Reluctant Witness (21 page)

“I am.” I took it, feeling the warm of his
strong grasp as our hands touched. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Nonsense. It’s my pleasure.” There it was,
the roguish smile, guaranteed to charm. I began to understand why
Rocky tried to warn me about Jeff. He was smooth in his movements,
almost cunning. The eyes were hawk-like, intent on observing me,
and I found myself cringing under the scrutiny.

“Again, what do you think?” he inquired.
Folding his arms, he crossed them across his broad chest. I
reminded myself to be careful in letting my guard down around this
man.

“It’s very grand,” I replied, offering a
faint smile. I didn’t dare tell him I thought it was like a movie
set, all drama played for effect.

“But?”

“Just that. It’s magnificent.”

“And yet not your cup of tea.” He curled his
lips and I again saw the resemblance to his brothers. His eyes were
darker than Lincoln’s, more like Jack’s. I noticed a very faint
scar, a couple of inches in length, along his chin. Had it come as
a result of his terrible accident all those years ago?

“No,” I acknowledged, “It’s not what I’d call
homey, but it’s still lovely. The architecture is certainly
elegant.”

“You can relax, Marigold. It’s okay. You
won’t offend me. I just bought the place and haven’t been able to
figure out what to do with it. Take a breath and tell me your
thoughts.”

I took a moment and gazed all around,
gathering up my impressions of what I had seen so far.

“This place has great bones, but it doesn’t
have a human scale to it. It needs to be fleshed out with some
meat. Its beauty is lost in the sea of boring carpeting, overblown
chandeliers, and enough gold leafing to choke a horse.” As I said
that, I flashed back to Lincoln’s unfinished Reston condo. Maybe
the brothers were more alike than they knew. Was Jeff also pining
for a woman?

“And if it were your home, what would you do?
I’ve been through three designers so far, so why don’t you give it
a shot?”

“Is that patio yours?” I pointed to the brick
terrace outside.

“It’s one of the reasons I bought the place.
I plan to do a lot of entertaining here.”

“I wouldn’t even dream of decorating this
place until I had that all planned out.”

He gave me a quizzical look. “You’d start
outside?”

“Absolutely. As long as that wall over there
is just one giant stretch of plain concrete, it makes this room
feel...cold...uninviting. That’s what you see every day when you
stand here. The landscape is every bit as important as the most
critical elements of interior design, especially when you have
these massive windows overlooking it. That outdoor space should be
integrated to work with the home, not treated as an
afterthought.”

I stood next to him. All those glorious hours
of my childhood, spent in the gardens of my grandparents and
parents, came flooding back to me. I could remember the charm of
the outdoor spaces that were carefully crafted as open-air rooms;
to an imaginative child, they were completely magical playgrounds.
How could I explain it to someone who had never seen such
wonders?

“Right now, it’s all one level, Jeff. We’re
looking at nothing. Even in winter, a patio like this needs to have
greenery.”

“It is rather barren, isn’t it? Alas, I’m not
able to dig up the terrace and add a garden. Condo rules,” he
shrugged. “I can’t alter the existing structure.”

“No, but you can do raised beds that aren’t
permanent, can’t you? Use evergreens in varying heights and shapes
along the wall, to add variety and give the eye something pleasant
to view. A decorative trellis would add color and visual interest,
especially if you plant something impressive, like heirloom roses.
You could add Versailles planter boxes on either end, with native
fruit trees; peach, apple, cherry, even citrus. Imagine Meyer
lemons and key limes all summer long. You could bring those plants
inside in winter and let them soak up the sun in front of these
windows.”

“That sounds doable, Marigold.” He urged me
on. I could tell he was imagining the potential as we talked. “What
else?”

“You could add a water feature, maybe a wall
fountain or a small reflecting pool, and illuminate it at
night.”

“By the time you’re done, I’ll need to hire a
full-time landscaper,” he remarked, giving me his most charming
smile.

“Oh, I know. I’m getting carried away.”

“That’s okay. Feel free. Your ideas are
already more in keeping with my comfort zone than what my
decorators offered up. Now I’m curious. If money were no object,
what would you do in here?”

“I’m no interior decorator,” I laughed,
stepping back. “I’m just a party planner.”

“Then approach this with that in mind. What
would you do to make this the perfect event space?”

“Ah, that’s a horse of a different color.” I
took a few seconds to consider the dilemma. In my years as an
events coordinator, I had fretted over the details of many a
gathering. The toughest were the weddings. A lot of brides wanted
to throw every sequin and pearl at their celebration, and I often
had to explain why such a strategy was a bad idea. On a wedding
day, all eyes should be on the couple as they shared their vows,
not the decorations. For that reason, the venue had to feel
elegant, but understated. Little details might add sparkle to the
setting, but picking the right place made all the difference. A
lake view, a balcony overlooking a tranquil forest, a terrace with
a mountain backdrop -- these were the elements that would live on
in the photographs that captured important moments in a wedding
celebration. That mattered more than whether the white slipcovers
on the chairs were damask or satin, or tied with gold bows or
silver.

“You have to find the good bones before you
do anything,” I told him. I gazed around, trying to put into words
what didn’t work about the condo. My objection wasn’t the
architecture itself; much of its beauty was buried under heavy
window dressing. It needed to be stripped down and treated with
dignity, not burdened with more decorative embellishment. “The
difference between natural beauty that shines through and artifice
is that artifice feels heavy and unnatural. Think of women who
don’t wear a lot of makeup because they’ve got good bone structure;
they’re confident their inner beauty will shine through, as
compared to women who slather on the makeup to cover up what they
perceive to be their flaws. There’s no need for this condo to hide
the airy feel of the tall ceilings or to pretend to be something
it’s not. It’s a home for a man who feels comfortable in jeans, not
a man who dresses for dinner every night and rings for the butler
to fetch him a glass of water every time he’s thirsty. If you’re
not pretentious, why should your home be?”

“What makes you think I’m not pretentious?”
he shot back with an amused grin. “You think I’m always dressed
like this?”

“No, but I think you’re confident enough
about yourself that you don’t need to fake it.” As I said that, I
looked him right in the eye. “You are what you are. That’s what
your home should reflect. How else will you ever feel at home here?
Do you want to feel like a visitor for the rest of your life,
living in someone else’s vision of what your home should be, or do
you want to claim this as your own and put your own stamp on
it?”

As he watched me, I could feel the energy
sizzle between us. Jefferson Cornwall clearly enjoyed locking
horns, much the same way that rams and bulls like to push their way
to victory. He was a force to be reckoned with, but I believed
myself up to the task, as long as I didn’t push him to the point
where he decided I was an opponent. I reminded myself to stay on
his good side, flashing him my most engaging smile as I delivered
my assessment.

“Marigold, you are a breath of fresh air, a
clean wind to sweep out all the cobwebs in the corners. Don’t stop
there. What would you do to fix this debacle?”

“I love the columns and the capitals in this
room, but they get lost in the razzle dazzle glitz of the gold
leafing. I’d pare it all back and remove the excess embellishments,
so you can appreciate the wonderful sculptural qualities of the
classic architecture.” Once I got started, I had trouble stopping.
“You could replace the carpeting with hardwood flooring; some
antique rugs would go a long way towards giving this room some
personality. Add some color to the upper walls, so that the
wainscoting really stands out. It’s not a matter of ripping
everything out.”

“It’s not?” he teased. For a moment, I almost
thought he was flirting with me.

“This room reminds me of...”

“Monticello?” he smiled. The mention of
Thomas Jefferson’s masterpiece hit me like a flash of lightning.
All the pieces fell into place. In an instant, I understood why he
bought this place. There was promise here of something wonderful,
waiting to be extracted from the ruins.

“Have you ever been to Poplar Forest,” I
inquired, “Jefferson’s retreat in Forest, Virginia?”

His eyes seemed to twinkle as he watched me,
bemused. “My dear, do you know nothing of the Cornwall family
history? Good lord, my father would adore you!”

“Why not take advantage of the architectural
brilliance of your namesake?” I suggested. I threw an idea out for
my host. “You could have a gazebo or pergola with Chippendale
railings out there. You could utilize some of his gardening
concepts. And in here, you could echo the federal style he
embraced.”

“How would you like to help me make it
happen, Marigold?”

“What?” I replied, taken aback.

“If you’re going to hang around here, you
might as well earn your keep. I’m going to put you to work on this
project. We’ll have to give you a job title.” We both turned at the
sound of footsteps in the hallway. “Ah, there’s Rocky. Let’s share
the news with him.”

“Did I miss something?” asked the security
expert as he joined us in the living room.

“Marigold has had a brilliant idea about how
to proceed with this place.”

“Oh, does she agree with me? I suggested he
blow it up and start from scratch,” Rocky told me, pretending to
depress a plunger. “This place is so over the top. He had so many
other choices of condos to pick, but he insisted on this
one....”

“Where else in Atlanta, in Buckhead, could I
find a condo with so much room and an outdoor terrace like this? I
wasn’t about to squeeze myself into a two-bedroom for the same
price, not when I could have all this glorious space!”

“Why does one man need four bedrooms? Or a
living room the size of California?” Rocky demanded. “You live
alone, man! I share a normal-sized home with a wife and three kids.
The whole house would easily fit in here!”

“I told you I need it for entertaining
business clients. And I want it to be a place for family and
friends when they come to stay with me. I’ve got big plans for this
place.”

“I still think you bit off more than you
could chew,” insisted the long-time friend. Watching Rocky in
action, it was clear that he wasn’t impressed by Jeff’s wealth or
his celebrity status. And Jeff certainly seemed to appreciate
Rocky’s candor, since the man wasn’t about to concede anything
unless it made sense. “It’s a giant money pit.”

“Nonsense. Wait till you see what we’re going
to do, starting outside. Marigold had some great ideas.”

“Might I use your powder room?” I asked,
interrupting.

“Of course you may. Down the hall, in the
foyer,” Jeff told me. He went on with his conversation as I left
the living room.

My little shadow padded after me, curiosity
getting the better of Kary. The first door I opened led to a
closet, with a handful of hangers on the rod and not much else. The
second revealed a handsomely paneled den without a smidgen of gold
in sight. The leather sofa and a pair of club chairs were
surrounded by floor-to-ceiling shelves, stacked with books of every
shape and size. There was nothing Hollywood in here, save for a
couple of Emmy awards on one of the shelves. I could imagine Jeff
putting his feet up on the coffee table, watching the small flat
screen TV on the opposite wall. Framed photographs covered the wall
closest to me. Curious, I stepped closer and took a look at a few,
expecting to see celebrities. I was pleasantly surprised to find
Jack and Philomena in one, not so pleasantly surprised to find
Lincoln and Deirdre in another. There was even an image of the
three brothers at the top of a summit, arms around each other as
they mugged for the camera. It looked fairly recent.

“Come on, boy. There’s one more door to try,”
I said to my companion. The little dog wagged his tail as we
stepped out of the room.

I crossed the marble floor and turned the
knob on my third choice. It opened on a long, narrow room dressed
in red flocked wallpaper. A gold shell sink was fitted into black
marble on top of an antique Louis XVI-style dresser, gilded
carvings glistening thanks to the blindingly bright crystal
chandelier suspended from the ceiling by a gold chain. An
elaborately carved mirror, shell-and-cherub-encrusted, hung on the
wall, flanked by candle sconces dripping with crystals. The toilet,
black and high-backed, had a fancy antique-style gold-and-crystal
lever.

“Mon dieu,” I exclaimed aloud. “Sacré
bleu!”

Chapter Twenty

I felt like a time traveler who had stumbled
into a pseudo-seventeenth century chateaux -- the only things
missing were my powdered wig and blue satin gown. Reaching for the
toilet paper, I found none in sight, leading to a moment’s panic
until I noticed the burled wood box, draped with gold-leaf swags,
on the wall. Concealed inside was a plush roll. I helped myself to
a handful of the stuff.

Studying the room as I went about my
business, I decided it wasn’t really total disaster. There was no
need to change the classic marble tiles or the toilet. Remove the
wallpaper and the light fixtures, change the ornate sink vanity,
and use a plainer toilet lever, the powder room would be functional
and attractive. These certainly weren’t expensive alterations.