by Girard, Dara
“He didn’t encourage it,” Janet reminded her.
“True, but he did nothing to discourage it either. Every man has an ego.” She pointed a finger at Victoria. “I gave my assistant, Trish, the same message so listen up. He’s handsome, he’s rich, he’s charming...and he’s totally off limits. I’m telling you this now to prevent you from forming any hopeful ideas.”
Victoria rested the mop against the wall. “The only ideas I could entertain would involve a shovel and soft ground.”
“Victoria!” Janet said.
Dana laughed. “Ah, leave her alone. The more she dislikes him, the better off she’ll be. Keep up that attitude and I think you’ll do well here. The best thing to do is pretend that he’s a robot. It won’t be too hard since he comes pretty close to acting like one. He won’t ever notice you’re around, so you do the same. Personally, I think those science types are naturally absent-minded. I worked for one woman who was so particular about everything I wanted to pull my hair out. I tell you, I’d rather be ignored any day.”
“I believe you think too highly of yourself,” Victoria said. “If you think he’d go out of his way to ignore you. He’s just selfish.”
“He’s preoccupied.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“Never mind his habits,” Janet said. “You’ll have to start over.”
Victoria shook her head in disgust. “And that woman.”
“What woman?”
“Ms. Anderson from Barbados. Mind you, don’t say she comes from anywhere else like the backside of a—”
Janet sent her a warning look. “Victoria!”
“She’s awful.”
Janet and Dana shared a glance. “Best you do as she says,” Janet said. “She means well and she’s good at what she does.”
“I know Mr. Braxton already has an assistant. So what exactly does she do? Besides create differences where there are none?”
“Mr. Braxton runs his home very efficiently. Ms. Anderson is involved with his personal affairs, events, family issues etc... Foster takes care of his business like trips and conferences, and I am in charge of the household. The system runs well.”
“I can’t imagine all these people working for one man.”
“Be nice,” Dana said. “This man keeps food in our mouths.”
“But his manners—”
“Never mind his manners,” Janet said. “Besides, I’m sure this was an accident.”
Victoria picked up her broom and began to sweep. “It won’t happen again. I told him off.”
The two women stopped and stared at her
Janet put down her clipboard. “Good Lord, you can’t go around telling people off. I don’t want any trouble Victoria. You must control your temper.” She tapped the counter. “It is his house and his floor. If him want to mess it up, you clean it up again and again and again. It’s what you’re paid for. You’re in no position for high ideals. A poor man never vex anyone, especially if he expects to have a job in the morning.”
“Don’t worry.” She squeezed her aunt’s hand, seeing the worry in her eyes. “I will behave. I have too many plans to let that creature get in my way.”
Her lips thinned. “Victoria.”
“Never mind, Aunty. I’ll only call him names behind his back. However; your secret is out Now I know why you didn’t describe him. There’s nothing pleasant you could say. There’s only so many ways you can say bastard before you have to search for words in other languages. He is absolutely—”
“Be quiet!”
“No, let her finish,” Robert said amiably as he walked into the room. He rested against a cupboard and sent Victoria an amused grin. “Go on. We’re all waiting. He’s absolutely what?”
She sent him a cool glance; her eyes finishing her sentence better than any words could. She would not be provoked and risk getting fired. The shame to her aunt would be too much. She continued to sweep, and noticed he’d changed his shoes: fine black Italian leather. She swept in his direction, letting some dirt mar the black polish.
He held out one shoe. “You missed a spot.”
“I’m afraid you’re too big to sweep out of here.”
Janet cleared her throat. “Victoria.”
“Don’t worry, Aunty. Mr. Braxton has a sense of humor. He understands my little jokes.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Don’t you?” She didn’t wait for a reply. She turned to the storage cupboard.
Robert studied her a moment, annoyed that he still found her fascinating, despite the fact that she probably hated him. He pulled out a stool from under the island and turned to her aunt. “Ms. Janet, you should have warned me about her.”
“Warnings belong on product labels, Mr. Braxton. People can only be experienced.”
He rested his arms on the table. “Did. Ms. Spenser mention my good news?”
Dana turned; Janet glanced at Victoria then him. “No.”
“I’ll be expecting Nicholas and Patrice.”
Dana began to protest, staring at the bags on the counter. “But I haven’t--”
He held up a hand in reassurance. “Don’t worry, they won’t be arriving today. Just sometime in the near future so be prepared. I need the rooms to be made up and the kitchen stocked with their favorites. The regular routine.”
“Will they be staying long?” Janet asked.
“A week, perhaps two. Maybe more.” He reached for an apple. “You .know how they are.”
“Nicholas is rather fond of Chablis,” Dana said.
Robert examined the apple a moment, as if it could give him the answer. “Pick it up then. I trust your judgment, Dana. They’ve never complained of staying here before, so we must be doing something right. Since I’m hardly here, I know where to apply the credit.”
Dana blushed at the casual praise; Janet nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Braxton. We are always pleased when our work is appreciated.”
He stood, tossing the apple in the air. “Well, ladies, don’t let me keep you.” He inclined his head in a little bow then left.
“That was strange,” Dana said after he’d gone.
Janet pushed the stool back under the island. “What was strange about that?”
“He’s never sat in the kitchen with us before, and in all my time here he’s never spoken to me directly. Let alone said my name.” She sank against the counter in shock. “I wasn’t even aware that he knew it.”
“Mr. Braxton has always been cordial to me,” Janet said primly.
Dana laid a hand over her heart like a star-struck groupie. “He actually paid me a compliment. I can hardly believe it.”
“Well, enough about him. We have Nicholas and Patrice arriving.”
Dana pushed herself off the counter and groaned. “That is a damper.”
“Why?” Victoria asked.
“Because they’re—”
“You need to finish the kitchen floor and find another time to gossip,” Janet cut in. “We’ll leave the kitchen free so that you can complete it.” She picked up her clipboard. “Come along, Dana, this will give you a break before dinner.”
* * *
So the bastard could be civil, Victoria thought as she swept the mop across the floor. Civil to anyone but her. Dana didn’t need to warn her. She’d fallen victim to one man’s charms and would not do so again. Unfortunately, he did have something oddly magnetic about him that made her curious about what thoughts went on behind those eyes. Even as he talked and smiled the remote expression never left them. She recognized the look. She’s seen the same expression in the mirror when her mother died.
She was six when her mother died in a car crash on her way into the city. Victoria was quickly shepherd into the company of her mother’s brother, Uncle William and his family—a wife on constant imaginary bed rest and her two obnoxious sons, who used to pull her hair and pressed lit matches against her skin. She stayed with them until they kicked her out. She eventually wound up with Uncle Winston and his wife Margaret, who hated her on
sight.
They had no children of their own and found Victoria useful for doing both household chores, and for working in the flower shop they owned. Unfortunately, being young, she still got into trouble (disappearing into the alluring Caribbean Sea with its water as blue as her favorite snow cone; relaxing under a coconut tree, letting coconut water quench her thirst and slide down her chin when she should be getting fish for Friday’s dinner). She had caused a lot of mischief
The fire, however, had not been her fault, though it was rumored that it was. Trevor, the local transient, had gotten drunk and carelessly dropped a cigarette, burning up the store and her aunt and uncle’s financial security, as well as all of her dreams. In her nightmares she could still see the flames eating the little blue shop she had hoped to inherit one day. She was soon told that she would have to find a new place to stay because her aunt and uncle were moving in with relatives who had no space for her.
She quickly dashed off letters to all the relatives she could think of. The one positive reply was from her father’s sister, Janet Marie Spenser, who had immigrated to America and secured an enviable position on a grand estate.
Victoria smiled remembering the letter that changed her life. She would make sure her aunt had no cause to regret sending for her. She glanced around the kitchen and sighed at her good fortune and slowly slipped into a hint of melancholy. She missed being outdoors. The home was grand, but she felt hemmed in. At home she would work in the garden until the very soil seemed to melt into her hands It wouldn’t do to stay indoors.
She felt free in nature. Normal. There were so few places where she felt that. Nor did she want to encourage any more incidents with her boss. She knew that she could only hold her tongue for so long before it seemed to move of its own accord. She would have to seek out the gardener and persuade him to allow her to help him. She wasn’t exactly an expert about plants, but she did have a healthy knowledge and could work outdoors all day. With that plan in mind, she quickly finished her chores.
* * *
Two hours later, Victoria walked down the dark paneled hall of the east wing of the house hoping to find her aunt so that she could assist her. Heavy, giant pictures of family members past and present hung on the walls in gilt frames. In spite of the smiling faces, it had the warmth of a museum and she felt no desire to linger. She turned and walked upstairs.
She saw a room decorated for a young girl. Clouds and flowers plastered the wall and a cartoon character draped the windows and covered the single bed. She didn’t know he had a daughter. Why hadn’t her aunt mentioned it before? Victoria pushed down any curiosity, determined not to be distracted. She lost the battle when she saw a light click off in the closet. She crept closer and opened the door.
Two almond-shaped brown eyes stared up at her with careful regard. Victoria opened her mouth to ask the girl what she was doing in there, but the girl put a finger to her lips and pointed to the door of her bedroom. She nodded in understanding and closed the door. The girl stood and came out of her hiding place. She was an extraordinary looking child plucked right out of an English novel. She wore a school uniform (blue skirt, white blouse), a dour expression as if she had already found the world rather tedious, and two braids falling down her back in neat rows. She checked her watch and nodded. “Good, I’m right on schedule.”
“What were you doing in there?”
“Hiding,” she said as though the answer were obvious.
“Why were you hiding?”
“Music lessons. I absolutely hate them. Everybody knows I don’t go except Uncle Robert, so I just stay out of the way until they are over.” She paused. “So who are you anyway?”
“Victoria Spenser:”
“I’m Amanda Hargrove.” She sat on the bed. “You’re not going to tell Uncle about this, right?”
Because that would involve speaking to him, the answer was clear. “No.”
She began to swing her legs. “Good. It took me awhile to persuade Ms. Dana and Ms. Katherine, but they finally came around. I did tell Uncle that I didn’t like the lessons, but he wouldn’t listen so...” She shrugged, feeling there was no other explanation.
“I’m sure he just wanted you to have something to do.”
She lifted her nose with her forefinger. “He wants me to be refined.” She rolled her eyes, making it clear what she thought of the idea. “It’s my mother’s fault really. She has her little brother wrapped around her finger.”
“Are your parents on vacation?”
“Constantly. She and Dad are too busy traveling the world to look after me. So they just tell Uncle what to do with me and he does it.”
“But what do they do?”
“Do?”
“For work?”
“They don’t do anything. They don’t have to.” She sighed and cupped her chin. “Lucky dogs. I can’t wait until I’m old enough to do nothing.”
Victoria sat next to her. “I’m sure that they do something. You just don’t know what it is.”
She studied her. “You have an accent like Ms. Janet.”
“That’s because I’m her niece.”
“Oh.”
“So what instrument don’t you want to play?”
The little girl gestured to a thin black case in the closet. “The flute.”
“And why wouldn’t you want to learn the flute?”
She looked at Victoria with all the disdain that a nine year-old could muster. “Because it’s boring.”
Victoria retrieved the case and deftly put the instrument together. “Instruments aren’t boring, only their players. In Jamaica, music is part of the essence of your soul.” She picked up the instrument and began to play. Soon the soft sound of light notes fell around them like confetti in a dazzlingly array of colors.
Amanda smiled. “That was pretty.”
“I taught myself to play.” She handed her the instrument. “Don’t bother yourself too much with the notes and the rules. The music is all that matters.”
The door opened and Dana peeked her head inside. “I didn’t think it was you that played so well,” she said to Amanda “Come down and get your snack.”
“Thanks Ms. Victoria.” Amanda took the flute and headed downstairs. Loud squeaks and missed notes following behind her.
Dana grimaced. “Now you’ve done it. She’ll drive us all into an asylum. I remember when my brother was trying to learn the violin. God, what an awful sound.”
“She’ll learn. At least this will encourage her to go to her lessons instead of hiding in closets.”
“True. But watch out for that one. She’s got a heavy dose of the Braxton charm and before you know it you’ll start thinking you are family and forget why you’re really here.”
Recognizing the hint, Victoria stood and left the room.
* * *
Late that afternoon, Victoria tossed a fashion magazine down on the side table and glanced longingly towards the front door of the carriage house. The only long conversation they’d had was when her aunt had taken her up to a strange, windowless room with a hidden door.
“This is what Mr. Braxton calls the Safe Room,” Janet said. “It is meant to guard us against burglars or other intruders. Anything that threatens the safety of this household. It is soundproof and has all the supplies one would need, but it is meant for a limited time only. If anyone were to break in here, there is a trapdoor.” She squatted and lifted a secret panel.
Victoria stared down into the dark tunnel. Although hearing about the Safe Room and its trapdoor was supposed to provide her with a sense of safety, Victoria felt a cold chill travel up her arms. “I doubt I’ll ever have a need for it.”
Janet nodded. “Yes, I hope so, too.” She looked at her aunt, who sat with her reading glasses at the tip of her nose engrossed in a novel. When she’d asked what it was about, Janet only peered up long enough to “shush” her. She let her gaze drift around the room until it fell on a photograph of an older man that sat on the side table.
She picked it up. “Who is this?”
“Mr. Braxton the former.”
“Former? He’s dead?”
“Yes, he was Mr. Braxton’s grandfather.”
Victoria studied the picture then placed it down. “Handsome man.”
“He has the typical Braxton features,” Janet said.
“Must have skipped a generation.”
Janet sent her a warning look.
“Did you know him well?”
“Yes. The former Mr. Braxton used to live here. Myself and another woman used to occupy the upstairs, so that we would be on hand in case he needed anything. When he died, I was allowed to stay and live in it.”
“What about the other woman?”
“She left. Have you settled in?”
“Oh, yes.” She loved her room. It wasn’t a storage cupboard turned into one, but a real room with ivory colored walls and an iron bed that squeaked with delightful abandon covered in a brightly colored quilt. Victoria rested her head back and sighed as her aunt returned to her book. Her duties were over; she was supposed to relax. They’d gone out and bought her a new uniform, had a delicious lunch of chicken and rice, discussed the day’s activities and plans for the evening, and finally fallen into a companionable silence, but a sense of restlessness lingered. She knew restlessness was always a bad thing.
CHAPTER FIVE
Robert drummed his fingers against his thigh. The woman was dangerous and he knew something about danger—he’d studied addictive personalities for eight years and he’d seen that there were dangers less obvious than those that lurked on side streets, lived in dark alleys, and slept in bars. There were those of the mind—unchecked thoughts that could lead to a temptation that sent its victim to his own destruction.
Right now his destruction lay in the form of a tantalizing woman humming to herself in the cool glow of a setting sun as she set the dinner table. He watched as her graceful arms reached to straighten a place setting and her expert fingers turned napkins into fans.