Only the glaucous clouding of Mrs. Hallenbeck's blue eyes and the gnarled hands told Quill that she must be over eighty. Her skin was smooth, shadowed by a fine net of wrinkles at eye and mouth. She sat rigidly upright, chin high to avoid the sagging of throat and jowl. Her figure was slim rather than gaunt, and Quill took in the expensive watch and the elegant Chanel suit. Mrs. Hallenbeck fixed Quill with a basilisk glare. "I wish to speak to the owner."
"You are," said Quill cheerfully. "What can I do for you?"
"Our reservations were not in order." The old lady was clearly displeased.
"I'm very sorry," said Quill, going to the ledger. "You weren't recorded in the book? I'll arrange a room for you immediately."
"We were in the book. I had requested the third-floor suite. The one overlooking the gorge, with that marvelous balcony that makes you feel as though you were flying." She paused, and the clouded blue eyes teared up a little. "My husband and I stayed here, years ago. I am retracing our days together."
Quill's look expressed sympathy. "That girl of yours. She put us into two rooms on the second floor. It overlooks the back lawn. It is not a suite. It is not what I require. I demanded to see the owner, and John Raintree said that these arrangements had been made and could not be changed."
"Let me see what we can do." Quill checked the booking: Hallenbeck, Amelia, and Collinwood, Mavis. The reservation had been made three months ago, by one of the gilt-edged travel agencies in South Carolina. Paid for in advance with an American Express Gold card. There it was: Requested Suite 312-314. And just as clearly marked in John's handwriting were their current rooms: Confirmed 101 and 104. "Did Mr. Raintree say anything at all about why the rooms were booked this way? He's a wonderful help to us, Mrs. Hallenbeck, and rarely makes mistakes. It's not like him to make a change like this without a reason."
"He did not say one word." The tones were decisive. If she'd had a whip, she would have cracked it.
Quill suppressed a grin. "I'm certain that no one's in three-fourteen. Shall we go up and see if it's suitable for you?" Mrs. Hallenbeck nodded regally. The three of them went up the stairs. Any notion that John may have booked them into first-floor rooms due to Mrs. Hallenbeck's arthritis was quickly dispelled; she took the steps with a lot less effort than Mavis Collinwood, who began to breathe heavily at the second-floor landing. Quill unlocked the door to the suite and stepped aside to let them enter.
Quill loved all twenty-seven rooms at the Inn, but 314 was one of her favorites. A white Adams-style fireplace dominated the wall opposite the balcony. The carpeting was crisp navy-blue. The couch and occasional chairs were covered in blue-and-yellow chintz, the colors of Provence. French doors opened out onto a white-painted iron balcony cantilevered over the lip of Hemlock Gorge, giving 314 a panoramic view of the Falls.
Quill stepped out and watched the cascade of water over granite. Bird calls came from the pines and joined the water's rush. Sweet smells from the gardens and the hemlock groves mingled with the daffodil-scent of fresh water. Mrs. Hallenbeck followed Quill onto the balcony, her chin jutting imperiously. She inhaled. "Dogwood," she stated precisely, "and one of the scented roses."
"Scented Cloud," said Quill. "It's a lovely rose, too. We grow it out back."
"This," Mrs. Hallenbeck said, "is what I asked for. I will walk in the hemlock glade after dinner."
"I'm sorry about the confusion, Mrs. Hallenbeck." Quill drew her inside the suite. "I'll see that your luggage is brought up here. Would you like some tea? I can have it brought to you, or you can have it in the dining room."
"An English tea? I believe your brochure described an English tea."
"Yes. A traditional high tea, with scones, Devonshire cream, and watercress sandwiches."
"Perhaps there will be no charge for that, since I have been seriously inconvenienced."
Quill, slightly taken aback, swallowed a laugh. "I'll be sure that there isn't."
"Then we shall be down after Mavis unpacks us." She nodded dismissal. Quill meekly took the hint, and went back to the Chamber meeting. She took the stairs slowly, not, she told herself, because she wasn't anxious to get back to the meeting, but because it was a beautiful July day, the Inn was booked solid for the week of History Days, and a relaxed country environment was one of the many reasons she'd left her career as an artist to move to Central New York.
"There you are," said Esther West, as Quill stepped into the lobby. "We're taking a bit of a break before we go back and vote."
"Somebody else volunteered to take Julie Offenbach's place?" Quill said with hope. "I've got a couple of ideas for you, Esther. What about Miriam Doncaster? You know, the librarian. She's a heck of a swimmer. I couldn't swim to the side of the pond as gracefully as she could after being dunked in the ducking stool."
"No. Everyone agrees you'd be the best Clarissa. Marge wants us to vote on whether or not the monthly Chamber meetings should be held at the Hemlock Home Diner instead of here."
"Oh," said Quill. "But we all decided to take a bio break before we voted, and anyhow, Myles and Howie both thought that you'd probably want to be there for the discussion part."
"You bet I would," said Quill. "That monthly Chamber lunch is a good piece of business. John'll have my guts for garters if I lose it. Maybe I'd better have him sit in." An increasingly noisy argument from the lobby succeeded in drawing her attention. "Excuse me a second, Esther. Dina seems to need help."
Dina, one of the Cornell Hotel School graduate students on whom the Inn depended for much of its staff, was scowling ferociously at a middle-aged man at the counter. An elegantly dressed man in his thirties stood behind him, watching with interest.
"Can I give you a hand here, Dina?"
"I've been trying to tell this guy that we're booked for the week. He said the Marriott called and made reservations for him this morning." She scowled even harder. "Then he said well maybe the Marriott forgot to call, but that places 'like this' always hold back a room in case of emergencies, and he wants it."
"Keith Baumer," said the middle-aged man. He extended his hand. Quill took it. He grinned and wiggled his fingers suggestively in her palm. "You the manager, or what?"
Quill freed herself. "I'm really sorry, Mr. Baumer, but Dina's right, of course. We're booked for the week."
"Come on, kiddo, I need some help here. I've got a sales convention at the Marriott, and the bastards overbooked. I hear this is the only decent place to get a room. I know you guys; you're always holding something in reserve. Whyn't you check the reservations book yourself? I'm here for the week. I don't mind paying top dollar." He grinned and edged closer to her.
Quill took two steps back, hit the counter, and repeated, "I'm sorry, Mr. Baumer. We simply don't have a room available." The phone shrilled twice, and Dina picked it up as Quill. continued, "We'll be happy to call a few nearby places for you - "
"Quill?" said Dina.
" - but I'm afraid you're going to have a rough time if you want to stay close to your sales meeting. This is the height of the tourist season..."