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Authors: Carole Ann Moleti
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“Yes, she just got here. I’ll give her the message.” Tanya put down the phone and slipped on her gloves. “Bill is coming back from court. He says he’ll be here in about ten minutes. Should I stay and keep you company?”
“No, Tanya, it’s okay.” As much as she needed the companionship, the emotion building between the two of them would interfere with the steely, emotionless mood she needed to be in to deal with Bill.
“Well, okay, Liz, listen, I can’t believe Gerry isn’t coming back. I wish there was something I could say.” She kissed and hugged her again.
“I know, thanks. Now get going.”
“Brian, I’m leaving. Mrs. Levine is here waiting for Bill.” Tanya grabbed her bag and headed out the door.
He took his feet off the desk and came out talking on a cell phone. “I’ll be home in a few minutes, baby. Bye.” He tucked it into his pocket and extended his hand. “Mrs. Levine, Brian Salzman. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Liz shook it, but the grip was far from firm, the greeting not even cordial, let alone welcoming. Then again, she was particularly touchy, having at one point vowed to never come here to meet her husband’s replacement.
“Can I get you anything before I go?” He put on a camel hair coat and tucked a Burberry’s scarf around his neck.
“No thanks, Mr. Salzman. I’m familiar with the office and can find anything I need.” Was he being insensitive or was she over reacting?
“Yes, I’m sure about that. All the best.” He took the hint and closed the door after him.
Liz crept into Gerry’s office. No pictures of Jay and her. The diplomas had a different name, but the view of the busy Boston streets outside was the same. She studied the Childe Hassan reproduction Boston Common at Twilight . The image of the woman and her children in long dresses and muffs standing in the snow, streetlights shining through the haze, still comforted her. John Singer Sargent’s The Daughters of Edward D. Boit adorned the other wall. The mystical sense of the one girl, in shadows, always made Liz wonder if she was intended to portray a dead child or spiritual being. She and Gerry had met while viewing those paintings. He’d always told her looking at them while he worked kept her in his thoughts. The memory cut her like a jagged knife.
“Liz.” Bill came up behind her, an overcoat draped over his arm, wearing the de rigueur black pinstripe suit and wingtip oxfords.
She’d been caught. Godammit, this is my husband’s office, and our artwork. That jerk puts his feet on the desk, and I’m embarrassed? “Hello, Bill. I was just looking around.”
He touched her on the shoulder. “I understand how difficult this must be, Liz. Didn’t Tanya wait?”
“I told her to go home.”
“Let’s go into my office.” He allowed her to go first and gestured to a sofa in front of a coffee table. “Would you like something? Coffee, wait, you drink tea, right?”
“No, thanks. I think we should get down to business.” Her heart pounded. Time to get this over with.
“So, what’s all this about buying a historic home on the Cape, restoring it . . .”
“Actually, I already bought it.” The words were out before she realized it. Her head pounded and her eyes twitched.
“What?” He moved toward the edge of the sofa.
Liz forced herself to speak slowly so as not to trip over the carefully rehearsed script. “I made an offer the Commonwealth of Massachusetts couldn’t refuse—a cash sale in exchange for a tax abatement if I agreed to restore it and open it as a museum. It’s classic period architecture and has most of the original furnishings. I’m going to finish my book on Victorian textiles and art, and write off the expenses while I run a bed and breakfast. My house is on the market.”
“You didn’t discuss this with me.” Jeffers’ eyes narrowed and his gaze bored into her.
Everyone she told had the same reaction. But Bill Jeffers was her financial
“Yes, she just got here. I’ll give her the message.” Tanya put down the phone and slipped on her gloves. “Bill is coming back from court. He says he’ll be here in about ten minutes. Should I stay and keep you company?”
“No, Tanya, it’s okay.” As much as she needed the companionship, the emotion building between the two of them would interfere with the steely, emotionless mood she needed to be in to deal with Bill.
“Well, okay, Liz, listen, I can’t believe Gerry isn’t coming back. I wish there was something I could say.” She kissed and hugged her again.
“I know, thanks. Now get going.”
“Brian, I’m leaving. Mrs. Levine is here waiting for Bill.” Tanya grabbed her bag and headed out the door.
He took his feet off the desk and came out talking on a cell phone. “I’ll be home in a few minutes, baby. Bye.” He tucked it into his pocket and extended his hand. “Mrs. Levine, Brian Salzman. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Liz shook it, but the grip was far from firm, the greeting not even cordial, let alone welcoming. Then again, she was particularly touchy, having at one point vowed to never come here to meet her husband’s replacement.
“Can I get you anything before I go?” He put on a camel hair coat and tucked a Burberry’s scarf around his neck.
“No thanks, Mr. Salzman. I’m familiar with the office and can find anything I need.” Was he being insensitive or was she over reacting?
“Yes, I’m sure about that. All the best.” He took the hint and closed the door after him.
Liz crept into Gerry’s office. No pictures of Jay and her. The diplomas had a different name, but the view of the busy Boston streets outside was the same. She studied the Childe Hassan reproduction Boston Common at Twilight . The image of the woman and her children in long dresses and muffs standing in the snow, streetlights shining through the haze, still comforted her. John Singer Sargent’s The Daughters of Edward D. Boit adorned the other wall. The mystical sense of the one girl, in shadows, always made Liz wonder if she was intended to portray a dead child or spiritual being. She and Gerry had met while viewing those paintings. He’d always told her looking at them while he worked kept her in his thoughts. The memory cut her like a jagged knife.
“Liz.” Bill came up behind her, an overcoat draped over his arm, wearing the de rigueur black pinstripe suit and wingtip oxfords.
She’d been caught. Godammit, this is my husband’s office, and our artwork. That jerk puts his feet on the desk, and I’m embarrassed? “Hello, Bill. I was just looking around.”
He touched her on the shoulder. “I understand how difficult this must be, Liz. Didn’t Tanya wait?”
“I told her to go home.”
“Let’s go into my office.” He allowed her to go first and gestured to a sofa in front of a coffee table. “Would you like something? Coffee, wait, you drink tea, right?”
“No, thanks. I think we should get down to business.” Her heart pounded. Time to get this over with.
“So, what’s all this about buying a historic home on the Cape, restoring it . . .”
“Actually, I already bought it.” The words were out before she realized it. Her head pounded and her eyes twitched.
“What?” He moved toward the edge of the sofa.
Liz forced herself to speak slowly so as not to trip over the carefully rehearsed script. “I made an offer the Commonwealth of Massachusetts couldn’t refuse—a cash sale in exchange for a tax abatement if I agreed to restore it and open it as a museum. It’s classic period architecture and has most of the original furnishings. I’m going to finish my book on Victorian textiles and art, and write off the expenses while I run a bed and breakfast. My house is on the market.”
“You didn’t discuss this with me.” Jeffers’ eyes narrowed and his gaze bored into her.
Everyone she told had the same reaction. But Bill Jeffers was her financial
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