The House Of Secrets. Elizabeth Blackwell

of girl—but I hope you’ll think of me as a friend. Someone you can talk to if things get sticky.”

      “Thank you,” Evelyn said. Uncomfortable with his intimate words, she glanced toward the table where Charles sat. He had his back to her, still engrossed in conversation. She saw people at the other tables watching her. Her behavior must be above reproach. She was a Brewster now.

      “Will you be staying long in town?” she asked in her best society-hostess manner.

      Will nodded. “I’ve caused enough of a stir in Europe. Time to recuperate.”

      “Then I’m sure I’ll be seeing you at the house regularly,” Evelyn said. The music was building to a climax. “I’ll look forward to continuing our conversation.”

      “As will I,” Will said smoothly. But the superficial chatter couldn’t erase the bond their moment of honesty had already formed between them.

      The orchestra paused before starting the next dance. Evelyn pulled her body away from Will’s as he leaned over and gently kissed her hand.

      “A pleasure to meet you, sister,” he said. His lingering hold on her hand made Evelyn blush. Was he flirting with her at her own wedding?

      Evelyn lifted the skirt of her gown and walked back to her table. She laid her hand on Charles’s shoulder as she sat down and smiled when he turned to look at her. Evelyn felt she was playacting the part of a dutiful wife. Inside, her stomach was churning with excitement, her mind replaying every word of her conversation with Will.

      With a sinking feeling, she wondered if she had married the wrong Brewster.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ALISSA COULD TELL Constance was surprised by her appearance, but she was too tired to care. She reached forward for a hug, then pulled back as she saw her friend stiffen. No wonder—Constance, as usual, was immaculate in a pressed cotton blouse and tailored trousers, while Alissa looked like a refugee from a construction site. Her greasy hair was jammed under an old college baseball cap. A paint-splattered, stretched-out T-shirt was paired with saggy pants that had a rip across one leg, and a fine layer of wood dust was sprinkled over her skin. The two women looked each other over, then broke into laughter.

      “I’m so glad you’re here!” Alissa exclaimed. “Ready for the tour?”

      Constance clapped her hands together and pressed them to her chest, one of the prim, old-lady gestures that made her appear far older than she was. Although, at thirty-five, she was only a few years older than Alissa, Constance Powers seemed to belong to another generation. Even when her job as an architect had her traipsing through dusty building sites in a hard hat, Constance managed to stay elegant. Somewhere between a mentor and older-sister figure, Constance was the person Alissa aspired to be.

      “Is this still a good time?” Constance asked. “If you’re in the middle of something…”

      “I’ll be ‘in the middle of something’ for the next ten years, from the look of it,” Alissa said cheerfully. “Come in—I’m ready for a break. I even made sandwiches.”

      Constance stepped into the middle of the foyer, then gasped as she took in the soaring staircase and chandelier hanging high above her.

      “Oh, Alissa!” she exclaimed. Alissa grinned with delight. She could tell from her friend’s expression that Constance saw past the paint cans and the tarps on the floor. She felt the magic of this house.

      “I know it’s a disaster zone,” Alissa apologized. “I’m not going to invite anyone else over until I get the place in better shape.”

      “It’s fantastic!” Constance said. “Even more so than I imagined. Give me the full tour.”

      Alissa guided her friend through the rooms, talking nonstop and pointing out her favorite architectural details along the way. They ended in the master bedroom, just off the landing at the top of the main staircase. Constance pulled open the French doors that opened out onto a narrow balcony above the back garden. She looked down on the white stone patio and walkway below. Bushes and weeds had long since taken over the flower beds, but the outline of the garden’s elegant design was still clear.

      Constance turned and walked back inside. Her eyes scanned the high-ceilinged room. A double bed, one dresser and an armchair sat forlornly in the middle of a space that could have easily held twice as much furniture. The floral-patterned wallpaper was peeling off the walls. A full-length mirror mounted in a gaudy gold frame made the room seem even larger and emptier. Constance fingered the floor-length white curtains.

      “These are new, at least?” she asked.

      “Yeah,” Alissa said. “The old ones were so dusty, I couldn’t stand it.”

      “Once you get this wallpaper down and put on a fresh coat of paint, it will look great,” Constance said.

      Alissa shrugged. “I’m concentrating on the downstairs for now.”

      “At least you’ve got indoor plumbing,” Constance joked as she peered into the en-suite bathroom. “When would you say this was done—the late fifties?”

      “Whenever peach and black were considered the height of fashion.” Alissa laughed.

      “Well, I’m glad you’re finally getting some help,” Constance said. “What time did you say that guy was coming?”

      Alissa glanced at her watch. A contractor recommended by Elaine, the Realtor, was due in half an hour for an interview. Alissa had hoped to hire some of the workmen she’d used in projects around Baltimore, but none were willing to drive this far.

      “One o’clock,” Alissa said. “C’mon—I’ve got lunch set up in the dining room.”

      The round, glass-topped dining table and silver aluminum chairs—brought from Alissa’s modern condo—looked especially incongruous in the middle of the formal room. Dark wood wainscoting covered the lower half of the walls; the upper half was covered in worn burgundy velvet.

      “I know it’s silly to eat in this giant room when it’s just the two of us,” Alissa said, pushing an open bag of potato chips toward Constance. “But the kitchen is such a mess. Plus, it’s so dark—it’s not my favorite place to hang out.”

      “Ah, yes, the days before eat-in kitchens,” Constance mused. “Half my jobs these days are kitchen expansions. Have you thought about knocking down that wall between the kitchen and conservatory? It would open up the whole back of the house.”

      “I’m not ripping out any walls,” Alissa said firmly. “I want to keep the original character of the house.”

      “Suit yourself. You know me—always ready to tear things apart!”

      “Any other changes you’d make?” Alissa asked.

      “Oh, plenty,” Constance teased. “But that doesn’t mean the house isn’t lovely as is.”

      “Really? You don’t think I’m a complete fool for buying it?”

      Constance carefully wiped her lips with her napkin, then leaned toward Alissa.

      “Between you and me, I think you got the bargain of the century,” she said.

      Alissa laughed with relief. “Thank you. I mean—I was so sure I was doing the right thing when I signed the papers, but lately, I’ve wondered what I’ve gotten myself into.”

      “Of course you have. I feel like that on every job I take. There’s always a hidden support beam that can’t be moved or some other random complication. But this place—Alissa, it’s wonderful.”

      Alissa grinned.

      “It’s got such great bones,” Constance continued. “The rooms, the way each one opens onto the other, with fantastic sight lines…it’s really ahead of its time. Now, I’d open it up even more, as I said, but