The Ivy House

chapter 12

Phoebe retreated to Ivy House. She had discarded the rest of the cookie and was now eating an apple while she doodled. The internet had been set up in the house, and Lynn had let her borrow a couple of sawhorses and a large piece of plywood from her father’s garage. It was serving as a temporary desk and that was just what Phoebe needed.

Joan Altieri had called just after lunch, while Phoebe was busy scrubbing kitchen cabinets. A customer had seen the pillows Chase had bought and wanted some just like it. Did she have more?

Phoebe took a deep breath, lied, and said yes. There was no way she was going to say no to another sale. As soon as she got off the phone with Joan, she called up her workshop in California.

Angela, the manager there, was nice, but always fretting, and Phoebe had to stop herself from screaming with frustration. That would only make Angela fret more and delay the process of her getting any more pillows. Finally, Angela admitted that they did have some stock in the warehouse space that Phoebe rented from them, and that she could send out some pillows by tomorrow morning.

Triumphant, Phoebe fist-pumped and got off the phone before Angela could change her mind. Walking over to her computer, she tapped on the keyboard until her website came up. She sighed. It was a piece of crap. Well, not exactly. It looked good, with beautiful pictures of her designs and even a pretty good headshot of her on it, one that she had bartered for. A duvet cover captured her in a slightly sexy, somewhat just-woke-up kind of look. Phoebe’s only quibble was that her resemblance to Savannah was too evident. Dean had suggested that she mention her relationship to Savannah in her bio, but Phoebe had balked. She wanted people to buy her products because they liked the design, not because she was related to someone famous. Dean had smiled at her and shook his head at her naiveté.

But Phoebe wasn’t being naive. She knew that putting the Savannah relationship out there could only help her, but it still didn’t sit well with her. Savannah too had thought her silly not to make use of her fame, but Phoebe knew that she had also admired her determination to make it based on talent.

Nope, the problem with the site, Phoebe thought, was that it was hard for people to order something from it. Sure, they could email her with inquiries, but there was no way for people to add things to a shopping cart, pay with a credit card, all of that stuff everyone else seemed to have. Something would have to be done about it.

“You look like you’re on cloud nine,” Lynn said, appearing in her doorway. “I did knock, but you didn’t hear me.”

“Sorry.” Phoebe stood up and stretched. Work and pillows had been a nice distraction from Chase Sanders and his chocolate-chip cookie. “I was on the phone.”

“No problem. So you got the internet up?” Lynn asked, nodding at her computer, and before Phoebe could say anything else, she continued. “By the way, my futon from college is just sitting in the basement. It’s not much, but my mom wants to lend it to you if you’d like, until you get a real bed. That’s if you’re serious about not wanting to stay at the Osprey Arms. She also told me to tell you that you’re more than welcome to the guest bedroom.”

Phoebe looked up. “That would be great. The futon, I mean. I don’t suppose we could move it ourselves.”

Lynn smiled and her dark ponytail bounced as she held up her arms, muscle-man style. “With these guns, we can move anything we want.”

Phoebe laughed, but she knew Lynn was serious. She’d already received a lecture from Lynn on the importance of weight training and been subjected to a rundown of just how much Lynn could bench press.

“Well, sounds good.” Phoebe would be happy to move out of the Osprey Arms. The view at Ivy House was better and it was, for the moment, free.

“Whatcha looking at?” Lynn said, coming around to the computer.

“Oh,” Phoebe said, her mind going back to the morning with Chase. “I sold some of my pillows to The Garden Cottage. You know, that shop in town.”

Lynn nodded. “Sure do, my mom loves that place. My brother calls the owner around Mother’s Day, gives her a spending limit, and tells her to pick something out and wrap it up. Looks like a champ every year.”

Phoebe laughed. She’d only seen pictures of Kyle, but knew he had a job that kept him traveling a lot.

“Well, tell him this year, he wants to order a Phoebe Ryan original.”

“Will do. Is that your website?”

Phoebe nodded. Lynn was looking at the picture of her.

“The resemblance is really uncanny when you look like that.” Lynn was looking at the picture of her. The dress was a lot sexier than she would normally wear, and Dean had made her get her hair and makeup done before the shoot. Normally, Phoebe was a lip-gloss-only type of girl.

“I know. But luckily, I don’t wear stilettos and plunging necklines. Hard to be creative when you’re uncomfortable. At least it is for me. But,” Phoebe said, thinking maybe Lynn could help her, “I do need some help with the website. I need to put a shopping cart in and be able to accept credit cards and the like. Do you know anyone around here who could help me with that?”

Lynn looked up, lips pursed, and then she snapped her fingers. “Yeah I do. Tory. She’s some sort of computer whiz. She helped out with the website for the clinic, and she works for Chase Sanders.”

“Chase?” Phoebe said, trying to keep her voice neutral, but Lynn picked up on it immediately.

“You know him? Well, I mean, of course you know him, you must.”

“What do you mean?” Phoebe asked, a moment of panic coming to her as she thought about the cookie on the street. It had been good and she had been into it, but really, people couldn’t be drawing conclusions, could they?

“Well, you’re kind of almost related.” Lynn saw the look on Phoebe’s face and backpedaled. “Well, not really.”

“What are you talking about?”

Lynn looked at her, confused. “You mean you really don’t know who Chase Sanders is?”

“He’s some guy who wants to buy this house. And he bought pillows from me. And gave me a chocolate-chip cookie.” Which was so good, Phoebe thought, that she had to lean against a wall to catch her breath.

“And that’s all you know about him?”

“Well, he’s cocky and arrogant…” Phoebe added, remembering how Chase’s finger had brushed against her cheek in search of an errant piece of chocolate.

“And a total player.” Lynn nodded. “Pretty much everyone agrees on that score. But that’s not all.”

Phoebe shook her head in ignorance.

“Here, let me.” Lynn pulled the computer to her, typed in something, and stood back. Phoebe stared down at the image on the screen.

“Why am I looking at a picture of Savannah Ryan and Leland…” Phoebe trailed off, not believing what her eyes were telling her.

“Can you see the resemblance now?” Lynn asked.

“What…How…” Phoebe sat down on the rusted folding chair.

“Chase Sanders is Leland Harper’s grandson. You know, from his daughter from his first marriage. She married a Sanders.”

“And he lives here in Queensbay?”

“Yes…has lived here his whole life, I heard. I guess his grandmother remarried and stayed here. You mean you never saw how much he looked like Leland?”

Phoebe shook her head. “Savannah didn’t keep many pictures. At least not the ones that were out. She didn’t like to be reminded of him. Too painful.”

It took a moment for it to all sink in. Chase Sanders, he of the ridiculously high offer for Ivy House, he of the pillow buying, chocolate-chip-dispensing charm was Leland Harper’s grandson. And he had known all along.

It took about a moment for the shock of it all to wear off and be replaced by searing hot anger.

<<>>

Outrage propelled Phoebe out of the house, down the hill, and towards the marina. She brought herself up short at the top of the marina’s docks, her eyes scanning for dark hair and sunglasses.

“Can I help you, miss?” She looked up. A boy, blondish hair, an earring in one ear, and a polo shirt embroidered with the words “Queensbay Marina” was looking at her.

“Chase Sanders,” she barked.

He glanced her over, then decided that she was harmless, and pointed down to one of the long narrow docks.

“The Windsway, berth eighty-nine.”

“Thank you,” Phoebe managed to say.

A hand touched her arm, and Lynn pulled her around.

“Phoebe, are you sure you should be doing this?” Lynn’s brown eyes were round with concern.

“Oh, I am sure,” Phoebe said, starting down the ramp. The dock bobbed as she stepped on it, and it took a moment for her to catch her footing.

The slips were all numbered, and she walked carefully along. Lynn followed her, calling out suggestions. “You know, maybe you should phone him first.”

“What, and give him a chance to come up with some story?” Phoebe said. They were at slip eighty, and she practically jogged the rest of the way to his boat, drawing up short when she came to it. Now that she was here, she wasn’t quite sure what to do next. She could hear voices coming from inside the boat. It was a sailboat—long, sleek, with a white hull and a blue sunshade over half of the cockpit. The chrome gleamed and the wood shone. Lines were neatly coiled around cleats and winches.

There was the sound of laughter, high, girlish, and then a lower, deeper, answering chuckle.

She hadn’t expected him to have company.

Lynn came up beside Phoebe and looked at her. Phoebe knew there was no turning back.

“Chase Sanders.”

“Try again,” Lynn suggested. “Louder. Let him know how riled up you are.”

Lynn seemed to be enjoying this way too much.

“Chase Sanders, I need to talk to you.” Phoebe called and this time her voice was loud and true.

There were sounds of rustling and then a head popped up, one with long, light brown hair, the color of caramel, followed by eyes of the same color, and then came the rest of the body, goldenly tanned, dressed in a pink polo shirt and straight-leg khakis.

The girl, who looked like she could have been a college student, swung her eyes between Lynn and Phoebe, gave a nod to Lynn, and then stuck her head down from where she had come.

“Chase, there’s someone here to see you.”

Another bit of rustling and Chase appeared.

“What?” His hair was mussed, and he had a finger in his mouth, as if he’d hurt it.

“Oh, thank God, a doctor,” he said when he saw Lynn. He pulled his hand up and they saw blood flowing freely.

Lynn went into doctor mode, and Phoebe was left on the sidelines.

After a brief examination, during which Lynn told the other girl to get the first aid kit, Lynn pronounced Chase fine.

“Just keep it clean and a bandage on it for a day.”

“I don’t need a tetanus shot?” Chase asked. He was sitting in the cockpit, looking like he was used to women hovering about him. Phoebe had stayed on the dock, arms crossed, kicking at it harmlessly with her toe.

“I don’t know,” Lynn said, cleaning up the supplies from the medical kit and handing it back to the girl. “When was the last time you had one?”

“Not a clue.”

Lynn snorted. “How rusty a nail?”

The other girl rolled her head. “It was a paper cut. Chase was pushing papers and I was trying to calibrate his radar system.”

“I think it was a splinter.” Chase said, his eyes turning puppy-dog round, but Lynn was unmoved.

“A paper cut is more likely.”

Phoebe looked up and caught Chase gazing at her, his blue eyes filled with interest. She turned and paced another length of the boat.

“Look, I gotta get back to the office, Chase. I have a call with the West Coast over online promotions.”

“Great, Tory, thanks for trying to fix the radar system.”

“Trying?” the girl, Tory, Phoebe supposed it was, tossed her caramel-color hair as she easily landed on the dock. “It’s fixed. You can bring me a mocchachino later. See you, Lynn.”

The girl shot a smile at Chase and Lynn, gave a nod and a wave to Phoebe, and walked back towards land without another look.

Lynn glanced uneasily between Chase and Phoebe. “I think the clinic just buzzed me. I’ll catch you later.”

She too jumped lightly on the dock and made a discreet “call me” gesture before leaving.

Phoebe drew up near the little step stool that Chase had set up to make it easier to get on board the boat.

“Glad you came by. Tory’s a genius with computers, but I think the sight of blood makes her faint.” Chase smiled at her, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

Phoebe said nothing, trying to fight the trembling that had come over her.

“You know you’re supposed to ask permission to come aboard?” Chase said, the know-it-all grin back.

“I don’t think I need to ask anything of you,” Phoebe said. Her tone almost wiped the smirk off Chase’s face.

“How dare you?” she began and found that she was trembling.

“Whoa, what did I do?” He stood up and the boat moved with him. Phoebe thought better about climbing aboard as he crossed the space of the cockpit and was now standing at the railing looking over her. She didn’t need to be in a confined space with him.

“It’s more like what you didn’t do.”

“What are you talking about?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

“How could you have not told me?” Phoebe found that she had gone from angry to upset and her voice showed it. If Savannah had been here, she would have known how to play to the scene. But she wasn’t. Instead, Phoebe was facing Chase Sanders, Leland Harper’s grandson.

“Told you…You mean you didn’t know?”

“Of course I didn’t know. You’re Leland Harper’s grandson.”

“So?” Chase said, and he jumped lightly onto the dock. It moved gently underneath them, and a seagull that had been posed on a piling took flight into the warm blue sky.

He was there, right in front of her, standing too close to her. She took a step back and found that her way was blocked, that there was something, a large pole, behind her. To step around would make it obvious that she was trying to get away from him, and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Don’t you think you might have mentioned it?”

Chase shrugged. He didn’t have his sunglasses on, and she could see just how blue his eyes were, the sapphire of them surrounded by little lines that fanned out from the corners.

“I guess I was waiting for the right time. Besides, it’s a bit of an awkward way to open a conversation, don’t you think?”

Phoebe didn’t say anything, so he continued. “Anyway, what does it matter?”

“Matter?” Phoebe knew her voice sounded shrill even to her own ears. “Matter. Why do you want the house? Some sort of evil vendetta?”

“Vendetta?” Chase looked puzzled. “What are you talking about? It’s a house…”

He didn’t get any further than that.

“I know what you Harpers are capable of. And if you think you can drive me out of town, make me miserable, just like you did to Savannah, you have another thing coming.”

“What…Make you miserable…Your grandmother was the home wrecker.”

“Home wrecker?” Phoebe fought for control. “She was an amazing actress, an American legend.”

“God,” Chase rolled his eyes. His nonchalant grin had been replaced by something more like annoyance. “You’re starting to sound like those crappy Hollywood tribute programs, ‘Savannah Ryan, the golden child, blah, blah…’”

“Well, at least she wasn’t some dried-up prune of a woman who hounded her ex-husband when he wouldn’t take her back.”

“Oh, please, like you would know. What is that, the Savannah Ryan Hollywood version of the story?”

They were yelling at each other full on. Phoebe realized that more than a few people had popped their heads out of boats and were looking at them with open interest.

Chase was also very close to her, so close that she could see the way the blue of his eyes was pierced by lighter flecks. They were like pools of water, great, deep, inviting pools of water, and she felt hot all of a sudden, even though the day wasn’t that warm, and she was in the shade of the boat.

Now it was Chase’s turn to point his finger and, though he kept it from touching her, it wagged annoyingly in her face.

“You might think you can come here, all high and mighty, Ms. Hollywood, but not everyone in this town wants to see that house torn down.”

“Torn down?” she said, puzzled, not quite sure where this conversation was going.

“It’s practically a piece of history, and maybe all you people from California want new and shiny and modern, but here in Queensbay, in my town…”

“Your town?”

“My town, that’s right, we believe in preserving history, not destroying it.”

“I don’t want to destroy it…” Before Phoebe was able to go any further, there was the sound of pounding feet and an anxious voice.

“Chase.” Phoebe looked over Chase’s shoulder. It was that girl again, Tory, with the caramel-colored hair.

“Not now, Tory,” Chase said without turning.

“Ahh, I think you’re going to want to come. There’s an issue down in Florida.”

“Take care of it,” Chase said, but he turned to look.

Phoebe saw that Tory was wringing her hands and looked genuinely distressed.

He turned back to Phoebe. “This,” he said, “isn’t over.” He spun around and walked up the dock, Tory talking to him urgently. The surface under Phoebe swayed a little and she leaned back into the piling. What had just happened?

<<>>

“Do people think I want to tear down Ivy House?” Phoebe asked Lynn. They were sharing a bottle of wine Lynn had brought over, along with cheese and crackers, sitting on the low stone wall that marked the border of the terrace.

“Well,” Lynn said.

“Come on, tell me.”

“I guess the thought was that you were some big Hollywood hotshot. What would you want with some big old pile like this?” Lynn trailed off.

“You look guilty,” Phoebe said. Lynn had brought along some chair cushions, but still the ledge was not the most comfortable thing in the world. There was an old garden bench tucked under a tree. It was rickety, but with a little work, it would be serviceable. Maybe that should be one of her first projects.

“Who me?” Lynn popped a cracker with a wedge of cheese on it into her mouth.

“Is that why you were so friendly to me? What, did the Historical Commission send you up to make sure I wasn’t going to tear the place down and put up some ultra-modern white box?”

Lynn shook her head. “No, of course not. Well, not exactly. But they did ask me what I thought. And I told them you didn’t plan on it. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a gossip, but seriously, you do not want these old biddies on your case. Look, it’s your house and if that’s what you want to do…”

Phoebe shifted as a pointy bit of stone was jabbing her in the thing. “So why does Chase Sanders think that’s what I’m going to do?”

Lynn considered for a moment and then a smile spread across her face.

“What is it?” Phoebe knew Lynn was onto something.

“Didn’t you say that Chase offered an obscene amount of money for the house?”

“Yeah, I thought he wanted the view,” Phoebe said.

“No way. He loves the house. Totally thinks the family connection is cool. I mean, at least that’s how I heard him talk about it at one of the Yacht Club things.”

“So he’s serious about wanting the house. He doesn’t want to tear it down as part of some sort of revenge fantasy against Savannah?”

Lynn shook her head. “No, but there is someone who benefits if you sell this place. More so if she has an eager buyer who thinks you might need a ridiculous offer to be persuaded to part with it?”

Phoebe almost smiled too. “Ahh, a little negotiating ploy by the real estate agent.” The sun was setting, sending soft rays of light out along the water. The harbor was calm, almost glasslike, which seemed to happen often at dusk. It was quiet and peaceful, and soon the lights in the houses sitting on the bluffs would start to wink on. Most of the boats were safely back in port for the night, and the only real sound was the gentle bell tolling on one of the channel markers.

“Well, both of them will be very sorry. I’m certainly not going to be tearing this place down.” Phoebe turned to look at the house behind her. She had taken Lynn up on her offer of the futon. By tomorrow night, she would have moved in enough at Ivy House to give up her room at the Osprey Arms.

“And what about Chase Sanders?” Lynn asked, taking a sip of her wine, her brown eyes twinkling above the rim.

“What about him?” Phoebe tried to forget the way his blue eyes had flashed at her, raising her body heat through the roof. “I think Queensbay is big enough for the two of us. And if I don’t intend to tear the house down, I don’t suppose the natives, including those old biddies, will have anything to complain about, will they?”

“Not likely,” Lynn said, and Phoebe decided to ignore the doubt she heard in her voice.