“Fine,” I replied in a petulant tone. I tugged on the door handle several times without success. My gaze slowly slid back to him in question, trying to gauge what it was that was happening between us, and found his attention still focused forward.
“Are you scared of me?” he asked, his voice so mild I almost didn’t hear him.
“No.” I was much more scared of myself, of the feelings he provoked in me.
“Then why are you desperate to escape?”
I almost laughed. Where…do I…begin? “You mean apart from the fact that every time you speak to me you are either appallingly rude, deeply insulting, or an arrogant jerk?” From his profile, I could tell he was fighting to keep a smile off his face.
“You’re right.”
I finally heard the click of the doors unlocking and pushed mine open. I ran towards the back door, trying to escape an uncomfortable feeling nipping at my heels, and paused in the vestibule to watch him.
He held the white shirt I had used to dry myself with as if it were the shroud of Turin, staring at it with an unfathomable expression. That uncomfortable feeling nipping at my heels parked itself in the pit of my stomach. I was done trying to make any sense of this man’s moods.
As I walked into the kitchen, Mrs. Arnaud caught the sight of me soaking wet and gasped, “Mon Dieu, get changed before you catch a cold.”
“Yes, madame.”
Fifteen minutes later, I was soaking in a hot bath, the water line just below my nose and the scent of white Bulgarian roses drifting up from the steam. Every minute of the day’s events played over and over in my mind while my toe fidgeted with the waterspout. I made a mental list of possible explanations:
One: he saw me as some kind of charity case. That did not sit well with me. My pride huffed and puffed. Two: he didn’t want to see me run over by a car. People do drive aggressively around these parts. He probably didn’t want the bother of having to identify the corpse of one of his wayward employees. I could see him trying to explain it to the police. A handkerchief over his nose as he inspected the remains…
Yes, that’s her. Well what do you expect? The idiot walked to town wearing those ridiculous shoes.
I even contemplated the possibility that he was trying to somehow make amends for his appalling behavior in the past, but quickly discarded the notion. So once again, I was left scratching my head about him, unable to dislodge that haunted look on his face from my mind.
After work the next day, I went to my room to change out of my uniform and a found a sleek, silver object sitting on my desk. There was no note. I stared at it for what seemed like an eternity before touching it.
A brand new Apple laptop.
It had to be from him. There was no other possible explanation, and I wasn’t about to go around asking. I couldn’t keep it, of course. That would imply something, and none of it good. It crossed my mind more than once that this might be some kind of test, because I didn’t trust anything that resembled kindness from him.
Chapter Nine
It was my day off. The sun finally made an appearance in a sky painted cerulean blue and I planned on spending it entirely outdoors. Two days prior, I had taken a bus into the city and got caught in another sudden downpour. Soaked all the way through to my underwear, I didn’t exactly make the best of impressions as I walked from hospital to hospital dropping off the packets that contained my query letters. In any event, all I could do now was hope for the best and wait for a call.
Grabbing my book bag, I headed out to find a soft patch of grass as far away from the manor as possible. Mrs. Arnaud insisted on packing me a basket for lunch, afraid that any lack of attention to my diet would cause her to lose any progress she’d made in her quest to fatten me up. Charlotte found me as I was about to walk outside.
“Prison break tonight. Let’s go listen to some live music.”
I hesitated, not quite feeling like I could let my guard down yet and indulge in some fun. When you’ve been living hand to mouth for so many years, old habits are hard to break. “I don’t know, Charlotte. I don’t want to walk home late at night––” She held up a hand, stalling my excuse.
“Theo promised to come pick us up.” Theo being the eighteen year old gardener who was completely infatuated with her. I sighed and smiled. “You might as well agree now, because I’m prepared for any and all arguments,” she added.