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Eddie drove them out of the city to Teterboro Airport where the Hall family plane was waiting, fueled up and gleaming on the tarmac. The Gulf stream jet had been used frequently by her father, but Grace was thinking of selling it, feeling that the overhead expense outweighed the convenience. The trip wasn't a long one. It was little more than an hour of air time to T. F Greene Airport, which was located just outside of Providence, Rhode Island. As they stepped from the plane, she saw a familiar black Mercedes waiting at a special, side entrance of the field.
"Hello, Wilhelm," Grace greeted the driver as they approached, a uniformed porter behind them pushing their things on a cart.
"Miss Grace," the man replied, doffing his chauffeur's hat. The German accent was heavy in his pronunciation.
"How is Marta?"
As the man opened the rear door, he replied, "Well. She's just as well as always. She's looking forward to having you in the house again, even if it is only for the weekend."
"Wilhelm, this is John Smith. A friend of mine."
The older man bent at the waist briefly. "Sir."
Smith nodded and slid into the back.
It took a full hour to reach Newport and, as they scaled the majestic bridge going onto the island, Grace felt a lick of anticipation in her stomach. The house at Newport was her true home, a place she loved as if it were a living member of the family. The vivid summer days and soft summer nights of her youth at the ocean's edge were more clear in her mind than what had happened the day before at the office.
And with the way things were going with the Gala, the chronological amnesia was a good thing. She still didn't have a suitable auction piece and there were some serious problems with the food for the event.
Thanks to Fredrique's interference, the caterer had come up with an obscure menu of Asian fusion that was so kinky and over the top, Grace had had to ask them to start all over again. Serving blowfish at the Gala just wasn't what she had in mind—it was expensive, and deadly if prepared incorrectly. She wanted to offer the guests fine fare, not a trip to the Lenox Hill emergency room.
She put the responsibility for the menu snafu firmly in her own court. She'd assumed that her call to Fredrique when she'd first learned of his meddling had been sufficient to get him to back off but clearly she'd been wrong. According to Lolly Ramparr and her staff at NightWorx, he'd showed up at their shop and refused to leave when they told him it was their understanding he wasn't involved with the Gala this year. When he kept giving orders, Lolly had tried to reach Grace, who'd been in a meeting and unavailable. Freder-ique had then demanded Lamont be called and Lou had promptly vouched for the authority the man was assuming. Lolly had done what he'd said.
Obviously, Grace was going to have to try again with the man. Perhaps in writing.
It was damned inconvenient to have to fire someone you never hired, over and over again, she thought.
Grace lowered the window, leaned her head into the cool sea breeze and took a deep breath. The turmoil of everything seemed slightly removed as she looked over the ocean and she was grateful for the respite.
"You like it here a lot, don't you," Smith remarked.
"I love it here," she murmured, watching a sailboat charging through the waves.
"Your family's place is right on the ocean, isn't it? "
She nodded. " Willings isn't the largest of the estates, but it's got beautiful sea views and a wonderful garden."
"Interesting name."
She smiled, remembering the story.
"My great-great-grandmother, who was from Grosse Pointe, Michigan, hated the idea of summering in Newport after her marriage. Her family had always spent July and August in the Adirondacks and she regarded the lack of crisp clear air at the ocean's edge as a respiratory insult."
"I can think of some worse ones," he said dryly.
"She was a woman with high standards." Grace looked over at him, pleased that they were talking about something other than the logistics of the job he was doing for her. Since the night he'd spent in her bed, she'd had the impression he'd deliberately kept the conversation professional. "After much cajoling, and some serious architectural planning, my great-great-grandfather presented her with a set of house plans. She indicated that if the place lived up to its potential, she might be willing to come seaside. Two years later, in 1879, the builders were finished, she was indeed willing, and the mansion had its name."
They turned onto Bellevue Avenue, passing Marble House and the Breakers, the former summer homes of the Vander-bilt family that were now open to the public through the Preservation Society of Newport County. A quarter of a mile later, Wilhelm pulled off onto a circular driveway and halted the car in front of a three-story mansion.
