Chương 4
"Without talking to me."
"I sent you three messages."
Kevin reached into his trouser pocket for his phone, then remembered it was downstairs beside his laptop.
Mrs. Bell watched the realization happen.
"You receive approximately a thousand messages a day."
"Not quite."
"Nine hundred, then."
"What did the agency say?"
"That her temporary placement ends Friday at six."
"And after that?"
"After that, she no longer works here."
"I understand what ending means."
Mrs. Bell's mouth tightened.
Kevin recognized the look from childhood photographs of headmistresses and wartime nurses.
"They have another household requesting her."
"Where?"
"That is not our concern."
Kevin looked down the hallway.
The sconces cast soft pools of light across old framed landscapes Claire had chosen because she said portraits made hallways feel judgmental.
She had apparently made an exception for her own.
"Did Annie accept?"
"Not yet."
"Why not?"
Mrs. Bell stared at him.
Kevin lifted both hands slightly.
"Right."
He paced two steps, stopped, and rubbed the back of his neck.
"What does she want?"
"I suggest you ask her."
"I am asking you."
"And I am not Miss Foster's negotiating representative."
"You're the one who called the agency."
"Because someone had to notice her contract was ending."
The words were mild.
They still struck him.
Kevin looked toward the bedroom door.
"Did the boys know before tonight?"
"Not from me."
"Oliver heard you."
"Then I was careless."
Mrs. Bell did not defend herself.
Kevin had always respected that about her.
She could make an error without turning it into a debate over whether the error technically existed.
"I don't want them hearing anything else."
"Then speak quietly tomorrow."
"That's not what I mean."
"I know."
He looked at her.
Mrs. Bell's face remained unreadable.
Kevin lowered his voice.
"They can't keep attaching themselves to people who leave."
Mrs. Bell's eyes sharpened.
"People leave whether children attach themselves or not."
"That's helpful."
"It's true."
"Truth isn't always helpful."
"No."
She looked toward the closed door.
"But avoiding it has not gone especially well in this house."
Kevin felt the muscles in his jaw tighten.
Mrs. Bell saw it.
She did not retreat.
"Good night, Mr. Hart."
He almost stopped her.
Instead he watched her walk away, cardigan hanging unevenly across one shoulder, sensible shoes making almost no sound on the runner.
Downstairs, Kevin found his phone beside the open laptop in the library.
Seven new messages had arrived.
Two were from Martin.
One was from his attorney.
Three were from a group thread involving the board.
The last was from his sister Caroline asking whether he had remembered their mother's birthday dinner on Sunday.
Kevin stared at it.
He had not.
He put the phone facedown.
The library smelled faintly of leather, dust, and the cedar logs stacked beside the fireplace.
Claire had called the room masculine in the accusatory tone she reserved for dark paint and oversized chairs.
She used to work there anyway, curled sideways on the sofa with financial reports spread across her lap and her shoes on the rug.
Kevin opened Martin's first message.
You alive?
The second had arrived twenty minutes later.
Board call can wait until morning unless you enjoy making everyone hate you.
Kevin typed, Morning.
He sent it.
Martin replied almost instantly.
Disturbing.
Kevin stared at the word.
Then another message appeared.
Go to bed.
Kevin almost smiled.
He closed the laptop.
A glass sat on the sideboard beside a bottle of bourbon.
He had poured it before going upstairs.
The ice had melted completely.
For several seconds he stood looking at the amber liquid.
Then he carried the glass to the small sink hidden behind the cabinet doors and poured it away.
He rinsed the glass.
The act felt unnecessarily dramatic, which irritated him.
He put the glass upside down on a towel and left the room.
In the kitchen, Annie was sitting at the long worktable with a mug between both hands.
She looked up when Kevin entered.
Neither of them spoke immediately.
Without the maid cap, her blonde hair fell to her shoulders in loose bends from being pinned all day.
The black housekeeping dress looked less formal with the white apron folded on the chair beside her.
Kevin stopped near the doorway.
"I thought you'd gone to bed."
"I was going to."
He glanced at the mug.
"Tea?"
"Chamomile."
"Does it work?"
"No."
"Good marketing, though."
Annie looked down at the mug.
A faint smile appeared and disappeared.
Kevin opened the refrigerator without knowing what he wanted.
The interior light illuminated containers labeled in Mrs. Bell's handwriting, a carton of milk, berries, three kinds of mustard, and half a chocolate cake.
He took out the milk.
Then he realized he had no reason to take out the milk.
Annie watched him put it back.
"You don't have to pretend you're hungry."
"I'm not pretending."
"What are you doing?"
"I don't know."
"All right."
He closed the refrigerator.
That answer bothered him less than it should have.
Kevin pulled out the chair across from her and sat.
The table between them was scarred oak, older than either of them.
Someone had left a child's blue crayon near the salt cellar.
Kevin picked it up and rolled it between his fingers.
"Mrs. Bell told me about the other placement."
Annie's shoulders changed almost imperceptibly.
"So she was checking linen too?"
Kevin looked at her.
"Sheets."
Annie laughed once under her breath.
The sound was different from the restrained amusement upstairs.
It made her look younger.
Kevin set the crayon down.
"Have you accepted it?"
"No."
"Are you going to?"
"I haven't decided."
"Why?"
Annie traced one finger around the rim of her mug.
"It's a permanent position."
"So stay here permanently."
Her eyes lifted.
Kevin immediately heard the mistake.
He leaned back.
"That came out wrong."
"A little."
"I meant I can offer you a permanent position."
"Doing what?"
"Whatever you're doing now."
Annie's expression became wary.
May you like
"What am I doing now?"
Kevin opened his mouth.
