Megan said, and watched Suzanna's eyes go blank.
Excuse me?
I think she and Dutch are... infatuated.
Dutch? Our Dutch? But she's always complaining about him, and he's snarling at her every chance he gets. They're always fighting, and...
She trailed off, pressed her
hands to her lips.
Oh...
she said, While her eyes danced over them.
Oh, oh, oh...
They stared at each other, struggled dutifully for perhaps three seconds before bursting into laughter. Megan fell easily into the sisterly pleasure of discussing a family member. After she told Suzanna about walking in on Coco and Dutch in the kitchen, she followed it up with the scene on the terrace.
There were sparks flying, Suzanna. At first I thought they were going to come to blows, then I realized it was more of a well, a mating ritual.
A mating ritual,
Suzanna repeated in a shaky voice.
Do you really think they ?
Well.
Megan wriggled her eyebrows.
She's been doing a lot of singing lately.
She certainly has.
Suzanna let the i.e. stew for a moment, found it simmered nicely.
I think I'll drop by the kitchen before I go. Check out the atmosphere.
I hope I can count on a full report.
Absolutely.
Still chuckling, Suzanna rose to go to the door.
I guess that was
some moon the other night.
It was,
Megan murmured.
Some moon.
Suzanna paused with her hand on the knob.
And Nathaniel's some man.
I thought we were talking about Dutch.
We were talking about romance,
Suzanna corrected.
I'll see you later.
Megan frowned at the closed door. Good Lord, she thought, was she that obvious?
After spending the rest of the morning and the first part of the afternoon on The Retreat's accounts, Megan gave herself the small reward of an hour with Fergus's book. She enjoyed tallying up the costs of stabling horses, maintaining carriages. It was an eye-opener to see how much expense was involved in giving a ball at The Towers in 1913. And, by reading Fergus's margin notes, to come to understand his motives.
Invitations all accepted. No one dare decline. B. ordered flowers argued about ostentation. Told her big display equals success and wife must never question husband. She will wear emeralds, not pearl choker as she suggested, show society my taste and means, remind her of her place.
Her place, Megan thought with pity for Bianca, had been with Christian. How sad that it had taken death to unite them.
Wanting to dispel the gloom, she flipped to the back pages. The numbers simply didn't make sense. Not expenses, she mused. Not dates. Account numbers, perhaps.
Stock-market prices, lot numbers?
Perhaps it would be worth a trip to the library to see if she could unearth any information from 1913 that correlated. And on the way she could stop by Shipshape to drop off the completed spreadsheet for April and pick up any more receipts.
If she happened to run into Nathaniel, it would be purely coincidental.
It was a pleasure to drive in the rain. The slow, steady stream of drops had most of the summer people seeking indoor entertainment. A few pedestrians wandered the sidewalks, window-shopping under umbrellas. The water in Frenchman Bay was gray and misted, with the masts and sails of ships spearing through the heavy air.
She could hear the ring of bell buoys, the drone of foghorns. It was as if the entire island were tucked under a blanket, snug and safe and solitary. She was tempted to keep driving, to take the twisting road to Acadia National Park, or the meandering one along the shore.
Maybe she would, she thought. After she completed the day's business, she would take that drive, explore her new home. And maybe she would ask Nathaniel to join her.
But she didn't see his car outside Shipshape. Ridiculous to say it didn't matter whether she saw him or not, she realized. Because it did matter. She wanted to see him, to watch the way his eyes deepened and locked on hers. The way his lips curved.
Maybe he'd parked around the corner, out of sight. Snagging her briefcase, she dashed from her car into the office. It was empty.
The first slap of disappointment was stunning. She hadn't realized just how much she'd counted on him being there until he wasn't. Then she heard, faintly, through the rear wall, the throb of bass from a radio. Someone was in the shop attached to the back of the building, she concluded. Probably working on repairs as the seas were too rough for tours.
She wasn't going to check out who was back there, she told herself firmly. She'd