Читать книгу Charlotte Moore - Judith Bowen - Страница 9

IT WAS HARD TO BELIEVE they’d walked less than ten minutes by the time the gloomy path through the sea-stunted forest gave way to a more open area of dull dry grass dotted with scrub alders and willows. Liam stopped once, to supervise her scramble over a derelict wooden fence, which she managed—gracefully, she thought—then forged ahead with her close behind him.

Charlotte heard dogs barking before she saw the house, a two-story cedar-shingled frame building with a big wraparound veranda and a darling cupola on top, complete with battered widow’s walk. The style, more commonly without the cupola, was popular along the coast. Supposedly, a seafarer’s wife could stand on the tiny balcony and gaze out to sea to spy her spouse as he sailed into harbor.

Whether that was so she could put a cake in the oven or chase the gardener out of her bed, Charlotte didn’t know, but cupolas were a charming addition to any dwelling, and she’d always wanted to sit in one, maybe take up a book to read.

Liam’s house was much grander than she’d expected it to be, even needing a coat of paint as it did and some attention to the landscaping. There were trees and bushes—a crab apple, two lilacs and several escallonias—that looked as though they’d once been productive but had been allowed to grow wild and unpruned. Everything seemed a bit run-down, a bit neglected.

“How many more dogs do you have?” she asked as she hurried to catch up to him.

“Twelve right now, not counting a new litter a month ago,” he replied, reaching for the latch that opened the wooden gate. An ancient sumac, its branches laden with candelabras of scarlet cone-shaped fruit, guarded the entrance path.

“Puppies! How lovely,” Charlotte said, trying to be conversational. Liam didn’t respond. He was a singularly uncommunicative man. Thank goodness she had Maggie with her, as a pretext for conversation once they sorted out the introductions. She could hardly imagine what she’d have come up with if she’d just located him in the phone book and called. Knowing her, she’d have blurted out something about the crush she’d had on him when she was eleven and when could they get together to discuss it.

A waist-high white picket fence surrounded the house, each post surmounted by ornamental wood-carvings in a last-century style. Charlotte noted the detail avidly. Folk art of all kinds, from architecture to furniture and the decorative arts: these were the passions she’d turned into a livelihood over the past few years.

Completing the quaint domestic picture—forest to one side, open shore and sea to the other, with the sun suddenly breaking through—wood smoke poured from a brick chimney. Of course! Liam Connery didn’t live alone. Twelve dogs. Plus puppies. What was that—another five or six? And no doubt a wife, kids, mortgage and a big feed bill. After all, if Charlotte was twenty-eight, he had to be at least thirty-three or -four by now.

A family man. What an unsettling thought. So far, Charlotte had not factored a wife and children into the mental picture she’d formed. He seemed so…remote. Detached. Self-sufficient. So—how had Sid put it?—ornery.

They entered a small linoleum-floored anteroom full of coats and boots, and smelling slightly of dog. The dog with him—she still hadn’t heard Liam call it by name—settled with a sigh into a blanket-lined wicker basket. She didn’t know whether or not to slip off her sneakers, deciding, in the end, that she’d keep them on, considering she wasn’t wearing any socks. She wiped the soles carefully on the mat beside the door, noting that she was desecrating a traditional hooked mat, faded but sturdy, that would probably bring seventy-five dollars at an auction in Toronto. Collectors snapped up mats like these.

Liam, she was relieved to see, walked to a glass-fronted cabinet that contained several guns and deposited the one he’d had slung over his shoulder, locking the door and pocketing the key.

“Why do you have the gun?” she asked, unable to resist.

“To shoot ducks,” he said. “You want to keep the coat on for now?”

He moved to the door that separated the vestibule from the rest of the house and paused, less than a yard away from her, waiting for her response.

Charlotte searched his gaze for a clue as to the situation—and saw nothing but an odd wariness. Beneath that scruffy beard, he’d grown up to be a handsome man, in his rough way. And yet he struck her as…almost scary. She decided to stay wrapped up in the jacket, if for no other reason than that she was suddenly embarrassed at the prospect of exposing herself in her damp, no doubt revealing, T-shirt. She nodded.

Modesty, thy name is Woman, she thought, mangling the half-remembered phrase.

He opened the door and gestured her forward into a kitchen. There were no lights on in the room, and it seemed a little gloomy, if delightfully warm.

Liam flipped a wall switch to turn on a light.

“Liam? That you?” came a thin voice from one corner of the room. Charlotte’s gaze settled on an elderly woman, probably in her early seventies, her hands occupied with yarn and knitting needles, and accompanied by a cat that perched on the upholstered back of her chair. The woman looked toward them but there was something unusual in her flat gaze.

“I’m home, Ma. Brought company. She got her clothes wet down at the shore and she could use a cup of tea and a warm-up.”

“Oh? Any luck?”

Liam, who’d taken off his boots, picked up a teakettle that was sitting on a gleaming modern commercial range and went to the sink. “Nope. Scout wasn’t in the mood. He had other things on his mind.” He glanced at Charlotte and she felt herself flush.

The whole kitchen was furnished in a surprisingly up-to-date fashion, with a large refrigerator, a dishwasher and double stainless steel sinks. The appliances appeared to be about ten years old. Somehow, she hadn’t expected a modern kitchen. An older woodstove was in one corner, near the woman’s chair, and was probably the source of the wood smoke she’d noticed. That suited the room.

“Stay there, Ma,” he said, although the woman had made no effort to get up. “I’ll make the tea.” He ran some water into the kettle.

“Where’s Davy’s boy?”

Liam looked toward his mother. “He’ll be along shortly. He’s got Scout.”

The woman chuckled and put her knitting aside. “That Scout is quite a rapscallion.” She shook her head, smiling. Charlotte got the impression that she was pleased to hear about Scout’s hijinks. “He sure doesn’t take after his daddy, does he? Old Jimbo. Now, there’s a dog who’s all business. Did you say you’d brought someone, Liam?”

Charlotte stared at the older woman, shocked. Hadn’t she seen her? She glanced at Liam. He had set the kettle on the stove. He shot her a warning look that she couldn’t quite decipher.

“Yes. This is—I never did ask your name, ma’am.” He actually smiled slightly. It made a huge difference to what Charlotte had come to believe was a perpetually grim expression.

“Charlotte,” she said, stepping forward and rather foolishly holding out her hand. “Charlotte Moore. From Toronto.”

He frowned. “I’m Liam Connery—”

“I know who you are.” She desperately wanted to set the record straight. About Maggie. About Laurel. About herself.

“You do?”

“Actually, believe it or not, I was more or less on my way here, to your place. To drop off a dog—”

“That Labrador?” He was still frowning.

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “I understand that you made some arrangements with my sister Laurel to have Maggie bred here….”

“You’re Laurel Moore’s sister?” He seemed completely taken aback.

“I am. Her younger sister. I remember you but—” she laughed nervously “—I don’t suppose you remember me.”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t. And I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” He turned toward his mother again without explaining. “This is my mother, Ada Connery.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Connery?” Charlotte said formally. “Thank you for letting me stop in to warm up.”

The older woman nodded and smiled. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you, dear. My eyes aren’t what they used to be. It must be dark in here. Come in, sit yourself down. Liam, there’s some of that date cake in the bread box. Cut a slice for our guest, Mrs. Moore—”

“Oh, I’m not married.”

“Miss Moore. Get her a cup of tea, Liam.”

“Please, call me Charlotte.” She looked helplessly at Liam. He pointed at his own eyes with both forefingers, then gave her a thumbs-down gesture, both hands. Blind?

Her dismay must have been obvious. He nodded and walked toward her. “That sweater okay to go in the dryer?” It was on the kitchen table, along with her balled-up jacket.

Charlotte remembered why she was here—to dry her clothes.

“Sure, it’s wool but it’s washable. The jacket can go in, too.”

He held her clothes in one hand but didn’t move away. “So what’s this about leaving your sister’s bitch here? Didn’t she get my message?”

“Message?”

“I left her a message, let’s see—” he ran one hand through his already dishevelled hair “—just about a week ago.”

“My sister and her husband are in Belize on holiday. A week ago?” Charlotte paused, trying to think back. So much had happened in a week!

“Whatever. Your sister called here quite a few times, tried to talk me into breeding her bitch, but I told her I wouldn’t consider it.”

“You’re joking.” Charlotte didn’t mean that at all—joking. She was shocked to her core. “Laurel said she had it all arranged!”

“She lied.” He glanced toward the stove, where the kettle had just begun to boil.

“My sister doesn’t lie,” Charlotte said stiffly. She had to defend her own sister, for heaven’s sake! But she’d been suspicious of Laurel’s sudden enthusiasm at discovering that Charlotte was not only traveling to Prince Edward Island on business, but wanted to meet Liam Connery. Had Laurel set her up?

Liam cracked a smile, which frayed Charlotte’s jittery nerves even more. “Must’ve changed, then,” he said easily, taking a step toward the stove. He put her sweater on the counter. “She sure knew how to tell a tall tale at Dunwoody High.”

“But I have to leave Maggie here. I have other things I have to—”

“Sit down.” He indicated a chair at the kitchen table, then poured water over the tea bags and put the teapot back on the stove. He deposited a thick ceramic mug unceremoniously on the table, before picking up her clothes again and disappearing into another doorway that led off the kitchen. She wondered why he hadn’t offered his mother tea. She heard the slam of a door—the dryer—and then the sound of the machine starting.

“Psst!” Startled, Charlotte looked toward the corner where Liam’s mother was gesturing. “Don’t pay him no mind. He’s awful particular about who he breeds his dogs to, the Labs and the Chessies both.”

“But—” Charlotte began, then thought better of it. The tea was starting to simmer. She got up to take it off the stove and bring it to the table. It was already black as tar. Honestly! Didn’t he even know how to make a pot of tea?

“So, in the area tourin’, are you?” Ada Connery asked in a friendly tone, resuming her knitting.

“Actually, I’m here for a few weeks. I’ll be doing some work on the Rathbone estate. I’ll need to find a place for Maggie first, though, now that there’s been a mix-up.” Now that Laurel had screwed up royally! “I understand the estate is nearby.” The tea was hot and welcome. She wrapped her cold fingers around the mug, then took some sugar from a graniteware bowl that stood on the table, and stirred it in.

“Yes, indeed. Matter-of-fact, it’s right next door, just through the woods. You can’t miss it. There’s not much around here but the post office and the store. There’s the lobster supper in summer, over at Cardigan River. That’s all closed now.”

“I see,” Charlotte murmured. She sat down gingerly on a kitchen chair. The soles of her sneakers squeaked on the linoleum floor, and the woman across the room looked up.

Ada Connery shook her head. “Old Mr. Rathbone was always quite a gentleman, you know. Until he took his turn, that is. He became fairly hard to handle then, from what I’ve been told, always skulking about, springing up on people to surprise them. Boo!” She waved one hand quickly, as though imitating her deceased neighbor. “Couldn’t be trusted with a match in the end. Dementia, they say.”

She glanced in Charlotte’s direction with her sightless eyes and pulled another strand of yarn from the wicker basket by her side. Charlotte could count at least four completed mittens from where she sat, and wondered how many were in the basket and why Ada Connery kept knitting more.

“My late husband did odd jobs over there sometimes—gardening and what not. The old gentleman was very fond of huntin’ dogs. Liam has a couple of ’em now. But I do believe the neighborhood has improved since the old fellow has passed on. He was what they called a philanderer in my day—Miss Charlotte will be working at Gerard Rathbone’s place, did you know that, Liam?”

Liam had returned from disposing of her clothes and was carrying a sweater—not hers. “No, I didn’t, Ma.” He didn’t sound that interested. “Here— If this fits, you’re welcome to it.”

“Thanks.” Charlotte took the sweater and removed his jacket. “I’m assisting with the estate appraisal for the heirs,” she explained. “Art, furniture, that sort of thing.”

He raised one eyebrow briefly as though to underline his indifference. Her damp T-shirt was stuck to her breasts and belly, as she’d suspected. She was seized with an enormous shiver, the kind you felt right down to your shins, and quickly tugged on the garment he’d handed her, a Nordic-patterned sweater in greens and blues.

He’d turned away the instant she pulled off the jacket. Her earlier fit of modesty hadn’t been necessary. This man clearly had no interest—whatsoever—in her as a female. As a shapely woman wearing a revealing garment. He hadn’t even sneaked a peek, from what she could tell.

“I believe Bertie’s boy, Nick, is taking care of things over there for the family. I saved your dinner in the oven, Liam.” It took Charlotte a few seconds to realize that the family Ada was talking about was the Rathbones.

“I’ll have it later, Ma.” Liam went to the window that overlooked the path they’d taken to the house. “Here’s Jamie now.”

“What about my dog?” Charlotte stood quickly. Poor Maggie.

“I’ll make sure she’s all right.”

Without another word, he left. Charlotte took a gulp of the sweet tea. What she’d meant, what she wished she’d said, was, Aren’t you going to take her off my hands, as my sister supposedly arranged? Surely Laurel hadn’t been so foolish as to think that if Charlotte just showed up with Maggie, she’d be able to convince this man to breed the dog to one of his prize animals….

Frankly, Charlotte didn’t give a damn. It was Laurel’s problem, not hers. What she cared about was finding a place to board Maggie until her sister and brother-in-law got back from their holiday.

“You’ll want to have a look at the puppies before you go. Liam says they’re the best litter he’s had from Bear, and that’s sayin’ something.”

“Bear is—?”

“His Chesapeake Bay retriever daddy dog. Scout’s daddy is Old Jimbo, Liam’s Labrador daddy dog. He’s gettin’ on, poor fella.”

Charlotte’s head was spinning with dog details.

“Darn that old Scout! He’s quite a scamp.” The older woman chuckled again. “Yes, my son gets near a thousand dollars for one of Bear’s pups and he won’t sell to just anyone. He’s very particular. Very particular, indeed.”

Indeed. Her sister—or perhaps Maggie—obviously had not passed the test.

“You go on out, miss. Take any one of those jackets hanging there in the mudroom.”

“You’re sure you’ll be all right? You want some tea?” That was a silly thing to say, obviously Liam’s mother did just fine on her own. She’d been alone when they arrived.

Ada Connery laughed. “Of course I’ll be all right. If I want tea, I’ll get it. I’m not crippled up or anything, you know—it’s just that my eyesight is poorly these days.”

According to Liam, his mother was stone-blind.

Charlotte went out. Her Suburban was safely parked in the driveway. The wind caught her hair in cold gusts and the sunshine that had broken through the clouds earlier had vanished. The sky was very dark.

Jamie emerged from a shed at the back of the property, where there were several barn-red outbuildings. “Want to see the new litter?”

Everyone here was pup-crazy! That was okay by Charlotte. She liked pups, too. Who didn’t? “Sure.” She made her way over to the boy. “Where’s Maggie?”

Charlotte could see several chain-link runs out behind the sheds. Four or five dogs stood at attention behind the fence, regarding her alertly. They were all shades of brown. Some were black. One barked, but the rest were silent and watchful. Labradors and Chesapeake Bay retrievers, Ada had said.

Jamie gestured toward the driveway. “Liam told me to leave her in your truck, since you’d be going soon, anyway.”

She walked beside him as he led her into the closest building.

“This here is Sammy,” the boy said proudly. “She’s one of Liam’s top bitches.” Charlotte couldn’t help wincing. She just wasn’t used to hearing that word all the time.

“Oh, wow,” she said softly, kneeling down. Five chocolate-brown pups with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen poked their noses out between the slats of their pen and sniffed at her ankles.

“Want to hold one?” Jamie held the pen door wide open and a tan-colored dog—obviously the mother—came toward them, wagging her tail. Jamie scratched her ears.

“Look at their blue eyes!” Charlotte said. She’d never seen pups with eyes like that before.

Jamie gave her an indulgent look. “All Chessies have blue eyes when they’re babies. Then they turn green and then finally yellow, when they grow up. Amber, Liam calls it.”

Liam, Liam, Liam. A major case of hero worship here. Where was he?

Charlotte bent to study the pups. They’d clustered around her feet, and one had its tiny teeth in her shoelace. She picked it up. The puppy had tons more skin than it needed, which gave its face a dozy, wrinkly look. Just like a little bear. Its little candy-pink tongue came out for a few seconds when it yawned. How adorable. A thousand dollars!

“So, this Sammy—the mom—is this her first litter?”

“Her fourth. Sammy’s the best. I helped train her,” he added proudly.

“I’ll bet that’s quite a job,” she said, tickling the pup under its chin.

“Not really. Liam says I’m a natural. I got a talent for it. But you don’t have to do much with these little fellas,” he said modestly. “They got the instinct. Liam trains gun dogs for other folk—Labradors, weimaraners, goldens, you name it. He’s got five boarders now, but mostly he trains his own Labs and Chessies and sells them started.”

“Started?”

“Partly trained. I’ve got a pup of my own,” Jamie went on enthusiastically, his blue eyes meeting hers. “Buster. Liam gave ’im to me. One of Old Jimbo’s pups. A brother to Scout. Liam says I can set up with my own dogs now, but my ma says I got to finish school first.”

“How old are you, Jamie?”

“Fourteen.”

“Shouldn’t you, uh—” Charlotte paused and winked “—be in school today?”

“Yeah,” he said, with a jaunty shrug. “I can catch up.” Then he sighed and stood. “Man, I hope there’s some dinner left. I’m starving, and that damn old Scout knocked our dinner into the bay.”

Charlotte walked slowly back to the house—no sign of Liam—gradually piecing together the events of the afternoon. Liam had taken out his dog and his cousin’s son for a training session. Where was the boat? Scout had caught scent of Maggie—must have, what else?—and thrown himself over the side, knocking their lunch into the water, and then struck out for shore, either to defend his territory or to make a new friend. Maybe both. Jamie had been sent to get him back. Liam had secured the boat and then followed to see what was going on, accompanied by the far more obedient Bear.

None of this was quite how she’d planned it—not dropping off Maggie as supposedly arranged by her sister, not meeting her first crush after all these years. She’d meant to be cool, collected, hair perfect, looking her best. The day was a complete mess all around.

Jamie took his meal out of the oven and sat down at the table. He seemed completely comfortable in the kitchen, as though he spent a lot of time there.

“Do you mind if I check on my clothes, Mrs. Connery?” Charlotte asked. Ada was contentedly knitting in the corner, the radio beside her turned on low.

“You go right ahead, dear.”

“Where’s Liam?” Charlotte asked nonchalantly on her way through to the room that housed the washer and dryer. She hadn’t expected him to disappear without a word.

“Probably went down to bring back the launch,” Jamie said with his mouth full. He chewed for a few seconds and forked up a lump of potato, which he held midway to his mouth. “We ditched the boat when Scout bailed, and now with this storm blowin’ up, Liam no doubt went to bring it in. Could blow away.”

No doubt. Well, it would’ve been nice to thank him in person. But then, he didn’t seem like the kind of man who would care all that much. She would’ve liked the opportunity to talk to him a little more about boarding Maggie. She’d be back in the area on Monday; maybe if she didn’t find another kennel, she could approach him then.

Her clothes were dry. She whipped off the borrowed sweater in the laundry room, folded it neatly and set it on top of the dryer, wondering whose it was. It was a youthful, Icelandic style, not the sort of garment an older woman like Ada Connery would wear. Her own sweater felt wonderfully warm. She was feeling a lot better.

“Jamie, when you see Liam, will you thank him for me?”

“Sure.” The boy continued plowing through his meal, which looked pretty complete—meat, potatoes, gravy, green beans.

“Thank you, Mrs. Connery, for letting me use your dryer. Plus the tea was very nice.”

“Oh, don’t mention it, girl! I love having company. Don’t get so much of it, now that we don’t have regular guests anymore….”

“Regular guests?” Charlotte slowly pulled on her windbreaker.

The older woman waved one hand at the ceiling—painted tongue-and-groove, Charlotte noted. “My late husband and I ran this place as a bed-and-breakfast for a short time, along with my brother, Clement. Then, well—” She frowned and bent her face toward her knitting again. “Fergus passed away and Clement died a couple of years later, and my eyes began to bother me, so Liam came home to take over. He’s got no patience for visitors, so I just let it go. You didn’t think we needed this whole big house for just the two of us, did you, Charlotte? My land, no!”

A bed-and-breakfast. That made sense. The house was definitely perfect for it, size-wise. The modernized kitchen made sense now, too. And, no, she couldn’t quite see Liam Connery in the hospitality business. The fact that Ada’s husband had died and her son had no interest would account for the generally run-down air. The house and yard, anyway, if not the dog kennels.

“Well, I’ll be on my way.”

Ada waved cheerfully but made no attempt to get up. Charlotte wondered if she wasn’t bothered by more than poor vision. Arthritis?

It had started to rain. By the time she reached the highway over the muddy, rutted red-earth road, the rain was coming down in sheets and Maggie was whining piteously. She smelled like wet dog.

“Miss Maggs, what are we going to do with you until that rotten sister of mine gets back?” Charlotte muttered, peering through the windshield when she came to the end of the lane.

Charlotte spotted a sign on the road, waving in the wind, lashed by the rain: Petty Cove Retrievers. A painted head-and-shoulders picture of two dogs, one brown, one black. Bear and Old Jimbo? And another sign, very faded, above it: Petty Cove Bed-and-Breakfast. With a crudely lettered Closed sign nailed over it. How depressing.

First things first. Find a nice, cozy place to stay for the night. Next, consider calling Laurel to give her a piece of her mind. At the Belize Hilton, if necessary.

“All arranged,” was it? Not according to Liam Connery.