"Let us show you around," Carla offered, "It took nerve to paint the plank paneling white, but I think it enhances our country antiques, don't you?"
There were loungy sofas in the living room, foils for the expensively severe tables, desks and cupboards. In the dining room Windsor chairs surrounded a long trestle table; its pedigree was palpable even to Qwilleran. Upstairs, only one door was closed; open doors revealed perfectly appointed bedrooms and sitting rooms that seemed to be waiting for a magazine photographer.
"Do you think your friends would like a suite?" Trudy asked as she handed him a card listing the rates.
There were four bedrooms and two suites. The Garden Suite was twice the price of a bedroom, and the English Suite was the most expensive of all, having a Jacobean canopy bed with twisted posts.
"I think Mr. and Mrs. Riker would like the English Suite," he said, chuckling inwardly at the thought of his friend's indignation. Arch could afford it, but he always played the tightwad. Furthermore, he had been goading Qwilleran for his Scottish thrift for four decades. It was time for sweet revenge.
"We put fresh flowers in the English Suite," one of the women said. "Do you happen to know what the lady likes?"
"Yellow."
"Perfect! Yellow looks lovely with the dark oak. We'll phone the mainland and have them shipped over by ferry."
With the arrangements completed, Qwilleran was invited to have champagne in the gazebo. "Make mine a soft drink, and I'll accept with pleasure," he said.
The gazebo was screened, not only against mosquitoes but against wandering cats. Several healthy specimens, two of them pregnant, were prowling about the backyard, waiting for the hors d'oeuvres.
"Everyone feeds them," Trudy said. "The island is really overcatted."
They sat in white wicker chairs while a timorous young island woman in salmon pink brought the champagne bucket, glasses, and a flavored mineral water for Qwilleran. He proposed a toast to the two merry inn-keepers and then asked the standard question: What had brought them to the island? The women looked at each other briefly for cues and then began an overlapping dialogue:
Carla: "Both our families have been members of the Grand Island Club since it began, so we've been summer neighbors all our lives, until"
Trudy: "Our husbands died, and our children thought the Caymans were more exciting, so"
Carla: "We sold our memberships and"
Trudy: "Started traveling together, buying antiques and staying at country inns."
Carla: "We collected so much stuff, we had two options"
Trudy: "To open an antique shop or start a bed-and-breakfast, so"
Carla: "We decided we'd like an inn, because we love meeting people and playing the host."
Trudy: "And then we heard about the Pear Island opportunity. Imagine our surprise when"
Carla: "We realized it was our own Grand Island with a different name."
Trudy: "Actually, we're delighted, because"
Carla: "There's something about this island that gets into the blood."
As they stopped for breath, Qwilleran blinked his eyes and shook his head. Seated between them, he was turning rapidly from side to side to keep up with their dizzying recital. "May I change my seat in order to see both of you lovely ladies?" he asked. It was no exaggeration; he wondered how many hairdressers, masseuses, dressmakers, cosmetic surgeons, orthodontists, and voice coaches had labored to produce these perfect womanworks. Their well-modulated voices assumed a higher pitch, however, with each pouring from the bottle.
A tray of canapes was brought to the gazebo by the painfully awkward server, who was trying hard to do everything right. When she had gone, Qwilleran asked, "Do you staff your inn with islanders?"
"We debated that. Don Exbridge wanted us to hire students from the mainland, but our families always hired islanders, and we felt comfortable with them. They're part of the island experience, you know."
Another chilled bottle of champagne arrived, and another bottle of kiwi-flavored mineral water, and Qwilleran said, "You mentioned that you sold your memberships. Not your real estate?"
The women exchanged a glance that said, Shall we tell him? Then they succumbed to his sincere gaze and sympathetic manner. They were relaxing. They were eager to talk.
"Well," Trudy began, "when we decided to sell our propertywhich our families had held since the 1920swe learned we had to sell it back to the club at their price, which was much less than market value. It was in the original contract. Nothing we could do about it."
Carla interrupted with belligerence, "If my husband had been alive, he'd have found a loophole, believe me!"
"The Grand Island Club is controlled by the Appelhardt family, who founded it, and Mrs. Appelhardt, the mother, is a hard woman," Trudy said.
Carla again: "I call her a Harpy! I always felt sorry for her kids. They grew up with our kids. None of them turned out the way she intended."
Trudy: "Poetic justice! She wanted the eldest to be a lawyer. He got through law school but could never pass the bar exam."
Carla: "The next was supposed to be a heart surgeon. And what is he? A perfectly wonderful vet! He always loved animals."
Trudy: "And what about the girl? She's a real flake!" Carla: "And the youngest boy! She's bailed him out of three marriages already." Trudy: "It would be funny if it wasn't so sad." Carla: "Why does he bother to get married?" Trudy: "He's just an easy mark who can't say no." When the merry innkeepers signaled for a third bottle of champagne, Qwilleran stood up, thanked them for their hospitality, and explained that he had another appointment. Leaving them happily relaxed in the wicker chairs, he walked down West Beach Road, marveling at the intrigue behind the Golden Curtain. He picked up his pressed garments, then stopped at the Domino Inn to phone Riker's office. He left the information about the reservation with the secretary.
"He's here. Want to talk to him?" asked Wilfred. "Haven't time. Late for an appointment." Qwilleran knew that his friend's first question would be "How much?"
On the way out of the building he was stopped by the Moseley sisters. "You're a hero!" they said. "The Har-dings told us about the rescue."
"Just happened to be in the right place at the right time."
"We knew Elizabeth very well," said the one with glasses. "She was a student at our school in Connecticut. When we read about Pear Island resort in the Boston papers and made our reservation, we had no idea we were coming to her beloved Grand Island." "Have you seen her since you've been here?" "Oh, no! We wouldn't think of intruding," said the pretty one with a soft voice. "Is she looking well?"
"In the throes of a snake bite one is never at one's best."
"Very true." They nodded, smiling at his arch observation.
"But to answer your question seriously, she seems to be unhealthily thin."
One sister murmured to the other, "She's having problems again. She's not eating. Too bad she can't get away from that environment."
A profile of the rich little mermaid was forming in Qwilleran's mind. "Was she a good student?"
"Oh, yes," said Edith. "All her life she'd had private tutors and was a prodigious reader, but she was a nervous wreck when she came to us. We all worked hard to improve her diet and elevate her spirit and draw her into campus life."
"We succeeded to a degree, and she should have gone on to college, but ... it didn't happen. The reason was never explained. We corresponded for a while, but gradually she slipped away into her small world. Poor Elizabeth!"
Qwilleran concealed his personal curiosity by inquiring, "And now that you've seen her beloved island, what do you think of it?"