Margot Dalton - A Family Likeness

Gina sighed and got to her feet. “ Now what are you two fighting about?” It seemed the housekeeper and the handyman/caretaker were always at odds over something.

“The man keeps insisting on sneaking food to Annabel, even though I’ve specifically asked him not to.”

“But Roger loves Annabel. You know he does.”

“She’s my dog,” Mary said firmly. “And the vet says she’s too fat. She needs a low-calorie diet. How can she lose weight if that man insists on giving table scraps to her behind my back?”

“Roger’s just too softhearted. He can’t stand to hear the way Annabel whimpers in the pantry during every meal. It really is a heartbreaking sound, you know.”

“She’s my dog,” Mary repeated with uncharacteristic stubbornness. “I guess I know what’s best for her.”

“I’m sure you do.” Gina gave up the argument. “I’ll talk to Roger, all right?”

Mary nodded, looking somewhat mollified, and paused in the doorway. “Oh, by the way, I just remembered what I came up here to tell you. A man called a few minutes ago.”

“What man?”

“Name’s Alex Colton. Said he wanted to talk to you about a room.”

“Did you get his number?”

Mary shook her head. “He’s in town. I gave him directions and he said he’d drive out this afternoon to make arrangements with you in person.”

Gina looked at the messy scraps of wallpaper and the damp floor. “Well, I hope he doesn’t get here until I’ve had time to finish this,” she said. “I was really hoping for just one day when I could work without any interruptions.”

“There’s no such day in this business.” Mary smiled, her sunny nature apparently restored. “After fourteen years, you should know that, dear. It looks real nice,” she added, gesturing at the wall. “You’re doing a lovely job.” Then she was gone, vanishing down the gleaming oak staircase that descended to the lower foyer past a wall of stained glass.

Gina stood in the doorway and watched, thinking about her housekeeper. Mary Schick was worth her weight in gold. She’d been here almost since Gina had first opened the old mansion as a bed-and-breakfast. It was hard to imagine the place without her. A small spare woman with graying hair worn in a careless perm, the housekeeper was the kind of quiet efficient person upon whom people seemed automatically to depend. In fact, she’d spent her entire life looking after others. She’d settled in right after high school to run her family’s restaurant and look after her parents. She’d never married, had never even left Azure Bay. When her mother died and her father soon afterward, she’d sold the restaurant, happy to be free of the responsibility, and come to work as a cook and housekeeper for Gina Mitchell.

A few months later, Mary had sold her parents’ little house in the village, as well, and moved into the bed-and-breakfast as a permanent resident. She and Gina had been together ever since.

Fourteen years, Gina thought as she walked back into the guest room shaking her head in disbelief. She knelt to measure the next strip of wallpaper, then squinted up at the wall to determine the pattern match.

But Mary’s visit had set Gina’s thoughts on another track, and keeping her mind on the job at hand became increasingly difficult.

“Almost thirty-six years old,” she said, sitting back on her heels. “Lord, I can’t believe it. Where has the time gone?”

She got up, the pencil in her hand forgotten, and wandered over to look out the window. Beyond the leaded-glass panels, a willow tree swayed and rustled in the warm breeze, partially obscuring her view of the lake. Gina stared into the trailing green branches, thinking about the swift passage of time.

Framed by the window, she could have been a boy. She wore loose denim shorts, a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up and frayed sneakers. Her body was slim and sun-browned from hours of working outside in the yard and garden, and her curly dark hair was cropped short. She had hazel eyes, high cheekbones dusted with freckles, and a sober level gaze that belied the boyishness of her face and body.

Fourteen years, she thought again, opening the casement window and leaning out to look across the lake. Almost half her life had been poured into this place.

But Gina had no regrets. Edgewood Manor was her life; it was her passion, her dream come true. Few people ever had the chance to live out a fantasy the way she had, right from the beginning.

She remembered the first time she’d seen the old mansion, and the powerful visceral surge of yearning she’d felt when she looked at its stately facade, its spacious grounds. From that moment, at the edge of twenty-one, she’d wanted the place for herself, and she would have done anything to get enough money to make the down payment.

In fact, what she had done to raise the money had been almost unthinkable…

Gina’s face tightened. Those were memories she never allowed herself to dwell on. They were buried deep in the past, and she intended to leave them hidden there forever. It was enough to know that Edgewood Manor was hers. As long as she could keep her business operating at a modest profit and make the mortgage payments on time, nobody could ever take the house away from her.

Nobody, she thought fiercely, gripping the window frame.

She swung her gaze to the orchard. It was early June, and the blossoms on the fruit trees had vanished, replaced by a drift of fresh green leaves. Soon the fruit would ripen, and they’d pick baskets of apples and pears and luscious apricots, and Mary would make jam and preserves. Then the frost would come and the leaves would fall. Snow would drift across the mountains, hiding the lake in shrouds of mist.

And another year would pass, and another…

Gina caught sight of a solitary figure down in the side yard, under one of the apple trees.

“Roger!” she called, leaning out the window. “What are you doing?”

The caretaker looked up and waved a length of wood he appeared to be whittling.

“Don’t go away,” Gina said. “I’m coming down.”

She glanced at the unfinished wall, the partial roll of wallpaper on the floor and the untidy clutter of scissors, rulers and paper scraps. With a rueful shake of her head, she left the room and ran lightly down the stairs.

An elderly couple were in the plant-filled sunroom when she passed, reclining in wicker chairs among the ferns and reading peacefully. Gina paused to smile at them.

“Hello,” she said. “Are you enjoying our Okanagan sunshine?”

“It’s heaven,” the woman said, lowering her book. “We came all the way from Pennsylvania to stay at this place, you know. Friends of ours were here two years ago, and they never stopped talking about how wonderful it was.”

“Really?” Gina said, pleased. “From Pennsylvania?”

The man nodded. “The Piedmonts,” he said. “Allan and Sheila.”

“Oh, I remember them,” Gina said. “They were here in the fall, I think. In fact, I seem to recall that Mr. Piedmont spent most of his time outside taking pictures of the autumn foliage.”

“Allan’s a real camera nut,” the woman said. “Sheila gets so annoyed with him.”

Gina lingered for a moment, exchanging pleasantries with the guests, then excused herself and went out through the French doors.

She crossed the flagstone courtyard, where a young honeymoon couple shared one of the wrought-iron benches near a rose-covered trellis, talking in low tones.

They looked up at Gina with shy smiles as she passed, then returned immediately to their conversation, heads close together and fingers intertwined. Gina ignored the tiny pang of envy she felt. The young couple had a closeness, an almost palpable aura of love that shut the rest of the world out.