cream.”
Rachel chuckled and walked them to the door, where Livvie hugged her.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she exclaimed.
Unable to resist, Rachel bent and kissed the top of her head. “You’re very welcome.”
But when the door closed behind them, her shoulders sagged with exhaustion. Unlike evenings with her friends, spending time with Simon Kessler was far from relaxing. The way he looked at her, as if weighing her words for a secret meaning, his measured responses, his guarded expression...she felt as if she’d run a marathon.
SIMON WALKED UPSTAIRS with his daughter. They spent an hour playing games before she put on her “princess” nightgown and he tucked her into bed.
“Daddy, I like Rachel.”
He brushed the hair away from her forehead. “Of course you do, honey. She’s a nice lady.”
“Can I go visit her?”
“I’ll think about it.”
Livvie yawned. “Okay. G’night.”
“Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
She giggled sleepily while he turned off the light and left the bedroom door ajar.
At his computer, Simon started looking through the files for Liv’ing Creations. Rachel’s comments about the current clothing line were bothering him.
It no longer has the vitality and style that originally caught my attention. In particular, the rich colors have become muted.
The colors in Janine Jenkins’s designs were undoubtedly more subdued, and he wondered if Rachel had put her finger on the issues that Liv’ing Creations was having. Though he hadn’t wanted to admit it, he was starting to think Janine Jenkins was part of the problem, not the solution.
What had Rachel said—that her talent agency had once provided models for the design house? A search through the financial reports gave him a name, Moonlight Ventures.
At the agency’s website, Simon found pictures and brief bios of the owners. His eyes widened as he recognized two of the partners, supermodels Nicole George and Adam Wilding. Logan Kensington was a world-renowned photographer, while Rachel had worked as both a model and a makeup artist.
Simon broadened his search on the internet and found something Rachel’s agency biography hadn’t mentioned—her modeling career had been cut short due to injuries in an accident at work. After recovering, she’d turned her talents to doing makeup on photo shoots and in the movie world.
He tapped his fingers on the keyboard. Liv’ing Creations’ sales were lackluster and in danger of slipping into the red. He’d sold most of his holdings and split the proceeds between Livvie’s trust fund and a donation to ovarian cancer research, seeing both as an investment in his daughter’s future. Still, he could probably subsidize the design house for a year or two. But that wasn’t what Olivia would have wanted. His wife had poured herself into the company. She’d often talked about wanting to leave a piece of herself behind for Livvie, and that had become especially important to her once she’d fallen ill. It wouldn’t be much of a legacy if the fashion house became a joke in the industry and died an inglorious death.
Restless, he turned off the computer and went into the garden. While sitting on Rachel’s balcony earlier in the evening, he’d realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed the fresh air or appreciated the night vista. In fact, he could almost hear Olivia chiding him. She would have asked him if he wanted their daughter to grow up with such a limited sense of things. After all, kids often modeled how their parents behaved.
Simon shuddered. His father had been as ruthless and narrowly focused as a man could be. He’d dragged Simon out of a good foster home, made his wife sign adoption papers and set out to mold his son in his own image. He’d succeeded. Simon had learned his lessons well, cold-bloodedly pursuing a hostile takeover of Richard Kessler’s business as an adult and then taking it apart and selling the pieces.
Justice or, more likely, retribution?
Because if his father had behaved decently, Simon’s biological mother might still be alive. Instead she’d died, overworked and unable to get needed medical care. However happy Simon’s foster home had been, it couldn’t erase the memory of losing her so senselessly.
When he and Olivia had got married they’d both been obsessed with work until Livvie was on the way. That was when they’d taken a step back to review their lives and realized they wanted more for themselves and their child. Now it was time to revisit those values.
A crisp breeze swirled around Simon, carrying a fragrance that reminded him of Rachel’s light perfume.
His senses went on alert.
Rachel’s balcony was located below the penthouse garden and he realized she might be sitting outside as well, watching the moon over Lake Washington. He hadn’t enjoyed hearing her opinion about the latest designs from Liv’ing Creations, yet that didn’t mean they weren’t valid. Perhaps he should call Moonlight Ventures in the morning and make an appointment with her. They could talk, and if her ideas seemed on target, he could try hiring her as a consultant—that would make it clear the contact was purely business.
