CHAPTER ONE
It was the spring of the fifth year after he finished rebuilding the house. The early wildflowers were just starting to bloom. Dr. Greg Manart decided to go into town for breakfast at his favorite small-town cafe.
Driving down the county road, his attention was caught by an attractive young woman. She was walking down a farm driveway toward the mailbox. He didn’t recognize her. He knew the couple living there had no daughter. They were childless. They were good friends. He would have to inquire when he got to town. Beautiful women didn’t necessarily bring happy thoughts to his mind. His ex-wife was a very beautiful woman. She did not bring happy thoughts to his mind. He thought he had better abort that line of thinking. It was too beautiful a day to ruin it by such thoughts. But he was curious about this young woman.
“Good morning Doc,” was the greeting he received as he walked into the Rose cafe.
“Good morning, Lilly. It’s a beautiful one isn’t it.”
“What brings you into town this morning, Dr. Manart?” asked Sam, the owner of the cafe.
“Why your cook’s wonderful breakfasts, of course,” Greg said with a grin. Actually the café really did have good breakfasts.
“So what are you having this morning?” Lilly asked.
“Two eggs sunnyside, crisp bacon, whole wheat toast and a smile.”
“ The smile is free,” said Lilly, with a smile at Greg, “but the rest will cost you.”
“Well it’s nice to hear something is free these days.” Greg said. Actually Lilly always had a smile for customers especially regular customers like Greg. Besides, Greg was a good tipper, as all of the waitresses knew.
Greg turned to Sam. “Sam, Frank and Edna don’t have a daughter that I don’t know about, do they?”
“No, why do you ask?”
“Well,” said Greg, in a slightly quizzical tone, “As I was driving into town, I saw a young woman, oh I would guess about in her mid twenties, walking down the drive from their house.”
“That’s Edna’s niece,” said a female voice from a booth close by. Customers in this café usually joined in a conversation, if the people talking were regulars also.
“She’s here visiting them for a while, according to Edna,” the voice continued. Greg tried to see who was talking, although he thought he recognized the voice. Spotting her, as she stuck her head out of one of the booths,
Greg said, “Hi, Malva. How are you this fine morning?”
“I’m fine, how are you?” Then without waiting for an answer, she continued, “She’s a writer from the West Coast. She’s here to get away from the rat race and get back to writing her novels, and she’s not in her mid twenties. She’s in her early thirties.” Malva was one who usually got all of the information. She was also willing to provide it to anyone who might ask, or even if they didn’t ask.
“You could have fooled me. Actually she did fool me,” said Greg laughing. “Course I only had a brief glimpse of her.”
“Edna said her niece was looking for a nice quiet place to settle down and do her writing, but she wasn’t really sure what exactly she was looking for,” Malva went on. “Come to think of it, Edna mentioned something about talking to you to see if you would show her your place.” Malva and her husband were good friends of Edna and Frank. It wasn’t surprising that Malva knew all about the niece.
“I’d be happy to show them around,” said Greg, “but Edna should know that.”
Greg wondered why Edna would want to show her niece his place especially. Oh well, Edna would probably tell him when she called. Edna could always be counted on to fully explain her reasons for doing something. Edna and Frank had been good friends with Greg since he moved here.
Greg Manart had planned this home for a number of years. In fact since his divorce, he knew he had to find some other place to settle down. He wanted to get as far away from that college town and university as he could. He felt he had to reinvent his life. He felt he had been betrayed and to make it worse he knew he should have seen it coming if he had only taken the time to look.
When he found this old house, he figured he lucked out. It was a big, solidly built house in the perfect setting. On eighty acres of land, mostly wooded, with a stream running through it. It was between a wooded wildlife area on one side, and an environmentally protected lowland area, leading up to the river, on the other side. It backed up to a small exclusive area of very large homes that bordered a country club. It was the perfect setting as far as he was concerned. Away from the rush of city life, he still had access to two universities.
His disastrous marriage and divorce had left a very bitter taste. He had forsaken his very successful scientific career. He turned to painting and writing, two hobbies he had been developing over the years. Because of his very successful investing, it was possible for him to pursue these new careers. In the years since his divorce, he honed those talents. They were beginning to pay off.
He recently published a novel, that was promising to be successful, and he had a successful showing of his paintings at a major gallery. The complete remodeling of his house had turned out exactly as he planned it. The house included very spacious living quarters, a large studio for his painting and an office where he could do his writing. He had everything he felt he wanted.
Lynn Tarrot named his home Eagle’s Aerie. Lynn was the redheaded Executive Editor of the local newspaper, a very close friend of Greg’s. In spite of the fact, he was gun-shy of any serious relationship, he did not lack for female companionship. Actually he made sure of that and that they were all very attractive women. He was well educated, very athletic at six foot two, relatively good-looking, had a subtle, dry sense of humor and could be very charming.
The conversation, at the cafe, turned to other local news and events, like the local high school baseball team that was having their best start of several years. Greg turned his attention to the breakfast in front of him while he idly listened to the conversations going on around him. Greg finished his breakfast and asked for his bill. On his way out, he stopped to exchange pleasantries with friends in the cafe. He ran a few errands in town then headed back for the house. It was too beautiful a day to be in a hurry.
Since moving to this location over five years ago, he developed a close knit circle of friends. They were meeting fairly regularly at his house for dinner and conversation. The house, originally a farmhouse, had a large kitchen and very ample pantry. It was very easy to build a large modern kitchen ideal for these informal dinner parties. The dinner parties were actually hosted by several members of the group. The house and its location, was a real drawing card, especially when the gardens were in full bloom.
The furnishings of the house fit the character of the house. They were big, solid and comfortable, of excellent hardwood. It was a house to be lived in. Christy Jorgenson always said it fit Greg perfectly. Christy was the attractive, pert, blonde, public relations person at Ballard University. She was one of the original group and a very close friend.
He surrounded the house with gardens. The house was mostly hidden from the road, a lightly traveled county highway. To the casual observer, it looked like an old farmhouse. He left the upper story roofline untouched.
When Greg arrived home, there was a message waiting for him. For some reason, as he pushed the button on his answering machine, he half expected to hear Edna’s voice. However it was not her voice.
“I’ve got some great news!” came Claire Gordon’s voice from the machine. Claire was a professor of American Literature at Ballard University. She was one of the newest members of the group. “Why aren’t you ever home when I’ve got exciting news?” Claire chattered on, “You’ll never guess who is in the area, in fact staying not far from your place. It’s Dr. Serena Tellou, you know, the author who wrote ‘The Knottinghome Diaries’ and a couple other bestsellers. She also writes children’s books,” Claire rattled on. “Give me a call. Right away.”
Now what did Claire have on her flaky mind. Greg immediately footnoted that comment in his mind. Claire really wasn’t flaky, she just came off that way until you knew her. Of course, the fact that a successful young female author was in her territory would be something to excite Claire. Still the tone of Claire’s voice convinced Greg, Claire had something definite in mind. He had better find out what it was before she had a chance to develop it too far. He dialed her number and braced himself to be swept away in a torrent of words.
“Hello. Claire Gordon here,” came a lilting voice.
“Hello, Claire. It’s Greg. You called.”
“Oh yes. Isn’t it wonderful. Sere’s really a famous author you know.” the voice rushed on. “And she’s a really wonderful person. We used to call her ‘Seer’ in college. I was an undergraduate with her. She was a really wonderful person. Oh, I wasn’t a close friend, but we were friends. In fact, I had several classes with her.” Claire paused for a breath and Greg quickly broke in.
“Okay, okay, she’s a great author, and a wonderful person, and you know her, and she’s in the area,” Greg hurriedly said in order to stop the flow of words. “Now what is this suppose to mean to me, because I have a sneaking suspicion that you have something in mind, and somehow it is going to involve me. So lay it on the table, Claire. Just what has your devious mind concocted, that I am going to be sorry I asked about?”
“Now, Greg,” came Claire’s voice practically dripping with honey, “Would I ever involve you in something, you would be sorry about. All I thought was that it would be nice to invite her to a breakfast at your place. You do such wonderful breakfasts, and your place is such a fascinating one, and it’s so beautiful in spring, and I just thought it would be a friendly thing to do, and she could get to meet a few people. And don’t you think that would be a wonderful thing to do?”
“And just who is going to invite her?” inquired Greg. “And is there any compelling reason for her to accept an invitation to someone’s house for breakfast whom she doesn’t know from Adam, and probably couldn’t think of reason to give a damn.”
“Well I must confess,” began Claire in a now contrite voice, “That when I heard she was here, I called her up and renewed acquaintances, and kind of mentioned your wonderful impromptu breakfasts. In a rash moment, I asked if she might be interested, and that if she were, I would try to wangle an invitation to the next one. She said she would be very interested, because her aunt had told her about your place, and she thought it would be fascinating to see.”
“You are a little conniver, aren’t you,” said Greg. “I see your devious mind figuring out how this will help you get her to come in and talk to your summer seminar on fiction writing.”
Claire had a hurt tone in her voice as she said, “How could you accuse me of such a devious thought?” but then in practically the same breath said brightly, “But don’t you think it’s a wonderful idea. Besides, she’s a raving beauty. What more could you ask of
