Chapter Fifteen

 

 

Caitlyn’s mother and father arrived before the bride and within minutes there was trouble. The mother was cold and beautiful and, unfortunately, also wearing blue. She guessed nobody had suggested the mothers consult each other on their outfits. Holly made a mental note to add that detail to any weddings she planned in the future.

Caitlyn’s mom stepped onto the lawn as though it were a farmer’s field and she was afraid of stepping on cow dung. The glance she flicked at the house was full of disdain. Oh, dear.

Evan did his best, going forward to welcome them and introducing Jack and Daphne to their soon-to-be in-laws. She could see that Caitlyn’s parents were looking down their noses at the Chances as though they were yokels.

“Go over there,” she said, clutching at Prescott’s arm, clad in an Armani summer-weight suit. “Let them see that their daughter is marrying into Prescott Chance’s family.”

He glared down at her. “I hate snobs.”

“I know that,” she said, frustrated. “But you love your parents, don’t you? You have to rescue them.”

“Oh. Okay. Come with me.” And he dragged her over to the awkward group.

Evan greeted them like the lifesavers they were.

When he introduced them to Eunace and David Sorenson, Caitlyn’s father said, “Prescott Chance the architect?” as though wondering how a famous architect had sprung from such uninteresting people. She could see that Daphne was looking upset and Jack belligerent.

“Isn’t it a beautiful day,” Holly said to Caitlyn’s mom.

“Not for me it isn’t.” There was a heavy sigh. “I had such high hopes for my daughter.”

“Now just a minute!” Jack began.

“Jack, please,” Daphne said.

And then, to everyone’s horror, Caitlyn’s mother began to cry.

There was a moment of stunned awkwardness. But Holly hadn’t worked for Rupert all these months and not learned how to deal with difficult people. She said, “Let’s go inside. I’ll get you some ice tea.”

Once inside, she took Caitlyn’s mother into the den where she was certain they wouldn’t be disturbed, and then she simply listened to the complaints of a woman who didn’t seem to understand her own daughter or particularly want her happiness. It seemed to Holly that all she wanted was to enlarge her own ego. “She had so much potential. She was one of the best surgeons in New York City. She was being groomed for better things. Why, she could have ended up as surgeon general of the United States with our connections and her talent.” The woman sniffed and sipped delicately from her glass of tea. “She had such a future ahead of her. And the men she dated were all Ivy League, you know. Young men of distinction. But she threw it all away to be a country doctor and marry a small town attorney.” She sniffed again. “My only daughter. Such a disappointment.”

Holly thought about how happy Caitlyn and Evan were and how clearly unhappy this woman was, and managed to stifle her irritation. For Caitlyn and Evan’s sake she was determined to get this woman on their side. So, she played to the woman’s ego. She said, “I know how hard it can be, but my boss, Alistair Rupert, always says, ‘Whenever you’re in public, never let them see you cry.’” In fact, his actual words were, “Never let them see you with yer knickers down,” but she reworded it for Caitlyn’s mother.

As she’d imagined, her shameless name dropping worked. “You work for Alistair Rupert?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t suppose he’s coming to the wedding?”

“Unfortunately, no. He’s in London.”

The woman sighed, as though it was just one more disappointment in a life full of them. Then she put down her drink with a snap. Opened her clutch purse and touched up her lipstick. “All right,” she said, pulling her shoulders back. “I may not like it, but I’ll do my best.”

And Holly returned her to the wedding, one crisis averted.

As she socialized with the guests, while also keeping a surreptitious eye on the schedule and the interpersonal dynamics, Holly found herself approached by a woman about her own age with a shining waterfall of perfect blond hair and a sun-catching smile. “Hi, Holly right? I’m Virginia Lewisham. Daphne says you’re the wedding planner.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m really not. I helped out a little, that’s all.”

“Daphne says you worked miracles. Listen, I’m getting married in six months. I haven’t had time to plan anything. I didn’t even know what kind of wedding I wanted until I got here. But this is it,” she said, gesturing to the surroundings. “It’s perfect. Casual and elegant at the same time. Are you interested in planning my wedding?” She lowered her voice. “I’m an only child so let’s just say the budget will be generous. Your biggest task would be to make sure I don’t end up with something huge and ostentatious.”

“I have a full-time job. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have time.”

The woman handed her a business card. “Think about it. If you change your mind, or if you know someone who could do something as amazing as this, where people can feel relaxed but still everything’s done right, then I’d love to hear about them.”

“I will,” she said.

And wouldn’t she a thousand times rather plan weddings than run around after Alistair Rupert?

She ducked back into the house to put the card with her things and—okay, she couldn’t go all day without checking messages, she was too well-programmed. When she checked her phone, she discovered a message from Alistair Rupert. Her heart sinking, she listened to the voice mail. He never bothered identifying himself since this phone was a hotline straight to her. Nor did he ever waste time with pleasantries. The message went like this: “Iona’s got preliminary architectural drawings for the house. She wants to see it tomorrow. I’m flying in tonight. Meet us at the site at noon.” No, sorry to bother you on a Sunday, no hope you’re not busy or in another city for a wedding. Typical Rupert.

And, even as she fumed, she panicked. It was a nine-hour drive from Hidden Falls to San Francisco with no stops, delays or accidents.

She ducked out to find Prescott and told him about the message.

“That guy’s a dick,” he said.

“I know. But you don’t say ‘No’ to Alistair Rupert, not if you want to stay employed.” She felt her brow wrinkle as she tried to figure out a plan. “I can’t ask you to leave your family wedding. I’ll get a flight tomorrow morning. There must be something.”

To her surprise, he pulled her against him and gave her a quick, one-armed hug. “I am not letting that troglodyte near my design without me being there. We’ll go together.”

“Really? But we’ll have to leave today, the second the wedding’s over.”

He shook his head. “No. We’ll both fly down. Believe me, Cooper will be only too happy to drive my car back to me. Or James.” He thought for a second. “Pretty much every guy here would drive that car down for me.”

She breathed in and out once. Fast. “Okay. Thank you.”

“And Holly? I’ve got this one. I’ll get us flown down there.”

“But your plane is—”

“Like I said, I’ve got this one.”

The relief of letting him take some of the stress of her shoulders was unbelievable. She leaned up on tip-toe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

“We’re in this together,” he told her.

After that, everything happened so fast. Caitlyn arrived, looking beautiful in a wedding gown that was simple and stunning. She looked so happy, and when she and Evan stood together and said their vows, they were so deeply in love that Holly felt her eyes mist. To her surprise, Prescott reached out and gripped her hand.

Then there was food and speeches and as the day faded, all those twinkle lights that Prescott had complained about added a sense of magic.

She had no idea when he did it, but by the time they left that night, he told her they had a plane booked for nine in the morning.

Holly kissed Prescott goodbye when his limo service dropped her off at her place. Then she raced around, gathering every bit of data she’d collected for her sales pitch to the Ruperts on why a small house in The Mission was going to be perfect. Even as she showered and dressed, she rehearsed arguments that sounded completely great if she were pitching to people who cared about the earth, community, culture and integrity. Since she was pitching to the Ruperts, all she had was that this was the house Prescott was willing to design for them.

She’d begged him on the ride back to try a little harder to be nice to the Ruperts but her hopes weren’t high.

Oh, well. They’d paid a deposit to secure the property, they’d seen Prescott’s first design sketches, which she privately thought brilliant. The sun was shining. All she could do was her best.

She arrived early for the appointment. Five minutes later a limo arrived. She had no idea which limo it was but to her relief it was Prescott’s. They let themselves into the house and she ran through turning on lights, opening a few windows to let in some fresh air since the house had been closed up for a couple of weeks following Luis’s grandparents’ move.

For all his faults, Alistair Rupert was always punctual and at two minutes before noon, the second limo arrived at the property.

Alistair Rupert got out of the back, leaving the driver to help his wife to alight. He looked like a large toad. He was short of stature, big of belly, and his eyes had an unfortunate tendency to bug out. Beside him, Iona looked as regal as a goddess and as cold as the diamonds she so enjoyed wearing. She was dressed in white, her blonde hair in an updo that made her about six feet taller than her husband. She stalked up the path ahead of him in her ice pick heels, barely glancing at the lot. That couldn’t be good, Holly thought, watching them through the entrance hall window. Alistair took a little time to scan the property and cast a knowing eye over the immediate neighborhood.

He’d demanded that she send him all kinds of market information and if she knew Alistair Rupert, she wasn’t the only assistant he’d had sending him details. He’d know as much or more about the area and its predicted growth rates and the profitability aspects as any real estate agent. Probably more than most. Alistair Rupert did not like to waste money.

“Please, Prescott,” she implored the man standing still at her side. “Be charming.”

He didn’t say a word, but he opened the front door and stepped out. As Iona approached, he held out his arms and did the double-cheek kiss thing that she seemed to enjoy. So far so good.

For Alistair Rupert, Prescott had a manly handshake. She’d been ready to throw herself into the breach and perform introductions, but they took care of that themselves. Then Iona said, “The house seems very small.”

Holly had never known anyone who could make their words pout, but Iona’s words came out of her lovely mouth like little bullets of dissatisfaction.

Prescott smiled. If it was forced, she hoped she was the only one who could see that. “It’s an urban retreat, Iona. You’ll be amazed at what we can do with some ingenuity.”

“Let’s go inside,” Alistair said.

“Of course.”

The Ruperts went in first and Prescott followed. He outlined his vision, how he was transforming an aging structure into something forward thinking. He played down the environmental aspects, for which she was grateful, only dropping the news that energy costs would be minimal. That got Alistair’s attention. As he described the building materials they’d use, the way he’d faced the kitchen to receive the best of the morning light, and the living areas to capture the best of the views, as he outlined the flow of space and the adaptability, she fell more and more in love with the design. If she were Iona Rupert, she knew she’d be thrilled.

But she wasn’t Iona Rupert. Iona was clearly not thrilled. She was also clearly wary of having the notoriously temperamental architect refuse to work for her. She had to give Prescott credit. He was a lot more conciliating than he had been when he’d first met Iona. Also, it was obvious that he genuinely loved this design and his enthusiasm was coming through.

She was breathing a sigh of relief when they arrived in the original kitchen. Prescott talked about high ceilings and how he’d envisioned something that would work equally well to cook an intimate dinner for two or as a work station if there was a big party going on. He didn’t specifically allude to Rupert’s birthday party, but it was hanging in the air.

Iona was clearly coming around to the idea. Rupert was fumbling in his pockets for one of the cigars he smoked constantly.

There was a tapping sound on the open window. Holly turned and there was Hector. He’d obviously been on the lookout for activity in the kitchen and had flown over for a visit.

The window was already open so he simply hopped to the window sill and tilted his head one way and then the other, looking for the woman who always fed him. She might be gone, but Holly saw that she’d left the container of nuts and seeds.

As she stepped forward, saying, “This is Hector,” Iona screamed.

Seriously, like a horror movie, screamed. “No,” she screamed. “No. Don’t let it in. NO!”

This seemed to puzzle Hector who, however, had already glimpsed the nuts and seeds and flapped his wings, flying into the kitchen.

Iona stared, no longer screaming but pale and shaking. She pointed a finger at the bird and began babbling in Russian, then she turned tail and ran out of the house.

Alistair Rupert stood there with the lighter flame flickering an inch from his cigar end. Then he snapped off the lighter, glared at Holly, and stomped out after his wife.

“What on earth?” She glanced at Prescott, who seemed as puzzled as she was.

She ran out after the Ruperts, and Prescott went to the nuts and seeds canister and shook some out for the bird before following her.

When she got outside Iona was storming at Alistair. Then she turned and shook her finger at Holly. “You did this. You!”

“Did what? I don’t understand.”

“In Russia,” Rupert explained, “if a bird flies into the window it means someone’s going to die.”

“But he’s just a neighbor’s parakeet. He didn’t mean any harm.”

Iona was crying stormy tears. “You get rid of that girl, Alistair. She’s no good. Either she goes or I do!” And she stormed to the limo, pulling open the rear door and throwing herself in before the startled driver had time to get out of the car.

Alistair glared at Holly and at Prescott, who’d followed her out of the house. “You heard her,” he snapped. “Make yerself scarce.” Then he scuttled to the limo and got in.

As it drove away Holly felt as though the wheels were driving right over her.

She stood there, devastated, almost frightened to turn and see how Prescott was taking this disaster.

She didn’t hear his shoes on the drive and he didn’t say a word. Finally, she turned. He looked as still as always, but there was a kind of blank expression on his face.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

After a long pause when she almost wondered if he’d heard her, he said, “It’s the best thing that could have happened.” He strode past, paused to pat her on the shoulder in passing, said “I’ll call you,” and got into his own limo.

As it drove away, she felt for the second time as though a large, shiny black limousine was driving over her.