April of Enchantment (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) (5 page)

As the sun rose higher, the air had begun to lose some of its chill. The fitful wind had swung around to come from the south, muting its bite. This was the southern exposure of the house, a more open area free of the overhanging branches of trees, though by no means free of shrubbery. Nearer the house there were spreading azaleas higher than her head, their tight rust-green buds nestling among the winter-scorched leaves. Farther along, there were sweet olives, towering, leather-leaved trees whose tiny ivory blossoms released a delicious fragrance upon the air. Beyond was a woody tangle of winter honeysuckle just beginning to unfurl small, nondescript, fleshy-white flowers. One had to bend close to catch the elusive scent, though before long it would be wafting on the air. The flowering quince was budding, showing signs of rose-red, and in the border of bulbs that fronted the shrubs, daffodils, narcissus, and jonquils were sending up fresh green sheaths already swelling at the rips with bloom that would burst forth in less than a month.

A turn in the path brought her to the section of camellias. The frost this morning and cold temperatures during the night before had put brown edges on the tender softness of the great cup-size blossoms in white, pink, and red, though there were still buds to open.

A few steps farther along, the path diverged. Here there was a sundial in bronze on a marble pedestal; “I count only the cloudless hours” ran the inscription in raised lettering around the rim. This was the entrance to the rose garden. Around its edges, on gray and decaying trellises, were the great, thorny old-fashioned climbing roses and rugosa shrub roses, a wild growth of leafless vines hung with bright-orange rose hips. Centered among them, in beds bisected by brick paths, were the hybrid perpetuals, moss roses, damascenas, centifolias, tea roses, albas, spinosissimas, eglantines, bourbons, and gallicas. Some had been planted by the original owners, some had been put into the ground by the people who had owned Crapemyrtle in later years; all were in need of care, of pruning, spraying, mulching, and the replenishing of the depleted soil. For now, they were dormant, though here and there leaf buds were beginning to fatten. But in a few short weeks, as the days grew warmer, they would stir into life, and their perfume would blanket the entire grounds.

It was quiet in the garden except for the calls of birds. A jay swooped in a blue streak from the magnolia beyond the edge of the garden, landing on one end of a sagging trellis. There were robins on the lawn, brown thrashers among the tangled rose vines, mockingbirds in the double row of crape myrtles, leafless shrubs that gave the house its name, lining either side of the walk leading back toward the front of the house, and the vivid red flash of cardinals everywhere. The peace was so thick it was nearly tangible, a soft and comforting thing.

How long would it last? Soon there would be the roar of machinery, the whine of power saws and drills, and the thudding of hammers. People would be coming and going; the components of the house would be torn apart, cleaned, polished, scraped, rubbed, and sandblasted, and over all would hang the odor of fresh paint. When it was over, what then? Loud music, strident voices, bright lights, squeals, orders, arguments — all the raucous, daily confusion of life? Houses were for living in, of course, and yet, when she thought of what would become of Crapemyrtle in the years ahead with the man who had bought it and the woman he was to marry in occupancy, a tightness grew in her chest that nothing could ease.

Laura was startled from her reverie by the noise of a car engine. It was followed by the deeper rumble of a truck. The men had finished and were leaving. Reluctantly, she turned back toward the house.

There was no one in the sitting room. Laura moved through it and out into the hallway toward the entrance. The glass panes of the sidelights that flanked the front door were coated with dust. She wiped a patch clear in order to see through the distorted, hand-blown glass. The truck belonging to one of the subcontractors was just turning out of the drive. It must have been the last to go, for the drive was empty except for the silver car belonging to Justin Roman.

Hard on the realization, Laura frowned. The brown sedan Russ had been driving was also missing from the drive. He had gone without her.

At a sound behind her, she swung around. Justin was coming down the hall from the rear of the house. In his hand he carried her canvas tote.

“There you are,” he said. “We wondered where you had got off to. Russ looked for you to tell you he had to get back to the office, since our tour of inspection took longer than expected. He wasn’t sure whether you wanted to go with him or to stay on to take care of the job you had mentioned. I offered to run you home, so he left your bag.”

“Thank you,” Laura said, reaching to take the tote from him. “I — I’m sorry to put you to so much trouble.”

“No trouble at all. I still have a few things to see to, and to lock up. The drive will give us a chance to talk, to clear up a few matters at the same time.”

“All right.” The deep timbre of his voice had been neutral, and yet Laura could not prevent the defensive feeling that rose inside her.

“I’ll be with you in half an hour. Will that give you time enough?”

His dark gaze was watchful. The sheepskin-lined jacket he wore made him seem broader and more powerful than he already was. Laura nodded. It was only as he turned and strode away that indignation stirred. He had arranged matters to suit himself and she had stood there and let him. She had little choice, of course; she could hardly have refused to discuss anything concerning the house with him, and it would have been foolish to decline the offer of a lift. She was even glad that she had been granted the time to get to the job she had come prepared to do. Still, she could have protested his high-handed manner, could have made her own position clear. With such thoughts running through her mind, she stood staring after him long after his footsteps had faded.

The ceilings of the lower floor of Crapemyrtle were twenty feet high. Since this was two and one half times higher than normal, modern ceilings, it took a stepladder fourteen feet tall, and a great deal of courage, to come close to the plaster medallions that centered every room. Laura had arranged to have the stepladder delivered earlier in the week. It had been placed in the front parlor, but not set up. Now, by main strength and teeth-gritting effort, she jockeyed it into place in the middle of the room without scarring the floors. Standing it up, she opened it out and pushed it directly under the medallion.

Overwarm from her exertions, she took off her coat and laid it to one side, then went to retrieve her camera, note pad, pen, and a carpenter’s folding ruler from her tote bag. With these in hand, she began the shaky climb up the tall ladder.

Standing three steps down from the top of the ladder for balance and bracing meant that with her five feet and five inches of height she was still nearly three feet beneath the medallion. Even raising her arms as far as possible above her head, she could not touch it. It would have to do, however. At this distance from the floor, she could not afford to risk ascending to the very top step. If she fell, it would be nearly the equivalent of pitching from the top of a modern two-story building. Looking down made Laura feel a little dizzy. She did her best, then, to keep her attention well above floor level. She placed her pad, pen, and ruler on the top of the ladder, readied her instant developing camera, and began to snap pictures of the medallion. As the camera ejected the prints, she placed them in a row, waiting for them to grow clearer. It was important that she get a good clear shot of every detail. The medallion, with its swirling acanthus-leaf design, did not look that large from below, but seen this close, it was enormous. It was only as she undertook a task like this that the gigantic proportions of these old houses were brought home to her. These double parlors, for instance, when the huge sliding panels that divided them were thrown open, made a room twenty-five feet wide and fifty feet long, suitable for a large party or a ball. There were houses in many of the suburbs of the United States with fewer square feet.

“What do you think you are doing?”

As the harsh words rang out, Laura turned her head sharply. That sudden movement on her precarious perch was enough to affect her balance. She wavered and bent quickly to catch the top step. Her camera flew out of her hand, and she watched hopelessly as it tumbled downward.

It never struck the floor. Justin moved with incredible swiftness to catch it, then stood weighing it in his hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Laura flung his own words back at him. “Sneaking up behind me like that? This is the second time, too. Is it just a bad habit of yours, or do you get a charge out of scaring the wits out of people?”

“Sorry,” he answered, his tone mild. “I had no idea you meant to do anything like this. I was so surprised to see you up there, I didn’t think.”

His matter-of-fact apology was disconcerting. Laura stared down at his upturned face a long instant. Her voice stiff, she said, “If you really want to know what I’m doing, I’m taking the specifications on this medallion.”

“Why? For what reason?”

“There is supposed to be one just like it in the second parlor, but at some time it was either removed or else it fell from the ceiling, probably when the chandelier that hung from it was removed, when all the rest were stripped from the house. There are companies that still make medallions to order using the old patterns. It’s possible they may have a mold Just like this one. At any rate, I intend to take the pictures and measurements to them to find out.”

“What happens if they don’t have a mold.”

“In that case, a polyester cast will have to be made, and the company will construct a special mold to duplicate it.”

He considered that a moment. “Do you have all the pictures yon need?”

“Yes, I think so,” she answered, glancing down at the prints spread on the steps. They seemed to be a complete representation of the medallion overhead. “I still have to take the measurements.”

“Come down and let me do it,” he said, a peremptory note in his voice.

“No thank you. I can manage.” She straightened with the ruler in her hand, unfolding it as she spoke.

“I would rather you didn’t break your neck while I’m watching.”

“May I remind you,” she answered, her tone stringent, “that this is my job. You can hold the ladder, if you like. I seem to remember warning you of the possibility of being drafted for that.”

It was a moment before he answered, and then his voice was stiff. “Do you have paper and something to write with up there?”

“Of course,” she snapped.

“Throw them to me, and I’ll take down the measurements as you call them out.”

It was a sensible suggestion, since it would prevent her from having to bend and straighten again and again as she jotted down the figures each time. Also, it would speed the task, an important consideration. Without her coat, and as still as she was having to remain, she was beginning to feel the cold. Already, the ends of her fingers were growing numb. She waited until he had put the camera to one side on the floor, then clipped the pen to her pad and dropped it to him.

“About this polyester cast, do you consider making it a part of your job, too?”

“Yes,” she flung the word over her shoulder as she strained upward, stretching as high as she could, trying to hold the ruler level and steady as she lined it up with the outermost edges of the medallion. She called down the diameter in inches and in centimeters, and he jotted them on the pad.

“I hate to point out the obvious,” he said, “but you look as if your ladder is going to be a little short to take an impression.”

“A painter’s scaffold will have to be brought in, or else a special one built for the house. It will be needed anyway to clean and repair the ceiling and cornice moldings.”

“I see,” he said, and lapsed into silence.

A few more measurements, and she was done. Laura closed the ruler, gathered up her prints, and began her descent. When she was halfway down, she noticed that Justin had moved to the step side of the ladder, to steady it. She could feel his black gaze upon her as she felt for each step with her booted foot. A woman coming down a staircase might be a graceful and romantic sight, but neither element was present in a woman coming backward down a ladder. Despite her self-consciousness, Laura’s lips twitched in wry amusement. She didn’t care whether he saw her as graceful and romantic, so long as he found her competent.

She was only a few feet from the bottom when it happened. The pictures she was holding were still slightly tacky from the developing process. She had been trying to keep them separated, holding them fanned out like a deck of cards. It wasn’t easy to do while keeping a firm grasp on the ladder. The corner of one picture hit a step and flipped from her grasp, fluttering downward. Automatically, she grabbed for it, resting her weight on one foot. The smooth leather sole of her boot slipped, her numb fingers would not hold, and in an instant, she was falling.

She came up hard against a broad chest. Strong arms held her breathlessly close. There was smooth suede under her cheek, and she was enveloped in warmth scented with the smell of leather and the tang of a spicy after-shave. It was a haven where she was safe, at rest.

“Are you all right?” The deep voice came from just above her head.

She stirred a little, because it seemed required. Tilting her head backward, she stared up into the bronze face of the man who held her. There were gold flecks in the depths of his eyes, she discovered. His brows were thick and wiry with a tendency to curl, and the hair that sprang from his forehead had a crisp vitality that seemed to suit him. The cleft in his chin was deep and blue-shadowed, and she wondered with complete irrelevance if it was difficult to shave.