Nice meeting you, Ms. O'Riley.
Nate's a sailor,
Jenny said importantly when Nathaniel strolled out.
He's been
everywhere and done everything.
Megan didn't doubt it for a minute.
So much had changed at The Towers, though the family rooms on the first two floors and the east wing were much the same. Trent St. James, with Megan's brother, Sloan, as architect, had concentrated most of the time and effort on the ten suites in the west wing, the new guest dining area and the west tower. All of that area comprised the hotel.
From the quick tour Megan was given, she could see that none of the time and effort that had gone into the construction and renovations had been wasted.
Sloan had designed with an appreciation for the original fortresslike structure, retaining the high-ceilinged rooms and circular stairs, ensuring that the many
fireplaces were working, preserving the mul-lioned windows and French doors that led out onto terraces, balconies, parapets.
The lobby was sumptuous, filled with antiques and designed with a multitude of cozy corners that invited guests to lounge on a rainy or wintry day. The spectacular views of bay or cliffs or sea or Suzanna's fabulous gardens were there to be enjoyed, or tempted guests to stroll out onto terraces and balconies.
When Amanda, as hotel manager, took over the tour, Megan was told that each suite was unique. The storage rooms of The Towers had been full of old furniture, mementos and art. What hadn't been sold prior to Trent's having invested the St.
James money in the transformation now graced the guest rooms.
Some suites were two levels, with an art deco staircase connecting the rooms, some had wainscoting or silk wallpaper. There was an Aubusson rug here, an old tapestry there. And all the rooms were infused with the legend of the Calhoun emeralds and the woman who had owned them.
The emeralds themselves, discovered after a difficult and dangerous search some said with the help of the spirits of Bianca Calhoun and Christian Bradford, the artist who had loved her resided now in a glass case in the lobby. Above the case was a portrait of Bianca, painted by Christian more than eighty years before.
They're gorgeous,
Megan whispered.
Stunning.
The tiers of grass green
emeralds and white diamonds almost pulsed with life.
Sometimes I'll just stop and look at them, Amanda admitted,
and remember all
we went through to find them. How Bianca tried to use them to escape with her children to Christian. It should make me sad, I suppose, but having them here, under her portrait, seems right.
Yes, it does.
Megan could feel the pull of them, even through the glass.
But isn't
it risky, having them out here this way?
Holt arranged for security. Having an ex-cop in the family means nothing's left to chance. The glass is bulletproof.
Amanda tapped her finger against it.
And wired
to some high-tech sensor.
Amanda checked her watch and judged that she had fifteen minutes before she had to resume her managerial duties.
I hope your rooms
are all right. We've barely scratched the surface on the family renovations.
They're fine.
And the truth was, it relaxed Megan a bit to see cracked plaster and gnawed woodwork. It made it all less intimidating.
Kevin's in paradise. He's outside
with Alex and Jenny, playing with the new puppy.
Our Fred and Holt's Sadie are quite the proud parents.
With a laugh, Amanda
tossed back her swing of sable hair.
Eight pups.
As Alex said, everyone's having babies. And your Delia is beautiful.
She is, isn't she?
Maternal pride glowed in Amanda's eyes.
I can't believe how
much she's grown already. You should have been around here six months ago. All four of us out to here.
She laughed again as she held out her arms.
Waddling every