The Perfect Groom. Ruth Scofield
“I’m right here, Ivy,” Gerry said, smiling at her as he appeared from the hall’s interior. His glance at her curvy figure, dressed in a cinnamon-browncolored business suit that nearly matched her hair, was openly appreciative. Warming, she returned his smile.
“Thanks, Cam.” He spoke smoothly in a practiced manner, and gave the girl an impersonal nod. “Joe Barton is just arriving, I believe. Let him in, please, and show him back to the office.”
Turning, he led Ivy to the library room where they’d first met. Picking up a bone china coffee mug, he asked, “Coffee first or after we conclude our tour?”
“Afterward, I think. I’d like to get started.”
“Fair enough. I have a long hall on the third floor that’s rather dark and definitely plain, and four bedrooms there. After we finish with Joe, I’d like you to view them. Haven’t thought about fixing up the top floor before now because we really don’t use it. It was originally intended to house the servants, but times being what they are, we don’t employ full-time housemaids and such anymore.”
“I would think a house this size needed full-time care,” she murmured.
“Oh, it does, indeed, and careful attention to upkeep, as well.” Gerry brushed his hair from his eyes and glanced around him as though considering her thought. “But most of it is farmed out to companies who specialize in services. Some with long-standing associations with Reeves House, of course. But only an older couple live in full-time, the Marshalls. They have an apartment off the kitchen. Grace cooks if either Barbara or I want a meal at home, and Tom assists wherever he’s needed.
“But we have a completely different crew when entertaining at Reeves House or leasing it out. We contract a catering company, a party planning service, and landscape company, of course, all of which take care of needed details to keep the old place in show condition. But we’ve had occasions when we’ve been asked to rent the entire house for a period of time, you know, like a house party or small company retreat, and Barbara thinks it’s time to consider the idea of redoing the top floor.”
“In here, Mr. Barton,” the young house duster said. She disappeared again and Joe, middle-aged and paunchy, appeared in her place. Ivy made introductions.
“Let’s go, then,” Gerry said, directing them back into the main hall. “I’ve several pieces of original art that need cleaning, and quite a few old frames need both cleaning and repair. I considered having the Nelson Gallery experts look at them, but when Ivy told me she had someone she trusted to look after them, I decided on you.”
“Then you’ll be happy to know I’m registered with the Nelson and the Art Institute,” Joe responded.
“Good. I had a feeling Ivy only dealt with the best,” Gerry answered, a grin tugging at his mouth while his blue eyes threw her the compliment intended in his comment.
They began with the first-floor library, studying the old paintings that had hung without disturbance for half a century. Ivy recognized several paintings by local artists from past generations, two of which she thought quite valuable, and a few others of very good quality.
“I’ve a print of this one,” Ivy remarked in surprise. “I didn’t realize the original was in a private collection.”
“My great-grandfather believed in supporting the local talent, as you can see,” Gerry replied. “When he inherited the house, he trotted out his collection for display.”
Joe gave his suggestions as they proceeded into the formal parlor, through the huge dining room, the large ballroom where the wedding had been held, and up the long stairway. Along the way, Ivy glanced at the furnishings, recognizing various styles of mixed generations. On the second floor, where the principal bedrooms surrounded a comfortable-looking informal lounge, they viewed half a dozen lesser artists.
“That takes care of the lot on display,” Gerry said. “You can start after the first of the year. The house is in use most of December.”
Barbara joined them as they concluded. “Oh, hello, Ivy. My goodness, yes. We are hosting a major charity do the first week in December, and three weddings before Christmas. A body can scarcely call her home her own anymore.”
“Now, Barb, it isn’t that bad. Besides, we have all of January to ourselves. Do you want to come along to hear what Ivy may do with the top floor?”
“Oh, I suppose. Otherwise, my dearest brother, you might choose to paint it all in circus colors.”
Gerry laughed at his sister’s sally and took Ivy’s elbow to guide her back through the hall.
Joe excused himself and left, and they climbed to the third floor. Ivy studied the four bedrooms, ideas flowing like a steady breeze, and gave a couple of spontaneous suggestions. Chatting about ideas to cheer the dark rooms, they returned to the first floor.
Ivy glanced at her watch. Almost one.
“Well, that took longer than I’d imagined,” Gerry said. He reached for the thermos coffee keeper, then put it down again. “Won’t you stay for lunch?”
The invitation caught Ivy by surprise. Social engagements with customers didn’t usually come out of her kind of business. “Why, that sounds very nice, but I really need to return to the store. I have a new clerk who can only work until two.”
“How disappointing,” Barbara murmured, flipping her lovely hair behind her shoulder. Ivy envied that sleek, sophisticated look that only a steady visit to a beauty salon could produce. Other than a good cut every six weeks, she usually took care of her own hair.
“Well,” Ivy said, picking up her purse from a side table. “I’ll put some of the ideas we discussed in writing, along with estimates of the costs and a time frame for the work. I should have it ready by the first week in January.”
“Sounds great.” Gerry said. “Come on, it’s raining. I’ll walk you to your car.”
He grabbed an umbrella from a brass container near the “front stairway. Outside, he opened the car door for her, but held it open after she slid inside, his gaze taking on a personal appeal.
“I have a committee dinner thing tonight. Boring as blue Monday. Wouldn’t be if you’d come with me.”
“Why, Gerry, that’s sweet of you to say,” she said, surprised again, reassessing what she saw in his eyes. He’d really meant his invitation to lunch. “But I have to work until eight, when I close the store, and it usually takes me another thirty minutes to wrap up.”
“Oh, well.” He let his disappointment show, then brightened. “But we can salvage the evening if you’ll let me take you out for dessert afterward. And it’ll give me an excuse to leave the meeting early.”
She considered it a moment. Dating a client wasn’t exactly good policy. And two dates on the same weekend? She hadn’t had so much male attention in months.
But one invitation came from exactly the kind of man she’d been looking to meet. Gerry had charm, social polish, a prominent family background and wealth. She warmed to the idea.
“That does sound nice. All right.”
Ivy arrived at the store just in time for Aunt Arletta’s visit, her friend Shirley in tow. She didn’t have to wonder how they’d got there. The church’s gray van took up a prime parking spot just in front of Wall’s Intrigue and Noah strolled in behind the two.
“Noah agreed to help the seniors shop once a week until after Christmas,” Aunt Arletta said. “The others went to poke around the other shops, but I told Shirley you had just the right thing for her sister’s birthday. And at a reasonable price.”
“Sure, Aunt Arletta,” Ivy told her, knowing her aunt intended for her friend to gain a healthy discount. Ivy didn’t mind that much; she liked occasionally indulging her aunt’s generosity, and Shirley had certainly filled many a lonely hour for Aunt A. But