“What college did you go to?” she asked, going for a change of subject. Then held her breath, not knowing if he did go to college, not meaning to insult.
“The Citadel.”
“Here in Charleston?”
“Is there another?”
“Isn’t that a military college?”
“Yes.”
“Was it hard? I mean, I heard about the hazing and things they did to the freshmen.”
“The knobs. That’s what they call the freshmen. And, yes, it was hard.”
“Did you miss out on the regular college life?”
“No. Fraternities were not my thing.”
“Mine, neither.”
“Where did you go?”
“Radcliffe. There weren’t any sororities. But that didn’t stop them from having cliques.”
“Radcliffe is an Ivy League, right?”
“Yup.” She saw he was impressed and cocked her head. “I went to good schools, got good grades. But getting into those schools is often a matter of who you know and how much your family will donate even more than how smart you are. My mother’s family has lots of connections. And deep pockets.”
“So you’re saying you’re rich?”
“I’m saying my family is.”
“Where’s your family located? New York?”
“Yes and no.” She wondered whether to give him the long or short version of her history. She decided on the short. “My mother is English and her family, my grandparents, live in England. At Greenfields Park.”
“Is that some kind of gated community?”
She laughed. “No, the name of their property is Greenfields Park. We often call large estates parks in England.”
Taylor looked amused. “Your family has a large estate in England?”
Harper didn’t like where this conversation was going. “Just a great big house and, oh, some hundred or so acres.”
He snorted with surprise. “Just a few hundred?”
So, the long version, Harper thought to herself. “It’s a farm. Trees and great gardens and barns with cows and sheep . . . lots of sheep.”
“A farm. Cool.”
Taylor seemed at a momentary loss for anything else to say, and having exhausted basic introductory chitchat, Harper fell back on good manners. “Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Iced tea?”
“Tea sounds good. A beer would be better.”
“Sorry, but Sea Breeze is a dry house.”
“Tea it is.”
When they entered the kitchen, she cringed at the state of the room. Dishes and pots and pans were stacked on the table, counters, any bare surface. The entire pantry was loaded in boxes on the floor. But the kitchen gleamed and smelled of pine soap.
“I’ve been cleaning the cabinets,” she said in way of apology.
“Big job.”
“Just beginning, I’m afraid. After I finish organizing, I’d like to fix it up a little. Paint, at least.”
“Now’s a good time, since you’ve already got the cabinets cleared.” He put his hands on his hips and took a sweeping assessment of the room. “It’s a great room. Lots of charm.” He walked toward the back windows, put his hands on his hips, and stared out. “And look at that view.”
“Yes.” She drew closer to join him at the window.
Taylor turned and looked around the room again, his eyes gleaming. “There’s something about old architecture. They don’t build ’em like they used to.”
Harper warmed to the subject. “Exactly. I’ve always loved old houses. This one in particular. It’s got good bones but it needs some freshening up. I’d really love some new appliances, but those have to wait.”
Taylor paced the room, measuring it. He reached out to check the wood of the cabinets. “Solid wood. That’s good.” He rubbed his jaw in thought. “Wouldn’t take much. You should call my father. He’s good. And honest.”
Harper was taken aback. “Your father?”
“He’s an independent contractor. He paints, does carpentry, a little electrical work. A good boat captain has to know a little bit about everything, and after the shrimping business dried up, he turned to that sort of work.” Taylor put his hands on his hips and thought a moment, then looked at Harper again. “My dad’s doing a job on the island now. I could ask him to swing by on his way home to give you an estimate. If you like,” Taylor hedged.
“Yes. Please.”
He half smiled and pulled out his phone. Walking to the windows, he conducted a brief phone conversation. Harper waited, wringing her hands, hoping she wasn’t overstepping bounds. Mamaw had tentatively agreed to her plan, but this was moving quickly.
Taylor tucked his phone back in his pocket and crossed the room back to her side.
“Says he’ll swing by later this afternoon.”
“Great. I’ll be waiting.” Again, their eyes met and Harper felt that fleeting sense of something important about to happen.
Just then, a voice shouted from the door, “Taylor!”
Harper blinked with surprise when she saw Carson stride into the room. The woman was transformed. Radiant in a long, white caftan, her dark hair slicked back in a braid, she walked in holding her arms out in welcome to Taylor. Gone was the sleepy, nauseated woman Harper had encountered in the bedroom. Carson’s California, beachy look, her glowing tan and brilliant blue eyes, all exuded sex appeal and confidence. Taylor walked directly to her, a wide grin on his face, and hugged her.
Harper turned away and busied herself getting Taylor’s glass of iced tea, all the while keeping a hooded gaze on the couple as they chatted. Looking down at herself, she suddenly felt dowdy in her torn denim shorts and tank top. Of course it was her luck to be caught playing Cinderella for the day. But if he’d come yesterday, would it have made much difference? Not really, she realized. Yesterday she was in jeans, sweating in the garden. Clothes used to matter to her. She was accustomed to New York chic designer outfits and shoes. Polished nails. Hair and makeup styled to perfection. Not a hem hanging, a button loose. Her mother had trained her to always look her best. A safety pin on clothing drove Georgiana to distraction.
Harper brought her hand up to push back a wayward lock. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to the hairdresser. Or put on a sleek dress, spiky heels, and smoky eye makeup. She glanced at her nails. She desperately needed a manicure. She shrank into herself, wondering again who she was. It seemed the more she discovered herself on the inside, the less she recognized herself on the outside.