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

“I’m certain they do, but aren’t families entitled to privacy? Or is it incumbent on them to air their dirty linen just for public consumption?”

Sonja was slightly taken aback by his queries and sharp tone, wondering what he was hiding. Did he know more about his ancestors than he was willing to admit? Or, if she did uncover something immoral or reprehensible, would he demand she not include it in her written report. She recalled him telling her about the clause in his modeling contract prohibiting the agency from disclosing anything about his personal life. What, she mused, was he hiding?

“No, it’s not,” she answered. “I believe everyone is entitled to a modicum of privacy.”

“I believe people are entitled to more than a modicum. Public figures or personalities would fall into the category of the exception. I met a young woman from a very wealthy family, but you wouldn’t have known it if she hadn’t mentioned it. I don’t know whether it was because she feared being preyed upon by those asking for a handout or whether she didn’t want to become a target for someone seeking to abduct her for ransom. Whatever her reason, I respected her stance.”

“I think you misunderstand me, Taylor. I’m not a newshound looking for dirt on your family to sell to a tabloid. Your hotel will become a living museum, and your guests will want to know about the lives of the people who lived in Bainbridge House.”

Taylor halted placing the fruit and vegetables in the sink. “Are you asking me for permission to write a book about the Bainbridge family?”

Sonja hadn’t thought about writing a book about his family, but now that he’d mentioned it she suddenly warmed to the idea. “Yes. Depending upon how much I can glean from the trunks, it can be a five-by-eight hardcover with a jacket of Bainbridge House and filled with narratives and photographs of the artifacts. And if I can find photographs of family members it would make it even more factual. Of course, you would have to approve everything before it could be published.” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. “The book could be sold in the museum shop.”

Reaching for the retractable sink nozzle, Taylor rinsed the fruit and vegetables. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have a gift for gab?”

She flashed a bright smile. “Yes, but only when I believe in something.” It was the second time that day that she’d talked to someone about writing a book. First her mother, and now she was attempting to convince Taylor she wanted to write about his family.

“I’m not going to promise anything at this time, but continue your research, and after you write up your findings we’ll go over it together. And I’m warning you that before a single word gets into print, my sister and brothers will have the final say. The decision will have to be unanimous because I have no intention of becoming embroiled in a family feud. When my mother told us about Dad leaving us the property, everyone but Viola decided to get directly involved. The rest of us respected her decision without pointing fingers or trying to strong-arm her to change her mind. My parents raised us to be independent, but to always have one another’s backs. If Viola decides she doesn’t want to become the executive chef for Bainbridge House then I’m not going to hold that against her. She’s her own woman and in control of her destiny.”

Sonja didn’t know why, but she felt as if Taylor had just chastised her for something she hadn’t done. She’d merely mentioned the possibility of uncovering something sordid about his family, and he had taken it out of context. In other words, he was protesting prematurely. In that instant she made herself a promise that she would not bring up the subject again.

She slipped off the stool. “I’m going to set the table.”

Taylor knew Sonja was upset and realized he was responsible for the change in her mood. He knew she was excited about what she’d found in the trunks, yet he wasn’t the one with the final word as to what the public would be allowed to know about Conrad’s family. That responsibility lay with Elise Williamson. She was Conrad’s widow, and he’d willed her the property that she in turn had given to her children. Scandal or no scandal, Taylor refused to tarnish the reputation of the family of the man who had become his father and protector in every sense of the word.

“Do you have a glass pitcher or a large carafe?” he asked Sonja as she opened a drawer to remove flatware.

“I have a pitcher, but it’s plastic.”

“That will have to do. I’m going to need it for the sangria.”

“Taylor, you’re going to have to let me help with something because as much as I enjoy looking at you I feel so helpless.”

A slow smile parted his lips. “I got you beat there, because there are times when I can’t take my eyes off you. Viola never told me what you looked like, so the first time I saw you approach my table at The Cellar I couldn’t believe you were real. And when I saw men at other tables sneaking glances at you I wanted to tell them they could look, but I was the lucky dude that night. Then when I met you the next day I was shocked by your transformation. That’s when I realized that you’re a chameleon and I’d never know what to expect because you manage to look different each time we get together. It could be your hair or makeup or even what you choose to wear.”

“Are you saying I keep you off balance?”

“Totally.”

“Good.”

His smile faded. “Why good?”

“That way you won’t take me for granted.”

“Is that what you think, Sonja?”

Her eyelids fluttered. “I don’t know, but I’m hoping you won’t.”

Taylor dried his hands on a