Bloody Royal Prints by Reba White Williams

Rhead. She suspected Dinah was the source. A little clutter—a newspaper, opened mail on the desk—suggested this was Mrs. Forester’s private space.
    â€œTell me about the cottages,” Coleman asked. “How many do you own?”
    â€œFour: Flag Cottage, Flower Cottage, Shell Cottage, and Butterfly Cottage. From the outside they are all pretty much alike—gray-shingled like the houses in the village. Each has a little sign over the door with its name on it, and an emblem—a flag or a butterfly, whatever.”
    â€œCan we see them?” Coleman asked.
    Mrs. Forester shook her head. “I rent them from Memorial Day through Labor Day, and close them the rest of the year. They are still sealed for winter, but I can show you pictures. You’ll see some more Greene Gallery art in them—I always turn to Dinah when I’m doing up a cottage—but Butterfly is the last one I decorated. I could rent more, but I haven’t been able to buy more cottages,” Mrs. Forester said.
    Coleman longed to see the interiors of a couple of the cottages, but she could tell Mrs. Forester wasn’t about to open one. Fortunately, the photographs she showed them were of high quality.
    Flag Cottage was decorated with American flag images in many different media, and the interior walls were shades of blue. The walls of Flower Cottage were painted pale green, and several rooms were papered in green and white stripes. Flower paintings and prints adorned all the walls. They recognized some of Dinah’s favorites.
    â€œYes, I was thrilled when I asked Dinah about flower prints,” Mrs. Forester said. “She had everything I needed—Edna Boies Hopkins, William Seltzer Rice. I was able to buy all the prints you see from Dinah.”
    The photographs of Shell Cottage and Butterfly Cottage were as attractive as the others. Coleman was beginning to get the glimmer of an idea about how she could adapt Mrs. Forester’s concept for First Home readers when she saw Mrs. Forester glance at her watch and realized it was probably past their hostess’s lunchtime.
    Coleman stood up, as did Bethany. Coleman thanked Mrs. Forester and apologized for staying so long. Mrs. Forester brushed off the apology and escorted them to the door. “If I can be of further help, let me know,” she said. “Please give my regards to Dinah.”
    Half an hour later, they were eating delectable clam chowder, and the best grilled swordfish they’d ever tasted. Stuffed after lunch, and longing for a nap in the car on the way back to New York, Bethany decided to forget about the clothes shopping.
    â€œIf you decide to come back up here, count me in,” she said.
    â€œI’ll be back,” Coleman said. “I want to stay in touch with Mrs. Forester. I’ve decided one aspect of our decorating department will be ‘My Dream House Is a Theme House.’ I’d like to persuade her to become a consultant to First Home . We’ll show our readers how to change a simple little house into a flag cottage, a flower cottage, a butterfly, shell, and more. I think it will be a huge success.”
    Bethany woke up, and they discussed the possibilities, both for First Home and the Greene Gallery, all the way back to New York, bubbling with enthusiasm.
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    Back in her office, Coleman was absorbed in the report Lyn and Mrs. Anderson had put together about the new design department when Heyward called on her private line.
    â€œI need you to come to London for a couple of weeks. Before you start telling me all the reasons you can’t come, you should know there are important business reasons for you to be here,” he said.
    Coleman hated leaving New York. When anyone suggested she should go out of town, her answer was always the same. “I’m too busy,” she said.
    â€œNothing you are doing is as important as what’s going on here. We have some great