Always Florence. Muriel Jensen
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Название: Always Florence
Автор: Muriel Jensen
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781472039101
isbn:
His colleague walked into the conference room. “Yes?”
“Can you give us an update on the status of the trip for the raffle?” Nate asked.
Hunter stood near the table, seemingly reluctant to share the news. “It’s not good, I’m afraid,” he reported. “It’s hard for travel agents to comp that kind of thing for us at this point in time. I’ve got a few local hotels and restaurants, but no one can do anything really big.”
Everyone around the table seemed to understand that.
“Does it have to be a trip?” Sandy asked into the quiet.
Nate noticed her eyes roving Hunter’s shoulders as she posed the question, then down the sturdy length of him as he replied.
“I guess not. What else would draw interest?”
“I know an artist,” Sandy said, with enough excitement to get everyone’s attention. “And she’s brilliant. In fact, I’ll bet we can get a painting out of her for the raffle. Something to support the Christmas in Old Astoria theme.”
“Who is it?” Jerry asked.
“Bobbie Molloy. She’s living here while she’s fulfilling a commission for my office.”
Nate looked at Sandy in amazement. “That’s who’s living in your aunt’s old house? She’s my new neighbor.... I didn’t know you knew her.”
“She’s kind of a private person. And she moved here to have time alone to work.”
“Then are you sure she’d want to help us?”
Sandy smiled sweetly. “I’ll talk her into it.”
“Didn’t you already talk her into teaching an art class at Astor?”
Sandy appeared surprised that he knew that. “Yes, I did. Why?”
Nate wasn’t sure why he felt protective of Bobbie Molloy. She insisted that she was doing well, but he remembered vividly how small she seemed, how pale. He wondered if Sandy knew she’d been ill. “Well, she seems a little...fragile.”
Sandy met his eyes and he was suddenly sure she knew everything about Bobbie, and maybe resented his interference. “If we don’t give her something to do, she’s going to spend every waking hour in that studio until she leaves for Italy in January. Her father called me recently to see how she was doing, and I promised him I’d help her get out and meet people.” Sandy looked around the table at the expressions on the committee members’ faces. Her colleagues obviously thought she presumed too much. “What? She was my roommate at Portland State, before she went to the Pacific Northwest College of Art. I care about her.”
“Well, if you ask her for a painting, won’t she still be spending every waking hour in her studio?” Nate asked.
Sandy considered that, then said finally, “As a member of the committee, and her neighbor, you can help her gather whatever she needs, check on her progress, support the work in whatever way you can. Why? Do you object to my asking her?”
He thought a moment. Bobbie Molloy seemed perfectly capable of taking care of herself. “No,” he said finally. “Go ahead.”
“I do like the painting idea,” Clarissa said as she closed her notebook and stood. “Okay. Back here next Monday morning same time?” She gave Nate a slightly apologetic smile. “You can be late as long as you arrive with doughnuts again. We’ll all try to get whatever donations we can for the raffle at the Christmas dinner dance, right?”
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