A MAID in a gray, white-aproned uni

A MAID in a gray, white-aproned uniform opened the door and led Jordan to the living room. Nonie Harrison, seated on a raspberry-and-gold-striped sofa, rose when Jordan was announced and came around the sofa to press her too-taut cheek fleetingly against Jordan’s—Warburg’s interpretation of a welcoming kiss.
“Jordan, dear, how good of you to come. It’s been ages since we’ve seen each other.”
“How well you look, Nonie. That color blue is wonderful on you.”
“Thank you. I picked it up at Worth when I was in New York last week.” She fingered the raw silk tunic that she’d paired with dark gold palazzo pants. Addressing the maid she said, “Sonia, please bring us some champagne.”
The maid nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Harrison.” And she left the room.
“Come sit by me so I can take a look at you.” She patted the sofa with a manicured hand, then turned toward her as Jordan obliged. “Well, who wouldn’t have a few extra lines after the horrors you’ve been through this year? But you really must try and take better care of yourself. The seaweed masque at True Beauty works wonders. And ask for Trina. She’s marvelous.”
“Thank you.” Jordan managed to keep her smile in place, knowing that this was only the first of many such digs she would receive during the course of their lunch. Nonie was never one to worry about others’ feelings, and no subject was off-limits to Nonie, no matter how private or painful.
“And how are the children holding up? Are they very miserable, the poor darlings?”
Case in point. “How kind of you to ask. They’re doing very well. Olivia’s getting bigger every day, and Kate and Max are very happy at their preschool. All three adore their aunts Margot and Jade. And like all Radcliffes, they’ve become horse mad. Jade is teaching Max and Kate to ride. And now Olivia’s starting to get rides, too.”
“You are so good to trust Jade with your precious angels. It shocks me how wild and unpredictable teens are these days. And Jade with that hair! It must be such a trial for you, wondering what she’ll do next.”
Had she not needed this decorating commission, she would have thoroughly enjoyed giving Nonie a piece of her mind. But starting a business in this economy was no easy task. At this stage she couldn’t pick her clients, and alienating Nonie would be tantamount to professional suicide. While she might not be able to retaliate, she didn’t intend to roll over for her, either.
“You’re absolutely right. Jade is always surprising us—and with more than her hair color. Margot and I were bowled over when Mr. Farkas, the high school principal, told us that she’d scored so high on her achievement tests that she’d qualified for a National Merit Scholarship. With that and her riding, I think she’ll have a nice pick of colleges to choose from next year.”
Nonie’s lips pursed ever so slightly.
Jordan had only a moment to savor her successful parry, for Sonia entered the living room, balancing a tray laden with a bottle of champagne and cut-crystal champagne flutes. Then she noticed the tall, dark-haired man who’d followed Sonia into the living room and the fact that there were three glasses set on the tray.
Had someone else been invited? She’d been led to believe that this lunch—champagne notwithstanding—would be very much an interview for the job.
Nonie, too, had spied the newcomer. She stood with an exclamation of delight. “Owen, darling! You made it! How good of you to make room for me in your busy day.”
Trotting over to him, she gave this Owen person an enthusiastic smooch, laughing coquettishly at the geranium-red smudge she left on his lean cheek. Nonie was more than happy to dispense with arid cheek presses when a handsome man was involved.
And handsome he was, even when wiping lipstick traces off his face with a pocket handkerchief, she conceded. Well-dressed, too, in dark gray flannels and a blue blazer that were both impeccably tailored; the dark brown leather shoes that peeked from beneath his trouser cuffs were polished and buffed. It took only a second more for her to catalog his thick, closely cropped hair, the strong line of his profile, and the confidence of his bearing to understand why Nonie was gushing over him.
“Jordan, do come here and meet my darling Owen.”
With an inward sigh, Jordan stood and approached Nonie and her “darling” Owen, aware that with every step she advanced, the man’s chiseled good looks came into sharper relief. It occurred to her that with the exception of Travis, her brother-in-law, she hadn’t been exposed to a really handsome man in months. No great loss, however. Thanks to Richard, Jordan was immune to men.
“Owen, this is Jordan Ste—”
“Radcliffe,” she corrected automatically.
“Yes, of course,” she said with a tiny smile. “This is Jordan Radcliffe. She’s starting her very own interior design company and is here to give me some ideas for the cottage. Jordan, this is Owen Gage.”
The name threw her. Owen Gage? Surely not—oh, Lord, it must be. Hadn’t the buzz a while back been that Nonie had hired Gage & Associates to do the renovations on the guest house? Of course Jordan had heard of him. She made a point of buying Antique House and Architectural Digest whenever his restoration and design projects were featured.
But why had Nonie invited him today? Dumb question. Although Owen Gage must be twenty years her junior, Nonie had always been a fool for good-looking men.
“Hello, Miss Radcliffe.” His tenor had a gravelly rumble to it, as textured as his gold-flecked brown eyes.
“How do you do?” She must have put her hand out for him to shake, for suddenly it was wrapped in his own. An unwelcome jolt of surprise coursed through her at the feel of his warm skin pressed against hers. For what should be a strictly formal gesture, the sensation struck her as far too intimate. She tensed, only just managing to stifle the urge to snatch her hand away.
At the flash of amusement in his deep-set eyes, she knew he’d felt her instinctive reaction to his touch. His firm lips curled and a dimple appeared by the corner of his mouth. “I’m very well, thank you,” he replied, only then freeing her hand.
Owen Gage might be an excellent architect and builder, capable of exceptionally fine restorations, but he was a shade too cocky for her taste. He obviously believed he was God’s gift to women. She returned his smile with a cool, unimpressed look before fixing her attention on her hostess.
“When Owen mentioned he’d be in town today, I couldn’t resist asking him to lunch,” Nonie told her brightly. “He did such a marvelous job on the guest cottage. You have heard of Owen, haven’t you, Jordan?”
“Of course.” As if she could claim to be a decorator and not know that his restoration projects had won awards from preservation societies in the D.C. and Virginia areas. “I’m a great admirer of your work, Mr. Gage.”
“Thank you. It’s always good to know my neighbors appreciate my firm’s work.”
Neighbor? What was he talking about?
At her frown of confusion, he clarified, “I recently bought Hawk Hill. I’m hoping to bring the house back to its original glory.”
“You personally bought the house?” Nonie asked.
“Yes, whenever I happen upon a house that’s on the market and interests me in terms of the period or design, I buy it, restore it, and then sell it. It’s something I do on the side. A hobby.”
“Quite a profitable one I’m sure,” Nonie cooed.
Owen Gage shrugged. “It’s a chance to do the restoration work exactly as I choose.”
Jordan was silent, busy absorbing the fact that she was looking at her new, albeit temporary, neighbor. She hadn’t realized the Barrons had managed to sell Hawk Hill. Not that her ignorance was a big surprise, considering how preoccupied she’d been making sure Kate and Max were adjusting to their new lives at Rosewood, as well as coming to terms with the idea that the man she’d loved for nine years had been willing to destroy their marriage.
Hawk Hill must be in a rather sad state. The house had been sitting empty for more than a year now, the Barrons having been forced to move into an assisted-living community after John was paralyzed by a severe stroke. Though it would have been nice to hear from their closest neighbors that they’d sold their property, Jordan could hardly blame Nancy Barron, a quiet and reclusive woman, for not telephoning. If they were ever forced to sell Rosewood, Jordan couldn’t imagine being eager to share the painful news with others. And Hawk Hill was just as old and fine a property as Rosewood.
“I can’t wait to see it when you’re finished. I know you’ll do a superb job, Owen,” Nonie said.
“I hope Miss Radcliffe will think so, too.”
“I’m sure the renovation will be very impressive, Mr. Gage,” she returned politely.
“Do let’s dispense with this stuffy ‘Mr.’ and ‘Miss,’ which Jordan isn’t any longer. Though I hope you’re not calling yourself ‘Ms.’ now. I’ve always considered that beyond hideous-sounding! Besides, if we’re drinking champagne, we should all be on a first-name basis. It’s so much more deliciously intimate. N’est-ce pas, Owen?”
Jordan suppressed a gag at Nonie’s overt flirting.
If Owen Gage was bothered by their hostess’s manner, he didn’t show it. He merely inclined his dark head and said, “Absolutely, Nonie.”
But when he turned to her with a smile, she once again detected an unholy spark of amusement in his brown eyes. “Since we’re now officially on a first-name basis, Jordan, may I coax an invitation from you to visit Rosewood?”
“Oh, yes, Jordan, you simply must have Owen over! He’s a treasure trove of information when it comes to these old houses.”
Jordan managed an anemic smile. As proud as she was of Rosewood, it was completely illogical of her to wish that she could ban Owen Gage from stepping foot inside her beautiful home.