Читать книгу Through A Magnolia Filter - Nan Dixon - Страница 11
ОглавлениеThe single most important component of a camera is the twelve inches behind it.
Ansel Adams
“FITZGERALD HOUSE,” DOLLEY SAID.
“I’m hoping to book a long term stay.” The man on the phone had a delicious Irish accent. “I tried to book online, but wasn’t successful.”
“I can certainly help you.” Dolley closed her eyes. Yum. She could listen to this man’s voice for hours. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she logged in to the reservation system. “When will you arrive?”
“December fifteenth through...the twenty-fifth of March.”
A three-and-a-half month stay? Dolley bit her lip, afraid she’d blurt out hot damn. She loved being the sister who caught these calls. She searched for available rooms, then it hit her. “Oh, dear. We close the week between Christmas and New Year’s.”
“You’re closed?” Papers rustled on the line. “Is there any way I could...incentivize you to let me stay?”
A three-and-a-half month reservation was a pretty big incentive, especially since Carleton House was opening next year. “How many people in your party?” she asked, trying to stall while she figured out what to do.
“Just me until mid-February. Then I’ll bring in my film crew.”
“Film crew?” This guy was in the movies? “How many rooms would you need?”
“Three more, beginning, let’s say, February 20 through March 25.”
If she was a swooning woman, she’d be dropping to the floor. What a perfect way to open Carleton House.
But they weren’t open over Christmas.
After Mamma opened the B and B, she’d always insisted they celebrate Christmas as a family. Dolley drummed her fingers on the desktop. Just last week, she and her sisters had agreed to stick with Mamma’s tradition.
But this was a three-and-a-half month reservation. With more rooms starting in February. Dolley shook her head. This booking was not going to a competitor.
Maybe Abby would make an exception. Bess, their other sister, would agree with Abby.
“I’ll talk with my partners, but I think we can work something out. It might not include breakfast, afternoon tea or wine tasting during the week we’re closed. Would that be a problem?”
“Hmm. Would I be able to eat elsewhere?”
“Absolutely.” She’d personally create a list of open restaurants for him. “I’d be happy to set up reservations for you and your party during the holidays.”
The grandfather clock at the end of the foyer ticked like a slow metronome, filling the long silence.
“I’ll be alone.” His tone was soulful, like he didn’t have anyone in the world.
No family during Christmas? Now she definitely had to convince Abby to make an exception.
“Let me get your information.”
She wrote everything down. Liam Delaney. Even his name was drool-worthy. “After I check with my partners, I’ll call you back.”
Dolley danced down the hallway to the kitchen, pushing through the swinging door. Abby handled all the breakfasts, teas and appetizers offered by the B and B. Eighty percent of the time she could find her sister baking or cooking.
She was in luck. Abby stood next to the counter on her phone.
“Dolley walked in.” Abby waved her closer. “She’ll know.”
Dolley moved to the counter.
Her sister pushed the speaker button and set the phone down. “Mamma wants to know how many more beds we need for Carleton House.”
“Hey, Mamma.” Dolley rested her head on her hand.
“Hi, sweetie. Aunt CeCe and I have been having fun hitting antique stores and estate sales. We found some great Victorian bed frames and one tester, but I couldn’t remember how many more beds we need. Also, are we still looking for lamps?”
The smile in Mamma’s voice had Dolley grinning. Her newlywed mother sounded so excited. “Great-Aunt CeCe is shopping with you?”
“Her arthritis is better in the morning. We’ve gotten in the habit of hitting the stores early.” Mamma lowered her voice. “She loves feeling useful and spending money. If she could, she’d shop all day.”
“Let me think.” Dolley closed her eyes and pictured the inventory spreadsheet on her computer. She’d updated it last week. “Six more beds. Bess added a request for four small bookcases for the upstairs parlors. Two pairs.”
“We did find bookcases.” Mamma’s voice brimmed with energy. “Aunt CeCe, were those bookcases in pairs?”
There was a quiet conversation between Mamma and Cece.
“We’ll go back to that store and put the bookcases on hold. We think there was at least one matching pair. And lamps?”
Dolley scrolled down the spreadsheet in her mind. “We need a dozen table lamps and we’d take floor lamps, too.”
“Good. There was an estate sale today that had wonderful lamps. We put holds on the nice ones. I’ll take pictures and send them to you. Love to all.”
Abby ended the call. She and Dolley looked at each other and laughed.
“I’m glad Mamma volunteered, or we’d be running all over Georgia and the Carolinas looking for furniture,” Abby said.
“It sounds like Aunt CeCe’s having a great time, too.” Dolley spotted a tray of sweets. “Anything to eat in here?”
Abby waved at the counter. “Leftovers from tea.”
Dolley snapped up a sandwich and grabbed a plate off the stack. Deviled ham? Worked for her. Anything her sister made was delicious. She could chew and mull over how to approach Abby.
Abby stood in front of an open fridge with the inventory list Dolley had designed for her. “Did you need something?”
“I stopped in to say hello to the Scrapbooking Sister group I booked.” Dolley dusted the crumbs off her fingers and took a deep breath. “What do you think about another long-term stay?”
Abby wiggled her fingers, engagement ring sparkling. “I sure liked the last one.”
“Yeah, yeah. You got a fiancé out of it.” Dolley moved to the coffeepot and poured a mug. “He’s not asking for dinner, so I don’t think Gray has to worry you’ll fall for another man.”
Abby bumped her shoulder and took a sip of Dolley’s coffee. Her sister’s gaze softened. “Gray never has to worry about that.”
Dolley rolled her eyes. Her sister and Gray were in love. Sickeningly so. She was happy for her sister, but why couldn’t she find her own guy?
“Back to business.” Dolley snapped her fingers in front of Abby’s silly smile. “Three-and-a-half months. He hasn’t asked for a discount. And he’ll need three more rooms starting February 20 until March 25.”
“Four rooms.” Abby straightened. “I say yes. Absolutely.”
“So do I.” Dolley took back her coffee. “It would include the week of Christmas.”
“Christmas?” Abby’s shoulders sank. “We’re closed.”
“I told him. He’s willing to work something out and just wants to make sure he can get meals someplace.”
Abby paced to the sitting area. “One person, or is he bringing someone else?”
“Just him.” Dolley sighed. “The poor man says he’ll be alone during the holidays.”
“Alone during Christmas?” Abby jerked around to look at her.
Dolley nodded.
Her sister twisted her ring. “We agreed to keep our Christmas break just last week.”
“I know.”
“Is there something unusual about him?” Abby pointed a finger at her. “Did you Google him?”
“No.” But she would. She wanted to know about Mr. Liam Delaney of the sexy voice. “He just said he’d be alone.”
She sighed again, trying to tug on Abby’s tender heart. “How sad not to have a place to go during the holidays. I’m so lucky to work with my sisters and have Mamma within spitting distance.”
“Of course we’ll take him.” Abby took Dolley’s hand. “And he’ll have his breakfast, too. For the week we’re closed, he can eat in the kitchen like Gray did.”
“You’re so good-hearted.” Dolley brushed a kiss on Abby’s cheek. “I’ll call him back.”
Abby frowned. “Did you just play me?”
Dolley snagged one more sandwich. “Never.”
Abby’s eyes narrowed. “Just for that, you tell Bess.”
“Will do.” Dolley grinned. She wasn’t looking forward to shoehorning a massive reservation into their clunky booking system. But at least she could listen to Liam Delaney’s gorgeous accent again.
* * *
LIAM TAPPED THE floor with his foot. He knew he would get the go ahead. He had to.
But he’d had project ideas shot down before.
So here he was...waiting...and worrying. The idea of this Savannah documentary had grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go.
During the week Barbara was taking his idea for final approval, he’d stopped in New York. Something he’d never done before.
Liam stared out at the silver forest of buildings flanked by turbulent skies. December snowflakes floated through the air, waiting to drop and join the gray slush blanketing New York City. Even standing in his producer’s office, he couldn’t clear the petrol smell from his nose. In Kilkee, at least he’d been able to smell the bay.
He paced from the window to the door. And back again. His anxiousness wasn’t normal.
The office door burst open. Barbara called out, “I’ve got your approval.”
He let out a sigh, sinking into a chair. “I knew you could do it.”
Barbara tossed a red cardigan on her desk. Big red flowers covered her black dress.
“I might have promised them my firstborn.” Her black hair swung around her chin. “I didn’t tell them he was turning thirteen.”
He shook his head in mock horror. She doted on her son, David.
“Can I pick my crew?” he asked.
“You’ve got Jerry. I’m working on the rest.” She leaned against her desk. “Legal revised the consent form we want you to use.”
Liam rolled his eyes. “Again?”
“Yes.” Barbara slipped around her desk and slid into her chair. “Make sure to grab copies from Samantha.”
“Lovely.” He hated explaining that people were signing away their rights—forever. “I’d like to take a portable video camera with me.”
“Talk to Samantha.” Barbara fingered the stack of pink phone slips. “Are we still on for lunch with Toni and Mark?”
“Yes, they confirmed.” His agent and manager had both approved the contracts, pending project approval.
He paced in front of the window. This was happening. He had his excuse to head to Savannah.
“You’re pushing hard on this one.” Barbara tipped her head. “Why?”
“The place I’ll stay in Savannah is run by the Fitzgerald family.”
“FitzGerald. Like your godfather?”
“Yes.” Returning to her guest chair, he tapped his fingers on the wooden back. “The only way I could get my hands on Seamus’s cameras was to agree to take some letters to them.”
She frowned, leaning back in her chair. “Is this why you suggested this documentary?”
“Not originally.” Liam stuck his hands in his pockets. “But when I checked the sisters and Savannah out, I was intrigued.”
“Sisters?” His producer raised her eyebrows. “How pretty are they?”
“Not in that way.” Although Dolley’s face was...engaging. He’d toyed with the idea of including her family in the documentary, but didn’t know how the story would unfold or if they would fit his premise. “What did you think of the title, Savannah’s Irish Roots?”
She smiled and nodded. “We’ll test it.”
That was the best he could ask for. “Good.”
“Since you’re this side of the pond, why don’t you spend Christmas with us?” Barbara asked.
“I’d rather be in Savannah than up here in the cold.” He shivered.
Barbara shook her head. “You shouldn’t spend Christmas alone.”
“Holidays don’t mean much to me.” He couldn’t let them. “Even when I was in boarding school, Seamus usually left me there.”
“The old scrooge.” Her tone was incensed. “You deserved better.”
“I survived.” He crossed his legs. He’d learned how to fit in and ingratiate himself with the other students. “School chums invited me home for the holidays.”
“That’s just wrong.” Barbara sighed. “Come to my house. You should be around people who care about you.”
“I’ll think on it.” Now that he had his approval, he wanted to immerse himself in the Irish stories of Savannah and dig into the research.
And he wanted to meet his shirttail relatives, the Fitzgeralds. How should he play this?
It was boarding school all over again.
* * *
DOLLEY PULLED THE cork on another bottle of wine, and it opened with a pop. The tart aroma mingled with the pine of the Christmas tree in the corner. Evergreen boughs on the mantel and the spicy appetizers added to the incredible smells filling the library.
It wasn’t Dolley’s night to host the wine tasting, but since Abby’s fiancé was back in town, she’d volunteered. Abby had jumped at the chance to spend time with Gray. Her sister hadn’t even noticed Dolley’s new dress.
Dolley had planned to volunteer anyway. Mr. Liam Delaney was checking in tonight. The voice. She tugged on her hem. The black dress hugged her curves but kept creeping up. It was probably better for clubbing than for the B and B, but—Liam Delaney. Enough said.
Online, she’d found a wealth of information on their guest. When she grew up, she wanted to be Liam Delaney. He was a documentary filmmaker and a photographer. Envy shot through her. His body of work was amazing. He’d traveled the world, linking his photography to his films. She planned to pick his brain about his career, without being creepy.
She checked the flames under the chafing dish and opened the last bottle of wine.
Her one claim to photography fame was the picture of her mother. And she hadn’t even told her sisters she’d won the contest. Somehow the words just wouldn’t leave her mouth.
Abby and Bess were so talented. One picture was nothing compared to what her sisters had accomplished in their careers, Abby in the kitchen and Bess with her landscaping.
A honeymoon couple walked into the library, arm in arm. The newlyweds had stayed at Fitzgerald House for the last few days.
“How was your day?” Dolley asked.
“We kayaked off Tybee Island.” The bride massaged her upper arm.
“Did you get to the salt marshes?” Dolley asked.
The groom nodded. “Almost had to pull Gretchen across the bay. There was a little chop, but we got there.”
Now she remembered their names. Gretchen and Denny.
The couple headed to the wines and food. Tonight’s offerings were from Germany: a Riesling, a pinot gris and pinot noir. She sampled the red. Not bad. She checked the cards Abby created for the appetizers. Then she took a plate and added pork turnovers, pretzels, warm German potato salad and barbequed kielbasa. She skipped the sauerkraut crepes.
Checking the food layout one more time, she headed to the foyer. Her heels echoed on the marble floor. She would let the guests enjoy their wine and keep an eye out for Liam, the last guest checking in tonight.
She skirted the foyer table. Her sister, Bess, had designed a tower of poinsettias shaped like a Christmas tree. The red-and-pink leaves sparkled with glitter. Another Christmas tree twinkled in the front window. They’d decorated seventeen trees in the House this year, a new record.
She took a seat at the Queen Anne secretary they used as a reception desk.
The front door opened, and she started to stand.
It was another honeymoon couple. They waved and headed toward the library.
Dolley sank back into her chair. What if Mr. Delaney didn’t show? That would hurt. He’d eventually asked for a discount, but they were still going to clear a tidy profit from his stay. She’d held firm that they couldn’t discount rooms during the St. Patrick’s Day festivities. They had to maintain their prices during high season.
Finishing her dinner, she returned the plate to the packed library. Cheryl, a B and B employee, restocked the food. They smiled at each other. Dolley bussed a tray of dirty dishes to the kitchen.
Might as well check the reservation line messages. She put a hold on a room and returned the call, entering the credit card information. Then she pulled this year’s reservation data down into a spreadsheet. For fun, she created a comparison graph with the prior year’s reservations. These cool facts would be nice to show at their next sister meeting.
She pushed back a curl that kept falling in her eye. What next? Pulling out her bag, she settled behind the desk. She would work on photo cards, her creative contribution to the gift shop scheduled to open in January.
She glued pictures on a pale blue fold-over card stock, hoping the result was classy and contemporary. They would sell the cards as six-packs. Each pack included a picture of Fitzgerald House and the rooms the guests saw most: the formal dining room, library and sunroom. All photos she’d shot. The rest of the packet varied, with shots of the gardens or guest rooms. By the time she’d glued all the pictures, she’d made ten packs.
She checked her watch. Almost eight o’clock. Mr. Delaney was supposed to have been here by six. This was getting ridiculous. She’d never waited at the reception desk for a guest.
The front door opened, and there was a swoosh of nylon rubbing nylon. A lean man with dark wavy hair lugged two large suitcases across the foyer. Mr. Delaney?
“Let me help.” She grabbed a roller bag.
“Thank you.” He turned, his gaze catching hers, his eyes a brilliant blue that almost looked purple. “I’m checking in.”
Hurrying around the desk, she asked, “Liam Delaney?”
“Absolutely.” He raised a dark eyebrow. “And would you be Dolley Fitzgerald?”
“Guilty.”
“After all our conversations, it’s lovely to finally meet you.” He reached out a hand, his expression way too serious.
“Oh. Thank you. You, too. Or me, too.” Flustered, she shook his hand, hanging on a little too long.
He dropped her hand and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet.
Shoot, she was supposed to be checking him in. Her fingers danced over the keyboard. “How was your trip?”
She glanced up long enough to see him grimace.
“I raced through the Atlanta airport to catch my flight, then there was some broken widget on our plane, so we all trooped off.” He pushed back his black hair with long artistic fingers. “They sent us to another gate where we sat and sat. When I got to the car rental, they’d let all the cars, so I waited for one to be turned in.”
“I’m so sorry.” She had his reservation in front of her.
“I’m looking forward to sitting someplace where I can stretch my legs.”
Dolley peeked. He had a lot of leg.
Taking his credit card, she said, “We’ll charge your card each week in advance.”
“That works.” He signed the slip.
Handing him a key card, she explained breakfast, tea and wine tastings. “I’m afraid you’ve missed tonight’s wine tasting.”
“Damn.” He huffed out a breath. “I guess I could use a recommendation for a restaurant.”
“I can throw something together in the kitchen.”
Relief filled his deep blue eyes. “I’d be ever so grateful.”
“Sure.” Moving around the desk, she grabbed his bag.
“That’s my cameras,” he said. “I can get it.”
“I’ll be careful. You’re juggling two suitcases.”
She led the way to the elevator. “There’s always coffee, tea and soda in the dining room.” She pointed to the library. “Our evening wine tastings are held there. Feel free to borrow the books and movies.”
He kept glancing at his camera bag. Or was he checking her out?
She tightened her glutes.
“The house is lovely,” he said as they wedged into the elevator.
“It is.” She inhaled, catching a whiff of his scent. Nice. “We just finished the full renovations in August.”
“Your website said you were under construction.”
“That’s Carleton House.” She stepped out of the elevator and stopped at the window overlooking the adjacent mansion. “We’re in the process of restoring the house next door. I’ve booked your crew into Carleton House. It opens in February. If you prefer, we can move you there when they arrive.”
“I’ll think on it.” He stopped in front of his room. “This it?”
“Yes. You’re in the Martha Jefferson room.” Instead of setting the bag down, she handed the strap to him so he wouldn’t worry. “If you use the front stairs and head down the hallway by the reception desk, you’ll find a swinging door. That’s the kitchen.”
He touched her shoulder. His scent wrapped around her. Mint, apples, lemons. Not a fragrance she would associate with a man—but he made it work. She leaned in and took another sniff. Delicious.
His gaze caught hers. “I appreciate the help with my bags. It was a long day.”
She stepped back. Her objective was to learn more about photography, not drool over him or his cologne. She headed to the back stairs. “Let me see what food I can scrounge up.”
She would ply him with food and if there was an opportunity—questions. Find out if she could use her photography for more than selling cards.
* * *
LIAM ROLLED HIS suitcases next to the bedroom door, settling the camera bag on the bed. It was foolish, but he unzipped the bag. The Hasselblad, Rolleiflex, his Canon, Nikon and all his lenses and filters looked undamaged. Barbara had come through with a portable, and it was fine.
Dolley had been careful. And watching the bag had given him the opportunity to admire a really lovely bum.
He stretched, working a kink out of his lower back. Ms. Dolley Fitzgerald was more interesting in person than in her website photograph. She had...energy. A camera couldn’t capture her gleaming green eyes or the life in that mass of red curls.
He unpacked a few things, plugged in his phone to recharge and set the stack of releases on the desk with his computer.
His stomach rumbled. He pocketed his key card and headed downstairs.
The curved railing was silky smooth under his palm. What a difference between the uncared-for Kilkee manor house and this well-preserved Savannah mansion.
He would get something to eat, take the lay of the land with the first Fitzgerald sister and then fall into bed.
Tomorrow he planned to wander Savannah, get a sense of the city and the historic district. He loved exploring and listening to the natives. It didn’t matter that this wasn’t an aboriginal community in Australia or a small tribe forced out of their hunting grounds in Africa.
Skirting a tower of poinsettias, he found the right hallway and pushed on the swinging door.
Dolley stood in front of a stainless steel counter, containers covering the surface. The worktops, grills and a wall of fridges made this look like a restaurant. But in the back was a small sitting area with a glowing fire and a Christmas tree.
“You found me.” Dolley pointed to the back area. “Grab a chair by the fire. I’ll bring everything over.”
He snatched a chunk of cheese as he passed by the counter. “Thanks ever so much.”
“What would you like to drink? Beer, wine, soda? We have Jameson if you’d prefer.”
He sank into an armchair. “A Jameson, neat, would be appreciated.”
She dropped off a tray of cheese, sausage, crackers and fruit. “I’ll grab your drink.”
She pushed through the swinging door. Her short black dress flirted with her tidy bottom. Nice.
He piled a cracker with cheese and meat and took a bite. Followed up with some cool green grapes. He kept going as if he hadn’t eaten in days.
Ever since Seamus’s funeral, his appetite had been—off. His meals had been haphazard at best. He’d do better. He’d comply with the schedule Dolley had rattled off. She’d said the hours were in the pamphlet she’d handed him. He’d make sure he didn’t miss meals like he’d been doing in Ireland.
“Sorry it took so long. Jameson is in the library.” Dolley pushed through the doorway. “It’s always there for guests, FYI.”
The room brightened. Why? He turned his photographic instincts to the question. Dolley? It wasn’t just her hair, it was her—her smile—her sparkle. Being in Kilkee had drained him. Maybe in Savannah he could absorb some of her vitality.
“This is great.” He waved his hand over the half-decimated spread of food.
“I could make you a sandwich,” she offered.
He took the tumbler from her hand and their fingers bumped. Awareness surged through him. “This will hit the spot.”
“Would you like company?” she asked.
“Please.”
She took the armchair across from him, curling her feet underneath her trim bottom. She tipped her wineglass. “Welcome to Savannah. Sláinte.”
Her pronunciation was spot-on. “Sláinte.”
They both stared into the fire. He popped grapes in his mouth, enjoying the silence, so different from the cacophony of airports and planes.
“Did you fly straight from Ireland today?”
He shook his head. “I was in New York for a week. Meetings.”
“My sister, our chef, trained in New York.” Her smile dimmed. “I visited when I was seventeen. Not sure I could live there. I enjoy fresh air too much. But the city—everything moved and breathed. It was alive.”
Weird that she mentioned the one thing that bothered him about the city—the smell. “I can never get the stench of petrol out of my nose. I hate the crowds.”
“I love crowds.” Her grin made her green eyes twinkle. “Savannah smells like life to me. Green and growing. And when you get closer to Tybee, the ocean.” Her shoulders lifted and dropped. “I love it here, but I’d like to see...the world.”
The world? Been there. Done that. “Tybee sounds like Kilkee, but warmer.”
“Kilkee? Is that where you live in Ireland?”
“Only for part of my childhood. Before that I lived in county Kerry.”
“It sounds so—glamorous.”
He shook his head. “It’s a small coastal village.”
“I checked out your website.” She leaned forward. “It’s amazing. I love your Irish landscapes—well, all your landscapes. But the Irish ones made me feel like I was walking a path home to a cottage. Or I’d just stepped into a pub and someone built me a Guinness.”
Her compliment sounded genuine. “Have you been, then?”
“To Ireland? No. Closest I’ve come is Kevin Barry’s pub here in Savannah.” She laughed. “Sad when we’re Irish-Americans, isn’t it?”
“No.” He popped one last cracker in his mouth. “You take the photos for the website, right?”
She nodded, chewing on her lower lip.
“You’ve an excellent hand with the camera.” He tried not to stare at her mouth. He was supposed to be scoping out the territory. But the sight of her lower lip, now wet and slightly pink from her teeth, was...entrancing.
“Me?” Her eyes widened. Her fair skin turned a beautiful peach color with her blush.
“Your photographs are well composed. You use light like an artist.”
“Coming from you, I’m awestruck.” Her hand pressed against her chest. A rather lovely chest, at that.
He forced his gaze up to her face. “Did you study under someone?”
“I took classes in college, but nothing serious.” She shook her head, and her curls danced. “Nothing like what you must have done.”
“I never went to university.”
She leaned forward. “But you’re so good.”
Her frock gapped, and he got a small peek of the valley between her breasts. Devil take his soul, he was having trouble keeping his eyes where they belonged.
“I apprenticed with some wonderful photographers,” he said. “That sounds grander than it really is. I hauled equipment and spent hours in the darkroom, or scrolling and deleting blurred photos, but I watched them work. They critiqued and explained and made me the photographer I am.”
“You were an apprentice.” Her fingernail tapped the cutie-pie curve of her top lip. “I don’t suppose you need one while you’re in Savannah? I really want to learn more.”
“I’ve only had one apprentice.” He exhaled. “It’s a commitment to bring out the artist in a photographer.”
And that hadn’t ended well. Kieran had used him to get ahead. That was expected. But his apprentice had had little patience. He’d falsified a recommendation by using Liam’s own email.
Since Kieran, he’d been reluctant to take on anyone else. His focus in Savannah was his documentary, not training a novice.
But working with Dolley might be another way to absorb the Fitzgerald experience.
“Let me get some sleep.” He stood. “I’ll think on your request.”
