Page 2 of The Wexley Inn
“Luella Washington,” the woman said, accepting Isabella’s handshake with a firm grip. “I was the former cook at this establishment for forty-two years, and I’m the current resident of the staff quarters.” She pointed toward a small cottage partially hidden by overgrown camellia bushes at the edge of the garden. Her Southern accent was as thick as the moss hanging from the trees.
Isabella blinked in surprise. “I’m really sorry, but I didn’t think anyone was living on the property. I mean, the previous owner didn’t mention?—”
“Mr. Harrington knew better than to try to evict me,” Luella interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest. Her tone wasn’t confrontational; it was just matter-of-fact, like her words were the law and that was it. “My quarters were not a part of this sale. You’ll find that in the fine print if you look carefully enough.”
Isabella made a mental note to call her real estate agent as soon as possible. This was a complication she hadn’t anticipated or wanted.
“Okay,” she said carefully. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Washington.”
“Luella, please.” Her expression softened ever so slightly. “I should warn you, this old place has a way of choosing its owners. It’s been standing here since before my grandmother was born. I’ve seen owners come and go, and the ones who try to change too much around here never last very long.”
Before Isabella could respond to her very cryptic comment, Luella set her teacup on the table and stood.
“You’ll want to check the attic. There’s a leak above the third-floor guest bathroom that never got fixed properly. People like to cut corners nowadays. The wiring in the east wing also needs replacing. That’s a fire hazard.”
With that, she picked up her teacup again and walked with a dignified slowness toward her little cottage, leaving Isabella staring after her.
Well, that was unexpected, Isabella thought. Maybe having someone with intimate knowledge of the property would prove to be useful, assuming Luella was willing to share more practical insights and fewer mysterious warnings.
Isabella continued her inspection of the property, confirming Luella’s information about the leak. She made additional notes. By midday, she had a comprehensive list of renovations that needed to be addressed immediately. The scope of it was more daunting than she ever could have thought, but it wasn’t unmanageable, not with the right contractor.
Her next stop was the Wexley Island Bank to meet with Gerald Stewart. He was handling her renovation loan. The bank was located in a stately brick building right on the edge of the historic district. Inside, its interior was all polished wood and subtle luxury. The building was surrounded by live oak trees draped in Spanish moss, just like out of a picture book of the Lowcountry.
“Ms. Montgomery, welcome,” Gerald said. He was a ruddy-faced man in his early sixties with a booming Southern voice that contrasted with the quiet atmosphere of the bank. He waved her into his office, where several folders were neatly arranged on his desk. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. That inn has been an eyesore for far too long. It’s going to be good to see it restored to its former glory.”
“Well, that’s exactly my plan,” Isabella said, taking a seat. “I’ve just come from there. The renovation is going to be extensive, a lot more than I expected seeing it in person, but I know it’s worth it.”
“Oh, of course,” Gerald nodded enthusiastically. “That building is a part of this island’s heritage. Now, I’ve taken the liberty of reviewing the inspection report, and I’ve prepared some preliminary loan options for the renovation.”
They spent the next half hour discussing the financials, with Gerald explaining the intricacies of renovation loans for historic properties and all the associated details.
“So the architectural review board will need to approve any exterior changes,” he said, a hint of warning in his voice. “They can be, well… let’s just call it particular.”
“I understand. I’m committed to preserving the historic character of the building. It’s very important to me.”
“Oh, good, good. That’ll help. Now, about contractors.” He shuffled through his papers. “That might be a bit tricky. Most of the major renovation companies are booked solid with projects over on The Dunes.”
Isabella had anticipated this. “I’ve already reached out to several firms in Charleston who specialize in historic renovations. They’re willing to commute.”
Gerald looked uncomfortable. “Well, you see, the thing is, our review board favors local businesses for significant projects like this. Obtaining approval for outside contractors to work on this island is a bureaucratic nightmare. Security clearances, temporary passes, insurance requirements.”
Isabella felt uneasy. “So then what do you suggest?”
“Well, there’s really only one local contractor that has the expertise and capacity to handle a project of this magnitude,” Gerald said. He pulled a business card from his desk drawer. “Langley Restoration. Thomas specializes in historic properties. He did the Beaumont place over in The Palms last year. Absolutely magnificent work. I feel sure that the committee would allow him to handle the work on The Wexley Inn.”
The room seemed to tilt sideways. Isabella stared at the card Gerald held out to her, her vision tunneling.
Thomas Langley.
Not just any Thomas Langley. Her Thomas Langley. The man who'd held her close on this very island thirty years ago and promised they'd build a life together. The man who'd vanished without a word one day after graduation, leaving only a brief note saying he "had to go home" and "couldn't explain."
“Is something wrong?”
“No, I just…” Isabella forced herself to take the card, her fingers feeling numb. “That name sounds familiar, that’s all.”
“Oh, Thomas has been on this island forever. His daddy worked maintenance for several of the old estates before he passed. Then Thomas went off to college, I think for architectural engineering, and later returned to start his business. He’s highly respected here, but he can be a bit particular about the projects he takes on.”
Isabella nodded, but her mind was racing. What were the odds it was the same Thomas? Thomas Langley? That man who broke her heart all those years ago? He was now potentially the only person who could help her realize her dream.
