A New Foundation Rochelle Alers (read aloud .txt) 📖

going to live with his mother’s sister, who took him in because it meant more money in her social services check, had emotionally scarred him as a child. As a preschooler he’d grown used to seeing his aunt’s belly growing bigger whenever she’d become pregnant with another child, and her drunken binges where she would pass out while he and his cousins had to find whatever they could in the refrigerator to keep from starving.

Taylor’s deprivation ended when his first-grade teacher contacted the school’s social worker because she suspected he was being neglected. He’d worn the same clothes for a week and appeared undernourished. Child Protective Services became involved and he was placed in foster care. Unlike some children that were shuffled from one foster home to another he was lucky because he had been assigned to the home of Conrad and Elise Williamson. Unable to have children of their own they had decided to become foster parents. He didn’t attend regular classes like most kids his age because as a former teacher Elise had decided to homeschool him. In the sprawling farmhouse, she’d turned a space in her library into a classroom, and by the time he was eight he was reading at a seventh-grade level.

“If you’re serious about overseeing the restoration, then I know someone that may be able help you,” Viola said.

“Who?”

“I have a friend who’s an architectural historian, and when I saw the furnishings in the mansion I immediately thought of her. She’s currently working at a Madison Avenue art gallery, and she has an uncanny gift for recognizing and authenticating antiques. In other words, she’s an expert and a genius in her field.”

Taylor knew Viola was right about the antiques in the French-inspired château known as the Bainbridge House. Many were stored on shelves in the mansion’s cellar, while others were in ballrooms and bedroom suites. The property was set back off a private road, surrounded by ten-foot stone walls with a massive iron gate. An on-site caretaker had taken up residence in one of the half dozen guesthouses.

“I know I’m going to have everything appraised for insurance purposes,” Taylor said.

“And I’m certain Sonja will be able to ascertain what is authentic and what is a reproduction.” Reaching into the tote on the floor between her feet, Viola took out her cell phone. “I’m going to call her to ask if she’s willing to help you out.”

“I don’t want to impose on her if she has a job.”

“I don’t believe it would be an imposition because she works part-time.”

Taylor glanced at Viola as she tapped the number and then activated the speaker feature. The phone rang twice before being answered.

“Happy Easter.”

“Thank you. Happy Easter to you, too, and your family. I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”

“No, not at all. What’s up, Vi?”

“I’m calling because I want to know if you would be willing to appraise some items in a house that has been in my father’s family since the 1880s.”

“Where is it?”

“It’s in north Jersey. I have you on speaker because I’m in the car with my brother who will be responsible for the restoration.”

“How many pieces are you talking about?”

“A lot, Sonja. The house sits on three hundred acres and has more than a hundred rooms.”

There was a noticeable silence until Sonja’s voice filled the interior of the SUV again. “That sounds like quite a project.”

Viola shared a smile with Taylor. “It is. Maybe you and Taylor can meet, and then he’ll be able explain everything to you.”

There came another pause. “Okay. I have to go into the gallery all this week because we’re having an exhibition Friday night, but I’m free Saturday and Sunday.”

“What if I make a reservation at the restaurant in Taylor’s name for you to meet him Saturday night.” Taylor nodded when Viola’s eyebrows lifted questioningly.

“That sounds good. It isn’t often that I get to eat at The Cellar.”

Viola smiled. “I guess that settles it. How does seven work for you?”

“It works.”

“Good. I’ll give my brother your number so if something comes up he’ll be able to contact you.”

“Saturday at seven,” Sonja confirmed.

“Thanks, Sonja.”

“No, thank you, Viola. You know how excited I get whenever I’m approached about a new assignment.”

“Even though I’ll be in the kitchen, I’ll make certain to come out and see you.” Viola rang off and then turned to smile at Taylor. “That’s one thing you can cross off your to-do list.”

“I really appreciate that.” And he did.

Viola took Taylor’s phone off the console and programmed Sonja’s number. “I think you’re going to like Sonja. And don’t get your nose out of joint, because I’m not trying to hook you up with her—she’s currently not into dating,” Viola said quickly.

Taylor stared straight ahead as traffic began moving again. He’d lost count of the number of times Viola had attempted to set him up with a few of her friends. The year before, he’d read her the riot act, and she finally took the hint that he’d never had a problem asking a woman out. But he hadn’t been in a relationship for a while—not since he’d dated an attorney exclusively until she decided to reconcile with her ex-husband.

“She sounds like someone I could get along with.”

“You two are like bookends.”

“Why would you say that?” Taylor asked Viola.

“Both of you are laser focused on your careers.”

Taylor wanted to tell Viola that he’d had to make up for the five years when he’d dropped out of college before deciding to return to complete the courses he needed for his degree. He accelerated as he entered the tunnel and twenty minutes later he maneuvered up to the curb in front of the four-story apartment building along a tree-lined street in the West Village. Viola lived in a two-bedroom apartment in a renovated building with a doorman and rented the extra bedroom to a nurse that worked the night shift at a local hospital.

Viola unbuckled her seat belt, leaned over and kissed Taylor’s cheek. “Thanks for the ride.”

He