Winter at Cedarwood Lodge Page 2

  I grabbed Micah’s arm, eager to show him the view from the landing at the top of the stairs and ask his advice on what to do with the space. The mountain range was visible from every window on the east side of the lodge and I wanted people to be able to soak it up in comfort. The reflection of the trees shimmered on the surface of the lake, and it was easy to lose an hour staring outside at such elemental beauty – it was spellbinding.

  Our tour was interrupted by the rumble of engines roaring along the main road.

  “Can you hear that?” I asked, dropping his arm and dashing closer to the window to get a glimpse of them arriving.

  “That, my friend, is the sound of progress. Time to get your overalls on, Clio!” He gave my high heels a pointed look and was rewarded with an eye-roll. “Let’s meet them out front!”

  We flew down the stairs and on to the porch to watch the procession arrive. Cars and trucks turned into the driveway in convoy. Some were loaded with supplies, others were bare except for hard-hatted drivers with determined expressions.

  Anticipation sizzled through me. It was really happening! This beautiful, timeworn lodge was about to be transformed back into its glorious self.

  My old life was behind me. Here – in the town where I grew up, in the abandoned lodge I’d played by as a child – people would fall in love, they’d marry, they’d have families, and then they’d return to Cedarwood and celebrate once more…

  Chapter Two

  A few weeks later, ignoring a head throb from the ever-present noise, I gave myself a silent pep talk. You can do this! All you have to do is paint them a charming picture of what will be. I buttoned up my navy-blue blazer, straightened the seam of my crisp linen trousers and slipped on red heels, the ones Micah teased me relentlessly over.

  With the buzz of a drill nearby, I picked up my paperwork and iPad, which had a 3D presentation loaded and ready to play. Eventually I’d have an office in a suite off the lobby, but right now it was still too frenetic with workers for me to concentrate, so in the interim I’d set up a temporary office in the front parlor, a room once used for pre-dinner aperitifs.

  The couple’s car churned up the gravel and my heart rate increased. They’d called the night before and enquired about hiring the ballroom for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. It had taken all of my might to keep my voice level and act like I’d hired out the ballroom a hundred times already. But it boded well, having interest in Cedarwood at this early stage.

  I peeked out of the newly replaced window and watched Edgar help his wife Imelda into a wheelchair. Damn it! There were no ramps in place. I made a mental note to check we had mobility aids on the list. Cedarwood had to be accessible to everyone.

  With a broad smile in place, I hurried outside to greet them.

  “Welcome to Cedarwood!” I said, too brightly, my nerves jangling to the surface. I was half-jogging toward them, mentally assessing the area for a plank of wood, or something to use as a ramp… when the heel of my stiletto got caught in a hole in the deck. With a calm smile that belied the drumming of my heart, I attempted to wrench my heel out, trying to appear casual, but it wouldn’t budge. Damn it! With one last heave, the heel came free but momentum sent me flying forward with a screech. Oh, God! I flew precariously into the air, taking great leaps to avoid a tray of paint and a scattering of drill bits. Please, I silently willed the universe, don’t let me upend the paint all over her! With a hop, skip, and a jump to avoid everything, I ended up on my knees by the woman’s lap, my pulse thrumming in my ears.

  Note to self: make sure walkways are cleared at all times.

  Sweat broke out on my forehead despite the chilly autumn day. Red-faced and righting myself, I held out a hand and said breezily, “I’m Clio. And as you can see, I’ve been falling over myself to meet you.” Kill me. Thank God I hadn’t taken her out. I could already imagine the story getting Chinese-whispered around town: Did you hear Clio Winters tried to murder her first client, and it was little old Imelda no less!

  Imelda chuckled and shook my hand. “Aren’t you as pretty as a picture? I hope you didn’t ruin those heels. Do you think they come in my size? My life flashed before my eyes but all I could think was, I need a pair of those dancing shoes for the party…” Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

  Admonishing myself silently for being a klutz, I dared a quick peek at my trousers; they had somehow remained intact – however, from the pain radiating upwards, my knees hadn’t fared as well. “I’m sure they’d have your size and I think the leopard-print ones would suit you…”

  She cocked her head as if contemplating. “I might just have to find some for the party. What do you say, Edgar?” She craned her neck and smiled benignly at her husband.

  “They most certainly look like dancing shoes… Could be a new type of workboot, but what would I know?” He glanced at the hole in the deck and then my heels, and raised his eyes to the heavens. I tried to hide a smile and remain professional, but a giggle escaped. It couldn’t be helped – I liked them both instantly.

  I stepped forward and shook Edgar’s hand. The speech I’d prepared had flown straight out of my head as I’d toppled into Imelda’s personal space, but I sensed my spiel would have been too formal, too stuffy for these people. Game face on, I cleared my throat and tried to regroup.

  Right. Explain yourself, and don’t fall over! “As you can see, Cedarwood is getting a bit of a makeover. It’s a work site at the moment, but soon…”

  “It’s just as gorgeous as ever,” Imelda said, her eyes shining. “Can we take a look through?”

  “It’s a little noisy what with the…”

  “Noise schmoise,” she said, waving me away. “We don’t mind that, do we Edgar?”

  I gulped. What if something fell on them, or Edgar tripped and broke a leg? I’d planned on showing them the ballroom from the adjoining outdoor deck and showing my presentation. Not opening myself up for a health and safety lawsuit on the first day.

  “We’re as tough as old boots, even if we look a little fragile. Don’t you worry about us,” Imelda said.

  If we walked slowly, and carefully, surely it would be OK for a few minutes? Though I’d managed to fall over already…

  “So sorry that we’re not fully equipped at the moment. Let me help you lift the chair,” I said, praying I didn’t get a finger caught in the wheel spokes and drop her, or something equally idiotic.

  “Help with the chair would be mighty kind,” Edgar said, moving to one side while I took the other. We hefted the surprisingly light Imelda up.

  With my back holding open the oak door, Edgar wheeled Imelda into the lobby, the scent of wet paint heavy in the air. Drop sheets were scattered across the floor to catch spills and the sounds of work echoed around the lodge.

  “It might look like a big mess at the moment, but trust me, there’s a method to the madness. We have a strict schedule in place.” It was hard to envisage what the lodge would look like with groups of laborers in clusters, drilling, hammering, filing, and edging. Tools were scattered, buckets were littered here and there. Bags of rubbish sat awaiting removal. The couple followed my noisy tread, the wood underfoot making a weird kind of song depending on where we stepped. Squeak, ping, pop, ahh.

  Imelda shook her head as if she was mesmerized. “I’m sure you’ve got a handle on it all.” We continued through the expanse of the lobby with its thick American oak pillars, and dusty chandeliers swaying in the breeze, their crystals clinking gently like a song, prisms of colored light dancing on the walls. The mantle of the stone fireplace was missing and it needed a little love, but a fire crackled in the grate, adding to the ambience.

  Firelight flickered across the room. Even in its disorderly state the lodge radiated a type of warmth, a feeling of relaxation and expectation of what might be…

  “As you can see, I’m trying to keep as much of it original as I can.” I wanted the lodge to keep its old-world charm. “The overall look will remain as it was all those years ago.”<
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  “That’s music to my ears,” Imelda said, beaming. “We worried the lodge might’ve been purchased by a huge consortium and turned into some modern monolith. I’m so glad that’s not the case.”

  We continued to a small salon where I narrowly avoided kicking over a bucketful of cleaning equipment. The room was musty, with old brocade curtains clinging to their rusty rails. “Edgar, don’t you remember, we used to play charades in here,” Imelda said, reaching up to grasp her husband’s hand.

  “You’ve stayed here before?” I asked, a shiver of excitement running through me. They’d stayed at Cedarwood in its heyday? No one I’d known had actually been inside the lodge, as it had been closed for so long.

  Edgar turned Imelda’s chair to face me. “We got married here,” she said dreamily.

  I gasped. “You did? That’s incredible!” No wonder they’d been so eager to see the place as it was – warts and all – and could imagine what it would look like in the future.

  Her face broke into a smile and I could see the bright-eyed young girl she’d been. “Coming up to fifty years ago I was a blushing bride of twenty-five years old. Edgar was twenty-six. We found each other late in life, or what was deemed late back then. All our friends were already married and had a bunch of babies. We fell in love but there were only a few weeks before Edgar was shipped off to the war.”

  “I can’t believe this!” My pulse thrummed, knowing their story ended in Happy Ever After, because here they stood. “What a story, and to have you return to the lodge…” I wanted to hug them, but held myself in check. “How long were you away, Edgar?” I asked, thinking of the young man – as he had been then – being thrust into such a dangerous wartime situation.

  He gave Imelda a meaningful glance and said, “Two years, four months, and one day.” He blushed. “Or thereabouts. Thankfully, or not so thankfully depending how you see it, I was shot in the foot and sent home. Never ended up making it back to my platoon, though…”

  A ray of sunlight landed on Imelda like a soft spotlight. “Yes, I was lucky and got to keep him safe at home with me.”

  They recollected the war, and how they’d missed each other fiercely for the two and a bit years he was away. They talked about the letters they wrote and all the promises they vowed to keep as soon as he returned home.

  “Did you keep those promises?” I asked.

  “We did,” he said. “You just don’t have an inkling when you’re young how fast those years flick by. Though I’m sure there’ve been plenty of days Imelda has wanted to walk off into the sunset with someone else,” he laughed.

  Imelda considered it. “Once or twice I wanted to put your head in the oven, I can’t lie.”

  He nodded. “See? Luckily our oven is electric. And we made it through fifty years with lots of talking, lots of communicating as you young folks call it.” He chortled. “When we heard this place had itself a new owner, we knew it was a chance to throw one hell of a party. We like the idea of coming back to where we began.”

  They exchanged a glance, a private message in their rheumy eyes. Whatever happened in my life, I vowed right then to wait for the perfect man. I wouldn’t compromise. I wanted the fairy tale that I saw before me. Even if I ran into my old gang of friends in Evergreen and was the only one still single, still utterly without The One at thirty-three. Now was not the time to dwell on it. It didn’t matter. Love couldn’t be rushed. Focus, Clio, this isn’t about you.

  “I promise if you have the party at Cedarwood there’ll be lots of celebrations, and confetti. It will be an ode to your life together, the love you share. I’ll make it as special as it so deserves to be.”

  Imelda gestured for me to lean close and gave me a tight hug. “What do you mean if…We came here to tell you to get the ball rolling. We aren’t spring chickens any more. The only problem I envisage is time. You see, we want to celebrate on our wedding day. Makes sense of course, but that’s only six weeks away… Do you think you can do it?” She gazed around the lodge, like she was imagining the place as it once was.

  Could we get the ballroom and entrance done in six short weeks? There was the garden to consider, guest bathrooms, safety measures… But their faces – they looked so awed by the lodge, how could I say no? “Sure,” I said, voice brimming with confidence for the first time since I’d arrived. “We can do it.”

  She gave me a grateful smile. “I’d better find those high heels then. Maybe I’ll get the leopard-print and the red. You just never know when a gal might need a pair of fancy shoes.”

  “It pays to be organized.” I winked. “And I’m truly honored you’re going to have the party here.” My mind spun with ideas, questions, solutions, and we hadn’t even started yet.

  “It’s like the circle of life. We started here, and it will end here…” Imelda was a romantic, and I sensed a like-minded soul.

  I said, “Would you like to continue to the ballroom?”

  Edgar pushed the wheelchair slowly forward. “Sure, let’s see it.”

  Imelda smiled, and fussed with a rug on her lap. “If I close my eyes I can still recall the excitement in that young girl’s heart, feel the butterflies floating in her belly at the thought of how that handsome young man was going to be her husband. I really didn’t believe you’d show up, Edgar. Isn’t that the silliest thing?”

  Edgar went to reply but stopped as Imelda’s hand went to her throat, and her face paled. She let out a small groan, and scrunched her eyes closed.

  I dropped to my knees and gazed into her face, but her eyes stayed tightly shut, screwed up in pain. “Imelda? Are you OK?” Panic seized me, but Edgar appeared resigned but calm.

  Edgar rubbed her shoulder. “She’s OK. She’ll be right in a moment.” His voice was soft with acceptance at whatever it was causing her pain. He opened a bag hanging on the back of the wheelchair and rummaged around, taking out a pillbox and a bottle of water. “We fought a war, financial troubles, and everything in between, but we can’t fight time,” he said, sadly.

  It was a full minute before Imelda returned to us, “Sorry,” she said, giving my hand a pat. “Another spell, I take it?”

  Edgar stooped forward and handed her two pills and the bottle of water. She took them with trembling hands and drank, before saying, “The mind is willing, but the body just won’t listen sometimes. Don’t you worry, pet. It’s OK. Nothing is going to stop me from having a party at Cedarwood Lodge. Nothing.” She stuck her chin forward, resolute.

  Once Imelda’s color returned to normal they peeked into the ballroom with cries of delight. “I’m so glad you’re not fussing with it,” she said. “It’s like something out of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.”

  “Isn’t it?” I said, her description apt. “Have you thought about themes, colors? Cuisines? I can show you—”

  She cut me off. “You’re the expert. All I ask is that the room is bright and cheerful; think colorful bunting, and streamers cascading down. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I’d love for it to look just like we had it all those years ago.”

  An hour later, after firming up more details, we said our goodbyes and I told them to visit any time so they could see the lodge being shaped back into the beauty of its halcyon days.

  Hopefully it would return them to their wedding night and their hearts and souls would be young again, with their whole lives together ahead of them.

  I couldn’t wait to call my best friend, Amory, and tell her every little thing. And to see if my name was still making the gossip page…

  Chapter Three

  “Clio, they sound amazing! So they’ve booked the party?” Amory shrieked as I sat down with a laugh at my desk, ignoring piles of invoices that needed to be paid and filed away.

  “They did! And get this: they didn’t want to see color swatches and menus, or a song list. They said I was the expert and just to make it bright and colorful. Only kicker is I have to get everything finished and organized in six weeks.”

  “You can d
o it, that’s what you’re good at. Deadlines.” She let out a laugh. “You lucky thing not having to consult with them every five minutes – why can’t they all be like that?”

  Our clients in New York were pernickety to say the least. Bridezillas were plentiful, and the women weren’t opposed to throwing tantrums a five-year-old would be proud of, but I always rolled with it. It came with the territory to receive phone calls at two a.m. from a blushing bride-to-be, sobbing about centerpieces or tiaras. That’s what separated the good party planners from the bad. My job was to say yes, always.

  I could fix anything, especially under pressure.

  But then I had opened my big mouth.

  Shaking myself out of reverie I said, “I’m sure the next clients won’t be so easy.” In the background phones buzzed and drawers banged. Office life. I felt a pang for it. We lapsed into silence as I debated whether to ask.

  “Darling, about…” She hesitated and I steeled myself. Amory always knew what I was thinking without me having to say a word.

  “Don’t tell me. They’re still talking about it? Still?” It had been months. Months since I’d packed up my desk and hidden in my shoebox-sized apartment until the sale of Cedarwood had settled. Surely they’d moved on to newer scandals by now? I’d been avoiding the online gossip sites for months in case I saw my own name trapped in a headline once more.

  The previous headlines were still burned into my retinas: Party planner to the A-listers tells reality-star bride to run from celebrity groom!

  Amory let out a nervous laugh. “Well…”

  I groaned and cupped my face. “Tell me. I can handle it.”

  She took an audible intake of breath before launching into the whole sorry story. “It seems it’s ramping up. She’s saying you had a thing for the groom, and that’s why you did what you did. Because you were after him and his… money.”

  I let out a squeal of protest. “She didn’t!”

  “She did.”