broke into her mental conundrum.
“Of course I’m here. Did you think I’d hung up on you?”
“You’re not talking.” It sounded like an accusation.
“I’m writing down the information you just gave me,” Edie said. It wasn’t totally a lie. She’d made a couple of notes. “I’ll make the reservations now. I’ll send you an email and forward them.”
“Great. Thanks. You’re the best. Don’t tell Andrew,” Rhiannon added quickly. “I want to surprise him.”
“Are you sure?” Surprises were sometimes not the best idea.
“I need to make a gesture. To show up when he’s not expecting me, when he’s given up all hope!”
Ah, the drama of it.
“Whatever,” Edie said vaguely.
“Thanks, Ede. Love you!” Rhiannon trilled and rang off, leaving Edie to muster her wits and check her watch. It was the middle of the night in Thailand or Mona would be getting an earful.
The phone rang again, distracting her. And two more calls after that forced her mind back to her work so that she actually jumped when a voice behind her said, “So this is where you work.”
She spun around to see Nick standing in the doorway, hands braced on the uprights as he looked around and then let his gaze come to rest on her. There was a smile on his face.
Business,
Edie reminded herself sharply.
Just business.
“This is my office,” she agreed with a sweep of her hand taking in the room. Mona called it “command central” but it really looked more like a comfortable den than anything else. There was a wall of bookshelves on either side of the fireplace, wide planked floors with a deep burgundy and navy blue Turkish rug, a pair of upholstered armchairs, a comfortably saggy sofa, a double-length heavy Spanish style oak desk with Edie’s computer, printer, scanner and a stack of in-and-out boxes without which she would not be able to survive.
But most impressive of all was the view.
One wall was mostly glass, comprised of floor-to-ceilingwindows around the Spanish-style equivalent of French doors, which opened onto a terrazzo-tiled ramada overhung with bougainvillea. It looked out onto a broad rolling expanse of lawn with an inset naturally landscaped nearly Olympic-size swimming pool. Below the sweep of lawn and the pool, the land fell away steeply so that a grove of eucalyptus treetops were at eye level. Beyond them you could see the rooftops of Santa Barbara and, in the distance, the bulky shape of the Channel Islands in the sea.
“Not bad,” Nick murmured, taking it all in. He slanted her an amused glance. “I’m surprised you get any work done.”
“You get used to it,” Edie confessed as she stood up. “It seems a sacrilege to say so, but unless I consciously stop and look—and sometimes I do—most days I don’t see it. I see work.”
Nick nodded. “Understandable. It’s the same when I’m working on a building. It’s usually some massively impressive place in all the guide books, and all I see is rising damp and rotting timbers.”
“Were there rotting timbers in the stave church?” she asked him. When he’d given her his “tour” in Mont Chamion he had mentioned that his next project was to be a Norwegian stave church restoration. Edie hadn’t been familiar with stave churches then, but as soon as she got home, she’d looked them up online. Now she knew they were medieval wooden churches, and she could well imagine they’d have a few rotten timbers after all these years.
“There were.” Nick nodded. And then he did what she hoped he would do—he began talking about the project.
As long as he kept talking about the church, she could focus on that. She could remind herself that he was here on business, and that it had nothing to do with her.
But then, on the way out of the house, she grabbed a baseball cap and yanked it on. In the summer Santa Barbara, particularly away from the ocean’s edge, could be hot in midafternoon. Once the sun broke through the fog that usually blanketed
“Of course I’m here. Did you think I’d hung up on you?”
“You’re not talking.” It sounded like an accusation.
“I’m writing down the information you just gave me,” Edie said. It wasn’t totally a lie. She’d made a couple of notes. “I’ll make the reservations now. I’ll send you an email and forward them.”
“Great. Thanks. You’re the best. Don’t tell Andrew,” Rhiannon added quickly. “I want to surprise him.”
“Are you sure?” Surprises were sometimes not the best idea.
“I need to make a gesture. To show up when he’s not expecting me, when he’s given up all hope!”
Ah, the drama of it.
“Whatever,” Edie said vaguely.
“Thanks, Ede. Love you!” Rhiannon trilled and rang off, leaving Edie to muster her wits and check her watch. It was the middle of the night in Thailand or Mona would be getting an earful.
The phone rang again, distracting her. And two more calls after that forced her mind back to her work so that she actually jumped when a voice behind her said, “So this is where you work.”
She spun around to see Nick standing in the doorway, hands braced on the uprights as he looked around and then let his gaze come to rest on her. There was a smile on his face.
Business,
Edie reminded herself sharply.
Just business.
“This is my office,” she agreed with a sweep of her hand taking in the room. Mona called it “command central” but it really looked more like a comfortable den than anything else. There was a wall of bookshelves on either side of the fireplace, wide planked floors with a deep burgundy and navy blue Turkish rug, a pair of upholstered armchairs, a comfortably saggy sofa, a double-length heavy Spanish style oak desk with Edie’s computer, printer, scanner and a stack of in-and-out boxes without which she would not be able to survive.
But most impressive of all was the view.
One wall was mostly glass, comprised of floor-to-ceilingwindows around the Spanish-style equivalent of French doors, which opened onto a terrazzo-tiled ramada overhung with bougainvillea. It looked out onto a broad rolling expanse of lawn with an inset naturally landscaped nearly Olympic-size swimming pool. Below the sweep of lawn and the pool, the land fell away steeply so that a grove of eucalyptus treetops were at eye level. Beyond them you could see the rooftops of Santa Barbara and, in the distance, the bulky shape of the Channel Islands in the sea.
“Not bad,” Nick murmured, taking it all in. He slanted her an amused glance. “I’m surprised you get any work done.”
“You get used to it,” Edie confessed as she stood up. “It seems a sacrilege to say so, but unless I consciously stop and look—and sometimes I do—most days I don’t see it. I see work.”
Nick nodded. “Understandable. It’s the same when I’m working on a building. It’s usually some massively impressive place in all the guide books, and all I see is rising damp and rotting timbers.”
“Were there rotting timbers in the stave church?” she asked him. When he’d given her his “tour” in Mont Chamion he had mentioned that his next project was to be a Norwegian stave church restoration. Edie hadn’t been familiar with stave churches then, but as soon as she got home, she’d looked them up online. Now she knew they were medieval wooden churches, and she could well imagine they’d have a few rotten timbers after all these years.
“There were.” Nick nodded. And then he did what she hoped he would do—he began talking about the project.
As long as he kept talking about the church, she could focus on that. She could remind herself that he was here on business, and that it had nothing to do with her.
But then, on the way out of the house, she grabbed a baseball cap and yanked it on. In the summer Santa Barbara, particularly away from the ocean’s edge, could be hot in midafternoon. Once the sun broke through the fog that usually blanketed
Similar Books
