Harte's Desire Part 16

She was keenly aware of the heads that turned to follow her progress to the elevator. She punched the down b.u.t.ton as though her life depended on it and waited impatiently for the doors to open, ignoring the small crowd of Darnell Development employees who gathered to stare at her.

When Libby finally entered the hushed sanctuary of the elevator, she sagged against the bra.s.s rail on the far wall as the doors closed in front of her. With the back of her hand, Libby wiped a tear trickling down her cheek and sadly watched the floor numbers light up in descending order, carrying her ever further from the man she loved.

Chapter Twenty-Six.

Christopher Darnell stared at the closed door for a full minute after Libby's angry departure. Letting out a tired sigh, he swung his chair around, propped both feet unceremoniously on the window sill and gazed at the Philadelphia skyline without really seeing it.

Their meeting had been a disaster, he conceded. He, the master of negotiation and persuasive speech, hadn't been able to get so much as a word in. He, who prided himself on thoroughly studying every opponent to know their habits, financial status, and favorite foods so he could antic.i.p.ate their willingness to deal, had miserably underestimated Libby.

Over the years, he'd acc.u.mulated a whole folder full of information about her. The real estate deals he'd lost because of her, newspaper clippings about her and her projects, reams of financial data showing the dollars he'd spent to fight her as well as the profits he'd sacrificed because of her interference. The overstuffed folder was sitting on his desk now. He'd glanced through its contents earlier and wondered anew how they'd avoided meeting each other before Harte's Desire.

He'd planned on waving the heavy folder in front of her before symbolically dumping the entire thing in the wastebasket. Chris had decided to tell Libby that what happened in the past between them didn't matter anymore. He was willing to let go of the adversarial history they shared to start with a clean slate. They could get to know each other without the old baggage weighing their relations.h.i.+p down.

But most of all, he wanted to tell Libby how much he loved her.

Thoughts of her had consumed him, beginning the minute he left her house, during the long plane trip to London, and lasting the entire week he was away from her. There was barely a moment he didn't miss her impish grin, her proud determination, or the thousand other ways she touched his soul.

She loved him once. Could she love him again?

Chris was sorry Libby misinterpreted his note. He thought she'd want to talk about their feelings and the way their intimacy had solidified a love they could share.

She looked as stunning as ever, he reflected. The dusty rose color of her silk blouse and matching tailored skirt highlighted her creamy complexion and accented her figure to perfection. Her hair, cascading in blond waves past her shoulders, seemed to s.h.i.+ne with a brilliance of its own and framed her pretty, intelligent face. She wore only a bare minimum of make-up and he knew she'd be just as radiant wearing none at all. By the look of her curvaceous legs, made all the more so by the leather trimmed high heels she wore, it was obvious she was still going to the gym. Chris chuckled at the memory of their workout together. Lord, but she was feisty.

How he'd wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until they were both senseless and out of breath.

Two pigeons landed on the ledge outside Chris's window, pecked at some unseen tidbit, then flew away when Chris tapped his foot against the gla.s.s.

Didn't Libby know by now he wasn't one to be so easily dismissed? Sure, she was mad at him and rightfully so. They'd been like two spiders caught in the same tangled web of deceit. He was willing to put all that aside. Was she?

He had one more chance to convince her. Maybe. Thank heaven he'd already put part of the plan into motion. And according to Edwina, things were progressing nicely. Right according to schedule. If Libby hadn't gotten so hot-headed this afternoon, she'd be sitting here learning all about it, and his love for her, right now. Instead, she'd stormed out the door like a bull elephant on the march.

He'd need help from Libby's secretary. What was her name? Connie? Edwina would know. Somehow he had to get Libby to attend the dinner dance at Harte's Desire. She'd already vowed never to set foot there again, so it wouldn't be easy. But he'd find a way. He could be as persistent, stubborn, and pig-headed as she was.

She'd stopped him from getting what he wanted before. But not this time.

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

"Libby! Pick up the darn phone and talk to me!"

Connie's voice, loud and urgent, rang out over the speaker on Libby's answering machine.

"I know you're home. And if you won't talk to me on the phone, I swear to G.o.d I'll come over there and make you talk to me in person. It's an absolute disaster here and I need you now," Connie continued persistently.

Hitting the stop b.u.t.ton on the TV remote control, Libby reached over and lifted the handset.

"This better be important, Connie Garrett, or you will be looking for a new job come Monday morning," Libby grumbled, annoyed that Connie's call had come just when the movie was getting interesting. "I'm in the middle of a great movie, and I've already told you that wild horses and the President himself couldn't drag me to Harte's Desire tonight. So what's the crisis over there?" Libby demanded.

"I know you don't want to be here tonight, Libby, and I know you sent me in your place to handle whatever might come up. But this is more than I can manage."

"What could possibly be more than you can manage?"

"I swear, Lib, it's a catastrophe of the tenth magnitude over here. The hot water heater isn't working, so the caterer thought she'd just heat some water on the stove. But then she discovered that the stove's not working either. You know how old it is. Seems the electricity on the first floor is out and if I didn't know better, I'd say Christopher Darnell was out to sabotage us."

"Anyway," Connie continued, "We've got at least two hundred and fifty very hungry people here and we can't serve them cold food. The caterer's in a real snit and I don't know what to do."

Libby scratched her head, straining to find a solution that didn't require her presence.

"I'm pretty sure Jim Baxter was coming tonight, Connie. Remember him? The electrician who wired the office for me? Why don't you track him down and see if he could take a look at it? Maybe it's only something minor, like a blown fuse." Libby relaxed slightly, thinking she'd gotten a reprieve from a potentially damaging mishap.

"That's a good idea, Lib. See? I knew you'd come up with something," Connie responded. "But there's another problem that, uh, I have no idea how to resolve."

"Another problem? What else could possibly go wrong?"

"Well...you see...there's this crane here."

"A crane?"

"Yeah, a crane with a big, black wrecking ball hanging off of it."

"Did I hear you right? A crane with a wrecking ball?"

"Yep."

"Where?" Libby's voice was climbing higher with each response.

"It's, uh, in the driveway to the back. Between Harte's Desire and the carriage house. Believe me, it's huge. Gotta be six stories high--it towers over Harte's Desire! Somebody said the wrecking ball dangling from the cable must weigh about two-tons. Anyway, you can imagine what everybody's saying. Actually, a lot of them are plenty mad that Christopher Darnell would be so blatant about his plans for the mansion, what with tonight being the fundraiser and all. Honestly, Libby, I don't know what to do about it."

Libby's heart started racing, slamming furiously against her chest in rage. The nerve of that man! He had absolutely no sense of timing, or fair play. There was no excuse for having the crane there at all. Why, the mansion wasn't supposed to come down for at least another month or two. Or had he lied about that to placate her and the historical society?

Libby braced herself against the couch, the movie quickly forgotten in her mounting anger at Chris's latest bold move.

"Is he there?" Libby asked tightly.

"Who?" Connie countered.

"Who else? Darnell."

"Uh, yeah, I saw him around here somewhere, Lib. By the way, he looks great tonight. All decked out in a black tux which fits that gorgeous body of his like a glove with a..." Connie's description came to a screeching halt as she realized she was composing a vivid portrait of the very man Libby vowed never to mention again.

"Can the pep talk, Connie. He's still a snake no matter what he's wearing. You're sure he's there?"

"Absolutely."

"Did you confront him about the crane?"

"Sure did. He just shrugged his shoulders when I asked him what we could do about it and said there must have been a 'tiny misunderstanding' in the scheduling office."

"He calls a menacing two-ton black ball attached to a sixty foot crane a 'tiny misunderstanding'?" Libby asked incredulously. "I can't believe it. No, I can believe it. Where Christopher Darnell is concerned, anything is possible."

Libby let out a huge sigh. Her perfectly planned gala was turning into a nightmare.

"Well, he can't get away with this, Connie. Not if I can help it." She snorted with indignation. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

"That's great, 'cause I have no idea what to do. Oh, and Lib?"

"Yes, Connie?"

"Why don't you take two minutes to change out of those cut-off jeans I'm sure you're wearing and throw on a dress or a skirt?" Connie suggested hopefully. "There's a great party going on over here and I really think you'd feel out of place if you didn't show up in something festive. Who knows, you might even decide to stay and have a good time with the rest of us."

Now how did she know she had jeans on? Libby wondered. Was she that predictable? But Connie was right. As chairperson and organizer of the event, she probably should appear as presentable as possible, even if it was only for a two minute confrontation with Chris.

"OK, but I'm not staying any longer than I have to," Libby replied tersely.

"Wait, Lib," Connie cut in urgently. "One more thing. Come in through the front doors into the entrance hall, OK? One of the caterers who overheard me talking to you just told me Chris is in there greeting people as they arrive so that's where you'll find him. Pretty cheeky of him, huh?"

"At least he'll make an easy target. See you soon!"

Libby hung up the phone and dashed upstairs to her bedroom and started stripping her clothes off. Rummaging through the closet, she decisively pulled out a strapless linen dress. It was a bright, almost shocking, pink and Libby knew Chris would not be able to pretend he didn't see her. She chuckled. Wearing it would almost be like waving a red flag at a bull. Good. She was primed and ready for a fight.

After putting on a lacy, strapless bra, she slipped into the dress, and struggled to pull up the zipper in the back before a.s.sessing her appearance in the mirror. It was perfect. The fitted bodice emphasized her tiny waist while the V-shaped neckline showed her ample bosom to perfection in a dramatic decollete. The gently-gathered skirt ended just above her knees and had a high cut kick pleat in the back.

Adding a hand-made ceramic necklace and earrings in an enameled pink design, she gave her glossy blonde hair a couple of quick strokes with the hairbrush, grabbed a small handbag, stepped into a pair of matching shoes, and headed back downstairs in a rush.

Chapter Twenty-Eight.

Libby sped past the ma.s.sive entrance gates to Harte's Desire without pausing to admire the gaily painted sign and fifty helium-filled balloons attached to the rusted rails marking the site of the largest single fundraising event ever to be held in Borden's Landing. As her car b.u.mped and lurched over the lane, forcing her to slow down, she finally noticed the many cars parked off to the side. Hundreds of people came, she thought jubilantly. If their large number was any indication, the fundraiser was a huge success! Maybe all the ha.s.sles with Chris had been worth it. Because of her perseverance and hard work, enough money would be raised to restore the schoolhouse.

Libby slowed the car down to a virtual crawl as she came up behind one of the horse-drawn carriages being used to transport guests from their cars to Harte's Desire. Edwina had gotten Chris to give them permission to clean up the three buggies she discovered in the carriage house--they were surprisingly intact and in working order--and one of the historical society members who owned a farm volunteered to provide the horses and oversee the shuttle service.

Recognizing Libby, the driver waved to her and pulled over to let her pa.s.s.

When Libby finally got close to the mansion, the first thing she noticed were the bright lights s.h.i.+ning from the windows making Harte's Desire appear more alive and welcoming than it probably had in half a century. This is how Harte's Desire should be, Libby thought with deep regret--larger than life, vital, serving a unique and useful purpose for generations to come. Unfortunately, the fundraiser was its swan song. The last great party before its walls came tumbling down in the name of progress.

The realization that the electricity was, indeed, working again snapped Libby out of her melancholy and she let out an audible sigh of relief. Maybe things weren't quite as bad as Connie would have her believe.

As she drove closer still, she peered anxiously out the winds.h.i.+eld, struggling to see the threatening crane causing all the commotion. Odd, she thought as she came within fifty feet of Harte's Desire, the crane would surely be visible now. Not seeing it anywhere, she silently applauded Connie for resolving yet another snag in the plans and decided to give her a raise on Monday.

Libby was preparing to turn around and go back home when it occurred to her that maybe the crane was still there. That they'd only lowered the boom. Maybe the boom and wrecking ball were laying in the garden, crus.h.i.+ng those beautiful roses and forcing guests to detour around its sixty-foot length if they wanted to follow the brick lined path down to the river. What if the boom crushed the gazebo? She couldn't leave until she was sure the offending machine of destruction had been safely, and benignly, tucked out of view.

Pulling in with a screech behind Connie's car, Libby hastily shut off the engine and headed towards the front door. The warm summer air was filled with the almost-magical sounds of laughter and loud, jovial chatter as people cl.u.s.tered in congenial groups, drinks in hand, on the mansion's open air porches. Strains of music coming from the ballroom added to the festive mood.

Libby waved brightly to those calling out to her and suddenly wished she were able to join them. Steeling herself against the confrontation ahead, she approached the ma.s.sive front doors and threw them open with unusual strength.

She stepped through the entry and shook her head in disbelief, the sight there so unexpected she couldn't accept that it was real.

The grand entrance hall was magnificently restored to its original, breathtaking splendor. The carved oak staircase rose majestically ahead of her, its missing bal.u.s.ters replicated and replaced, and its varnished finish miraculously cleaned and s.h.i.+ning with a brilliance of its own.

All evidence of crumbling plaster on the walls and water damage on the ceiling had been removed; both surfaces were now smooth and sporting fresh coats of paint in the exact colors revealed by the color a.n.a.lysis Libby had undertaken weeks ago. The marble tile floor had been thoroughly cleaned and polished; somehow, new tiles to match the missing ones had been found and installed. Although there was no sun to illuminate the stained gla.s.s window, Libby could see that it, too, had been cleaned and perfectly repaired.

The huge oak console table had been beautifully refinished and was pulled away from the wall at its former location near the staircase to occupy a place of prominence in the hallway. Precisely where she said it should be. A huge cut crystal vase filled with dozens of red roses sat on its polished top.

Libby was so absorbed by the room's stunning change in appearance that when she finally noticed the entrance hall was overflowing with roses, she wondered how she ever overlooked them. Roses were everywhere. In vases, in baskets, on stands, in antique urns on the floor. Every color imaginable--red, yellow, pale pink, coral, peach, and white. Libby groaned inwardly when she considered their cost. Hadn't she told the florist to use inexpensive daisies and carnations? And who had restored the entrance hall? Certainly not Chris. The historical society? But why?

Strangely, the hall was empty, despite the large number of cars she pa.s.sed on her way in. Where was everyone?

A placard, standing on a polished bra.s.s tripod next to the console table, caught her eye. It invited guests to enjoy coffee, drinks, and conversation in the Rose Room and had an arrow pointing to the left. Her mission to find Chris momentarily forgotten, Libby decided she might find someone there to explain what was going on. She walked down the familiar hallway and entered the Rose Room, only to discover that it, too, had been restored to its original grandeur.

Although she and her committee had decided to remove the room's valuable antique furnis.h.i.+ngs, the couches, chairs, and tables were exactly where Libby had last seen them. However, they had been handsomely restored. The upholstered pieces had been carefully cleaned, the years of dust and dirt washed away to reveal the delicate colors and patterns in the original fabric coverings.

Freshly-cut roses abounded here, too, their sweet scent filling the air and making Libby's senses reel. She hesitantly made her way to the couch she'd nervously sat on at their first meeting, pausing now and then to admire the careful and accurate restoration that had taken place without her knowledge. Libby was about to sit down when Connie's voice sounded at the doorway.

"Pretty impressive, don't you think?"

Libby whirled around to find Connie staring at her, a sheepish grin breaking on her employee's face.

"You knew about this?" Libby asked incredulously, gesturing to the room around her.

"Yep. All about it."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was a surprise."

"Well, it's a surprise, alright," Libby countered. "More like a shock. This is just how I imagined it would be. Right out of my dreams. I'm not dreaming, though, am I?"

"Nope."

"Has Chris seen this yet?"

"Ah, you could say that," Connie replied evasively.