be sure everything ran smoothly. If it didn’t, if there was even the slightest variance not instigated by her or meeting with her approval, she would return to spend the day in her room, staring sightlessly out the window. It would take days for her to regain her equilibrium, to reestablish her ability to deal with the tasks of everyday life. Together, they dealt with each day as it came, one at a time.
“Well, first I must go through all these messages from yesterday and then I’ll decide what comes next. Who knows? Maybe there’s one here from Howard Hughes.”
Her mother laughed as she always did at Emma’s jokes. “Silly child! You know Howard Hughes is dead!”
“Oh well, a girl can hope can’t she?” Emma said. “What are your plans for today?”
Her mother patted her hair lightly and smoothed her silk pants. “I thought I might call Alice and see if she was up for a visit today.” Emma smiled and played the game. Tuesday was the day her mother always visited her sister.
“I’m sure she would love to see you, Mom.” Emma got up and walked around the desk to lightly kiss her mother on the cheek.
Assured that her mother was safely occupied for the day, Emma returned to the task at hand. Most of the messages were from suppliers letting her know that her orders were in. One or two were requests for interviews from various magazines. She smiled, the thrill still with her even after reaching the top of her profession and staying there for several years now. Her client list read like the Who’s Who of Houston society. She knew that one day the ride would end. Even as she sat in her luxurious home, choosing who to call and who to decline, somewhere there was another Emma, working sixteen-hour days, just waiting for her chance.
She was just about to call it a day and spend the rest of the morning going over several presentations she had due when a name on one of the many slips caught her eye. She frowned, reading it again. Surely, her mother had written this one down wrong. She reached for the phone and dialed the number listed under the name.
Fifteen minutes later, she hung up the phone and sat back in her chair.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said quietly. It had finally happened. She had finally got the call she had been waiting all these years for. Evelyn Connell was the top of the food chain in Houston society. She was the golden goose as far as designers were concerned because any work done at her house was a guaranteed spread in Architectural Digest. And she wanted to meet with Emma about remodeling her guesthouse. Emma’s hands were shaking as she thought about the opportunities that could follow such a job if she was successful. Mrs. Connell’s last designer was now the most sought after in the world due to the publicity and prestige of pleasing such a woman. She looked at her watch and inhaled sharply. She only had four hours to get her things together and get over there. She headed for the door at a run.
CHAPTER 2
Emma checked her lipstick and hair one last time before getting out of the car. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her portfolio and headed for the massive front door. She had barely reached the top step when the door opened and she was greeted smoothly by a young man dressed in a suit that was worth more than Emma’s first car.
“Ms. Sloan, please come in,” he said quietly. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the patio.”
Emma walked quickly to keep up with his long stride, trying not to gawk at the luxury surrounding her. The walls were covered with priceless artwork and the carpet under her high heels had to be at least a hundred years old but the impression was of a house that was comfortable rather than a museum like she would have expected. She focused her eyes on the back of the man in front of her. His shoulders were broad and his waist narrow, the suit impeccably tailored to his form. Emma couldn’t resist a flash of humor as she wondered what other functions the man might serve. Mrs. Connell’s reputation for surrounding herself with beauty wasn’t limited to artwork and sculpture although there had never been a hint of impropriety. She simply preferred to hire men rather than women. Who could blame her for wanting to have the best she could find? Emma was still smiling as he led her through a set of glass doors and outside to the ‘patio’ as he called it. It was a scenic walk around the beautifully landscaped pool to the table where Mrs. Connell sat. The older woman rose gracefully to greet Emma.
“Ms. Sloan, so wonderful to finally meet you,” she said, smiling warmly.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t have time to come on such short notice.”
Emma shook the hand that she had extended to her. Mrs. Connell was surprisingly young looking. Emma knew that she was in her mid-sixties but her petite, trim form and smooth skin would easily pass for late forties or early fifties. The only indication of her age was her beautiful gray hair skillfully cut to lay in casual disarray around her face. Rather than detracting from her appearance it only added to the air of confidence that surrounded her. This was clearly a woman comfortable with herself and not threatened at all by the approaching years. As soon as they were seated, cold glasses of iced tea appeared in front of them. Emma sipped hers, waiting for Mrs. Connell to speak. They exchanged pleasantries for a few moments as society rules dictated before business was addressed.
“Ms. Sloan, I understand you recently did some work for several friends of mine and they were absolutely overwhelming in their praise of your professionalism and ability to understand what they wanted.” she said. “May I see your portfolio?”
Emma blushed lightly at the compliment as she handed over the leather case. “I appreciate their saying so,” she said. “I’m a firm believer in giving people their money’s worth to the best of my ability. Often people just need a little guidance to understand what it is that they really want.”
Mrs. Connell turned the pages slowly, giving her full attention to each vignette. She didn’t speak again until she had completely looked through the entire collection.
“Ms. Sloan, I’m going to be remodeling my guesthouse and I would be very interested in your thoughts on the design. Would you like to see it?”
“I would love to,” Emma said. She followed her back across the patio to a curved stone driveway that led down to the small cottage.
“Do you mind if we walk?” Mrs. Connell asked. “I can call for a car if you would rather not.”
Emma shook her head. “Walking is not a problem. I’d love the chance to see your beautiful landscaping up close.” She watched as the woman who was the queen of Houston society pulled off her shoes and stepped onto the lush grass. She turned to Emma with a grin.
“Shall we?” she asked.
Emma laughed and quickly followed suit, chatting with her amiably as they headed down the softly sloping grounds. By the time they reached the house, she knew all about Mrs. Connell growing up in southern Georgia and her love of all things natural. Apparently, even at her age, she still engaged in her childhood habit of never wearing shoes unless she absolutely had to. Emma was surprised to find she had easily warmed to the older woman, fascinated with her ability to make you forget she was in control of one of the largest fortunes in the US. She pulled a key from the pocket of her designer jeans and opened the door, motioning Emma to go in first. Emma had only taken a few steps when she stopped, frowning at the formal look and stiff atmosphere of the space. Mrs. Connell smiled at the look on her face.
“My reaction exactly,” she said.
Emma turned to her. “May I ask who did this?”
“My
