Gramercy Park House

(1) The butler closed the door behind them and ushered her into a dark foyer. He led her into a parlor every bit as gloomy as the foyer. “A day before the wedding, her intended jilted her and it destroyed her,” the caretaker’s words suddenly came to Fiona’s mind.

“Miss Finnegan to see you, madam,” he said, closing the doors after him.

(5) It took Fiona’s eyes, used to the bright sunshine, a few seconds to adjust. Then she saw her. She wore a crisp black silk dress with a ruff of white lace at her throat. Fiona had been expecting a doddery old dear, but the pair of gray eyes now assessing her were piercing.

“Good afternoon, Miss Nicholson, I’m –”

(10) “I know who you are. You have an inquiry concerning my property, the Gramercy Park house?” “Yes, ma’am,” Fiona said, sitting down. “I should like to rent it. I want to open a tearoom on the bottom two floors and my friend would like the top floors for an art gallery.”

“My building’s in terrible condition. (15) Can’t you rent another?”

“I haven’t found anything as wonderful as your place. It’s a shame to let a lovely house like that just die, Miss Nicholson. It’s a bit of a wreck, but it has good bones. And the roses … oh, you should see them! (20) Hundreds and hundreds of blooms. They would absolutely make the place. No one else in New York would have a tearoom with tea roses in the backyard.”

The woman’s face softened at the mention of the roses. “Had them sent from England,” she said. (25) “Fifty years ago. Planted them myself.”

Fiona was just beginning to take heart, when Miss Nicholson’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know about those roses?” she asked.

“I went inside,” she said sheepishly.

(30) “You trespassed.”

“I did, there was a loose board and –” “How much money do you have behind you, Miss Finnegan?” “Not much. I’ve just plowed a fortune back into my business. (35) But it’s doing well.”

As she talked on, Fiona noticed Miss Nicholson was listening intently. Maybe I’m winning her over. Maybe she’ll give me a chance. But Miss Nicholson abruptly cut her off, saying she had no interest in renting the building.

(40) Fiona was sorely disappointed, and angry, too. She felt the woman had toyed with her, had allowed her to build her hopes back up, only to dash them again. “Why are you putting so much effort into a business, Miss Finnegan? Why don’t you marry? Haven’t you a sweetheart?”

(45) “I have.”

“Why don’t you marry him?” “I can’t. He married someone else,” she said quickly, mortified at admitting this to a stranger. “Good day, Miss Nicholson.”

(50) “Good day,” the old woman said, a ruminative expression on her face.

Two days later, Miss Nicholson’s lawyer informed Fiona that his client wanted to sell her building. For two thousand dollars. A mere fraction of what it was worth.