The sight of Dr Whelan in Papa Ian’s armchair evokes teenage memories of him seated in the same chair seven years ago. On rare occasions, he’d showed up for a closed-door meeting. Private gatherings only Cora, the chef, could breach to serve Tessa’s special drinks. One hectic summer weekend when Twyla was 16, she’d assisted Grams in the office with guest relations. Cora entered the office, glanced at her with a perky smile, and declared to Tessa, “He’s arrived.” Grams sprang from the chair with zeal. “I’ll be in the family suite, but no interruptions unless it’s of dire importance,” she’d said, hastening from the office.
He’s arrived.”“I’ll be in the family suite, but no interruptions unless it’s of dire importance,” A while later, a persistent patron called, demanding to speak with Tessa
