Free Forgotten Father by Carol Rose Page B

won’t be after a week here!” she said gaily.
    Watching with displeasure, Mitchell put an end to
their love fest. “If everything is under control in the kitchen,
let’s hear from Housekeeping. Celia?”
    The dark-haired woman at the end of the table nodded
briskly. “We’re fine, other than the maroon bedspreads not wearing
well.”
    “The ones in the east wing?” Delanie asked with a
frown.
    “Yes, all the rooms from 200 to 220. They have
threads unraveling in places.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” Delanie declared with
indignation. “We got those from Stemples. They were supposed to be
very durable.”
    “Well, they need to be replaced,” Celia said in her
no-nonsense voice.
    “Let me take care of that,” Delanie said, borrowing
a notepad and pencil from Ben.
    “Thank you,” the other woman replied warmly. “I’d
appreciate that.”
    “Let’s move along,” Mitchell said, wondering if
there was any one on The Cedars’ staff that wasn’t under Delanie
Carlyle’s spell.
    “Tell me, Mr. Spinner, any problems with the
grounds?”
    “No,” the head gardener responded, as terse as
usual.
    “Do you have special projects planned for the
off-season when we’re closed before the holiday bookings?” Mitchell
asked.
    “Nothing unusual,” the gardener replied, a shade
testy.
    “Mr. Spinner,” Delanie said, a lovely smile
spreading across her face. “Ben told me you ordered more of those
wonderful old roses, the kind that are full and smell so
beautifully?”
    “Why yes,” Spinner said, unbending a little. “I
found a supplier for Gallicas.”
    “Really? How exciting!” Her face lit up. “Those are
the really old kind, right? The ones you told me about before?”
    “The Gallicas are the most ancient of cultivated
roses,” Mr. Spinner informed her, his pleasure at her interest
obvious. “Mr. Donovan wanted me to resurrect his grandmother’s rose
garden and I’ve searched for some of the specific roses she
collected. I’ll be expanding the rose garden back to its old size
soon and putting in some walkways this off-season.”
    “How marvelous,” Delanie enthused. “Will there be
more of those lovely gold-ish yellow ones?”
    “Those and some pinks,” he said in an almost
fatherly tone. “But you’ll have to wait till spring for blossoms,
you know. The conservatory is over-grown already and we don’t have
any greenhouses.”
    Mitchell ignored the reproachful glance the gardener
sent his way.
    “Thank you, Spinner. I wonder what you’d call
‘unusual’ plans,” Mitchell said dryly.
    The gardener looked at him blankly before turning
back to assure Delanie that he and his helpers would also be
planting more of the yellow tulips she loved.
    “You make this place beautiful, Mr. Spinner,” she
told him, beaming.
    “Moving along,” Mitchell said, trying to maintain
control of the meeting, “how are the new brochures coming,
Chad?”
    The young man Donovan had brought in to handle
in-house advertising straightened in his chair.
    “Very well, sir,” Chad Walker said, a faint,
intimidated stammer to his words. “I’ve found a printer who can do
the full color for a reasonable price and I’ll have a mock-up ready
for your approval by the end of the day.”
    “Good.” To his annoyance, Mitchell couldn’t help
compare his staff’s warm response to Delanie to their obvious
discomfort with him. Not that it mattered. He’d long ago learned
how to manage large groups of people. None of the techniques used
in corporate business management required a tremendous amount of
employer warmth.
    All that touchy-feely management theory was
bull.
    People needed to know what was expected of them and
needed to be adequately recompensed for their work. Period.
    An awkward silence settled around the table.
    “Chad,” Delanie said after a moment, “a hotel I’m
working with in Boston is using a terrific advertising idea we
might want to incorporate.”
    “Really?” The younger man turned