Everything to Gain and a Secret Affair (37 page)

Sarah prowled around, nodding to herself as she did. “Up here you're going to sell china, pottery, ceramics, glass, cutlery, linen, tabletop items for dining, that's right, isn't it?”

“It's what you and I decided before you went away. You said it was better to keep the food items downstairs.”

She nodded. “The whole idea of the shop-café was inspired. Having the café makes it just that little bit different, and yes, the food should be downstairs. Have you decided what you're going to do with the other barns, if anything?”

“One of them will have to be an office. Mine in the house simply won't be big enough. But it can also double as a place for storing products and—”

“I thought you were going to use the basement of the house for that?” Sarah cut in. “That's what you said the last time I was here.”

“I
am
going to use the basement, yes. But to store the bottled food stuff, the nonperishable things, mainly the Lettice Keswick line. It's cool and roomy, and Eric's cleaned it out and given it a fresh coat of white paint. Tom's got two of his crew putting up shelves down there, but what I need is a storage place for inventory, for my stock.”

“You're right, you
will
need plenty of space,” Sarah agreed, and then she began to laugh. “I can see that my lessons in retailing over the past few weeks have served you well. But then you always were a fast learner, Mal.”

“And you're a good teacher. Anyway, to continue, I thought I'd make the third barn into a little boutique called Indian Meadows, and the fourth into a gallery, which I'm naming Kilgram Chase.”

“Catchy,” Sarah said, and then grinning at me, she teased, “expanding before you've even opened, eh?”

“That's thanks to you again. You did tell me two weeks ago that I ought to have more than one private label, in order to give the shop a certain kind of cachet. So I did a bit of creative thinking and came up with the idea of the Kilgram Chase label and a gallery, and an Indian Meadows label for the boutique.”

“What are the products?” she probed.

“Let's go over there, and I'll tell you on the way,” I answered.

Within seconds we were outside, heading in the direction of the other barns on my property. These were clustered together on one side of Anna's cottage and the stables.

“That big barn at the back, the one closest to Anna's place, will be the administration office and the storage barn,” I explained. “The two smaller ones I'll turn into the gallery and the boutique.”

“Tell me what you're going to sell, Mally. You know I'm a born retailer, and I'm riddled with curiosity.”

Pushing open the door of the barn I had chosen to become the gallery, I went in first, saying over my shoulder, “Everything in here will be English in feeling or made in England, Sash. I've found a crafts and embroidery company up here, and they're going to make small needlepoint pillows for me. What will make my pillows different is their design. They'll be copies of those Victorian beaded cushions I found in the attics of Kilgram Chase. The designs will be exactly the same, and so will the Latin mottoes. What do you think?”

“Clever idea, but what about quantity? Can this company make plenty for you? As many as you want?”

“I don't plan to have more than about a dozen at a time, and I'll take special orders,” I told her. “I'm going to sell English watercolors, botanicals, and vegetable prints, already framed. And Diana's going to seek out bits and pieces in London, you know, small antique items such as
stud boxes, snuffboxes, tea caddies, and candlesticks. She says it's easy for her, a snip, and she'll just ship them over or bring them when she comes. I'm also going to feature English soaps and scents, beeswax candles, and potpourri. Oh, and Ken Turner perfumed candles, as well as some of his smaller dried-flower arrangements. Again, I'm getting those through Diana.”

“I think such items will move very well. People do like things that are different, even if they are slightly more expensive. And you've got a good market for them up here. But tell me about the Indian Meadows boutique.”

“Come on, let's go over to the barn where I plan to house it,” I said.

Once we were inside, Sarah strolled around and asked, “Are you going to sell clothes? You
are
calling it a boutique.”

“Yes, I am, but I'm also going to have other things as well. Everything will be American, from my own water-colors, which you tell me are good enough to sell, to Early American and Colonial-style quilts and cushions, soft toys, all handmade, and some really beautiful American Indian blankets from the Southwest.”

“And the clothes?”

“They'll be made by Pony Traders, the company Anna knows up near Lake Wononpakook. But I need your help with them.”

“I'll do anything to get this project off the ground, you know that, Mally, what do you need me to do to help you with Pony Traders?” A dark brow lifted quizzically.

“You know every aspect of fashion and retailing, you're the fashion director of Bergman's, for heaven's sake. I'd like you to talk to the two women who own the company. Maybe you could persuade them to give me some items on an exclusive basis, and then there's the pricing. If I'm buying a large quantity of their stuff, shouldn't I get some sort of special deal? A discount?”

“It depends,” Sarah replied thoughtfully. “But of course I'll come with you, and I'll do what I can. Anyway, now that you're going to sell clothes, I'll come up with some other vendors for you. I guess it's a sort of ethnic look you're after? American Indian?”

“Not necessarily, but certainly casual, comfortable, country-style clothing. Thanks, Sashy. Your help's going to be invaluable.”

“I'm just so thrilled about this project of yours, and as I just said a few minutes ago, I feel really good about it in my bones. I just know it's going to take off. And it's going to give you a whole new lease on life. It already has, actually.”

Linking her arm through mine, Sarah guided me out of the barn, and we walked back up to the house together.

“Andrew would be so proud of you—” Sarah stopped with that awful suddenness she had adopted lately whenever she mentioned him. She glanced at me swiftly, looking chagrined.

“I know he would be
very
proud of me,” I said calmly. “And you don't have to avoid mentioning him, Sashy darling, or stop midsentence when you do. As I told Mom yesterday, Andrew Keswick lived, he existed, he was my husband for ten years, the father of my children. He was on this planet for forty-one years, Sarah, and he made a big difference to a lot of people, not only his mother and me and the children. He loved me. I loved him. He was my lover, my best friend, my true soul mate, and my dearest companion. He meant everything to me, he was my whole life, you know that. So I don't want you to stop yourself every time his name crops up in conversation.”

“I won't, I promise, Mal. And I understand, I really do. You're right, we risk negating him by never speaking about him.”

“It's the same with Jamie and Lissa. I want you to talk about them to me, remember them, discuss them whenever you feel like it. You will, won't you?”

“Of course.”

“It's comforting, you know,” I went on softly. “And it helps to keep them alive.”

“I'm so glad you've told me. I
was
being scrupulously careful.”

“I know . . .” I let my sentence trail off. We walked on up to the house in silence for a few seconds. Then I said, “They were so special, weren't they, Sash? Your godchildren.”

“Yes, they were. Your Botticelli angels, your small miracles, and mine, too. How I loved them. And Andrew.”

“They loved you, Sarah, and he loved you, just as I do. I'm so glad you're my friend.”

“I am, too. We're very lucky to have each other.”

“I was thinking the other day . . . about Andrew,” I said, looking at her. “Do you remember when you first met him, Sash?”

“I certainly do. I was bowled over, and jealous to death of you!”

“You called him Dreamboat. Do you remember that?”

“Yes, I remember,” she murmured, returning my long look. Her lovely dark eyes grew suddenly moist, and I saw her swallow hard. “I remember everything,” she said in a whisper.

“Don't cry,” I said softly. “Don't cry, Sashy.”

She could only nod.

A
s we entered the house, Sarah said, “I'll go and change out of these clothes. I'll be down in a few minutes.”

“There's no hurry, Sash,” I answered. “I'm going to be in my office. When you're ready, join me there. I want to show you the sign for the main gate, the labels for the different products, all the things I've designed this past week.”

“Give me ten minutes, Mal,” she murmured with a faint smile as we walked down the back hall together.

“No problem, Sashy.”

I stood outside my office, my eyes following her as she ran upstairs. She had been quite upset a few moments ago; I realized she wanted to be alone for a while, to compose herself.

Turning, I stepped into my little office and sat down at the desk, where I spread out the various labels. Leaning forward, I studied them for a few moments. “Keep it simple,” Sarah had said to me before she left for California. “Remember what Mies van der Rohe said—‘Less is more,' and he was right.”

I was glad to have Sarah's advice. There was always the temptation to add some sort of decorative element to a label, along with the name. But I resisted, used only the words
Indian Meadows
and
Kilgram Chase
, concentrating on a distinctive type of lettering.

I had also kept simple the drawing for the sign for the
main gate into Indian Meadows, using the name and the slogan I had dreamed up in Lettice's rose garden at Kilgram Chase a few weeks ago:
A Country Experience.
I hadn't even added anything about a café or shops. I wanted to keep the sign uncluttered, and people would soon know what we were about.

The phone rang, and I reached for it. “Hello?”

“Mal, it's me. How are you?”

“Hi, Mom, I'm okay. Sarah's here. She arrived a short while ago, and I've been showing her around. She's impressed, excited about everything.”

“So am I, darling, and I can't wait to see how it's progressed in the last couple of weeks. You're still expecting us on Sunday for lunch, aren't you?”

“Yes, of course I am.”

“What time?”

“I thought about eleven-thirty, twelve. You can take a stroll around, and then we can have lunch at about one. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful, darling. We'll be there. Here's David, he wants a word with you.”

“Bye, Mom.” I frowned to myself, wondering what David had to tell me. Had he heard from DeMarco? Most probably. I felt myself automatically stiffen and gripped the phone that much tighter.

“Hello, Mal,” David said. “I'm looking forward to seeing you on Sunday.”

“Hi, David. You've heard from DeMarco, haven't you?”

“Yes, this afternoon. He wanted me to know that the date for the trial has been set, and—”

“When is it going to be?”

“Next month. The end of the month.”

“Will it be in criminal court downtown? Like you said?”

“Yes, it will.”

“I want to go. I can, can't I?”

“Yes, you can, but I don't think you should.”

“David, I have to be there!” I cried, my voice rising.

“Mal, listen to me. I don't think you should expose yourself to something like this. You've never been to a criminal trial, you don't know what it's like. But I do. I'm in criminal court almost every day of my life. You're going to be very upset again—”

“I'll be all right,” I interrupted quickly, “Honestly, I will.”

“No, you won't. Please take my word for it. Mal, I understand
why
you think you want to be there, but you mustn't go, not under any circumstances. I don't want you exposed to that . . . filth, and neither does your mother.”

“My family was exposed to it; they're dead because of those animals.”

“I know, honey. Listen to me, I want you to think very carefully about the trial and going to it, and we'll discuss it when I come out on Sunday.”

“We don't have to, David. I've made up my mind.”

“Don't do that. Keep an
open
mind. I'll explain things to you, tell you what the trial's going to be like, and then you can make a decision.”

Knowing it was useless to argue with him, I said, “All right, David. We'll talk about it on Sunday.”

“Good. See you then.”

We said our good-byes and hung up.

I sat staring into the middle of the room, thinking about the impending trial and those who had been responsible for killing my family, and I began to tremble. The calmness I had acquired of late instantly disappeared; I was suddenly filled with agitation and anxiety.

I heard Sarah's footsteps on the staircase, and I glanced toward the door as she came into the room.

“What's wrong?” she asked, staring at me.

“I just spoke to David. DeMarco called him today. The trial's set for late July.”

“Oh,” she said, walking across the little office and sitting down in the chair near the fireplace. “I've been wondering when it was going to be.”

“I want to go to it, Sash, but David doesn't think I should.”

“I tend to agree with him.”

“I have to go!” I exclaimed.

“If you really feel you must, then I'll go with you, Mal. I'd never let you face that alone. I don't suppose your mother would either.”

“How can you come with me? There's your job.”