The Body in the Ivy Read Online Free PDF Page B

call came. There would be many pleasant hours discussing plans with Barbara; Maggie had brought photos and drawings of the existing library space. And as a hostess gift she’d had a Pelham chair shipped to Barbara’s New York address, the one the assistant had given for correspondence. She hoped the writer would appreciate the double entendre.
    Almost there. Almost there. What a triumph for Pelham. What a triumph for her.
    Â 
    The train was slowing to a crawl as it pulled into the station. Faith had finished every morsel she’d broughtwith her and read several chapters of Midnight’s Mirror . No doubt about it, Bishop could spin a page-turning tale. The late morning light flattened the scene outside the window, casting shadows that turned ordinary objects into dramatic images. The one cast by a signal post looked exactly like a turreted tower.

Two
    â€œMrs. Fairchild?” A man dressed in Dickies, work clothes Faith had come to associate with New England workmen, reached for her bags as she stepped onto the platform. His trousers’ knife-point creases and shirt’s total lack of wrinkles set him apart from those familiar to her, though. The clothes weren’t new—no sheen on the fabric—but they had been ironed to a fare-thee-well.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œBarbara Bailey Bishop asked me to meet your train and drive you to the dock.” He looked middle-aged, which meant he could be anywhere from forty to seventy in these parts, and lifted her bags easily, even the one loaded with her knives and other special kitchen equipment. They walked along the platform toward the terminal, and he paused at the door before going outside.
    â€œAre you hungry? There’s plenty of time. Or do you need—”
    Noting the start of a faint blush, Faith interrupted him before he had to say whatever euphemism he employed.
    â€œI’m fine. We can get going now if you like.”
    He nodded and she followed him out to an old woody parked at the curb. The station wagon, in mint condition, was attracting a lot of attention. He opened the door for Faith to sit in the rear. She would have preferred the front—after all, she was part of the help, too—but she followed his slight nod and got in. He closed the door firmly behind her, put her bags in the back, and got behind the wheel. She had the feeling there wouldn’t be much conversation on this trip. He wasn’t Owen, or Mr. Owen—whether it was a first or last name had never been established. Their voices were completely different. Both Yankees, but one from above and the other from below the salt. She wondered how long the trip would be and was about to ask, then decided to let herself be surprised. Long or short, there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
    The train ride had been relaxing. Now she felt her calm ebb as she mentally went over her checklists of supplies, menus, possible catastrophes. There was a caretaker/gardener who would help her clean up, she’d been told. Was he also her chauffeur? If so, he’d make an unusual sous chef. Not that she needed one for such a small group, but it was always good to have an extra pair of hands around. She didn’t know any Pelham grads except for Hope’s friends, and like Faith’s sister they had only a nodding, or dialing, acquaintance withfood preparation. Perhaps in this older Pelham group, she’d find a kindred spirit, or at least a foodie or two.
    They were well away from the station and into the country before Faith turned her attention from her thoughts to the views through the side window. The road soon narrowed, and after a turn at a large salt marsh, it disappeared altogether, becoming a dirt strip running parallel to the shore. A great blue heron watched them pass, briefly looking up from the mud flats. The tide was out. Then suddenly they were in the woods, the pines so dense, only a few rays of sunshine managed to struggle through.