The Billionaire Band Director

Chapter 3

    Martha slowly pulled up to the stately manor.  Manor, at least, seemed to her like the correct word to describe it.  The large house had various turrets and columns and a large circular driveway that could probably fit a gala’s worth of limousines.  There was a wrought iron gate that, fortunately, was open.   Martha had been worried about being allowed in, but with the gate open she could at least make it to the front door.  She pulled around and parked her car to the side where it was mostly hidden by a garage.  No need for her beat up old station wagon to be the first impression she made.

    Martha checked herself over in the mirror.  She had done her best to look like someone who belonged here.  She was wearing a navy pencil skirt, a white button-up shirt, and pearls.  The pearls were fake, but who would know?

    Martha stepped out of her car and smoothed her skirt.  She checked her shirt for any stray drops of coffee, but it seemed that all of her spilling had made it on to Le Hottie’s shirt.  She took a few deep breaths to settle her nerves. Then, grabbing her Starbucks cup, she walked as confidently as she could to the front door.  She rang the doorbell before she could chicken out.  Too late to turn back now, she told herself.

    Martha was glad to hear footsteps approaching before she had too much time to panic.  A pretty girl who looked to be about Martha’s age opened the door.  She had red hair and sparkling green eyes and a smile that helped put Martha a little bit at ease. 

    “Can I help you?” asked the girl.

    “Yes, I’m here to see Mr. and Mrs. James,” said Martha is what she hoped was a confident tone.

    “And who shall I say is calling?” asked the smiling girl.

    “Martha.  Martha James.  Their granddaughter.”

    The girl’s eyes went wide, but she kept her smile plastered to her face.  Martha had no idea who this girl was, but it was clear that she knew the James family well enough to be surprised by having a Martha James show up claiming to be their granddaughter. 

    “Please wait here,” said the girl.

    She shut the door.  Smart, thought Martha.  If I’m some sort of scammer claiming to be their granddaughter, she certainly doesn’t want to risk me sneaking into their house while she’s away.  Martha waited.  And waited. And waited.  Eventually, she heard footsteps coming back to the door.  The door opened, but the girl was not there.  Instead, Martha was looking at her grandmother.

    Betsy James was attractive.  Not just attractive for her age, but attractive in general.  She was svelte and elegant and perfectly polished.  Her ash blonde hair was swept up into a twist.  She wore a white pantsuit with a teal scarf tied around her neck.  Her large blue eyes scanned Martha up and down, not even trying to hide their judgment.  Apparently, that judgment was favorable, because after a minute she reached her arms out wide to Martha.

    “Martha!” she cried, pronouncing the name with an English “th” like Martha Washington.  “My Martha!  But of course it’s you!”

    Martha pretended not to notice that the statement implied that there could have been any doubt that she was who she said she ways.

    “Hello, Grandmother.  It’s so nice to meet you at last.”

    Martha hoped that she sounded friendly, and not bitter about being ignored for her entire life.

    “But you are the spitting image of my Matthew, aren’t you?  The spitting image!” cried Betsy James.

    Martha forced a smile.  She did not know how to respond to this.  Her father had died before she was born, so she only knew what he looked like from pictures.  She wanted to believe she got some of her mother’s beautiful looks, but she could not deny that she looked a lot more like the father she never knew. 

    “Please, come in, dear.  Donald will be down in a minute,” said Betsy, delicately touching Martha’s arm and ushering her in to the house.

    Martha complied and followed Betsy into a formal sitting room near the front of the house.  Betsy elegantly lowered herself into a striped loveseat.  Martha looked for the furniture that she was the least likely to mess up.  She decided on a firm looking armchair near Betsy.  As she sat, she noticed Betsy eyeing her necklace.  Who would know the pearls where fake, she had thought earlier? Betsy James, that’s who.

    “Well, dear, to what do we owe the pleasure?  Not that I’m not overjoyed to see you,” said Betsy.  “I am delighted, of course.  Absolutely delighted.  I’m just a bit surprised is all.”

    Martha smiled and prepared to give the speech she had been rehearsing.  She hoped the Starbucks cup made her look sufficiently casual.

    “Oh, I was in the area,” she started.  “I just got to town, and I remembered that I’d heard, at some point, that you live somewhere near New Kensington Falls, or at least that you used to.  So, when I was getting coffee this morning, I asked someone, on the off chance that they knew, if they had ever heard of the James family.  And, of course, they knew exactly who you are.  Donald and Betsy James, they told me, live just a few miles from the town center.  Well, of course, when I heard that, I just had to see you right away.  I asked if they knew where to find you, and they said I should try to big house at the end of this road.  And, well, they were right, and here I am.”

    The speech came out a little faster than Martha had intended, but if Betsy noticed she did not give it away.  Of course, Martha got the impression that Betsy did not give anything away.

    “How splendid!” declared Betsy.  “How absolutely splendid!  But of course, I am delighted to see you!  And Donald will be too.  Absolutely delighted!”

    Martha smiled as sweetly as she could.  So far, Betsy had not asked why Martha was in the small New England town.  She did not have a chance before her husband arrived.

    Donald James was tall and fit for his age.  He had a full head of thick grey hair and thick grey eyebrows.  He was wearing khaki pants, a white polo shirt, and a skeptical look on his face.  Before he could open his mouth, his wife jumped up and ran to him.

    “Oh just look at her Donald, won’t you just look at her?  She looks just like our Matthew, doesn’t she?  The spitting image!”

    Martha stood and slowly approached her grandfather. 

    “Hello, Grandfather,” said Martha, extending her hand to him.

    Her stared at her hand for a minute as if there were a dead fish in it being offered to him.  Betsy nudged him, and he extended his hand and gave Martha a firm handshake.

    “It’s nice to meet you, Martha” said Donald.

    He pronounced Martha correctly, like “Marta.”  Martha did not know if that was good or bad.  Was he showing respect for her and her mother’s heritage?  Or was he drawing attention to her ethnicity?  Martha had a feeling that around there, any “Martha” who pronounced her name “Marta”was probably a maid.

    Betsy took Donald by the hand and led him back to the striped loveseat, and gently pulled him down to sit besides her. 

    “Please, Martha, have a seat,” cooed Betsy.  “We would just love to hear more about you.  Tell me, dear.  What brings you to our little town?”

    Martha smiled.  This part, at least, was mostly true. 

    “Five years ago I was given full custody of my cousin.  She’s fourteen now,” said Martha.

    “Yes, dear, we knew that,” said Betsy.

    This shocked Martha.  How did they know that?  She had no contact with them.  Her grandmother had had no contact with them.  Josie had certainly never contacted them.  Had they been spying on her?  Martha decided to tuck that thought away for later.  She could not dwell on it now.

    “Anyways…” continued Martha after some pause.  “Josie will be starting high school in the fall.  I graduated college a few years ago and have not yet found a job which I would consider permanent, so I decided to look for work somewhere with good schools for Josie.”

    “Oh but of course!” cried Betsy.  “The schools around here are excellent! Absolutely excellent, isn’t that right Donald?”

    Donald silently nodded in agreement.

    “Oh but you MUST stay in the area!” Besty continued.  “You absolutely must!  Tell me, dear, have you found yourself a job yet?”

    “Not yet,” said Martha, “but we just arrived recently.  I intend to submit applications soon.”

    “And what kind of work are you looking for, dear?” inquired Betsy.

    “Teaching.  Teaching literature, if I can.  I’ve finished my student teaching and have been working as a substitute teacher in Michigan, but I would like to be a full time teacher if possible.”

    Betsy clapped her hands together, clearly delighted.

    “How delightful!  But my dear, you MUST let me help you!  I happen to have some connections, some very dear connections.  I would be absolutely delighted to help you get a teaching position!”

    Martha smiled demurely.  Jackpot.