“‘Chopsticks’ is the top of my game.” But she ran her hand over the piano as she wandered the room. “Do you?”
“I can fake some boogie-woogie if I’ve had enough beer. Most of the paintings in here are Collin’s work.”
He’d painted the sea in myriad moods.
“Your father was an artist.”
“Yes. Their styles are very similar. I don’t know if that’s comforting or disconcerting.”
“It’s a lot to deal with.”
She heard comfort in his voice, and took it. “Working on it. So, this is a friendly room. I didn’t know what to expect.”
“Through here’s another, smaller sitting room, then the solarium.”
He led the way.
“Oh! The base of the turret. It’s wonderful. They didn’t square it off.”
The tall, rounded windows poured light into the room. It held deeply cushioned chairs in that same peacock blue, a love seat in that strong blue with rose-colored stripes. Tables she thought must be antique.
And plants. A potted tree that dripped with what looked like tiny oranges, another with lemons. Another plant with glossy leaves showcased a pair of large white flowers.
She recognized a jade plant, as her mother had one, but the one gracing a stand was fully three times as big.
“So much light even on a day like this. Now I’m terrified I’ll kill the plants.”
“Collin had a knack for them.”
“I’m sorry.” She straightened from sniffing at one of the white blooms, so fragrant it made her heart sigh. “I should’ve said it before. You were close, and it’s a loss for you.”
“Thanks. It is.”
They continued on. Another parlor, another space he called the morning room, a music room with another piano—a baby grand this time, and other instruments including a floor harp, a hurdy-gurdy, a cello.
“Collected by various Pooles over the years,” Trey explained. “In a lot of ways the house is a museum of your family history. Formal dining room.”
“I’ll say. Jeez.”
A dozen tall, curved-back chairs lined each side of the massive table, while two more stood at each end. Another fireplace, fire simmering. And still the room had space enough for a pair of huge buffets. Art and mirrors ranged along the walls papered with fat white geraniums over deep blue.
She imagined that the pair of candelabras serving as table centerpieces were actual silver.
“You know, I was nervous the entire drive up here. Couldn’t even eat any of the snickerdoodles my neighbor gave me for the trip.”
“You have snickerdoodles?”
“I do.” He made her laugh a little. “I’ll share as your fee for this tour. But I want to say those nerves disappeared at my first sight of the house. Now they’re back. Big-time back.”
“Not a formal-dinner-party-for-twenty kind of woman?”
“More a let’s-order-pizza sort. I don’t suppose the pizza place I saw in town delivers up here.”
“Ah…”
“I was afraid of that. It’s a beautiful room. In a terrifying way.”
He led her through another door.
“Oh. Hear my sigh of relief.”
“Family dining room and kitchen. The kitchen was put in sometime in the twenties, I think. Collin updated it. A couple of times.”
“But it still fits the house, doesn’t it? Not in-your-face modern. And a little fireplace.”
She moved past the pretty table and its sensible eight chairs into a kitchen with dark wood cabinets, some with pebbled glass fronts, against walls that reminded her of the forest shadows. The white appliances kept it from looking too sleek. He’d contrasted the dark cabinetry with cream on the island. Counters of pale gray covered it, and ran alongside a deep farm sink.
“He was a hell of a good cook.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. He and my mom—also a hell of a good cook—used to exchange recipes. You cook?”
“That depends on your definition of cook.”
“Yeah.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “I fall into that category. Fortunately, my friend’s the head chef at the Lobster Cage in the village, and I can mooch off my parents, my grandparents. Anyway, we stocked the fridge and butler’s pantry.”
“There’s a butler’s pantry.” Overwhelmed, she blew out a breath.
“With a dumbwaiter.”
“Get out!”
She turned into the ell of the main kitchen. More cabinets, another sink, a wine cooler and ice maker under the counter.
Trey opened one of the lower cabinets.
“He had it updated, but wanted to keep the original feel. It goes down to what was the original kitchen.”
He pressed a button, and the bottom lowered with a mechanical hum.
It made her laugh. “It’s my first dumbwaiter. What did he use it for?”
“He renovated some of the servants’ area.” After pressing the button to bring it back up, Trey closed the cabinets. “He made use of a lot of the space.”
“He must’ve loved the house. Thanks for stocking me up. I didn’t expect you to do all that.”
“No problem. Especially since I’m going to bum a Coke.”
“Bum one for me while you’re at it.” She walked back into the kitchen, to the window over the sink. “So a deck over the—is it a basement?”
“Not the actual basement, no. Collin added that, a kind of apartment. Self-contained. He had a couple—housekeeper, handyman—living here until about six, seven years ago, I guess. They retired, and he never had anyone else live in. Want a glass?”
“No, the bottle’s fine.”
“I’ve got a list of names for that kind of thing. Cleaning, repair, yard work.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking about hiring anyone.”
“It’s a big house,” he pointed out. “You’ll probably close some rooms off, but it’s a big house. You’ve got a snowblower and a lawn tractor in the little shed, but it’s a lot of work.”
“I’ll think about it.”
They wound their way back to the front of the house. Another powder room—she’d made use of the first they’d come to. A den—and the first television she’d seen in the place.
“Did he game?” she asked, noting the system.
“Not really. He put that in for me and my sister, our pals.”
“You spent a lot of time here.”
“After his wife died…”
“Another lost bride.”
“Yeah. Before, Dad says Collin was outgoing. He liked to travel. You’ve seen some of his art is of Europe, or out west, all over. But after, he closed in. He liked having us come—my family, and some of my friends, Anna’s. But he hardly left the house, the grounds, especially in the last few years. If he wanted to go somewhere, he’d go on the internet. That’s what he used to tell me. He used this as his office.”
She could work here, Sonya thought as she stepped in. A good desk, space for her mood boards, a fireplace for warmth and cheer. Decent light—or it would be on clear days. What she assumed was a closet for storing supplies.
Then she saw it, over the fireplace.
The manor in the magical glow of a full moon. Moody and brilliant, the subtle light, the deep shadows, the gleam against glass in the turrets.
“That’s my father’s work.”
Her voice felt tight in her throat as she moved closer.
“Are you sure? I don’t see how—”