Delia's Gift (Delia 3)

“Do you need something?”

“Yes. Information.”

“What information?”

“What do you know about Mrs. Newell?” I asked.

My question obviously surprised her. “Mrs. Newell? What do you mean?”

“She never talks about herself. She never mentions her husband or where they live, anything. If I ask a question, she always tells me she’s here for me and I’m not here for her, something like that.”

“I don’t know anything,” Teresa said quickly. “I don’t see her except for here.”

“You know more than I do about her, Teresa. Don’t worry. Whatever you tell me will stay right here in this room.”

She started to shake her head.

“I know you don’t like her. I don’t, either, but I put up with her just like you do to please Señor Bovio. I can’t wait to be rid of her. I know she really doesn’t like me, either, and she certainly has little respect for you.”

“I can’t lose my job here,” Teresa said. “I haven’t saved all that much. I send money to my brother back in London.”

“You won’t lose your job. If she in any way caused Señor Bovio to fire you, I’d leave the same day, and you know he doesn’t want that,” I said firmly enough to impress her.

She considered. I saw that the open doorway made her hesitate, so I backed

up and closed it softly.

“Well?”

“I don’t know anything firsthand, Miss, but in a house as big as this, employees gossip about other employees.”

“Sí, I understand. And?”

“Mrs. Newell was pregnant once herself but suffered a miscarriage.”

“I knew it. In my heart of hearts, I felt it,” I said, excited.

“She wasn’t a nurse then.”

“Really?”

“It wasn’t until after that tragedy that she became a nurse. She’s still married, but she and her husband don’t have much of a life together. He sculpts and makes clay pots and such. He’s not famous or anything and just scratches out a living. She brings home the bacon, as we say. She worked in a hospital first, and then she started doing private duty. Now she’s highly regarded and highly paid.”

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“It’s silly, Miss. I don’t want to upset you.”

“It’s too late for that,” I said dryly. “If I were any more upset than I am, I’d be walking on my hands.”

She laughed and then grew serious again, but she was still hesitant.

“Well? You might as well tell me the rest of it, Teresa. You’ve told me this much.”

“I’ve heard it said that she gets so close to the pregnant woman she’s caring for, especially in the last month or so, that it’s…”

“Yes? It’s what?”

“It’s as if she’s having the baby, the baby she lost.”