She’d given herself a tour of his house.
Annie had told her that Prentice had left the firm he’d worked for five years ago and started his own. He had five employees and enough work that it was steady, busy and his family was comfortable.
He’d also designed this house.
And it was extraordinary.
The great room with its huge wall of windows, the large, rectangular gleaming dining table at the foot of the stairs, state-of-the-art kitchen with stainless steel appliances and an enormous American refrigerator was, in itself, phenomenal. The blond wood, open-backed (and sided) wide stairwell, the steps that seemed (because they were) suspended in midair was unusual and amazing. The upper floor fed off the side into the cliff that rose beside of the house, four bedrooms (one which was a playroom-slash-music room) and a full bath with the kids’ rooms having their own jack and jill bathroom. The master suite (which Isabella very quickly dashed through even though she really, really shouldn’t have) had a sitting room, bedroom, walk-in closet and bathroom with sunken tub.
Isabella noted that Fiona’s clothes and belongings were no longer in the room and, even though that made her heart contract, she was glad that Prentice had moved beyond what she suspected was a very difficult stage of the grieving process.
On her side of the house there was a study (obviously Prentice’s), a television room with a big, comfy sectional couch (there was no TV in the great room, or any other room in the house for that matter), a half bath, a large storage area and a mudroom-slash-laundry room.
There were balconies that faced the sea leading from the great room, Prentice’s bedroom and even a small private one in her rooms.
The rooms were huge, airy and full of windows. The blond wood floors, timber sashes and skirting boards were gorgeous. The unusual lines of the ceilings and quirky touches were extraordinary.
The entire house was magnificent.
It wasn’t decorated to Isabella’s taste (obviously). Isabella liked no mess, no clutter, clean lines.
But this was a family home stuffed full with books, picture frames and proudly displayed but poorly crafted children’s art. The fridge was covered in bits and pieces. The mudroom was filled with coats and boots and dirty laundry.
Even so, there was a flair to it that reminded Isabella of Fiona. It was comfortably appointed but decorated with a hint of fun and playfulness with bold and bright colors that would only be used by a woman who was confident in herself and her taste.
Exactly the opposite of Isabella who had hired a decorator to decorate her apartment and had very little hand in the choosing of anything, fabrics, colors, draperies, she didn’t care. She didn’t really even see it.
Her home was the place where she existed just as her life was simply an existence.
Once she’d finished her tour and dinner chores, she’d retreated to her rooms.
Now, to her surprise, she heard scrambling feet coming close and Prentice’s voice calling sharply, “Sally!”
The scrambling feet sounded on the stairs and Isabella whirled to the door she hadn’t closed.
She’d just finished doing yoga.
She’d asked her doctor to titrate her off the anti-depressants she’d been taking for years. He hadn’t wanted to but she didn’t want to be zoned out when Annie finally had her dream come true.
In fact, she figured she’d been zoned out long enough.
She’d taken her last pill two days before.
Isabella felt (and convinced her doctor) that she could deal with the dark thoughts and she’d created a variety of mechanisms to help her do it.
She had her journals.
She kept things ordered and tidy around her.
She used aromatherapy to help her sleep and other times besides, like now when she practiced yoga.
Before leaving the village that day, she’d bought four fantastic, homemade candles from Fern Goodacre’s cute little shop. One was in the sitting room, currently burning a calming scent of lavender, one was in the bedroom and two were in the wardrobe for use by the next guests, a small present for Prentice that he probably wouldn’t notice and didn’t have to enjoy himself.
She was wearing her roll-top, wide-legged, charcoal gray yoga pants and a plum colored, shelf-bra camisole. Her feet were bare and her hair was pulled in a messy knot secured by a ponytail holder on the top of her head.
Isabella was not in “company clothes” as her father called them and also demanded that she wear them at all times when “in company” which was, unless she was alone, pretty much all the time.
She had no choice. Before she could move, Sally burst through the door still wearing her school uniform with her pink and purple rucksack strapped to her back.
“We’re home!” she shouted as if Isabella was at the other side of the house not right in front of her.
Isabella couldn’t help herself, she smiled.
“I see that, honey.”
Sally took in all that was Isabella and the room including the yoga mat on the floor before she asked, “Whatcha doin’?”
Isabella leaned down to pick up the mat and started rolling it up when she heard adult footsteps on the stairs.
Her heart skipped a beat.
“Yoga,” Isabella replied, her hands moving quickly on the mat, unsure of Prentice’s response to Sally’s impromptu visit and wanting to be prepared.
Sally lost interest in her answer and danced to the candle.
“What’s this?” she breathed, getting close and staring at it as if she’d never seen a candle before in her life.
Isabella forgot to concentrate on the sounds of someone approaching and took a wide step toward Sally, putting a hand to her shoulder and gently moving her away.
“Careful, sweetheart, that’s an open flame.”
Sally beamed up at her.
My, but she’s a gorgeous child, Isabella thought, her brain erasing of everything else.
She’d wanted children, badly. She could have borne dozens of them. She wanted a wild, happy house filled with photo frames of family snapshots and poorly crafted children’s art projects.
Unfortunately, she’d found she couldn’t have them. After years of heartbreaking tests, treatments and procedures she’d learned it was a complete impossibility.
It was also one of the myriad reasons Laurent replaced her, the other mostly had to do with the fact that he was a jerk.
“It smells pretty, like flowers,” Sally commented.
“That’s what it’s supposed to smell like.”
“How do they do that?” Sally asked and Isabella set the mat aside and crouched next to the child.
“They mix special oils with wax when it’s hot and liquid, like the top of that one.” She used her head to indicate the candle. “Then they pour it in and voila!” She threw her hands out and shook her fingers.
Sally giggled and asked, “Are they magical oils?”
Isabella moved the child’s long hair off her shoulder and replied, “Well, yes, I guess so, since they’re from nature and nature’s magical.”
Sally wrinkled her nose. “Nature’s not magical. It’s nature.”
Isabella leaned in close. “Then you haven’t seen a fabulous sunset or an apple tree in bloom or a Japanese oak in Autumn. I’d say all of those are magical.”
“To be magic, there has to be pixie dust,” Sally declared with authority.
Isabella smiled at her. “I think you got me there.”
“Sally,” a deep voice said behind them and they both jumped and turned to see Prentice standing inside the door.
“Mrs. Evangahlala has magic candles!” Sally cried.
Prentice’s eyes moved to Isabella and she held her breath as she slowly straightened. He watched her do this and then his gaze roamed down her body then up and over her hair.