Chương 2
The diamond caught once against her skin.
Julian removed it, held it above the open trash bin, and paused.
Vanessa’s face lost color.
“We’re finished,” he said.
He dropped the ring.
It struck the plastic liner with a soft, unimpressive sound and disappeared among coffee grounds, folded napkins, and the remains of the first course.
For once, Vanessa had no answer.
Julian adjusted his hold on Clara. Her fingers found the front of his jacket and closed around the fabric.
“No one humiliates my daughter,” he said.
The sentence was not loud. It did not need to be.
Mara opened the kitchen door fully. Julian carried Clara past the silent guests, through the warm dining room, and toward the stairs. He did not look at the faces turning toward him. He did not look at the photographer lowering his camera or at the two members of his company’s board standing beside the fireplace. He looked only at the child in his arms.
At the first landing, Clara released a small breath.
It was the first one that sounded as though it had reached the bottom of her lungs.
Julian took her to his bedroom instead of hers.
The decision surprised them both. Clara’s room had been redecorated three months earlier under Vanessa’s direction, its pale yellow walls replaced with white paper patterned in silver branches. Clara had said she liked it. Julian had accepted the answer because Vanessa had been standing beside her when she gave it.
His own bedroom had changed less. The walnut dresser still carried a shallow scratch Amelia had made while moving a lamp. A paperback remained wedged beneath one leg of the blue reading chair because Julian had never remembered to have the chair repaired. Vanessa disliked the book being visible and pushed it farther underneath whenever she noticed.
He set Clara on the edge of the bed.
She kept hold of his jacket.
“I’m going to take off my shoes,” he said. “I’m staying right here.”
Her fingers loosened.
Julian removed his shoes, then his suit coat. Clara watched every movement. He placed the coat beside her instead of hanging it in the closet.
“Can I get you water?”
She shook her head.
“Tea?”
Another shake.
“Do you want Mara?”
Clara’s eyes moved toward the closed door.
“Maybe later.”
“All right.”
He sat on the carpet several feet from her. The position made his knees ache, but he could not bring himself to sit above her.
From downstairs came the muted disturbance of guests leaving before dessert. A car door closed outside. Another followed. No one called up the stairs.
Clara rubbed one sleeve over her cheek.
“Is Vanessa mad?”
Julian swallowed.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does when she’s mad.”
The words were barely audible.
He stared at the silver face of his watch because looking directly at Clara felt like making her responsible for what happened next.
“How often does she get mad at you?”
Clara looked at the jacket beside her.
Julian waited.
“One time isn’t often,” she said.
“No.”
“And two times isn’t a pattern.”
“Who told you that?”
Her lips disappeared between her teeth.
He let the silence rest. The impulse to ask everything at once rose in him like nausea. Had Vanessa touched her? Had she locked her in rooms? Had she withheld food? How long had Mara known? How many evenings had Julian returned home, kissed Clara’s forehead, and accepted the first answer he was given?
Clara bent one knee beneath herself.
“She says people make things bigger because they like attention.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s okay.”
“You always know.”
He almost denied it. The denial would have been automatic, reassuring, and false.
“No,” he said. “I don’t.”
Her eyes lifted.
It was not trust. Not yet. But it was attention.
A knock came at the door.
Julian rose too fast. Clara’s hand darted toward his jacket again.
“It’s only the door,” he said. “I won’t open it unless you want me to.”
Mara spoke from the hallway. “Mr. Ashford?”
Clara nodded.
Julian opened the door a few inches. Mara stood with a glass of water, a clean washcloth, and a folded pair of Clara’s pajamas balanced on a tray. Her black uniform was still neat except for a pale smear of sauce near one cuff.
“May I come in?”
Julian looked at Clara.
“Yes,” she said.
Mara entered without examining the room or asking questions. She placed the tray on the nightstand. Her gaze settled briefly on Clara’s face, then moved away.
“I brought the soft ones,” she said, indicating the pajamas.
Clara touched the folded sleeve. “The blue pair?”
“The blue pair.”
“Vanessa said they looked babyish.”
Mara’s mouth tightened. “They look comfortable.”
Clara nodded as though comfort were a defensible argument.
Julian watched the exchange. Mara did not appear surprised by Clara’s comment.
“What happened downstairs?” he asked.
Mara straightened.
“Most of the guests have left. Mr. Bell is in the library. Miss Crowe is in the drawing room with her brother.”
“Why is her brother still here?”
“He said she was too upset to drive.”
“She has a driver.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Vanessa?”
“She asked for the ring.”
Julian glanced at Clara.
Mara lowered her voice. “I removed the liner from the bin and placed it in the locked utility cabinet. I thought it best not to let anyone go through the rubbish.”
Even under the circumstances, some part of Julian registered the absurd practicality of the sentence. The engagement ring had cost more than Mara earned in several years. It sat among fish skin and coffee grounds in a utility cabinet because no one knew who should touch it.
“Thank you,” he said.
Mara hesitated.
The hesitation changed the room.
Julian closed the door behind her.
“What?”
“Not here,” Mara said.
Clara drew the pajamas toward herself.
Julian understood. “I’ll come downstairs when she’s asleep.”
May you like
Clara spoke before Mara could answer. “I’m not going to sleep.”
“That’s fine,” Julian said. “Then I won’t go downstairs.”
