“Oof, I’m stuffed like a tick,” Daphne said, lifting up her shirt and sticking out the slight curve of her belly.
“Could you bear a little more stuffing?” said Barry. “Might want to work that meal off, if you know what I mean.” Daphne gave him a filthy look, and he cackled to himself.
Macgregor averted his eyes and slunk out the back door, muttering “thank you” and “goodnight.” I opened a kitchen drawer and took out a penlight.
“Don’t you want a flashlight?” I asked, holding it out to him.
“No need. Know the property like the back of my hand”
“Stubborn. It’s really icy out there,” I said, putting it in my pocket. Jane was beginning to squirt Persil into a huge pot she was filling with water.
“Don’t bother with that, Jane. We’ve got enough hands and you’re not well. Have Isaac take you home and put you to bed,” I said, taking over at the sink. I rolled up my sleeves and attacked the mound of dishes.
“Here, Janey,” Isaac said, picking up Jane’s shawl and holding it out for her.
My heart melted, and I couldn’t separate out which feeling was poking me – not having a brother like Isaac, or not being part of a loving couple.
“All right, Isaac? You were quiet at dinner and I noticed you only ate two puddings,” Terrence said. “You’ll waste away if you keep that up.”
Isaac smiled for the first time all evening. “Da ate three,” he said. “He’ll be fat as a hog.” When the lines crinkled into place around his eyes, he almost looked his age. I laughed at the thought of the skeletal Seamus ever being plump.
“Telling tales on your old man,” he clapped Isaac affectionately on the back and kissed his cheek. “There’s my boy!” said Seamus. “Now go sleep off that good food and wine, tomorrow’s a big day.”
“Night,” Isaac said, walking out, as Rose came back into the kitchen with an agitated look on her face.
“What’s the matter, my dearest? Why isn’t anyone cheerful?” asked Seamus. “Is The Painter ill?”
“He’s fine, or at least he’s the same as always. I just overheard the Lady and Mr. Roth fighting in the corner. Mr. Roth said he bought The Painter some grand picture by Roy Lichtenstein or some such, which, from what he was saying to her, looks like a page from the funny papers, and he plans to hang it in the dining room.”
“And?” asked Seamus.
“It just raises my ire the way he’s always poking his nose in where it doesn’t belong. This isn’t his house. The Painter doesn’t want that picture, he doesn’t want roast goose, and he doesn’t want things to change!” Rose said.
“My dear, it sounds like you’re taking this all a bit personally,” Seamus said. “The only way to tolerate Roth is to let him roll off your back.”
“You should see him in his own house,” I said. “I have to staple my lips shut. Try to ignore him.”
“The Earl can’t let him just give the painting away. It’s wrong,” Rose said. “And it’s wrong for Mr. Roth to torment him when he’s not well and making his best effort to be cordial to the guests in his home despite the fact that he’s suffering.”
“What painting?” I asked.
“The painting in the dining room!”
“The Veiled Madonna?” I asked.
“Yes, The Veiled Madonna,” she said sharply. “Is no one listening to a word I say? It hangs where he plans to put the new one.”
“Why would he get rid of it? It has to be worth a mint,” I said.
“It’s priceless! Art muckity-mucks have been begging for it for years. Mr. Roth was in there cackling about how they’ll endow it to the museum and maybe get a wing named after the family. But it’s not his to give, to be sure.”
“Stop troubling yourself, Rose, and let The Painter fight his battles with his son-in-law,” said Seamus.
“Well he’s not fighting the battle. He was so upset he excused himself up to his room before coffee,” Rose said.
“Did he say he was upset?”
“Not in so many words, but I’ve known him nearly all my life,” Rose said.
“Last I heard, he was saying he wanted to rest up for Christmas,” said Terrence. “Maybe he’s drunk?”
“His belly is plaguing him, and he’s tired from all these guests. You might want to bring him some more tablets and a glass of fizzy water. He’s not as young as he used to be. His eyes look tired and cloudy, to me,” said Seamus. “Da used to say when the horses had that cast in the whites of their eyes, it was their livers that were failing.”
“It’s not because he’s ill. He’s furious about the painting, I can tell you what he’s thinking.”
“Well, I know better than to argue with a girl from the north side of Dublin,” Seamus said. “Let’s finish cleaning and get you to bed.”
“I’m not the least bit sleepy,” Rose said, chipping furiously at the layer of dried flour paste on the farm table.
“Yes, but I’ve got visions of sugar plums already, and I’ll need someone to keep me company.”
“I’m not fit company. I can’t see my way to settling down at the moment.”
“Ah, the beautiful girls always leave us begging,” said Seamus.
“The guests and family have all gone above,” announced Chisholm, coming in from the hall with a tray of empty glasses and coffee cups.
Daphne was right behind him with another tray. “This is the last of it,” she said. “I already Hoovered in the library and turned off the lights. I’m knackered. I can’t believe I have to be up at 6:30 tomorrow.”
“Go on, then Daphne. And you lads, too,” said Seamus, gesturing to Chisholm and Terrence.
“What? No cocktail hour on Christmas Eve? Does no one love Terrence anymore? Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum, that’s what Father Christmas always says,” said Terrence.
“If Father Christmas were a drunken pirate,” said Chisholm, sneering.
“Well, have you seen his red nose and his jaunty boots? They’re not exactly Uggs, are they?”
“All of you, go,” I said. “C’mon, tomorrow’s Christmas. Get to bed… ’ll only be another five minutes here.” There was a lot of shuffling, last-cup-of-tea making, and doubling back for handfuls of sweets as everyone disappeared out the back.
Eventually, I was alone in my lair. I had my eye on the clock as I cleaned. I knew I should go straight back to Dove’s Nest when I was through but I could already feel the restless pull in my legs. I’d be climbing the stairs to hear what Ben had to say. I took his note out of my pocket and slumped over the counter to read it again, looking for clues between the lines as to what he might be planning to say.
“Don’t mind me, just down for a cup of tea and some Bromo,” said The Painter.
I started and jumped to attention, once again stuffing the note into my apron. “Sir, you should have rung. I would have brought it up to you,” I said, flushing.
“No need for that,” he said. “I’ve got two legs and I’m not one to let pain get the better of me.” He sighed. “It has been a hell of a few days, though.” He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down.
“If you’d like to take a seat in the dining room, I’ll bring your tea through. Would you like anything else?”
“Just the tea and powder. And more brandy, though I’ve probably had enough. I’ll stay here…every now and again it’s nice to sit in my own kitchen. And bring me some water. I’m so very thirsty.”
There was an awkward silence while I heated water and placed tea in a strainer. Behind my back, I could feel the weight of him in the chair. I filled a teacup part way with hot water to take the chill off the ceramic.
“I’m sorry you’ve been ill, Your Lordship,” I said.
After a beat, he said, “It’s a terrible thing. I’ve tried to keep it to myself. I suppose she could see right through me. Rose, I mean. Ah well, things change and you can’t get back what you once had.”
Half-listening, I put a cup of tea in front of him, along with a snifter and a small dish with glass of soda dissolved in water. My mind was on Ben. I glanced at the clock. It was five to twelve.
He snorted. “I may be spending more and more time in this kitchen. Terrence told me that my son-in-law plans to get rid of my red-headed girl. She kept me company at dinner.”
“Which red-headed girl?” I asked, wondering if he meant Daphne. He seemed confused and it was spooking me.
“In the dining room. The nude. The love of my life. He’s giving it away and replacing it with a comic strip panel that’ll make my eyes bleed. Maybe that’s his plan – I’ll move to a side chair and he’ll take over the head of the table, figuratively and literally. But I suppose it’s time. Someone has to eventually take the baton. Penny had to marry…and she almost got it right. Almost, but she never grasps a thing completely, does she? She married money and power but not blood. And certainly not love. To marry for love is a luxury rarely enjoyed! Well, my daughter’s grown.” He sighed. “I did my duty.”
“I have to say, Your Lordship…”
“We never clicked, Penny and me. Always missed each other…sad, really. I rather imagined having a daughter who was, well, more like you. Bright. Capable. Stands on her own feet.”
“I suppose I made a mistake sending her to Switzerland. She’s crazy with melancholy over me. Girls don’t thrive when they’re not close to their fathers.” He sipped his drink. “She’s just crazy, some would say,” he laughed. “You must know that, with all your training and whatnot. She has her quirks. But she was born into protection, by the luck of the draw. ” He had a faraway look in his eyes. I leaned in closer to make sure he was all right. Now he had my full attention.
“There are so many rules in this life, but they’re all imaginary. If I had it to do over, I’d ignore them roundly but I was a coward. The more times you don’t live by the truth, the easier it becomes to continue living a lie.”
“Sir, are you alright? I could call Doctor Dearden…” I said.
“I know how to fix Jasper. Once he gets rid of my girl on the wall, I’ll use the empty space to put up one of those posters of a kitten clinging to a branch with a caption that reads ‘Hang in There, Baby.’ That’s good advice for anyone.” He laughed, and took a deep drink of his brandy. “Or maybe one of Isaac’s paintings…”
He sat staring. “It’s close in this kitchen. I’m sweating in the dead of December. Can you crack a window?” Even though I was chilly, I did as I was asked. The kitchen was cleaned and it was now midnight. Ben was waiting for me, but I couldn’t leave, and it was uncomfortable to be in the kitchen with no work to do.
“I feel awful,” he said.
“Let me wake the doctor.”
“No, it’s not that kind of awful. It’s just…” His mouth was open and his lips were moving almost imperceptibly as he stared into the middle distance. I leaned in, trying to pick up what he wanted to say. “Never mind. We make our beds and lie in them. We come into this world alone, then die alone. Try to snatch joy where you can, my dear. I see that you’re a good girl.” I kept trying to follow him, but he wasn’t making sense.
“Anyway,” he said, pushing back from the table and standing up, “tomorrow is another day. And tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.” He smiled, tipped his glass at me, and finished off the brandy. “Thank you for this,” he said, and walked through the swinging door to the hallway.
I listened to The Painter’s footfalls on the staircase. I had to go past everyone’s rooms to get to Ben’s. Why hadn’t he planned to meet me in my cottage? What a stupid plan! My anger at Ben flashed fresh. I gingerly pushed open the door and crept into the hallway. I’d only been upstairs by the bedrooms once, and that was to help one of the many wedding florists carry up boxes of fresh flowers.
Every stair had its own unique creak or groan. A third of the way up, I decided it was like pulling off a bandage and walked briskly and with intention. Walk like you’re one of the family, I told myself, then no one will notice. People often forget the wisdom of hiding in plain sight. I’d done a psych study in college exploring this concept. If you want to tell a secret in a crowded room, my theory went, talk in a normal voice and don’t whisper. Almost universally, the secret conversation was roundly ignored. Working on that premise, I walked briskly up the stairs and, to my relief, sailed under the radar.
Finally on the landing, I heard the deep tones of a man’s voice to my left and tiptoed over to hear who it was, hoping to find the right room. I could just make out that it was Ben.
“Jacques doesn’t care about that. He’s French,” I heard Kaylie say.
“Yes, but I’m English,” Ben answered. “Listen, I just wanted to ask you to put a good word in for me with Jasper. I’d really like to be on his team at Suleiman. For now, I don’t think our getting together is a good idea.”
“You thought it was a good idea in the screening room at Tribeca Film Center.”
“I know, but…”
“Anyway, it’s sweet you came looking for me down the hall. But my publicist said I can’t be in a serious relationship right now, so I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. Kaylie, I told you, I didn’t go into the hall looking for you. Right then, it’s my bedtime, and surely you want to get your beauty sleep…”
“Am I ugly?” she asked in a horrified tone.
“Of course not. You’re exquisite. It’s just now’s not the time or place. It was great in New York. But here, under this roof, it’s tricky. Who wouldn’t want you? You’re gorgeous, you’re hot, you’re a big star…”
“I’m spiritual!”
“Yeah, course you are,” Ben soothed, condescendingly. “Very spiritual.”
“They say in Hollywood that I have substance. I’m a serious actress, you know.”
“Right, yeah. And any man would be daft not to jump back into bed with you, but now’s not a good time…”
Back into bed with you? I thought. So Amanda wasn’t Ben’s only distraction from the legendary stale sandwiches and mountains of paper files that were his version of Manhattan. He’d slept with Kaylie Hart!
Reeling, I turned around too fast and caught my rubber sole on the edge of the antique Persian runner in the hall. I went down face-first for the second time that day and smacked my already-tender brow bone. You’re not inhabiting your body, I could hear Aunt Suze observing. Wincing in pain, I froze, terrified that Ben and Kaylie would open the door to find me there. Another door opened and Jasper Roth came out, quietly closing it behind him.
“Shh,” he said, leading me by the shoulders not down, but up a staircase.
“I’m sorry, I…”
“Shh…” he said.
The attic hallway was very dark and he was feeling along the wall with his hand, while simultaneously steering and pushing me with his body. My head was throbbing. I heard a doorknob turn, then he opened a door and edged me through. I heard the rattle of a tiny chain and a fringed, silk torchère painted with orchids lit the room.
He sat down on the bed, which was covered in a nubby, ivory-colored chenille spread, and looked at me. He was wearing black cotton jersey pajama bottoms, a deep scarlet fleece bathrobe and nubuck, boot-shaped L.L. Bean Wicked Good Slippers.
“I’m glad you came looking for me,” he said. “We needed to talk.”
Our eyes were locked in what began as a staring contest, then I started really looking into his eyes, aware of our breaths rising and falling together in the silent room. The shadows fell on his high cheekbones and turned his blue eyes into spotlights. I could imagine walking the two steps to the bed, falling into his arms. What did I owe anyone? It would be so easy, and it would feel so good.
“By the way,” he said, breaking the silence, “is that a paper wad in your apron pocket or are you just glad to see me?” His eyes crinkled into a smile.
My hand flew to the note in my apron, instinctively covering the bulge. I hardly knew what to say to him first. I sure as hell wasn’t going to discuss Ben. “Um, I didn’t come looking for you.”
He eyed me levelly. “Then why are you up here?”
I didn’t say anything.
“What’s in your pocket?”
“None of your business.”
We looked at one another for a long time, and neither of us spoke.
“Sit down,” he said, gesturing toward the bed.
“It’s one in the morning,” I said. He sat there, very relaxed, breathing and watching me. Silently. I had to fight the urge to do what I was told. I stayed on my feet.
“You did a good job on the spinach thing,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“It was a stellar dish.”
“Thanks,” I said. I waited for him to say something else. He didn’t. “Really?” I looked at him hard. “We’re in the attic at midnight talking about spinach?”
“The Painter doesn’t fully appreciate you.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, panicking. I had just started to feel better in that department. After all, he’d toasted me at the table and we’d just had a nice, if weird, chat in the kitchen.
“You’re more my thing,” he said.
“If your thing is a top-tier chef who makes excellent food, then I suppose I would be,” I told him. “In that case, I think I must be The Painter’s thing, too. Who’s thing wouldn’t I be?”
“If you weren’t looking for me, who were you looking for?” he asked. “Lawyer-boy?”
“Tell you what, at this point I’m not looking for anyone,” I answered.
“O.K. then. I won’t keep you,” he quipped and I started to get up. “What’s with you, Juliet? You know, I don’t get it. I’ve got money and connections. A lot of people would love to be my friend.”
“Is that what we are, friends?” I asked. “Because I thought I worked for you. I thought that’s why I was standing in the kitchen cooking, while you and my ex-fiance were breaking bread with Hollywood’s brightest star.”
“Ex-fiance? You were engaged to that English prat?”
I was too embarrassed to answer. Because, of course, Ben had never technically asked me to marry him.
“Juliet, at some point, you’re going to have to stop messing with boys who can’t appreciate you,” he said.
“What ‘boys’?” I asked.
“Ben. And Edward.”
“Edward’s got nothing to do with it,” I said, balling my hands into fists. It was bad enough that I’d been used and tossed aside, but did everyone have to know about it? “And I wasn’t messing with him, as you put it.” I crossed my fingers behind my back. Until the night I got here.
“C’mon, Juliet. So you were sleeping with a co-worker. I’m not going to tell your agency.” He looked at me. “I was just surprised you were doing it behind Benny’s back. Although now that I’ve met him, I’m less surprised. He’s no match for you. You’re out of his league.”
“I really wasn’t sleeping with Edward,” I said weakly. It was hard to talk and think at the same time. Jasper just said I outclassed Ben. The whole time we were together, I’d been self-conscious about not looking smart enough, or grown-up enough. “I’d never cheat on someone I love.” As soon as I said it, I felt like a fraud. If Ben had seen spy-cam videos of your “almosts” with Jasper and Edward, would he find you blameless?
“Penelope asked me for a divorce. I talked her out of it for now. The thing is, at this point, if I lose her, I lose the house.”
“At what point? Is there another point down the road?” I asked him.
He sighed. “You see it. You see me, Juliet. To them…I don’t know…I’m just an American. I guess water rises to its own level. They’ll smile and do business with me, but my money’s dirty here. Without all this…” he said, gesturing around to the house and the grounds.
I cut him off. “I don’t want to know about your personal life,” I said, though it wasn’t true. “But you should know that I wasn’t cheating on Ben with Edward.”
“I have people in town who tell me things, they saw you two all over the grounds. I get reports. My wife walked in on a lovers’ spat. I’m not angry, I just question your taste,” he said. “He’s a poser, just like this one.”
“No, he isn’t, and don’t compare him to Ben. He’s smart and funny and accomplished and kind, but I was not involved with him.” I thought about Ben and how he cheated on me with Amanda and Kaylie. “Sadly, I was not involved with him.”
Until two days ago. Biggest mistake of my life.
“It doesn’t really matter now. I sent him away.”
“Your wife told me he begged to go home,” I answered back furiously.
“I make the decisions, not Penelope.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“You know Penelope. She makes things up. Call it lying, or fantasy. The point is it’s better that he left.”
“Did you send him away so you could have me?” I was shaking, embarrassed to ask in case my guess was wrong, and terrified of his answer.
A door slammed shut across the hall. We both froze. “Daphne?” I called.
“Shh. Is that her room?” Jasper said quietly. He opened the door and gestured for me to go down the stairs. He didn’t follow me.
I crept down to the bedroom level, then down the next flight and turned into the kitchen. It was dark as I passed into the mudroom. There were a hundred sweaters, jackets and coats hung up on the pegs. I grabbed a man’s oilcloth coat from the rack in the laundry room and bundled into it. I stepped out of my clogs and plunged my feet into Jasper Roth’s Caterpillar Colorado boots that he’d had pimped out with metal cleats. Two falls were enough for one day. I reached into the coat pocket automatically, looking for my flashlight. I felt a stiff, crumpled piece of paper, then realized the coat wasn’t mine.
Sensing my way through the dark, back to Dove’s Nest, I glanced through the falling snow at what I guessed was Ben’s room. It was hard to tell, as the house was so vast. His lights were dim, but on. I looked away from his window and back toward my door. For a second, I wondered what he thought about my not showing up tonight. He was welcome to stay in the big house, with all its complications and unrest. For my part, I was quite happy to foray out to my own cocoon, to sleep in my own company, unjudged, in pajamas that pleased only me.