Chapter 4
Marigold washed the whole Royal Doulton set right after the box arrived via her brother Jamie on his way to football practice on Sunday morning. The aqua-blue and white setting had been edged with a lacy gold pattern, and she placed each elegantly simple piece on her dining room table, plotting her setting for Hagen’s dinner.
Although using a plain white arrangement of flowers as the centerpiece would set off the colorful runner she had decided the table needed, she had in mind using a gold-etched treasure, one that had belonged to her mother’s family. She removed the bowl from the china cabinet, placing the fine porcelain in the center of her mother’s old mahogany table. Standing back to admire the effect, she realized that she hadn’t used the dining room in a year. On her own now, she normally ate at the small table in the kitchen, a habit she decided to break. She loved pretty things, and she had deprived herself for no real reason.
Now was perhaps the time to make grown-up decisions about the way she lived. She still occupied her childhood bedroom. After her mother’s death, she had packed up everything and returned the hospital bed, the wheelchair, and the bathroom safety bars. Knowing reminders would make her weep, Marigold hadn’t been in her mother’s room since, except to stand and stare.
She opened the door to the main bedroom in the house, marched across the bare floorboards, and jerked open the curtains. Light flooded into the musty, empty space. Blinking resolutely, she pulled out the boxes she had left stored in the cupboards and checked the labels. Clothes: time to offer each neatly folded garment to the charity shop. Old letters and cards, jewelry box, mementos: keep. Stationary, tax returns, dried up pens, a broken watch: no use to anyone.
She took the clothes out to the garage to drop off tomorrow. With some reluctance, she threw out the sentimental keeps no one would ever use, watching each piece drop to the bottom of the bin, her heart aching. However, the memories she had kept inside her would always be more long-lasting than mementos. Now with the bedroom almost empty, she placed her mother’s treasures with her own. That done, she cleaned the bedroom from top to bottom, revealing a shabby paint job and a beautiful wooden floor.
Contemplating the room with her hands on her hips, she decided on the placement of her bedroom furniture into the larger space. But first she would paint the room in one of the colors of the patchwork quilt her mother had made. She chose the dark blue.
Nothing would please her more than being able to renovate the whole house, but even with a three-month salary she wouldn’t be able to afford to do much more than change a few colors. Nevertheless, as a property stylist, she should certainly have done far more in the time since her mother’s death. Apathy had overcome her, but having a real job had moved her head into new space.
* * * *
On Monday at work, she sorted out the furnishings she might use to showcase the duplex school building, though Hagen’s dinner mainly occupied her mind. After lunch when he returned from whatever meeting he’d been attending, she said to him, “At some time, I’ll need to polish your silver and get your table napkins starched.”
“Why does that sound suggestive?” He placed his hand on his door, too handsome and too perfectly groomed for her peace of mind.
She raised her eyebrows. “Because you’ve apparently been to an all guy’s meeting,” she answered in a voice of forced patience. “And you’ve probably been innuendo-ing each other to death.”
“Hm. Not a bad guess. Don’t worry about the silver or the napkins. I’ll get my daily to attend to those. I hope that doesn’t sound suggestive.”
“Nope.” She turned and saw Sandra’s eyebrows on the way down.
Hagen shut his office door and Sandra muttered, “It sounds like he’s back in the land of the living.”
“It does? Has he always been a lecher?” Marigold asked with a straight face.
Sandra laughed. “For a while there, he wouldn’t have recognized an innuendo if it whacked him in the face. His male hormones are returning.”
“Good to hear,” Marigold said, marching into her own office, unsettled. If Hagen were about to turn into a rampant male, she would be in danger, not of being accosted, but of wilting from envy when he chose his next woman.
She picked up her black pen and tapped her chin before beginning on a sketch of the outside of Hagen’s house. Picturing the angle of the roof, she had her concentration interrupted by a phone call. Demi Allbrook.
“Hi, Demi. Do you have good news for me?”
“Sure do. A lovely young chef, who is currently working with Rob Megnam at Eight’s Late, will cater your dinner. Rob doesn’t think it will do his business any harm to have his best apprentice cooking a meal for the high end of town.”
“You are a wonderful woman, Demi. So, I should meet with him to discuss the menu.”
“Exactly what I thought. I made a booking for lunch tomorrow for you and me at Eight’s Late. That’ll be a business lunch. Tell that to your boss.” Demi sounded satisfied.
Marigold laughed. “My boss spends so much time himself out of the office that he won’t notice if I leave. It will be good to have the food off my plate, so to speak. What time shall we meet?”
“I’ll pick you up at midday. Bye, darling!”
Marigold finished off the house sketch, and scanned the black-and-white picture into the computer. The next quarter hour she spent online designing a white business-size card with her shrunken drawing placed in a line along the top. She ordered fifty from the site. Then she found a use for Tiggy’s scalpel by cutting out a half A2-size stencil of the house.
With the whole table setting now organized she put her mind to the rest of Hagen’s sitting room. In the warehouse, she found a large floor rug in jewel colors. This would cover part of the marble tiles in the hall. Another she found in similar colors could be placed in the sitting room. She dusted off her hands, knowing she could find the right cushions to add warmth to the white leather seating. Tonight at home she would make the silk table runner she had decided on for his dining table. As far as she was concerned, the dinner was done.
The next morning, she dressed carefully, wanting to look suitably businesslike to the chef who would be preparing Hagen’s dinner. Through the glass panels in her office door, she saw Demi arrive at midday. Demi veered into Hagen’s office first. She came out with a satisfied smile.
“Ready?” she said to Marigold who stood waiting, her bag hitched over her shoulder.
“You look gorgeous,” Marigold said, her smile wide.
Demi was a good-looking woman of medium height and in her middle fifties. She wore a cream suit with a striped silk blouse. Her bag and shoes were tan, smart, and expensive, and her dark hair was blunt cut just below her ears. “I don’t have as many chances to go out to lunch with a young person as I would like, and you look lovely yourself, Marigold. You always know the perfect colors to wear.”
Marigold had few choices. For work, she owned a black jacket, a black skirt, and black pants. Other than that, she had a few different tops. Today she wore a black-and-white striped blouse, which played off the light red-gold of her hair. She kissed Demi on the cheek, and Demi tucked her hand under Marigold’s arm and led her outside to the car, a silver Beamer.
As soon as she had pulled out onto the road, Demi said, “It’s good of you to take over from Tiggy at a moment’s notice. She couldn’t have left if she didn’t know she had someone she could trust to do her work.”
“She’s got a mean old boss,” Marigold said, smiling mischievously. “I know he would have made it very difficult for her to get time off without an instant replacement.”
Demi glanced at her. “Which one? Alex or Hagen?”
“I was thinking of Alex. I was always so sorry for her, being stuck with a father who gave her everything her devious little heart desired and also helped her with her homework.”
“We all have our cross to bear,” Demi said, laughing. “I’m glad you’re getting on with Hagen. You two were always good together. He’s not so easy to deal with these days.”
Marigold had no intention of talking about Hagen or his moods. “He’s the invisible man. That’s the best sort of boss to have when you don’t have any idea how to do a job you’ve been told you will find easy. By the time I think I know some of the answers, Tiggy will be back. She was quite mysterious about what she is doing. Is she being overly modest about her volunteering work?”
“I’m sure she’s not.”
“What is she doing in Cambodia?” Marigold asked directly.
“I’m sure she’ll tell you when she arrives back. Now, should I be doing a righthand turn here?”
“The next crossing. The more I don’t know what’s going on with her, the curiouser and curiouser I get.”
“It’s a common failing, my darling. I’ll turn just up here, then.”
Marigold sighed. Demi would give her nothing, and Marigold couldn’t understand why. “You can trust me.”
“I know, darling, I know, but I can’t tell another’s secret, now can I?”
“You told me I was like a daughter to you,” Marigold said in her grumbling voice. “Okay. I won’t ask again.”
“Thank you.” Demi briefly rested her hand on Marigold’s knee and then she negotiated her way through the narrow street on the outskirts of the city where Eight’s Late was sited. “Rob said I could park out the front of the restaurant. That’s if anyone left a space.”
Marigold gave an amused glance. “I can already see the perfect space, not quite in front, but one all the same.”
“We’re early.” Demi looked satisfied. “The crowds won’t arrive for another hour. I’m not so much lucky as crafty. I don’t like trying to find parks around here.” She pulled up in an angled park and swung out of the car.
Marigold did the same and met Demi on the footpath. “Lead on.”
The warm and cozy restaurant was furnished with wood tables, black leather chairs, and a dark patterned carpet. The waiter led them to a table for two, set with water and glasses and white starched napkins. “The balsamic chicken here is divine,” Demi said as she scanned the menu. “I’ve had it before. But you’ll need to save yourself for dessert.”
“Good idea. I never bother with dessert at home. I think I have to try lamb shanks in red wine.”
“Your family used to own Hagen’s house, didn’t they?” Demi leaned back after they had ordered.
“Long story in a nutshell. My great-grandfather inherited a fortune and the house from his father, who was one of the first settlers. He did well. He was the only son and a lawyer, too, but his son—my grandfather—helped his two brothers lose or spend most of their inheritance. None of them could afford the upkeep on the family home, and so the property was sold.”
“After three generations. How sad.”
“That’s the problem when there’s no primogeniture. My father had three siblings, so he inherited nothing but a quarter of his father’s property, which wasn’t much anyway. Luckily he married my mother who had her parents’ tiny new house.”
“And that’s where you live now.”
“Haven’t moved an inch. I’m just about to do the place up. I thought a lick of paint here and there would make the world of difference.”
“Would you do it yourself?”
“Uh, huh. I don’t have a problem with the physical aspects of designing, that is, making things look good. The problem I have is in the business side. I’m not used to making endless phone calls to track down how to do the job I’m expected to do.”
“That sounds very frustrating, but what do you need to track down? Didn’t Tiggy leave you instructions?”
“She probably thought I would know more than I do know. For instance, I have a note in her book for today that says, ‘Do the reception area for Rundle Street.’ What reception area, where on Rundle Street, and do what to the reception area? Sandra gave me the lowdown on the Rundle Street property, but she doesn’t know what I should do or when.”
Demi tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Ask Hagen.”
“These questions are so piddling, Demi. I can’t interrupt him every half hour. Aside from that, most times I don’t know where he is.”
“Give me your phone.”
Marigold fossicked in her bag and passed over her phone.
“This is an antique,” Demi said with a frown. “We must get you a better one. You should have a company phone. In the meantime, I’ll put in Hagen’s number.” Demi fiddled for a while and then she showed Marigold what she had done. “Call him if you can’t find him.”
“He has important things to do, and I shouldn’t interrupt.”
“When he can’t be interrupted, he will turn off his phone.”
Marigold stared. “Are you sure he won’t yell at me?”
“No.” Demi smiled carefully. “You will cope if he does, though. You could always get him out of a mood. We all used to love the way you distracted him.”
“You all?”
“As a lad, he was always too serious for his own good. He was very conscious of being the older brother and he thought he had to look after his sisters. He included you in that group, too, and it was so funny the way you wouldn’t let him. He never quite knew what to do with you.”
Marigold wrinkled her nose. “I’m an only child. I wasn’t used to reacting in a family group. I expected to be independent.”
“I know it’s tough without your mother, sweetheart, but we’re here for you.” Demi reached out and covered Marigold’s hand. A presence loomed behind her, and she glanced up with a smile. “Food already? Thank you,” she said to the waitress. She gave one last squeeze of Marigold’s hand.
Marigold breathed in the aroma of the rosemary and bay leaf. The lamb dish had been slow cooked and the first tender mouthful slid down her throat, leaving behind the taste of the rich red-wine sauce. “This is gorgeous. Thank you for bringing me to this place.” Again, she mulled over Demi’s word all. The whole family had watched Hagen’s reaction to her? She wished she had watched it herself. She had no idea she distracted Hagen, and she gave a little wriggle of pleasure.
“Hagen needs distraction these days,” Demi said, as if channeling Marigold’s thoughts. She cut off another slice of her herbed chicken. “It’s not for me to say how long a person should mourn, but he hasn’t taken a day off work since Mercia died, and I know he doesn’t have a social life. It wouldn’t hurt him to laugh once in a while. You could always make him relax.”
“Perhaps he feels too guilty to laugh. When my mother died, I did. I kept thinking I should have spent every waking minute with her because I always knew she would die soon, but not when. And sometimes I went out with friends.”
“But you know you shouldn’t feel guilty about that.”
“I do. But it’s worse for Hagen. He had such a short time with Mercia. I was not surprised when I heard he was going to marry her.” Marigold swallowed awkwardly. “She was kind of perfect for him.”
“At first, I couldn’t see what they had in common, but she certainly knew how to play the role of the corporate wife. She dressed beautifully, and she was the perfect hostess.”
“I don’t suppose anyone will ever match her,” Marigold said in a gruff voice. Of course Hagen had chosen the perfect wife. That’s what golden men did.
“I don’t suppose anyone will.” Demi concentrated on her plate for a moment and then said, “What do you think about the plans for the new tramline the government wants to give us?”
Marigold had an opinion but perfect Mercia remained in the back of her mind until the last plate was removed and a stocky dark-eyed young man, her age or a little more, pulled a chair over to their table. “I’m Sam Habib, Rob’s assistant chef.”
Demi shook his hand, Marigold shook his hand, and he sat, his portfolio on his lap. “I have three menus here for you to look at. I’ll want to know which you prefer by Thursday.”
“I think Marigold can make up her mind right now,” Demi said firmly.
Marigold scanned the menus. “The dinner is for men and women, so we’ll want the lighter meat dish for mains. Rum beef ribs, perhaps? What do you think about a fish entrée, Demi? Or should we have something vegetarian?”
“Prawns and fennel. That looks nice.”
“Yes. I suppose we don’t want to bloat everyone before dessert.” Marigold grinned at Sam who returned her smile cautiously.
“Will you want a cheese platter, too?” he asked, holding her gaze.
“Fruit and cheese. And canapés to welcome the guests. Truffles.”
“Truffles?”
“I don’t think I’m spending enough money,” Marigold said with mock guilt. “Hagen said about two hundred dollars per head.”
Demi stared at Marigold. “Perhaps that’s how Mercia did it, but it’s not compulsory to spend that much. If a menu works for you, that’s what you should have. Right, Sam?”
“My boss wouldn’t mind if she wants to spend a fortune,” Sam answered, smiling at Marigold. He was a good-looking, broad-shouldered man with eyelashes as dark as the stubble on his buzz cut.
“I think as long as we can pass around vegetable dishes and salads—and perhaps include a substitute meal for anyone who has a problem with the table menu—that we will be okay.”
Demi breathed out. “You don’t want to start listening to Hagen’s catering ideas.”
“I took them with a grain of salt, Demi. Trust me.” Marigold turned to Sam. “On the night, we will be using an antique dinner set that can’t be put in the dishwasher. You will make sure your server washes every piece by hand, won’t you?”
Sam aimed a careful glance at her. “The waitress who is serving you today is the one Rob asked to help. She is efficient with service and responsible enough to look after the customer’s property.”
“I’ll have a word with her before we leave, then. Okay, no truffles, but you will do a good selection of canapés, won’t you?”
“I have your e-mail address. I’ll send you a mock up tomorrow of everything I will prepare.” Sam rose to his feet, clutching his notes, and left. His back view was kind of manly, too. While Marigold mulled that, she realized that she also was having a return of hormones. She thought Hagen was the only man she could look at and appreciate, but apparently she could also enjoy other men.
Congratulating herself on the return of her good sense, she left with Demi and was dropped at the huge front doors of the AA & Co. multistory building. Normally she used the back entrance. Like a successful negotiator, she strode through the glass-roofed atrium to her office, where Hagen stood at Sandra’s desk apparently waiting for a printout. He glanced up at Marigold. “So, you’ve taken to business lunches as to the manor born.”
“Now I know what I’ve been missing all these years,” she answered flippantly.
“You don’t want my mother leading you astray.”
She straightened. “Of course I do. I’ve been waiting to be led astray for many years and this is my first chance. Do you want to hear all this, Sandra?”
Sandra folded her arms and leaned back. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“I meant,” he said frowning, “that you don’t have to take her advice.”
“I appreciate her advice.”
“You don’t need to be polite about her. I know she likes to meddle, and I know she thinks her way is best.”
“You’re speaking from a son’s point of view. I’m speaking from a learner event co-coordinator’s point of view. If I didn’t have her help, I would be floundering.”
He spread his hands and stared at her, clearly not about to offer his help. Frustrated, she huffed back into her office.
* * * *
Hagen didn’t want to work with Marigold. He didn’t want to be near her day after day. He didn’t want to laugh when she laughed, and he didn’t want her to get on with his mother. Mercia hadn’t. She had disliked Demi and said she was a control freak. He could have cut the atmosphere between the two of them with a knife and a man had to be loyal to his wife, even if he couldn’t see that his mother had too many faults. Naturally, as Mercia said, he was biased.
When he sighed, Sandra said, “You have to admit that since Marigold has been here, you’ve had a load of meetings. I can’t help her with Tiggy’s job. I’m nothing more than a glorified typist.”
“Who says you’re glorified?” He folded his arms.
She smiled. “I haven’t been insulted by you for a year. Welcome back.”
With no idea what she was talking about, he stalked into his office, glad that he had found so much to do that he had a perfect excuse not to be at Marigold’s beck and call. If he were available most of the time, she would be bothering him with questions, or asking him if he wanted to have coffee with her in the staff room, or she might touch him or smile at him. Since Saturday at his house when he had grabbed her hand like a pathetic sex-starved widower, he had known he couldn’t trust himself with her. If she hadn’t dragged her hand away, he might have snatched her into his arms, thrown her across his shoulders, and raced her up the stairs to his bedroom.
Mercia’s bedroom.
He breathed out. Fortunately, during the dinner at his house, business associates would surround him and serve as chaperones. His lust for the redhead would remain unsatisfied. When she had been suggested for Tiggy’s job, he had been dead against the idea, but with both his parents and his sisters on the other side, his vote didn’t count. He sat staring at the wall until his office door swung open and Marigold stood staring at him.
She hitched up her lovely mouth and gave an apologetic smile. “Hagen, I’m sorry I was rude to you about your mother. I’m a bit sensitive about mothers these days, the same way you’re sensitive about wives. Let’s not be mean to each other.”
He concentrated on her worried tawny eyes and her expression of helplessness. “Let’s not.” He stared at her until she turned and walked out again. He would have to grow immune to her presence, and he would have to grow used to the fact that when she laughed, he laughed.
* * * *
Marigold arrived at Hagen’s house at six on Friday night, dressed for what she considered to be her role, that of an event co-coordinator. She had wavered over her gray-and-black dress after she had spent the morning adding color to his house, and she had decided not to add color to herself. Dressing discreetly would make her seem more like part of the service team than a guest. She had plaited a knot of hair on the nape of her neck and as a touch of femininity she wore her mother’s pearl-drop earrings.
When he answered the door to her, Hagen scanned her from head to toe. He had always known how to dress, and his camel-colored trousers and a black knit clung to his broad shoulders and showed off his flat belly. His eyebrows lifted. “You look very nice.”
“I hope I look like a background noise,” she answered ruefully.
“You are a beautiful woman, Marigold. You will always stand out in a crowd. You owe it to other women to occasionally wear something that they can compete with instead of simply your coloring and your elegant bones.”
She gave an impatient click of her tongue. “You still judge people by the price of their clothes. I know you will look good no matter what you wear. I’m quite happy to admire you in anything.”
One side of his mouth lifted up. “I will await that happy event.”
“So, we lied to each other.” Remaining cool, she shrugged. “You told me I was beautiful, and I told you that you were admirable.”
He looked down at her. “You lied. I told the truth for a change. You are incredibly beautiful. I’m sorry I wasn’t home while you were turning my house on end but without my supervision you have done a superlative job. Thank you.” Indicating she should come inside, he stood back and waited.
Incredibly beautiful? Willing herself to believe that the man who had once called her scrawny thought so. Shivering with the thrill of the compliment, she entered and after he had closed the door, she followed him across the colorful carpet she had placed in the hallway. Enjoying the red vase full of arum lilies she had arranged on the white hall table, she focused on his impossibly gorgeous back view. The man had the sort of tight behind that any woman would want to check out with both hands. Her breath hitched. Every tiny cell in her body wanted Hagen—always had—even before the first time he had kissed her.
Fortunately, she turned into the passageway that led to the kitchen and distracted herself by breathing in the herbal aroma of cooking food. “All underway?” she said to Sam as she nodded to Rosie, his helper for the night.
Sam’s gaze met hers. “I think we have this under control. Could you check the table setting?”
Rosie wiped the cooking utensils she had finished washing. “I haven’t put out the small plates because I wasn’t sure which was which. You have so many of different sizes.”
“In the old days, they had a plate for every purpose. It will be okay to warm the dishes in the oven, by the way, but not for too long. Just before service, I think. These big flat bowls are for soup. These entrée plates go under the soup dishes. I’ll put those and the smaller bread plates on the table. When you remove the soup plates, take the under-plate and the bread plates, too.” Marigold gathered up the dishes she had mentioned and took them into the dining room.
Hagen followed. “Where did you find this service?”
“It belonged to my family. I thought that would be an interesting touch to return the plates to the house where they originated.”
“They’re yours?”
She nodded.
“Antiques? They would be too valuable to use.” He frowned.
“I’ve based the color scheme around them. Plus, if they are never enjoyed, what use are they?”
“This is very generous of you.” He sounded stiff.
“Your family has been very generous to me. For many years.” She set out the plates and stood back, delighted with the quiet color scheme. The thick aqua silk runner down the center of the table, the white cutouts of Hagen’s house inset with aqua menu sheets sitting between each set of knifes and forks, all looked elegant. The bright red camellias in her gold and white flower bowl looked stunning. Mercia’s elaborate white chandelier hanging low over the table no longer seemed to be the centerpiece. Now the light was dimmed by the tasteful setting. “I don’t think it’s overdone. I hope you approve.”
He picked his own place card and examined the house print on the top. “Where did you find the sketch for this?”
“I drew it.” She glanced at him.
He blinked and nodded. “Thank you. Have you taste-tested the canapés?”
“I trust Sam.”
“Let me pour you a pre-dinner drink.”
“Thank you. Is the fire stoked?”
“I started it when I arrived home. The room is now cozy. We can sit in there awaiting our guests unless you have something vital to attend to now.”
“I thought it might be a good idea if you went through the guest list with me. I have learned who is who by name and job, but I would like to know in what way these people can be useful to you.”
“Right. I have champagne cooling in the sitting room.” He hooked an arm behind her and guided her through the door to the hallway again, and then into the sitting room where the fire crackled cheerfully.
The room looked far more comfortable now. A carpet square brightly patterned in blue, red, and gray sat in front of the fireplace and cushions in the same colors warmed up the sofa and chairs. Again, she had added red camellias on the mantelpiece and a glass side table where the champagne cooler sat with fine-etched glasses. He poured out two measures and she sat on the couch with him in order to study the guest list.