“No, no need, just passing through. Have you seen the lady of the house?” Neil asked casting his gaze around for Emma.
“Ms. Elwood?” The woman’s eyes absolutely sparkled at the mere mention of Emma. “I believe she was giving instructions to the kitchen for lunch.”
Neil turned to me. “Why don’t we wander about until we find her?”
As we left via the east gallery, I whispered, “Do all those people work here?”
“Not all of them work in the house. Some of them are groundskeepers who get occasionally pulled inside for things like putting up the Christmas tree or refreshing the flower arrangements.” At my wary look, he continued, defensive, “It takes a lot of people to keep a house this size running properly. In the summer, when it’s open to the public, we have a regular staff of about eighty people.”
“Open to the public?” I squeaked. “You let strangers just walk around in your house?”
“Only in about forty of the rooms. The main floor, a few of the bedrooms upstairs that are done up in antiques—” his sentence, delivered in a bafflingly normal tone, as if everyone in the world let people pay to enter their homes and poke around, was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Emma at the other end of the gallery. She half-ran, half-walked toward us, unable to contain her huge smile.
Emma is adorably elfin, with a short blonde bob that frames her face. She’d inherited her father’s dazzling green eyes and her expressions were uncannily similar to his. That was where the similarities ended; they loved each other deeply, but the undercurrent of antagonism in all their interactions in my presence was palpable.
Although, that wasn’t true today.
“Daddy, I’m so glad you’re home,” Emma exclaimed, leaping into her father’s arms. She hugged him hard. “How was the flight?”
“I slept through it, as always.” Neil’s expression when he looked at his daughter was one of absolute and unconditional love. It made my heart ache for her; I couldn’t imagine what it would be like, being faced with possibly losing a parent.
No, you’re not going to think like that, I ordered myself sternly. I was going to stay positive, or die trying. And there you go again, thinking about death.
“Sophie,” Emma said, stepping back. “So nice to see you again.”
“You as well.” I’d kind of lulled myself into a false sense of security, after our last somewhat successful lunch meeting. What I’d glossed over was the part where she’d listened to her father breaking up with me in a hospital room just a week before. I hoped that wouldn’t create any further awkwardness between us; we already had that in spades. The fact that we were exactly the same age, and that she had overheard her father and I having some particularly vocal sex once made things plenty uncomfortable between us already.
“I’m really glad that you two are getting to spend Christmas together,” Emma told us quietly, looking down at her hands. When she raised her eyes again, she addressed me. “I know how much my father cares for you, and how much it means to him that you’re here. He was absolutely devastated after... well. I’m just very glad it all worked out.”
I brought my hand to my chest, too choked with emotions to trust my own voice.
“Come here, brilliant girl,” Neil said, wrapping his arms around his daughter.
Had that really just happened? I wanted to hug Emma, but I had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate it. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Emma. Really.”
“Well, let’s not get too mushy,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder. “I had them put lunch in the conservatory.”
“Excellent.” Neil put a hand on my back as we followed her.
“Right. In the conservatory.” I added under my breath, “Because people have those.”
“You’ll find that about a fifth of the murders in this house take place in the conservatory, often with a lead pipe,” Emma quipped.
I lost track of the number of rooms we moved through; parlors opened onto sitting rooms, onto salons, and they all looked like they served the exact same purpose, but in different colors. I felt like if I touched anything, an alarm would go off. Eventually, we made it to the rear of the house, where two ornate and gilded doors opened onto the conservatory.
Neil might as well have just casually revealed he owned a dragon, and I would have been less awed. The conservatory had a gracefully domed glass roof with gleaming brass in an art nouveau style. The tiles beneath our feet were tiny black and white octagons carefully arranged in their neat lines, more white than the black that wound its way in double rows to outline the floor. Above us, birds painted on the glass in faded gray, pink, blue, and green soared frozen against the sky. Though snow covered the ground outside, in here a small white marble fountain burbled cheerfully and all sorts of exotic plants bloomed and perfumed the humid air. There were palms and birds of paradise, lemon trees and orange trees, and spiky fronds jutted from elevated beds.