The Ivy House

chapter 8

Phoebe made her way through the lobby of the Osprey Arms. Like her room, it was elegant in a bland sort of way, with reproduction antiques and a rug that did nothing for the place except hide the dirt. The effect was a sort of cheap imitation of what elegance should be. It could be so much more.

She was more intent on checking her bag, making sure she had remembered her pencils, her sketchbook, and her laptop, than in noticing her surroundings, which is why she was so startled when she connected with a wall.

“Ouch,” she said and then looked up. It wasn’t a wall at all, which made sense, since she had been quite sure she’d been walking in the middle of the lobby. Now the contents of her bag, including her sketchbook, were scattered across the floor.

“You,” she said. It was Chase. “Chase Sanders,” she corrected herself. He was standing there, looming above her.

“You weren’t looking where you were going,” he said, but she could see that he was more amused than angry. No, she decided quickly. He wasn’t just amused. He was openly laughing at her. Not surprising, since she was so startled that she had popped back about three feet upon coming in contact with him. He was a lot more solid than he looked and a definite lurker.

“Do you always stand in the middle of hotel lobbies?” Phoebe snapped back, knowing that it wasn’t much of a comeback. She had to look up at him and wished she were wearing higher heels. The Chase of jeans and a windbreaker were gone. This Chase had on tailored slacks, a white button-down, and a dark blue sweater. The expensive sunglasses hung in the v of his sweater and she wondered if he ever went anywhere without them.

He shrugged, the laughter gone, but the amusement still in his eyes. The preppy outfit couldn’t hide the broad shoulders and well-developed biceps, even more apparent because he was standing with his arms crossed.

“Here, let me help you with that.” And before she could tell him to leave her alone, he was on the floor, casually gathering her things up.

It was too much. She had told herself that she would be calm about the whole thing, but, really, this was too much.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” she said, finally, as he stood with her sketchpad and some pencils in his hand.

“And what sort of scheme you’re trying to run.” She felt emboldened and crossed the distance between them. Her finger found his chest and she jabbed it into him, hoping to make her point perfectly clear. “You must be up to something. And just to make it clear, Ivy House is not for sale.”

A puzzled look crossed his face. “Is that what you think the offer was? Some sort of scheme?” He stepped back a little from her poking finger. Phoebe noticed that the guy behind the desk—blond, with a stubby little ponytail and one small gold earring—was paying close attention to them, while pretending to do anything but.

“Yes, that’s what I think it is exactly.” Phoebe felt herself beginning to get worked up. Why else would he have offered so much money for a decrepit house? He was trying to bribe her. That had to be it. Get her to sell and move out and leave Ivy House to the fate of the wrecking ball.

“I don’t think when one is set out to scheme against someone, they make such a generous offer,” Chase said, his voice mild even as he stopped her pointing finger from stabbing him in the chest again. He held her hand for what seemed like a minute too long, and Phoebe was distracted by the thought of how nice and big it felt wrapped around her own. And then she realized she was close enough to smell him and that he smelled good. Fresh soap and some sort of spicy aftershave.

She swallowed. There had been a point somewhere in there. Ah, yes, Chase Sanders was a conniving bastard with a too-sexy-for-words smile. Phoebe drew herself up to her full height. She had fallen for the sexy smile once too often, but this time she was forewarned. If he thought he could try and sneak Ivy House away from her, then he was surely mistaken.

“I don’t know if you think you can steal Ivy House away from me, or what you’re planning on doing with it, but I’m no fool. I’ve done my research. I know what it’s worth and trying to sneak in and steal it from under me is a dirty, underhanded trick.”

“I take it then that you didn’t look at the offer. Because if you had, you would be aware that I offered more than what it was worth.”

Chase released her hand and gave her back her pencils. She took them and shoved them in her bag. He still had her sketchpad, and it was with alarm that she watched him start to flip through the pages.

“What are you doing?” Phoebe knew her voice had risen and also knew that the guy at the reception desk was no longer pretending not to notice what was going on in the middle of his lobby. No, he was avidly staring at the both of them.

Chase looked up at her face and then back down at the pad. He had stopped at one of her latest designs, something she had come up with on the plane. Phoebe held out her hand, feeling her face start to grow red. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he handed the sketchbook back to her. She dropped it into her shoulder bag, relief flooding through her now that it was safely back in her possession.

“I assure you, Ms. Ryan, I wasn’t trying to steal or sneak anything from you.” Chase was smiling again, easy and confident as his blue eyes roamed over her face. Phoebe was aware that her foot was starting to tap impatiently. This encounter wasn’t going quite as she had imagined it.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to deceive you. I was simply making a fair offer for the house,” he said smoothly, and Phoebe took a deep breath.

“I meant what I said; I am interested. It’s a great piece of property and ones like those don’t come on the market very often.”

“Well, I think you might be surprised to find out that you can’t just charm your way into everything.” Phoebe had done a little more research. Chase’s offer had been good, but there was always room to negotiate. That wasn’t what Phoebe intended, but she needed to know where she stood.

Chase smiled a slow, lazy smile, and Phoebe felt her stomach do a little flip-flop. Chase was not handsome, at least not in the pretty-boy Hollywood way she was used to. But he had as much presence as any movie star, and it was hard to keep her mind focused when he turned his dark blue eyes on her.

“Oh, you’re right. I don’t expect charm to work in this case. I figured it was going to take some cold, hard cash to get what I wanted. What do you say? I know I’m breaking one of the first rules of deal making, but that was just my first offer. Care to hear my second?”

There was something almost casually obscene about the way he made the remark, and Phoebe felt herself taking a step away.

“Really, I…” She spun on her heel and walked over to where the guy with the blond ponytail was sitting behind the reception counter. Jim, his nametag read, all of a sudden seemed to be very busy with his computer.

“Excuse me.” Phoebe thumped her hand on the scratched wooden surface of the desk. Jim looked up, an embarrassed smile on his face.

“Can I help you miss?” He asked, sounding like he was anything but eager to do so.

“This man,” Phoebe did a half-turn and pointed to where Chase was standing, arms folded, rocking slightly on his heels, a very amused expression on his face, “is bothering me. I am a guest at this hotel and I demand…”

Before she could continue, Chase spoke up. “It’s quite alright. Sorry to bother you, Ms. Ryan. I’ll be going now. But please, think about what I said.”

The smirk was back on his face and so were his sunglasses, and if Phoebe wasn’t mistaken, she was almost certain his shoulders were shaking ever so slightly as he walked out the swinging double doors and onto the wide porch.

Phoebe turned back to look at Jim, who seemed to be having some sort of choking fit. His face was bright red and when she asked if he was OK, he waved his hand and managed to cough out, “Fine, just fine.”

She left after that, satisfied that she had made her point to the lurking and looming Chase Sanders. Ivy House would not be for sale to him. Savannah did not want her to sell it, at least not to someone who probably only wanted it for the view.

Phoebe started out across the village, taking Hill Road, aptly named because it snaked up the high bluffs that circled the harbor. A mix of colonial and late Victorian houses lined the road, and as she got to the top, it flattened out and little lanes jutted off, leading to the water’s edge. Ivy Lane was just a half mile up from Queensbay, but it was a steep hike, and she was just a little bit winded when she made it to the front gate.

Ivy House stood there, starkly white against a bluer-than-blue spring sky. It had beckoned to her since yesterday. All of last night she had dreamt of it, strange dreams that had played out like one of Savannah’s black-and-white movies. Looking at the house now, the images came back to her. Savannah had appeared, dressed in a simple flowing dress, an elegant blonde. Stepping into the frame had been an older, distinguished man, Leland Harper, dark haired, white suited.

Savannah and Leland’s affair and marriage had been so passionate that books had been written and even a miniseries had been based on it. Phoebe’s grandmother hardly ever talked about Leland, so Phoebe had done what any kid would do. She’d gone to the internet, watched the miniseries—filled with B-list actors—read the books, and tried to imagine what it had been like.

Savannah and Leland had decided that the best way to quell the uproar was to appear normal. So, they had stayed in Queensbay, Leland’s hometown, and had tried to live like normal people for a while, as normal as a movie star and millionaire could be. The happily-ever-after hadn’t lasted, of course. They were too close to Leland’s ex-wife, who wouldn’t leave them alone, and Savannah couldn’t be kept from acting.

No one knew if it would have lasted since Leland had died in an airplane crash, making the story tragic and epic. Still, from the dreamy look Savannah got on her face whenever she talked about Leland and Queensbay, Phoebe knew that Ivy House had been a special place.

Now looking at the house, Phoebe tried to sense the magic Savannah had written about in her letter. The house was beautiful, at least if you looked past the cosmetic blemishes. The white tower that shot up lent the house a quirky sense of possibility. Magic, though? Phoebe looked around at the overgrown garden, the rusted fence, and the broken flagstones. She closed her eyes, breathed in the scent of the water, and let the movie play again in her mind.

Ivy House was gleaming white, the sky blue, the water bluer. Seagulls wheeled in the sky and a light wind rustled the oaks. Foxgloves and lupine bloomed, and the fence was a gleaming black. There was the sound of laughter and the porch invited you to sit. The door was painted Phoebe’s favorite color, a slate blue, and the brass knocker shone.

Smiling, Phoebe opened her eyes. Perhaps this was it, what she needed. Maybe Savannah had truly meant to give her something that needed to be put back together again. She could restore Ivy House, whether for herself or to sell it; maybe that didn’t matter. But it would be a project, real, honest work while she sorted out her life. It was the perfect reason to disappear from her old life for a while. And if she decided to sell it, she could be choosy, sell it to someone who didn’t want to tear it down, someone who would respect it.