“Five wives, for instance?”
“That’s not quite as bad as it sounds. Two of them died.” Elinor gives me an incredulous look. “Fine, he was a bit of a philanderer. He had this bad habit of starting a new relationship before he was finished with an old one.”
Saying this aloud, I have the cold realization that I’m currently behaving like my grandfather. Technically I’m sort of dating Caroline, but I can’t stop flirting with Elinor. Maybe I’m more like Reginald than I want to admit.
I need to be more like Elinor, stiff and all business-like. But she also seems to struggle with reserve. One minute she’s calling me Mr. Frechette, the next she’s catching my eye to share a joke.
“His longest gap between women was after your grandma. They divorced shortly before I was born—and then she died, Idon’t know how.”
“She had a stroke when I was a baby.”
“Oh, that’s right. My mom said he was devastated. Anyhow, he stepped back from work and devoted himself to taking care of me. That lasted until I was ten or so, when he met the next “love of his life.” I didn’t see him as much after that. But by then my mom had her business established, and my dad started dating my stepmom, who encouraged him to be more involved with me. And to give him credit, he really stepped up.”
We follow the road and take a sharp left, emerging from the woods to a sunny hillside. After walking in the twilight of the tree canopy, it’s surprising to see the bright blue sky and the dazzling surface of the ocean. A dozen or so clapboard cottages line the road facing the spectacular view. The snug cottages are all the same shade of not-quite white. Whether they were once a bright white or were originally this hue of antique white, it’s hard to say. The paint is peeling, and the wood-shingled roofs have a thick layer of moss. From one roof I spy a young fern growing.
“I’m sorry I can’t give you a look inside right now,” Elinor says. “They’re all booked, and I hate to interfere with housecleaning. But you’re not missing much, I’m afraid.” She makes a face. “They look much cuter on the outside than on the inside. Most of the cottages don’t have AC or bathrooms attached. Guests have to share the communal bathroom. Your friend Brandon is staying in one of the two larger cottages with multiple rooms and an attached bathroom.”
I calculate how much it would cost to fix up each unit. It makes more sense to tear down the cottages and replace them with slightly bigger ones with indoor plumbing. Then we could easily charge $700 a night. Although even with the peeling paint and the mushrooms sprouting on the front steps, the cottages are undeniably charming. Each one has an overflowingflowerbox at the front window.
“You can’t afford paint, but you can pay for flowers?” I ask. I’ve stopped trying to make nice with Elinor. If I’m going to help her save Norland Park. I need to ask the hard questions.
“The flowerboxes are Annie’s project. I don’t pay a dime for them.”
“Is that so? Brandon told me they decided to stay here after Pepper saw a photo of these cottages with their flower boxes.”
“Annie will be tickled. Not that it’s a surprise. These cottages are a social media darling.”
“I can see why. She’s very good with flowers.”
“She does all the flowers in the park. She has such a knack. Last week a guest asked her to make a bridal bouquet, and it turned out amazing
“Do you guys hold events here?”
“No, we’re not set up for that. This was just a couple of hikers eloping. Annie did the bouquet for free.”
“Of course she did.”
“What do you mean?”
“You gave me your painting; Annie does free poetry lessons. Do any of youwantto make money?” I say with some exasperation. “This is not a commune.”
“Edward, you’ve seen the books. Norland Park brings in plenty of money.”
“Nickels and dimes compared to what it could be earning. You think that I’m out of touch with the middle class, but maybe you lack vision when it comes to what this park could be. And I’m not talking about charging a little more for the cottages. Even Disneyland has stopped catering to the middle class. They focus on attracting wealthy customers. You have to know that’s where the money is.”
“I know that—I just hate it. All the best things in life shouldn’t be enjoyed by the rich. There’s got to be a way togrow a thriving business while still keeping options for families who struggle.” Elinor is such a refreshing blend of idealism and pragmatism. And I admire that, I do. But in practice... well it’s so much easier to get the funding for a project with high returns.
“It’s not like I’m opposed to catering to the wealthy,” says Elinor. “In fact, one of my favorite schemes would be for wealthy travelers. You want vision, Mr. Frechette, I’ll show you vision. Right this way.” She marches ahead and I follow.
She believed the regard to be mutual. —Sense and Sensibility
13
Elinor
“I’m taking you to my favorite place in the resort,” I tell Edward as we make our way up a steep trail. Trail is a generous word. A narrow rockslide or dry waterfall would be more accurate. The way is straight up and unforgiving. In just a few minutes of scrambling, we are already so high above the cottages that they look like the homes in a model train village. A righteous fury powers me up the hill. Obviously, everything Edward said about the economics of running the park is true. But I don’t have to like it.
After doing a deep dive into Steele Properties and the sites they develop, I feel quixotic trying to sell Edward on my plans for Norland Park. But I have to try. And hehasbeen listening.
