Page 2 of Unpacking Secrets
“Yes,” I said slowly. “Mr. Escobar said that the inn practically runs itself and I’m basically the owner in name only. He promised that all of the employees would be staying on, which I hope is true, because I have no idea what I’m doing here.”
Clearly relieved, Gerard said, “Yes, yes, that’s exactly so. Nothing to worry about, dear girl, we all know what we’re doing. I act as caretaker of the grounds and the building itself, then there’s Sally, our chef, and Mrs. Gregson, the housekeeper. My grandson, Henry, took over the reservations and accounting for Nan when she got sick, but she ran the place singlehanded for years, until bringing Mrs. Gregson onboard just before your mother was born.”
“That’s the entire staff?” I asked, surprised.
“We pull in additional waitstaff and an extra maid or two as needed, depending on the season. Soon enough, we’ll need a new groundskeeper, but these old knees haven’t let me down yet. Henry is out running an errand, but he’ll be back soon. I’ll introduce you. The others are around here somewhere.”
I nodded, more overwhelmed by the small, intimate staffing than I would've been by a large crew. My status as the outsider cemented then and there.
“Henry has a head for numbers. I’m sure he’d be happy to show you the revenues, in case you’d like to step into Nan’s shoes down the road.”
My mouth dropped open before I could stop it. “Oh. I mean, that’d be fine,” I stammered.
I had zero interest in learning about profit margins or managing the inn. The lawyer made it sound like I would essentially act as a figurehead in this operation. I was an artist with zero experience running a business—somehow, I doubted cashing out customers or reshelving books at my last job would translate to useful skills for the owner of a bed and breakfast. I’d enjoyed the job for the freedom it gave me to pursue art in my spare time while still paying my bills.
Never in my life had I been so unprepared for anything.
Gerard smiled reassuringly. “Of course, dear, whatever you wish. Everyone is very excited to meet you.”
“Great,” I replied, trying to smile back. I followed him down a hallway, studying the old photos hanging there along the way.
“The inn was built in 1850, though it was a private residence until Nan purchased the property in 1971 to convert it to a bed and breakfast. She and her husband lived in the owner’s quarters until she got pregnant with your mother, then they made an offer on the adjoining property where the cottage sits. Sally lives in the owner’s quarters now, so there’s always someone on site for emergencies.”
I hadn’t thought to research the history of the place, not when my own history was so up in the air, but now I wanted to know everything. “So you offer breakfast to guests, and they’re on their own for lunch and dinner?”
“That’s how we’ve done it for years, but we recently started offering dinner service for guests, by reservation only, in addition to our usual breakfast. Sally is very talented and Nan hoped to eventually expand to offering a full dinner menu. Her illness delayed those plans a bit, but we’re working hard to get them rolling again.”
A gray-haired woman in a floral dress hurried toward us and grasped my hands in hers as she gave me a full once over. “Oh, goodness, you must be Juliet. I’m Gemma Gregson. We spoke on the phone the other day. Well, if you aren’t just the spitting image of Nan!”
The comment struck me speechless for a second time.
“Ah,” I began, searching for something to say in response.
I needed to brainstorm a better way to react to those exclamations. Fortunately, my reticence didn’t slow Mrs. Gregson down one bit. The older woman reached out to touch a lock of my hair, though she caught herself and dropped her hand before making contact.
“That red doesn’t lie,” she said, clucking her tongue. “Melissa was blonde as blonde could be, but she had a temperament that was better suited to a redhead, as I’m sure you must know.”
How bizarre it was to hear strangers refer to my mother by name. I still didn’t know how to respond, so I simply smiled. Fortunately, Mrs. Gregson overlooked my silence and turned to Gerard.
“The doorknob in the pantry is loose. Sally asked me to send you to fix it, if you have the time? I can show Juliet around.”
“You’re in capable hands,” the older man said with a wink. “I’ll take you over to the cottage when Gemma is satisfied you’ve seen every nook and cranny of the inn.”
I mumbled my thanks as he ambled away.
Mrs. Gregson beamed at me. “Well, then. This is the dining room, of course. Breakfast is served from seven to eleven each morning. Sally likes to put out some buffet items when we have a full house, but she also has a standard made-to-order menu, as well as a daily special.”
A dozen or so tables dotted the hardwood floor, each decorated with a lace tablecloth and a small candle in the center. The dark paneling on the walls gave way to a stretch of tall windows overlooking the gardens and the lake, bringing in a fantastic amount of light even as afternoon faded to evening.
“This view is really something,” I said softly.
“Isn’t it? Even in the winter, our guests love it. We encourage them to spend time wherever they wish, and we keep that cupboard stocked with board games and books for them to enjoy.” She gestured toward an armoire tucked into a corner. “It’s not unusual for the tables to be taken up outside of breakfast hours. Shall we continue the tour?”
Just as I turned to follow her toward the door, my gaze stalled on the artwork scattered throughout the room. Mrs. Gregson noticed my interest and guided me toward the wall opposite the windows.
“These are all local landmarks,” she said, gesturing to a small watercolor. “Most of them are Nan’s contributions, like this one, but we have a handful of work from other local artists as well.”
For a long moment, I studied the painting, each daub of color calling to me like a whispered voice, familiar but foreign. I’d never developed any talent for watercolors myself, but I loved them, the gentle power of every soft stroke.
