Weekend Agreement by Barbara Wallace Page B

touch all the way to her toes.
    Yeah, she thought, eyes rising to meet his, she definitely couldn’t see him as a boy.
    “Daniel,” His mother eyed them from over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”
    With a roll of his eyes, Daniel dropped Charlotte’s hand. “Her majesty beckons. Shall we?”
    The veranda sat on the east side of the house, overlooking the ocean. While they traveled from one end of the building to the other, Vivian took the opportunity to share with Charlotte some of the family history. Ferncliff family history, that is. William Ferncliff, Vivian’s husband, was a sixth-generation Ferncliff, one of the original residents of the island. It was obvious that fact was a badge of honor for the woman. The house itself, Charlotte had to admit, was amazing. Her inner historian couldn’t help appreciating the reverence with which family heirlooms had been presented. She thought of her own tiny house, overstuffed with heirlooms because no one else wanted them. Here, the antiques were preserved and polished like the pieces of history they were. She stopped more than once to admire a piece that caught her eye.
    “The Ferncliffs were leaders in the whaling industry,” Vivian said when Charlotte paused to admire a seventeenth-century captain’s table. She pointed to a dour-looking portrait on the wall. “This is Captain Zachariah Ferncliff. He built the house. We’ve maintained the room’s nautical décor to pay tribute to the family’s legacy.”
    “My father made his money owning a grocery store,” Daniel remarked from behind. “She keeps the pantry stocked in his honor.”
    The comments earned him a narrow-eyed glower from Vivian as she pointed out a pair of clipper ship lithographs commissioned by one of Zachariah’s offspring.
    When they finally reached the veranda, Charlotte saw two men perched on the far wall. At the sound of Vivian’s voice, they rose.
    “Well, well, well,” said the older of the pair, “we were wondering when you would land that plane of yours.”
    “You know Daniel,” Vivian remarked, “always on his own time schedule.”
    While Daniel was lean and dark, William Ferncliff and his son resembled large, ruddy teddy bears. Their blond hair had been bleached white from the sun, and windburn permanently stained their cheeks. When they smiled, their square jaws revealed rows of perfect white teeth, their gleam made all the whiter by their tanned skin. Good-looking as they were, however, they lacked the complexity that came with Daniel’s dark looks. With Daniel, she immediately sensed layers beneath the surface. With the Ferncliffs, Charlotte suspected that what she saw was what she got.
    In this case, she got surprised looks.
    “Always a pleasure to meet one of Daniel’s friends,” William said, recovering. Charlotte wondered how many “friends” of Daniel’s he’d actually met. “Hope you enjoy your visit.”
    “Your name sounds familiar,” Daniel’s stepbrother, Cole, said. “Are you an actress, too?”
    “Too?” She was confused.
    “Never mind,” Daniel said. “Charlotte is a historian.”
    “You don’t say,” William said. “I’m impressed. We have a scholar in our midst, Vivian.”
    “So I heard.”
    “Maybe I should have you study our family history,” William said. “Did Vivian tell you the Ferncliffs were among the original island settlers?”
    “Yes, she did,” Charlotte answered. In grand detail. “When she showed me the house.”
    “Charlotte is an expert on the American Revolution,” Daniel told him.
    “That’s why your name is familiar. I should have realized.” William had crossed the room and was standing behind the bar. “Your book is on my nightstand. One of the guys at the club gave it to me to read. He said it was quite good.”
    “It is,” Daniel said.
    Charlotte stared at him. “You read my book?”
    “You sound surprised.”
    “You told me the other day that history books weren’t your style.”
    “That was the