The Dream Unfolds Page 3

  If there was one thing Gideon hated, it was people who managed to hold it together when he was feeling strewn. This woman was doing just that, which didn’t endear her to him in the least. “Well, she should have let me know first,” he barked. “I’m the one in charge here, I ought to know what’s going on. If we’re having visitors to the site, I can alert my men. There’s no reason why they should be shocked the way they were.”

  “You’re right,” she agreed. “What’s wrong with them? Haven’t they ever seen a woman before?”

  She was totally innocent, totally direct and quite cutting with that last statement. Gideon shifted her closer in ilk to Elizabeth again. “Oh, they’ve seen women. They’ve seen lots of them, and in great and frequent intimacy, I’d wager. But what you just did was like a woman showing up in the men’s john.”

  She had the gall to laugh, but it, too, had an innocent ring. “Cute analogy, though it’s not quite appropriate. The sign out front says Private Way. It doesn’t say No Women Allowed. Is it my fault if your men get so rattled by the sight of a woman that they become unglued? Face it. You should be yelling at them, not me.”

  She had a point, he supposed, but he wasn’t about to admit it. She had a quiet confidence to her that didn’t need stroking. “The fact is that your appearance here has messed us up.”

  “I’m sorry for that.”

  “Fine for you to be sorry, after the fact.”

  “It’s better than nothing, which is what I’m getting from you. You could try an apology, too.”

  “For what?”

  “Nearly killing me. If I’d been a little closer, or that piece had shattered and bounced, I’d be lying on the ground bleeding right now.”

  He gave her a once-over, then drawled, “That wouldn’t do much for your outfit.”

  “It wouldn’t do much for your future, unless you have a fondness for lawsuits.”

  “You don’t have the basis for any lawsuit.”

  “I don’t know about that. You and your men were clearly negligent in this case.”

  Gideon drew himself straighter, making the most of his six-foot-four-inch frame. “So you’re judge and jury rolled into one?”

  She drew herself straighter to match, though she didn’t have more than five foot seven to work with. “Actually, I’m an interior designer. It may well be that I’ll be working on this project.”

  “Not if I can help it,” he said, because she was a little too sure of herself, he thought.

  “Well, then,” she turned to leave, “it’s a good thing you’re not anyone who counts. If I take this job, I’ll be answerable to the Crosslyn Rise consortium, not to some job foreman who can’t control his men.” With a final direct look, she started off.

  Gideon almost let her go. After all, they were far enough from the building that his men hadn’t heard what she’d said, so he didn’t have to think about saving face, at least, not before them. There was, of course, the matter of his own pride. For years he’d been fighting for respect, and he was doing it now, on several levels, with this project. The final barrier to fall would be with people like this one, who were educated and cultured and arrogant enough to choke a horse.

  “You really think you’re something, don’t you?” he called.

  She stopped but didn’t turn. “No. Not really. I’m just stating the facts.”

  “You don’t know the facts.”

  “I know that the consortium controls this project. It isn’t some sort of workmen’s cooperative.”

  “In some ways it is. Carter Malloy is in the consortium, and he’s the architect of record. Nina Stone is in the consortium, and she’ll be marketing us.”

  There was an expectancy to her quiet. “So?”

  He savored the impending satisfaction. “So I’m not just ‘some job foreman.’ I’m the general contractor here. I also happen to be a member of that consortium.”

  For another minute, she didn’t move. Then, very slowly she turned her head and looked at him, in a new light, he thought.

  He touched a finger to the nonexistent visor of the wool cap perched on the top of his head. “Name’s Gideon Lowe. See y’in the boardroom.” With that, he turned back to his men, yelled, “Let’s get this mess cleaned up,” and set about doing just that with a definitive spring to his step.

  * * *

  Christine Gillette was appalled. She hadn’t imagined that the man who’d blasted her so unfairly was a member of the consortium. Granted, he was better spoken than some of the laborers she’d met. But he’d been bullheaded and rough-hewn, not at all in keeping with the image she had of polished men sitting around a boardroom table with Jessica Crosslyn Malloy at its head.

  Unsure as to what to say or do, she turned and left when he returned to his work. During the forty-minute drive back to her Belmont office, she replayed their conversation over and over in her mind and never failed to feel badly at its end. She wasn’t normally the kind to cut down other people with words, though she did feel she’d had provocation. She also felt that she was right. She had apologized. What more could she do?

  The fact remained, though, that in several weeks’ time she’d be making a presentation to the Crosslyn Rise consortium. Gideon Lowe would be there, no doubt wearing a smug smile on his handsome face. She was sure he’d be the first to vote against her. Smug, handsome, physical men were like that, she knew. They defined the world in macho terms and were perfectly capable of acting on that principle alone. No way would he willingly allow her to work on his project.

  She wished she could say that she didn’t care, that Crosslyn Rise was just another project, that something else as good would come along. But Crosslyn Rise was special, not only in terms of the project itself but what it would mean to her. She’d been a designer for nearly ten years, working her way up from the most modest jobs—even freebies, at first—to jobs that were larger and more prestigious. This job, if she got it, would be the largest and most prestigious yet. From a designer’s standpoint, given the possibilities between the condominium clusters and the mansion, it was exciting. In terms of her career, it was even more so.

  Her mind was filled with these thoughts and others when she arrived at her office. Margie Dow, her secretary, greeted her with a wave, then an ominous, “Sybil Thompson’s on the warpath. She’s called three times in the last two hours. She says she needs to talk with you.”

  Chris rolled her eyes, took the other pink slips that Margie handed her and headed into her office. Knowing that waiting wouldn’t make things any better, she dialed Sybil’s number. “Hi, Sybil. It’s Chris. I just this minute got back to the office. Margie tells me you have a problem.”

  “I have a problem?” Sybil asked, giving Chris a premonition of what was coming. “You have a problem. I just came from Stanley’s. Your people put down the wrong rug.”

  Stanley was Sybil’s husband and a lawyer, and the carpeting in question was for his new suite of offices. Chris had been hired as the decorator one short month before and had been quite blunt, when Stanley and his partners had said that they wanted the place looking great within the week, about saying that quality outfittings were hard to find off the rack. They’d agreed to the month, and she’d done her best, running back and forth with pictures and swatches and samples, placing rush orders on some items, calling around to locate others in less well-traveled outlets. Now Sybil was saying that one of those items wasn’t right.

  Propping a shoulder to the phone to hold it at her ear, Chris went around her desk to the file cabinet, opened it and thumbed through. “I was there yesterday afternoon when it was installed, Sybil. It’s the one we ordered.”

  “But it’s too dark. Every tiny little bit of lint shows. It’ll look filthy all the time.”

  “No. It’s elegant.” She extracted a file. It held order forms, sales receipts and invoices relating to the Thompsons’ account. “It goes perfectly with the rest of the decor.” She began flipping through.

  “It’s too dark. It really
is. I’m sure we chose something lighter. Check the order form and you’ll see.”

  “That’s what I’m doing right now. According to this,” Chris studied the slip, “we ordered Bold Burgundy, and Bold Burgundy is the color we installed yesterday.”

  “It can’t be.”

  “It is.” She spoke gently, easily understanding Sybil’s confusion. “Everything was done quickly. You looked at samples of carpeting, chose what you wanted, and I ordered it. When things move fast like that, with as much done at one time as you did, it’s only natural to remember some things one way and some things another way. I’d do it myself, if I didn’t write everything down.” Of course, that wasn’t the only reason she wrote everything down. The major reason was to protect herself from clients who ordered one thing, saw it installed, then decided that it wasn’t what they wanted after all. She didn’t know whether Sybil fell into that category or whether this was an innocent mix-up. But Chris did have the papers to back up her case.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Sybil said. “Still, that carpet’s going to look awful.”

  “It won’t. The cleaning people come through to vacuum every night. Besides, you don’t get half the lint in a lawyer’s office as you get at home, especially when you’re dealing with the upscale clientele that your husband is. Trust me. Bold Burgundy looks great.”

  Sybil was weakening. “You think so?”

  “I know so. Just wait. Give it a few weeks and see what the clients say. They’ll rave about it. I’m sure. That carpeting gives a rich look. They’ll feel privileged to be there, without knowing why.”

  Sybil agreed to wait. Satisfied, Chris hung up the phone and returned the folder to the cabinet. Then she opened another drawer, removed a thick cardboard tube, slid out the blueprints for Crosslyn Rise and spread them on her desk.

  Carter was brilliant. She had to hand it to him. What he’d done—taking the Georgian colonial theme from the mansion, modifying columns and balconies, elongating the roof and adding skylights to give just a hint of something more contemporary—was perfect. The housing clusters were subtle and elegant, nestling into the setting as though they’d been there forever.

  She sighed. She wanted to work on this project in one regard that had nothing to do with either challenge, prestige or money. It had to do with Crosslyn Rise itself. She thought it was gorgeous, real dream material. If ever she pictured a place she would have liked to call home, it was the mansion on the rise. Doing the decorating for it was the next best thing to living there.

  She wanted that job.

  Picking up the phone, she dialed Jessica Malloy’s Harvard office. Despite what she’d told Gideon, Jessica and she were less friends than acquaintances. They had a mutual friend, who was actually the one to suggest to Jessica that Chris do the work on the Rise. They had met after that and hit it off. Though Chris knew that other designers were being considered for the job, she was sure she could compete—unless Gideon Lowe blackballed her.

  “Hi,” she said to the secretary who answered, “this is Christine Gillette. I’m looking for Jessica. Has she come back from her honeymoon?”

  “She certainly has,” the woman said. “Hold on, please.”

  Less than a minute later, Jessica came on the phone. “Christine, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, but, hey, congratulations on your marriage.” Last time they’d talked, Jessica had been up to her ears in plans. Apparently the wedding had been something of a last-minute affair thanks to Carter, who had refused to wait once Jessica had finally agreed to marry him. “I take it everything went well?”

  “Perfectly,” Jessica said.

  Chris could hear her smile and was envious. “And the trip to Paris?”

  “Too short, but sweet.”

  And terribly romantic, Chris was sure. Paris was that way, or so she was told. She’d never been there herself. “I’m sure you’ll get back some day. Maybe for your fiftieth anniversary?”

  “Lord, we’ll be doddering by then,” Jessica said, laughing, and again Chris was envious. To have someone special, like Jessica had Carter, was precious. So was growing old with that someone special. She hoped Jessica knew how lucky she was.

  “I wouldn’t worry about doddering. You have years of happiness ahead. I wish you both all the best.”

  “Thanks, Chris. But enough about me. Tell me what’s doing with you. You are getting a presentation ready for us, aren’t you?”

  “Definitely,” Chris said and took a breath, “but I had a small problem this morning. I’m afraid I went out to the Rise to walk around, and I upset some of the men working there.”

  “You upset them? I’d have thought it’d be the other way around. What they’re doing to my gorgeous land upsets me to no end.”

  “But the mess is only temporary. You know that.”

  “I know, and I’m really excited about Carter’s plans and about what the Rise will be, and I know this was my only out, since I couldn’t afford the upkeep, not to mention repairs and renovations—” She caught her breath. “Still, I have such sentimental feelings for the place that it’s hard for me when even the smallest tree is felled.”

  “I can understand that,” Chris said with a smile. She really liked Jessica, among other things for the fact that she wasn’t a money grubber. In that sense, Chris identified with her. Yes, the conversion of Crosslyn Rise would be profitable, but it was a means to an end, the end being the preservation of the Rise, rather than the enhancement of Jessica’s bank account. Likewise, Chris sought lucrative jobs like decorating Stanley Thompson’s law firm, redecorating the Howard family compound on the Vineyard, and yes, doing Crosslyn Rise, for a greater cause than her own. Her personal needs were modest and had always been so.

  “Tell me what happened to you, though,” Jessica was saying, returning to the events of that morning.

  Chris told her about appearing at the site and jinxing Gideon’s crew. “It was an innocent mistake, Jessica. Honestly. I never dreamed I’d disturb them, or I never would have gone. I thought I was being unobtrusive. I just stood there, watching without saying a word, but one of the guys saw me and two others looked and then the damage was done. I really am sorry. I tried to tell your contractor that, but I’m not sure I got through.”

  “To Gideon? I’m sure you did. He’s a sensible guy.”

  “Maybe when he’s cool, but he was pretty hot under the collar when that framework fell, and I don’t blame him. Someone could have been hurt, and then there’s the time lost in having to redo the piece, and the rain that he was trying to beat. I, uh, think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, Gideon and I. He was annoyed and said some things that irked me, so I said some irksome things back, and I may have sounded arrogant. I’m not usually like that.”

  “And now you’re worried that he’ll stand in the way of your getting this job.”

  “That, and that if I do get the job, he and I will have trouble working together. He’s a macho type. I don’t do well with macho types. I kind of pull in and get intimidated, so I guess I put up a wall, and then I come off sounding snotty. I’m sure that’s what he thinks.”

  “He’ll change his mind when he meets you in a more controlled setting.”

  “When there are other people, civilized people around, sure. But if we work together, it won’t always be in that kind of controlled setting. There won’t always be other people around. We’ll be spending a lot of time at the site. His subs and their crews may be around, but if today was any indication, they won’t be much help.”

  The telephone line was quiet for a minute before Jessica asked, “Are you saying that you don’t want to try for the job?”

  “Oh, no!” Chris cried. “Not at all! I want the job. I want it a lot!”

  Jessica sounded genuinely relieved. “That’s good, because I really like what I’ve seen of your work. It has a sensitivity that I haven’t found in some of the others’ things. I don’t want the Rise to look done up, or glossy. I don’t want a ‘decor
ated’ look. I want something different and special, something with feeling. Your work has that. You have that, I think.”

  “I hope so, at least as far as my work goes,” and she was deeply gratified to hear Jessica say it. But that wasn’t why she’d called. “As far as this business with Gideon Lowe goes—”

  “Don’t think twice about it, Chris. You may not believe it, but Gideon is really a pretty easygoing kind of guy.”

  “You’re right. I don’t believe it.”

  Jessica laughed. “He is. Really. But he takes his work very seriously. He may have overreacted this morning, in which case he’s probably feeling like a heel, but he’ll get over it. This project means a lot to him. He has money invested in it. He’d be the first one to say that when we pick people to do the work, we have to pick the best.”

  “Is that why he picked himself as the builder?” Chris couldn’t resist tossing out. She barely had to close her eyes to picture his smug smile or the broad set of his shoulders or the tight-hipped way he’d walked away from her.

  “He’s good. I’ve seen his things. Carter has worked with him before, and he says he’s good. Gideon’s reputation’s at stake here, along with his money. He wants the best. And if the best turns out to be you, once we hear all the presentations, he’ll go along with it.”

  “Graciously?” Somehow Chris couldn’t see it.

  “Graciously. He’s a professional.”

  * * *

  Chris thought a lot about that in the days following. She figured Jessica might be right. Gideon was a professional. But a professional what? A professional builder? A professional businessman? A professional bruiser? A professional lover? No doubt he had a wife stashed away somewhere, waiting with the television warmed and the beer chilled for the time when he got home from work and collapsed into his vinyl recliner. Chris could picture it. He looked like that type. Large, brawny, physical, he’d be the king of whatever castle he stormed.

  Then again, he was a member of the consortium. Somehow that didn’t jibe with the image. To be a member of a consortium, one needed money and brains. Chris knew there was good money in building, at least for the savvy builder, and the savvy builder had to be bright. But there were brains, and there were brains. Some were limited to one narrow field, while others were broader. She didn’t picture Gideon Lowe being broad in any respect but his shoulders.