Holiday by Design. Patricia Kay

Marcus was appalled. Sometimes he understood why Vanessa was impatient with their mother. After all, Laurette was often difficult to deal with. But showing disrespect, no matter the provocation, would not be tolerated. Especially since Creighton had been urging Marcus to assume more international business travel. How could he take charge abroad when his mother and sister still expected him to mediate their disagreements?

      Suppressing a sigh, he said, “I’ll speak to her.” He put down his paper, rose and headed for the stairs.

      Five minutes later, he knocked on Vanessa’s bedroom door. In the mood he was in, he almost went in without waiting for an answer, but if he was to lead by example, good manners dictated he wait.

      “Is that you, Mother?” was followed by the door opening. Vanessa, blond hair still tousled from sleep, stood there in a very short blue bathrobe and bare feet. Her eyes, dark blue like their father’s had been, lost their defiant glare when she realized it was her brother at the door and not her mother.

      “I thought you’d already gone to the office,” she said, smiling.

      “I have a meeting in Kirkland today.” Wasn’t she cold?

      “Oh.”

      “Don’t you have a class this morning?” Vanessa was taking a couple of design classes at the Art Institute of Seattle.

      “It was canceled. The instructor’s wife went into labor yesterday, so I thought I’d check out that new exhibit at the Frye.” She tightened the skimpy robe around her. For the first time, she seemed to sense his mood. “Is something wrong, Marcus?”

      “Mother says last night you called her stupid.”

      Vanessa shook her head. “That’s not quite true.”

      “Not quite true? How can something be not quite true?”

      “I didn’t call her stupid. I said what she’d said was stupid. That’s not the same thing.”

      “You’re splitting hairs. Talking to your mother that way is disrespectful, and you know it.”

      “Don’t you even want to know what it was she said?”

      “No. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you must always treat your mother with respect.”

      “But, Marcus—”

      “No buts.”

      “So I can’t even disagree with her?” The defiant glare was back in full force.

      “I didn’t say that. It’s entirely possible to have a difference of opinion without being rude...or disrespectful.”

      Vanessa rolled her eyes. “You know, Marcus, as much as I love you, you have a tendency to sound like some old man. I mean, come on, no one talks the way you do anymore.”

      “Excuse me?” he said stiffly. If he sounded older than he was, maybe it was because he’d never had a choice. Did she ever think of that? A week after his father’s death, he’d had to put on a suit and tie and meet with Barstow’s board to convince them he’d be capable of assuming the company’s reins in five years. It wasn’t something he’d ever wanted to do, but who else was there to do it?

      And this was what his sister thought of him now? Suddenly he saw Vanessa through the eyes of their mother. Maybe Laurette had been right all along. Maybe he did spoil Vanessa.

      “I’ve been defending your bad behavior long enough,” he said, hardening his heart. “Mother is right. From now on, things are going to be different. You will apologize to Mother. And you will be grounded for the weekend.”

      “Grounded! I’m twenty years old! You can’t ground me.”

      “I most certainly can. The fact that you are twenty years old has no bearing on anything, especially when you still sometimes behave as if you are ten. Remember this, Vanessa. You live under my roof. You are dependent on me. That means you follow my rules. If you don’t want to follow my rules, then you’re free to find a place of your own.”

      Her mouth dropped open. He knew she was shocked, for he had never before talked to her this way.

      “Now get dressed and come downstairs and apologize to your mother. I’m leaving for my meeting, and when I come home tonight, I expect you to be here. And that you will have already given Mother your sincere apology.”

      As he turned to go back downstairs, he fully expected to hear her door slam, because Vanessa had a temper. Instead, there was silence. He strode down the hall, then stopped. Shaking his head, he turned around and walked back to his sister’s door. He was sorry to have spoken so harshly. After all, he did know how difficult his mother could be and how she could strain anyone’s patience.

      He grasped the knob of Vanessa’s door, but he didn’t open it. He couldn’t. At the age of twenty, he’d had to thrust aside all his dreams and hopes for the future. He’d had to grow up fast. To assume responsibility for both his siblings and his mother, not to mention an entire corporation and the workers who depended on him.

      If he wanted Vanessa to be a credit to him and to their family, to become the lovely woman he knew she could be, then this rebelliousness of hers needed to be reined in.

      He released the knob and headed for the stairs. This time, he didn’t look back.

      Chapter Two

      On Monday, Chick left for Oregon and a buying trip, so Joanna put the phone on voice mail and took a couple of hours for lunch. Luckily, it was a pretty day—cool but sunny—so she walked the fifteen blocks from Chick’s office to Up and Coming’s trendy location in Belltown, right on the fringes of Queen Anne.

      Joanna had read about Up and Coming in Phoebe Lancaster’s column in the July issue of Around Puget Sound magazine. The gallery featured new artists, and apparently they weren’t limited to painters and sculptors because sometime this fall they were scheduled to showcase the work of a jewelry designer. When Joanna had read that, she’d immediately wondered if it might be possible to have her work shown there, too. After all, she was an artist—every bit as much as someone who designed jewelry. The idea had excited her, and she’d filed it in the back of her mind, thinking it might be something she could explore in the future.

      Well, the future was here. Up and Coming was one of her last resorts. Maybe her very last resort.

      Located on a shady, tree-lined street where several restaurants and boutiques mingled with half a dozen galleries, Up and Coming had an elegant facade with double walnut doors flanked by old-fashioned gas lamps. Its two large display windows held vividly colored ceramic vases and bowls, along with fanciful animals carved from what looked like mahogany. One—a mouse with an impudent expression—made her smile. It also gave her hope that the owner had an open mind about what constituted art.

      Tiny silver bells tinkled when Joanna opened the door and walked inside. A tall blonde with a severe hairdo, slicked back and fashioned into a tiny ballerina bun, looked up at Joanna’s entrance.

      “Yes?” She didn’t smile. Instead, her gaze flicked to Joanna’s knee-high boots with their four-inch heels, then traveled up and over her diamond-patterned black stockings, black miniskirt and tight leather jacket.

      “Hello,” Joanna said brightly. Walking over to the counter where the woman stood with an open catalogue in front of her, Joanna extended her right hand. “I’m Joanna Spinelli. I wrote to you last week about the possibility of showing my work here.”

      The blonde ignored the hand. “And what might that work be?” Still no smile. In fact, her eyes, a frosty dark blue that matched her long-sleeved, high-necked wool dress, were looking at Joanna as if she had wandered into the gallery by mistake.

      “I’m a, um, fashion designer.” Joanna could have kicked herself for the hesitation in her voice. “You may have heard of my label? JS Designs? I did the bridesmaids’ gowns for the Fairchild wedding