The Body in the Ivy by Katherine Hall Page Read Free Book Online Page B

rich, dark earth drew Faith, but she resisted. She’d go once all the food for this evening was in order. Brent—after reading Bishop’s note, this was how Faith thought of him—had said there were strawberries. If she had time, she’d pick some to garnish the individual lemon tarts she’d made for one of tonight’s desserts, and see if there were enough for breakfast. Now she needed to locate the wine cellar and the downstairs pantry. Feeling a bit like Alice, she opened doors, discovering a broom closet, a pantry/china closet, a door to the dining room, and finally a door that led to some stairs.
    She was going to have to learn that nothing about this house would fit any preconceived notion, as in the present case, “basement.” At the bottom of the stairs, therewas a short hallway to the right. Directly in front of her was the pool. A wall of French doors opened onto a fieldstone patio with the meadow beyond. The pool itself was lined with pale blue tiles, some with the titles of Bishop’s books emblazoned in darker blue; others decorated with fanciful sea creatures. Mermaids, Mermen, Kingsley’s Water Babies. The water was celadon green, the walls and ceiling sky blue. Instead of chlorine, the air smelled of roses, the beach roses. Faith walked the length of the pool. A large Jacuzzi, its waters a deep aquamarine, was set near the windows. She was beginning to feel like a character in a fairy tale. She was alone in this magnificent house, but she could hear echoes. Someone splashed about in the water, someone else laughed, ice clinked in tall glasses, someone whispered in another’s ear. They were all waiting for the prince to come and break the spell.
    The spa was through two double doors at the end, and it was as well equipped as the day spa where Faith occasionally treated herself to a facial, manicure, and pedicure. She closed the doors behind her and went in search of the pantry Brent had mentioned, finding it down the short hallway at the bottom of the stairs. The refrigerator was stocked with the author’s “treats”: beluga caviar; foie gras; several varieties of smoked fish, including what Faith assumed were local mussels; at least five kinds of mushrooms—from portobellos as large as butter plates to tiny shiitakes. Two of the vegetable drawers were filled with artisanal cheeses. The wine cellar had a glass door. Faith didn’t need to open it. Any sommelier worth his or her tastevin would swoon. She went back upstairs to the kitchen to getready for the opening party. She understood now why the distance to the mainland didn’t matter. Barbara Bailey Bishop had everything you could possibly desire here on the island; you never had to leave, nor would you want to for a long time. Suddenly the week seemed very short…
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    Faith was in the kitchen assembling the last salad, a simple one of field greens. She had a tray of crottins de Chavignol ready for the oven if anyone wanted warm goat cheese on top. Inevitably there would be at least one woman, if not more, who was on the Atkins, the South Beach, or a just plain low-calorie diet. She’d done one dish—adapted from the famous version at San Francisco’s fabulous Slanted Door restaurant—of cellophane noodles and crab, in this case the East Coast’s peeky toe variety, not West Coast’s Dungeness (see recipe, p. 317). This was a supplement to the baskets of various kinds of foccacia and other breads she’d prepared. Just as there were the dieters, there was bound to be a carb craver. She’d be better able to plan the rest of the week’s meals after meeting the women tonight.
    It was time to head out to the garden. There were several trugs conveniently stored near the door and a series of different-sized scissors and clippers, labeled flowers, herbs, and vegetables. Someone was extremely well organized.
    She had barely had a chance to take in the herb