Page 12 of Passion and Privilege

“It’s a big job and we’re eager to get started.”

“Is your crew always this timely?”

She gave me a very serious look. “If they want to work for me, yes. Absolutely. We aren’t the type to show up when we feel like it. Like I said, this is a huge job and we can’t afford to lose even half an hour.”

I nodded, impressed by her dedication and professionalism. “That’s exactly the work ethic I’m looking for. With the state of the house, I want to ensure everything is done efficiently and to the highest standard. I appreciate your promptness.”

She smiled, her hazel eyes lighting up. “I’m glad to hear that. My team and I are excited to restore Gloriana Manor to its former glory. We have a timeline mapped out and our goal is to complete the renovation as efficiently as possible, without compromising on quality.”

“That’s music to my ears,” I replied. “I have a clear vision for this place, and I believe you’re the right person to bring it to life. I’ve already gone over a few initial plans for the kitchen renovation, but I’d love to hear your thoughts and ideas.”

She nodded, flipping open her clipboard and taking out a set of blueprints. Together, we discussed the layout, the materials, and the overall design concept. Her passion for the project was evident as she shared her ideas, and I found myself getting more and more excited about the future of Gloriana Manor.

I had to admit, there was a part of me that worried I might be aiming a little too high with my vision for the old mansion. I thought maybe it was impossible, but Catherine made me believe it was doable. I could live in my ancestral home with it looking like it did way back then, just less rundown.

“Miss Jacobson?”

A man slowly approached. “Yes, Charlie?” she asked.

“We’ve got a little situation we’re going to need you to check out,” he said.

She nodded. “I need to handle this. I’ll find you later. If you have any questions, I’ll be around. I’m just going to get the electricians going and then I’ll get the plumbers started.”

“Thanks,” I said, not sure what else to say. I felt like I was in the way.

I drifted outside while she went to the basement. My driveway was filled with work trucks and men standing around talking. The emblem on the side of the truck indicated they were plumbers. That was good. I wanted to talk to them about the fixtures I wanted, including a pot filler.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” I said, trying to put them at ease. “I wanted to touch base with you about some of the plans for the kitchen remodel. Specifically, the fixtures and piping.”

One of the plumbers stepped forward, eyeing me warily. “Sure, what do you need to know?”

I launched into a detailed explanation of the changes I wanted to make, including the addition of a pot filler and upgraded fixtures throughout the kitchen. “We can get a catalog for you to pick out your plumbing features,” the man said. “Catherine already told us what she wanted, but maybe you want something different.”

“I’d like to approve the fixtures,” I said sternly.

As much as I wanted to trust Catherine’s choices, I still had not seen any proof. Enthusiasm didn’t translate to skill.

An older truck pulled into the driveway, catching my attention. “Excuse me,” I said and walked away from the plumbers.

An elderly man emerged from the truck. His eyes were fixed on the imposing mansion before him. I wondered if he was one of the curious people that had been trying to get access to the house since word got out I was starting the renovations. He didn’t look like the typical trespasser.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

His eyes were crinkled with age and there was a look about him that said he had worked too hard over the years. He extended a weathered hand. “John Jacobson,” he replied. I understood the connection and his reason for being at the house.

“Timothy Hastings,” I said.

He nodded. “You’re the owner?”

“I am.”

He looked up at the house and shook his head. “She has always been fascinated with this place.”

“Excuse me?”

“I used to bring Catherine here, allowing her to peek through the gate. This is her white whale. I couldn’t believe it when she told me she put in a bid. She probably knows more about the history of this house than the original architect or your family.”

“The house is in good hands, then,” I remarked, my gaze drifting up to the towering structure.