Seasons of the Heart (22 page)

Ann’s heart almost stopped later that day when the secretary told her that Gil was on the phone.

“Tell me quickly,” she cried. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

Ann couldn’t speak. “Oh, Gil!” she finally said. “Thank you!”

“It was the least I could do for you, Ann,” he said quietly. “Good luck.”

Phillip took the news calmly. “Congratulations, Ann. I just hope you haven’t bitten off more than you can chew.”

Ann refused to let his pessimism affect her attitude. She was going to succeed if she had to plumb, wire, and plaster the whole of Hampton House herself.

The loan included $1,500 over the purchase price, earmarked for renovation. Ann had already calculated the cost of the appliances and building materials, and as she had told Phillip, she had found a nonunion contractor. Guido Verona worked for his uncle, who owned a large Italian grocery. Ann had discovered him when his uncle bragged to Ann about Guido building a new storeroom practically for cost. “That Guido. He know everything.”

Ann had been doubtful, but when she talked to Guido, she discovered that he spoke English fairly fluently and that he really was handy, not only at carpentry but at plumbing and electrical work too. Already he had a brisk business and someday soon he planned to get a contractor’s license.

When she asked Guido if he’d work on Hampton House, he looked over the property and then quoted her a price which was so low, she protested.

“When you buy more buildings, I want you to come to me.” He gave his rare, slow smile. “Then I’ll charge you more.”

Guido was a find. He worked ten hours a day, his brawny arms making short work of the massive renovation. Of course, neither of them knew much about restoring old Victorians, but Guido proved to be a genius at ferreting out cheap period materials. Sometimes he even got them free at wrecking operations.

Ann did most of the painting and wallpapering. Every afternoon after finishing work she rushed over to the house. Even when she was exhausted, she doggedly pushed herself to keep going, knowing that every week the property stood vacant, they were losing money.

She said as much to Phillip when he complained that she hadn’t cooked dinner in a month.

“Well, if you can’t handle it, that’s your fault, Ann. I told you you were biting off more than you could chew.”

“It’s only for a little while, Phillip. I’m sorry about dinner, but as soon as we’re through with the renovations, I’ll make it up to you all.”

Working together constantly, she and Guido soon became close friends, despite the differences in their backgrounds. He had a wealth of common sense, and unconsciously Ann began to depend on his judgment. With Guido’s help and unstinting approval, she began to feel that she could do anything she set her mind to.

As the weeks passed, Ann noticed with surprise that the young Italian, with his dark liquid eyes and smooth olive skin, was even more handsome than she had thought when they first met. When he lifted a stack of lumber, the strong muscles of his back rippled underneath his thin T-shirt. Yet despite his muscularity, his body was lean in the close-fitting Levi’s he usually wore, and he moved with the unconscious grace of an athlete.

One day he looked up and saw her watching him. Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze. When she raised her eyes, she saw his slow smile. “You are quitting already?”

She had jumped up quickly. “No, no.”

One Friday evening, Ann had gone over to work on the house after dinner. Ann was surprised to find Guido still there.

“You shouldn’t be here Friday night, for goodness sake! You need to go out, have a little social life. I don’t mean to work you into the ground.”

“It’s okay,” he replied. “I want to fix the fireplace before I go.”

“Still clogged, huh?”

They worked together in companionable silence for a while. Then Guido called out, “Ann—the one-pound hammer, please? If I fix the damper, it will be finished, I think.”

Ann was using the hammer to pry up the baseboard molding. As she crossed the room she tripped over a two-by-four. She tried to save herself, but her legs, cramped from stooping, moved too slowly.

She heard Guido call, “Ann!” as she fell. Then there was a sharp blow to her head. When she regained consciousness, Guido was holding her, murmuring, “
Cara mia
. Anna,
cara mia
. Speak to me!”

Ann allowed herself to lie without moving in his arms for a moment. Then she opened her eyes and saw his face, drawn with concern, close to hers.

“Guido?” she whispered.

“Anna—you can speak!
Grazie a Dio!
”

She nodded weakly. Her forehead throbbed horribly, but somehow she didn’t mind the pain. It was so delicious just to lie there. She knew she should try to get up, but Guido’s arms were so strong, so gentle. And she was so tired.

When Guido spoke again, his voice was so soft that it was a mere breath: “Anna …
cara
.”

When he kissed her lightly on the mouth, she made no effort to resist.

He drew back and looked at her, his eyes roving hungrily over her delicate features. It had been torture for him working near her and not being able to touch her—not being permitted to make her happy.

He kissed her again, this time more urgently, moving his lips over hers in a kiss so sensual that Ann’s desire flared into life. It was beautiful and exciting—yet frightening at the same time. She knew she had to stop before she did something she’d regret. And she didn’t want to hurt Guido.

Gently, she placed her hand on his chest, pushing him away.

He didn’t seem offended. As she tried to get up, he placed a supporting arm behind her and helped her to her feet. Regaining her balance, she moved to the window and stood staring out at the rainy gray night. All day, the city had been blanketed with fog, and toward evening it had been replaced by a heavy, monotonous downpour. Through the rain, a halo glowed steadily around a streetlight. But none of it registered. The dripping of the rain emphasized the very stillness of the room, and she was intensely aware of Guido as he came up behind her. Feeling his warm breath on her neck, Ann knew that he was about to embrace her. And then, as his arms slipped around her waist, she closed her eyes and leaned back, unable to help herself.

Slowly he turned her around, and they faced each other.

“
Cara mia
,” he said softly. “Anna, I love you and I want you. You don’t know what hell it is for me to be so close and not tell you. You love me too, Anna. Tell me that you do,” he commanded softly, cupping her chin in his hand and pressing hard against her.

Ann wanted him—wanted him badly, but she knew that afterward she would have to go home to Phillip and Evie, and she knew she couldn’t go through with it.

“Guido, we can’t do this—”

Guido interrupted her roughly. “Anna, I see it in your eyes. I feel it in your lips. You love me too.”

“Maybe I do. But don’t you see? It’s impossible. There are other people in my life whom I would hurt badly.”

“But you do not love your husband,” he accused. “You live with him, but you do not love him. That is a sin!”

Ann was sorry she hadn’t stopped him sooner. She should have recognized his growing interest. He was a man, after all—kind, warm, tender—but a man nonetheless. She was grateful for his love. It was wonderful to know that she was still capable of arousing desire, even though it could never be consummated.

“Guido, I think that we must try to forget that this ever happened. I’m not sure whether I’m happy or sad about it … a little of both, maybe. But I want so much for us to be friends. I need you in my life. Do you think that’s still possible?”

Hearing Ann’s plea in a voice that revealed her loneliness and frustration, Guido was torn. It was difficult to imagine repressing his feelings; at this moment he wanted her, wanted her so much that his body ached. But Guido was also a true romantic, and he knew he couldn’t let down any woman who trusted and needed him the way this one obviously did.

He took her hands and said, “I will be your good friend, Anna. May I kiss you just one more time?”

“Yes, Guido. You may.” As he held her close, Ann wondered where she had found the strength to say no.

That night, Ann lay in the bed she shared with her husband, thinking of Guido. She had done the right thing, the only thing, but just for tonight she allowed herself to fantasize about what might have been.

F
INALLY, THE DAY CAME
when the house was finished. Guido had painted the outside white. Red geraniums and blue lobelia bloomed in the newly planted beds. Each apartment had its own green door with a shiny brass knocker.

Simon, Phillip, and Evie all came over to look, and Ann waited nervously for their verdict as they inspected the gleaming floors and woodwork, the dark-patterned wallpaper, the newly cleaned fireplaces, and the small but efficient kitchens. Simon was unstinting in his praise. “It’s amazing, Ann. You did all this for fifteen hundred dollars?”

“Well, it cost just a bit more. About seventeen hundred, to be exact.” She glanced at Phillip apprehensively.

The truth of the matter was that it would have been nearly three thousand dollars, except that in the end Guido refused to take any payment at all. “No,
cara mia,
” he had said a little sadly. “There is so little I can do for you. I will not take money from you.”

They had argued and argued, but in the end Ann had acquiesced. She had no idea where she would have gotten the money to pay him anyway. Phillip had been right. The renovations had cost twice her original estimate, but how could she explain that Guido had worked for nothing? It was impossible and Ann just smiled guiltily when Phillip commented, “You’ve done a wonderful job.”

“It’s beautiful, Mommy,” Evie enthused. “Can we come and live here?”

Ann caught the little girl up in her arms and kissed her, grateful for her enthusiasm. “No, silly goose. We have a house of our own.”

The ads went into the paper the next day.

That evening there were no calls. The next day, Ann received one, but the woman hung up as soon as Ann told her the address. “Western Addition? No, thank you.” The next day was equally frustrating, and by the end of the week, Ann was more than discouraged, she was downright frightened. What if the apartments didn’t rent? She was asking $75 per month, which was cheap for the apartment, but expensive for the neighborhood. She was grateful for Phillip’s silence. She didn’t want to admit that perhaps she had miscalculated.

At the end of two weeks, Ann ran a second ad. She changed the wording slightly and dropped the rent to $70—which just about killed her. She was becoming desperate. The next mortgage payment was due shortly, and there was no rent money coming in at all. She dreaded having to confess to Phillip that her plan was floundering.

Somehow she had to let the world know that her apartments were at least worth considering. If people saw them, they might appreciate their attractive layout and convenient location. In the end, she decided to give an open house. It was going to be expensive, but she had to make one last effort.

The invitations went out the next day for a champagne party in showplace Victorian flats at the former home of tycoon James Hampton. Ann included everyone on her client list, as well as all her friends.

When the first guests arrived Saturday morning, they found the Hampton house sparkling. Guido, looking handsome in his rented tuxedo, circulated with champagne, while his cousin Gina played a violin softly in the background. In less than three days Ann had even managed to furnish one of the apartments with a few charming pieces borrowed from friends’ attics. She had talked to some of her friends in the Marina and found clever little accessories to fill in the gaps. Simple lace panels hung in the bay windows, and as a finishing touch, she had rented big Victorian parlor palms.

The result, coupled with the champagne and the music, was so inviting that the people entering the apartment wondered why they had never considered a remodeled Victorian before—and they were so close to downtown. By evening three of the four flats were rented, and a young Chinese couple was going to let Ann know the next day about the last.

Ann’s triumph would have been complete if Phillip had only stayed to share it. He had stopped by earlier in the afternoon, but soon left, and when Ann recounted her success that night he merely nodded and said she must be relieved. Ann realized she would have to enjoy her success alone. It wasn’t as much fun, but it was still rewarding.

She continued to study hard for her brokerage exam and began thinking about opening her own office. Then, one day in May, she heard that the house next door to Hampton House—as it was now called—was up for sale. While working on the renovation, Ann had occasionally gone over to use old Hazel’s phone, and had seen most of the interior. It consisted of four apartments, somewhat smaller than those in Hampton House, but considerably less dilapidated. They had been unattractively modernized, but in her mind’s eye, Ann was already seeing the ugly paneling stripped from the walls, the fireplaces restored to working condition, the cheap modern fixtures replaced by pedestal sinks and claw-footed tubs.

Hazel informed her that the owner had died and the estate was being liquidated. Ann quelled her rising excitement. This was not like a foreclosure, where a house could be had at a bargain. Unless the beneficiaries were in immediate need, they could afford to hold out for their price in an estate sale. And any beneficiaries of this Mr. Coleman were probably already well-to-do.

But just thinking about the house made her eager to try her hand at another renovation, even though she knew she didn’t have a spare penny to invest. Still, she started looking around the neighborhood again and a week or two later, found another Victorian for sale. It was painted an awful purple, and it was in terrible shape, but it had been foreclosed, so it might be had for a song.

Gil Cooley raised his eyebrows expressively when Ann came into the bank the next day and began describing the property, extolling its hidden potential.