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

work on the exterior before the cold weather sets in.” He recalled what Sonja had said about the windows and roof tiles. “But if I can’t get the materials I need to replace the windows and roof tiles before the winter, then we’ll concentrate on the interior work until next spring.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

“Thanks again for volunteering to help. I have to leave now, and I’ll see you tomorrow night for our game.” It would be another two days before he was scheduled to interview an electrician. And Taylor was still waiting for Robbie to return his call with a date and time for when they could get together.

“No problem, Taylor. You have the remote device for the gate, so just let yourself in.”

Wiring the gate electronically was advantageous for Taylor and Dom. Before that he had to call the caretaker to ask him to manually open and close the gates. He walked back to where he’d parked his car. He pressed the remote attached to the visor, opening the massive iron gates, and drove over a metal plate that automatically closed them behind him.

Taylor was looking forward to seeing Sonja again. He knew it wasn’t possible for them to spend time together every day, but when they did he wanted it to be special. He’d asked himself whether he wanted to sleep with her, and the answer was a resounding yes. Yet their sleeping together wasn’t as much a priority as getting to know each other well enough to say whatever came to mind without insults or reprisals. He didn’t want their relationship to become a power struggle as it had been with his former girlfriend. She was one of three female lawyers in a firm of more than twenty, and Taylor had had to remind her over and over they were lovers and not competitors.

Taylor headed for a shopping center several miles from Sonja’s condo to buy what he needed to make for their dinner. He loved Italian food and had perfected a favorite recipe, hoping Sonja would enjoy it as much as he did.

Chapter Eleven

Sonja took one last look in the mirror before going downstairs to answer the doorbell. Taylor had called to let her know he would be at her place at four, and that had prompted her to jump in the shower and change out of the sweats and into a pair of stretchy black cropped pants and a black-and-white striped boatneck cotton pullover. She’d brushed her hair off her face and secured it in a bun on the top of her head. She’d just stepped off the last stair when the door opened. It was apparent Taylor had decided to let himself in. He gripped large canvas bags in both hands.

She quickly approached him and closed the door, struggling not to let him see her staring lustfully. He had paired a white golf shirt with a popular logo with a pair of light gray slacks. Whether in casual or formal wear, his tall, perfectly proportioned physique garnered a second and even a third glance. And there were times when she believed he had caught her gawking as she silently admired his dark complexion and sculptured features.

“Let me help you with some of those.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got them.”

“Okay, superman.”

Sonja followed him into the kitchen. “What on earth did you buy?”

Taylor wiggled his eyebrows. “Stuff.”

Bracing a hip against the countertop, she met his eyes. “What’s for dinner?”

“Italian bread, Caesar salad, baked clams, penne with ground sausage, sangria and hazelnut gelato.”

“You are singing my song. I love Italian food.”

“I figured that because you’ve spent so much time in Italy.”

“Do you need a sous-chef?” she asked as he set jars of dried spices, plastic bags of green, red and orange bell peppers, garlic, onion, apples, oranges, lemons, peaches and mushrooms.

“No, babe. Just sit and relax. I’ll let you know if I need something. By the way, how was your day?”

“Enlightening.”

“How so?” Taylor asked as he continued to take items out of the bags.

Sonja rounded the breakfast island and sat on a stool. It seemed so natural to have a man in her kitchen as Taylor opened the freezer to store the gelato. “I don’t know who MS is, but I found receipts indicating she was the recipient of ninety thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry between 1906 and 1914.”

Taylor whistled. “That’s a lot of money to spend on jewelry during that time.”

“It would be equivalent to two million today.”

“Maybe MS was Charles Bainbridge’s wife?”

“Or his mistress.”

Taylor turned and stared at her. “Are you certain of that?”

“No, I’m not. I only found one article written about Charles Garland Bainbridge saying that he’d been prevented from building his summer cottage in Newport, Rhode Island, because there were rumors that his wife may have been a mulatto.”

“So you haven’t uncovered whether MS is his wife?”

Sonja shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Maybe she was his daughter.”

“I doubt that, Taylor. Daughters usually inherit jewelry from their mothers or grandmothers.”

“What else did you find?” Taylor asked.

“There were ten trips to world’s fairs between 1881 to 1915. Did you father ever reveal how his family amassed their fortune?”

He paused for several seconds, seemingly in thought. “I do remember him mentioning railroads, steamships, real estate, theaters and electricity.”

Sonja gave herself a mental check when she recalled the number of world’s fairs someone had attended with a focus on electricity. “That confirms what I found. There were hundreds of stubs for plays, concerts and films, and receipts for cross-country train trips and transatlantic sailing to Europe for the fairs.”

“Judging from the amount of paper in the trunks, it looks as if the Bainbridges were hoarders. Nowadays everything can be saved electronically.”

“Once I go through every piece of paper I am going to enter the information on spreadsheets and charts to generate a written history of your family’s eminent ancestors.”

“They may not be so eminent if you uncover something scandalous.”

“No family, regardless of their income or status, is ever scandal-free.”

“I suppose you are right, sweetheart.”

“You suppose, Taylor? I’m