“When what started?” asked Theodosia. “I’m afraid we got into a row with Hughes Barron,” confessed Drayton.
“Who did?” asked Theodosia. “All of you?” She knew any kind of new development in the historic district was one of Drayton’s pet peeves. He himself resided in a 160year-old home once occupied by a Civil War surgeon.
“Timothy Neville, Joshua Brady, and me. Samantha and Bethany threw their two cents in as well. But mostly it was Timothy. He had a particularly ugly go-round with Hughes Barron.” Drayton lowered his voice. “You know how cantankerous and judgmental Timothy can be.”
Indeed, Theodosia was well aware of Timothy Neville’s fiery temper. The crusty octogenarian president of the Heritage Society had a reputation for being bull-headed and brash. In fact, she had once seen Timothy Neville berate a waiter at the Peninsula Grill for incorrectly opening a bottle of champagne and spilling a few drops of the French bubbly. She had always felt that Timothy Neville was entirely too full of himself.
“So Timothy Neville took off on Hughes Barron?” said Theodosia.
“I’d have to say it was more of a character assassination.” Drayton looked around sharply, then lowered his voice an octave. “Timothy denounced Hughes Barron as a Neanderthal carpetbagger. Because of that condo development.”
“Just awful,” said Theodosia.
Drayton faced Theodosia with sad eyes. “I agree. A gentleman should never resort to name-calling.”
“I meant the condos,” Theodosia replied.
Chapter 6
Theodosia stared at the storyboards propped up against the wall in her office. Jessica Todd, president of Todd & Lambeau Design Group, had brought in three more boards. Now there were six different Web site designs for her to evaluate.
As her eyes roved from one to the other, she told herself that all were exciting and extremely doable. Any one... eeny, meeny, miney, moe ...would work beautifully at launching her tea business into cyberspace.
Ordinarily, Theodosia would be head over heels, champing at the bit to make a final choice and set the wheels in motion. But today it seemed as if her brain was stuffed with cotton.
Too much had happened, she told herself. Was happening. It felt like a freight train gathering momentum. Not a runaway train quite yet, but one that was certainly rumbling down the rails.
Bethany had phoned the tea shop a half hour ago, and Haley, stretching the cord to its full length so she could talk privately in the kitchen, had a whispered conversation with her. When Haley hung up, Theodosia had grabbed a box of Kleenex and listened intently as Haley related Bethany’s sad tale.
“She’s finished at the police station for now,” Haley had told her. “But one of the detectives, I don’t know if it was that Tidwell character or not, advised her to get a lawyer.” Haley had snuffled, then blown her nose loudly. “Do you know any lawyers?” she’d asked plaintively.
Theodosia had nodded. Of course she did. Her father’s law firm was still in business. The senior partner, Leyland Hartwell, always a family friend, was a formidable presence in Charleston.
Jessica Todd impatiently tapped a manicured finger on her ultraslim laptop computer. Hyperthyroidal and super-slim herself, wearing an elegant aubergine-colored suit, Jessica sat across the desk from Theodosia. She was anxious to get Theodosia’s decision today.
As President of Todd & Lambeau, Jessica had distinguished herself as one of the top Internet marketing gurus in Charleston. And today she was fairly jumping out of her skin, eager to implement her graphic design ideas, Web architecture, and marketing strategies for the Indigo Tea Shop’s new Web site.
“Would you like a cup of tea, Jessica?” Theodosia asked, stalling. Decisions weren’t coming easily.
“That’s the fourth time you’ve asked,” Jessica replied somewhat peevishly. She shook her head and ran long fingernails through her sleek, short helmet of dark hair. “Again, no thank you.”
“Sorry,” murmured Theodosia.
Jessica reached over and plucked up a board that featured a montage of teapots and tea leaves, set against a ghosted background of green terraced slopes, one of the old Chinese tea plantations.
“If we could just revisit this concept for a moment,” said Jessica, forging ahead, “I believe you’ll find it meets all criteria we established. Dynamic graphics, intuitive user interface. Look at the global navigation buttons. On-line Catalog, Tea Tips, Tea Q&A, and Contact Us. Here, I’ll show you how it works on the laptop.”
“Jessica...” Theodosia began, then stopped. There was no way she could focus on this when she was so concerned about Bethany and the events of last night. She knew better than to make critical business decisions when her mind was somewhere else.
“I’m sorry,” said Theodosia standing up. “We’re going to have to do this another time.”
“What?” sputtered Jessica.
“Your designs are perfectly lovely. Spectacular, in fact. But I need to live with them for a few days. And it’s only right to share them with Drayton and Haley, get a consensus.”
“Let’s call them in now.”
“Jessica. Please.”
“All right, all right.” Jessica Todd snapped her laptop closed, gathered up her attaché case. “Call me, Theodosia. But don’t wait too long. We’re hot into a pitch right now for a new on-line brokerage. And if it comes through, when it comes through, we’re all going to be working twenty-four/seven on it.”
“I hear you, Jessica.”
Walking Jessica to the door, Theodosia thought back on her own career in advertising. I was like that, she told herself. Nervous, nuts. Slaving evenings and weekends, caught in the pressure cooker. What had Jessica called it? Working twenty-four/seven. Right.
Breathing a sigh of relief, feeling enormously grateful for her serene little world at the tea shop, Theodosia surprised Haley just as she was dusting a fresh pan of lemon bars with powdered sugar.
“I’m going to do deliveries today,” Theodosia announced.
“You are? Why is that?” asked Haley.
“Can’t sit still, don’t want to sit still.”
“I know the feeling,” said Haley. She reached under her wooden baker’s rack and pulled out a large wicker hamper. “Okay, lucky for you it’s the milk run. Only two deliveries. A half-dozen canisters of jasmine and English breakfast teas for the Featherbed House and some of Drayton’s special palmetto blend for Reverend Jonathan at Saint Philip’s.”
Once outside, Theodosia walked briskly in the direction of the Featherbed House. The sun shone down warmly. The breeze off the Cooper River was light and tasted faintly salty. White, puffy clouds scudded overhead. But what should have been a glorious day to revel in went relatively unnoticed by Theodosia, so preoccupied was she by recent events.
Why on earth were they pressing Bethany so hard?
she wondered. Surely the police could see she was just a young woman with no ax to grind against anyone. Especially a man like Hughes Barron. Burt Tidwell was no fool. He, of all people, should be able to see that.
Theodosia sighed. Poor Bethany. The only thing she’d been up to lately was trying to rebuild her life. And she’d seemed to have been going about it fairly successfully.
Only last week Theodosia had overheard Bethany speaking glowingly to Drayton about her internship at the Heritage Society. How she’d been chosen over six other candidates. How she was so impressed by the many volunteers who donated countless hours and dollars. How the Heritage Society had recently staged a black-tie dinner and silent auction and raised almost $300,000 to purchase the old Chapman Mill. Abandoned and scheduled for demolition, the historic old mill would now live on in Charleston’s history.