by Judith Stacy
Brenna flushed slightly and Richard tugged at his tie.
Feeling unwanted and unneeded, Caroline headed for the door. “I have a few things to check on,” she said, though she wasn’t sure either of them was listening.
“Caroline?” Richard called. “I’ve got this situation with Mr. Turley settled. Stephen said he’d like you to come to his office.”
“Certainly,” she said.
“Right away,” Richard said. “He said he’d like you to come right away. Immediately.”
At least he hadn’t whistled for her like a dog. Caroline left the nursery.
Stephen was reading, slumped back in his desk chair with one ankle crossed over the other knee, when Caroline entered his office. His eyebrows were pulled together in concentration.
“Bad news? she asked.
He looked up suddenly and got to his feet, juggling the stack of papers. “No,” he said. Then, “Well, yes.”
“Serious?” she asked.
“Too early to say.” Stephen fanned the papers, then dropped them on his desk. “It’s a report from my man Girard in Johannesburg.”
Caroline looked down at the handwritten document. “Things aren’t going well?”
“They’re going well, but not as well as they should. Girard’s monthly reports have been sporadic lately. Profits are slipping.” Stephen pulled on his ear. “Nothing serious.”
“Did he write this report himself?” Caroline asked.
“Yes,” Stephen said.
“Hmm…”
“Would you care to translate that, Miss Sommerfield?”
She tapped her finger against the page. “I think you’re wise to be cautious of this man.”
He stared at the paper. “How do you know that?”
“Because you’re paying me to know that.” Caroline gave him a smug smile. “Richard said you wanted to see me about something?”
“No, wait a minute. I want to know why you said that about Girard.”
“It’s all right here in his handwriting.” She pointed to the words scripted on the top page of the report. “The long, triangular crossing of the letter T indicates a potential for aggression and an objection to interference. The narrow spacing between words shows an intent to conceal one’s true feelings.”
“So you’re saying Girard resents reporting to me? He’s hiding something from me?”
“I’m saying that you should be cautious of him,” Caroline said. “Besides, you already suspected him. Otherwise you wouldn’t be upset that his reports were late and that profits were inexplicably dropping.”
“But I suspected him because I know him and never liked him in the first place. My uncle hired him,” Stephen said. “You saw those traits in his handwriting without even knowing the man.”
Caroline smiled. “That’s what graphology is all about.”
“Fascinating.”
“See how smart you were to hire me?”
“A genius.” Stephen grinned. “Show me more of this.”
Stephen guided her to the table in the corner she’d used the night before. Her tools and the handwriting samples Richard had given her this morning were already assembled there.
“I’m working here now?” she asked. “In your office?”
“Temporarily. Just until we find you a permanent spot.” He pulled out a chair for her. “No objections, I hope?”
Dozens of them. But none she could voice.
“No,” Caroline said, settling into the chair. “This is fine. Temporarily.”
Stephen fetched a ball of paper from his desk drawer and uncrumpled it as he took the chair beside her.
“This is my handwriting sample from the other night,” he said, smoothing out the sheet of paper. “I want to know how you knew those things about me. That I am confident, enterprising and ambitious.”
“As well as pigheaded, obstinate and—”
Sexually frustrated.
Caroline pressed her lips together, holding in the words, and Stephen froze for a second. He shoved the paper toward her.
“Just explain it, would you?”
Stephen moved his chair closer until they were sitting elbow to elbow. He’d been surprised that she’d sized up Girard’s personality so quickly, with just a brief glance at his handwriting. Stephen had really wanted to know more about it.
But now…
Now he was sitting with her, so close he could smell her. He could see the little flecks of gold glinting in her blue eyes. He could hear her clothing make that soft brushing sound when she moved.
Stephen pressed his lips together to keep from moaning aloud again.
Sexually frustrated. Oh, yes. If only she knew what a hornet’s nest she’d uncovered.
Did she sense it now? Did she feel what he felt?
Stephen rubbed his neck. He didn’t know what he was feeling, really. Plain old lust? Yes, plenty of that. His blood was already pumping faster, just because he was sitting next to her.
But there was something else, too. Something that went beyond wanting to roll around in bed with her. Stephen didn’t know what it was, though, because he couldn’t seem to think any further than that.
“Should we open another window?” Caroline asked. “You look—”
“I’m fine.”
Stephen leaned a little closer, his handwriting sample between them on the tabletop. Caroline studied the paper, her pretty face creased in concentration. Her bottom lip crept out slightly. His heart pumped harder.
She was sitting so close he could touch her. If he just eased forward a little he could—
Stephen stopped himself. Good thing Caroline interpreted handwriting and not thoughts. He’d get slapped again. And deserve it, again.
Enough sexual thoughts. Stephen forced himself to concentrate on the handwriting sample, on business.
“So, how do you know those…things about me?” he asked.
“Mainly by observing the length of your stem.”
“My…?”
“Stem.”
Stephen opened his mouth, but no words came out at first. “You noticed…?”
“Of course,” Caroline said. “It’s very prominent. How could I not notice? It’s right there in plain sight. And very impressive. Something else I noticed was size.”
Stephen stretched his neck up and shifted uncomfortably in the chair.
“Size?”
“Very important. Extremely important, actually,” Caroline said. “Then there’s pressure.”
He ran his finger around his collar. “Pressure?”
“Heavy pressure, light pressure. One, then the other,” Caroline said. “Should I demonstrate that for you? Or should we move on?”
He gulped. “Move on.”
“Well, then, that brings us to strokes.”
Stephen groaned. He yanked loose his tie and popped open the button of his collar.
“Upstrokes, downstrokes,” Caroline said. “Some don’t see the importance of strokes, but I do. And that, naturally, brings us to speed.”
“Naturally…” Stephen dragged his hand over his forehead.
“Fast, then slow, then fast again,” Caroline said. “Which brings in rhythm. An even rhythm is best—rhythm steadily building, building, building until…release.”
Stephen slumped forward on the table.
“Release is so important, don’t you think, Mr. Monterey?”
He dragged both hands down his face.
Caroline frowned at him. “Are you certain you don’t want to open another window?”
Window, hell. He needed to knock out the whole damn wall.
Caroline sat back. “Well, that’s about it. The stem of your t in Monterey, the pressure of your pen against the paper, the speed and rhythm of your pen strokes, and, of course, the release of the last letter in each word, all combine to give a complete picture of your personality. Do you have any questions, Mr. Monterey?”
Oh, yes, he had a question, all right. One big question.
&
nbsp; But he didn’t dare ask it.
Chapter Nine
Stephen remained slumped forward with his arms folded on the table. “I can’t believe you gave this demonstration for the detectives at Pinkerton and they actually let you walk out of their office.”
Caroline pursed her lips. “I was surprised myself.”
Lucky is what she’d been, but she seemed too naive to realize it.
“So,” Caroline said, stacking her papers, “I hope to find another detective agency in town I can offer my services to. Maybe one a little more progressive.”
“No! You can’t do that!”
She reared back. “Why are you shouting at me?”
“I’m not shouting!”
Stephen realized that he was, but couldn’t help himself. Good God, what was she thinking? Parading into another detective agency with a demonstration like the one she’d just given him? He wouldn’t allow it.
He tried to calm himself, tried to think of something reasonable to tell her. “You shouldn’t give away all the details of how you work. If you explain everything, they won’t need you.”
“Oh.” Caroline tilted her head. “I hadn’t thought of that before. I guess you’re right.”
“Damn right I am.”
A soft knock sounded on the open door of the office.
“Good morning,” Brenna called.
Caroline suddenly realized how close Stephen sat to her, and that his tie was loose and his shirt collar open. She rose from her chair and moved away.
Brenna stepped into the office holding Joey’s hand. Richard stood beside her, carrying a toy sailboat.
“Joey is on his way outside to play,” Brenna said. She leaned down. “Say good morning to your uncle, Joey.”
He fidgeted. “Good morning, Uncle Stephen.”
Brenna spoke to him again. The child fidgeted some more, then said, “Thank you for the boat.”
“We’re sailing to England in the lily pond,” Richard said, and ruffled the boy’s hair. Joey bounced on his toes until Richard picked him up.
“I’ll just get the voyage under way,” Richard said, “then I’ll be back.”
“Take your time,” Stephen said. “I’m still reading Girard’s report.”
Richard turned to leave, but stopped. “Oh, Steve, don’t forget the meeting here today at two.”
“Damn. I’d forgotten.”
Richard nodded. “Do you want me to cancel it?”
“No, never mind. It’s fine.”
“Tell your uncle goodbye, Joey,” Brenna coached.
The boy offered a brief wave as the three of them disappeared out of the office.
“Why don’t you go out and play with him?” Caroline suggested. He looked as if he could use some air.
Stephen glanced up at her, buttoning his collar. “What?”
“Play,” she said. “With your nephew.”
He fiddled with his necktie. “I’ve got that report to finish, and now a meeting to prepare for. Dreshire and Morgan are a couple of barracudas. I need their warehouse and they know it.”
“Don’t you ever play with him?” Caroline asked.
Stephen waved away her comment and went back to his desk. With a sigh, she plucked her notebook from the table and left the office.
Walking down the hallway, she glimpsed Richard and Brenna with Joey between them. For anyone who didn’t know differently, they looked like a happy little family instead of what they really were—two employees and an orphan.
Caroline made her way to the kitchen, looking over the notes she’d jotted down. She’d decided which rooms needed special attention and which needed routine cleaning. Now she had to ensure sufficient supplies were on hand to complete the tasks.
In the kitchen, Charles sprang off the stool beside a large worktable where one of the cooks was beating a bowl of batter.
“Yes, Miss Sommerfield?” he asked.
For once, the usually unflappable butler looked startled at seeing her. Caroline supposed no one from the family ventured to this end of the house very often.
The kitchen was a huge room, with multiple ovens and range tops, hanging copper pots, block worktables, and cupboards everywhere. The tile floor sparkled. A staff of three cooks moved around the room, dressed in white mobcaps and aprons.
“I’d like to see the supply closet, please,” Caroline said.
Charles exchanged a glance with a large-boned, gray-haired woman, then introduced her as Mrs. Branson, the cook.
“The supply closet is down the hallway,” Charles said. “But—”
“Thank you,” she said.
“This way, please.”
Charles led her to a large supply closet off the kitchen. Caroline consulted her notes, checked the supplies on hand and jotted down what she needed.
As she left, a little gust of morning air blew her skirt around. She looked down the narrow passageway and saw Delfina standing at the opened back door.
Delfina leaned partway out, talking in a low voice to a woman standing on the steps. Caroline couldn’t get a good look at her with Delfina’s considerable girth blocking most of the doorway. A faded green scarf pulled over the woman’s head hid most of her face; she was wrapped in an ill-fitting, tattered sweater.
“Good morning, Delfina,” Caroline called as she approached.
Delfina whirled around. The woman outside bolted.
“What’s going on?” Caroline asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Wrong? Wrong?” Delfina worked her hands together. “Nothing’s wrong. Why would something be wrong?”
Caroline peered around her, but saw no one. The woman was gone.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“No one,” Delfina said. “No one at all. Just a beggar woman. Asking for a handout.”
Caroline took one last look out the door. “I’ll instruct Charles to give her something and send her on her way the next time. You shouldn’t involve yourself.”
“Oh, no.” Delfina’s chin went up slightly. “It’s my duty to see to such people.”
Delfina had surely picked an unexpected cause to champion, but Caroline couldn’t fault her for her involvement. The Monterey family had so much, while others had so little.
“I’ve inventoried the supplies for spring cleaning,” Caroline said. “We need a few more things, so I’ll give the list to—”
“Fine, dear, fine. Do as you think. I’ve instructed Charles that you’re handling the cleaning,” Delfina said, and bustled away.
“Delfina?” Carolina caught up with her. “Did Stephen ask you to have Mrs. Branson prepare refreshments for his meeting this afternoon?”
“Refreshments? Me? I—”
“Never mind. I’ll handle it,” Caroline said.
Delfina mumbled something and disappeared down the hallway.
In the kitchen again, Caroline spoke with the head cook.
“No, ma’am,” Mrs. Branson replied. “I’ve been told nothing about nothing.”
Caroline thought for a moment. “Could you prepare something and have it ready at two o’clock? There will be two guests. Gentlemen. Please serve in Mr. Monterey’s office.”
“Did you have something special in mind?” she asked.
Caroline smiled. “Good strong coffee, laced with a little brandy. And a rum cake. Heavy on the rum.”
When Caroline returned to Stephen’s office, the door was closed. She knocked softly and Richard answered.
“We’re going to be busy for a while,” he said.
“But I’m supposed to be working on those handwriting samples you gave me this morning.”
“Don’t worry.” Richard grinned. “Take the rest of the day off.”
He disappeared into the office, and Caroline drew in a deep breath. She didn’t understand what all this job fuss was about. So far, she’d been gainfully employed for a half day and hadn’t done thirty minutes of work. Who could complain about that?
Still, she needed something to do. S
he searched out Delfina and found her in the green sitting room stretched out on the divan, surrounded by pillows, her feet up, a cloth across her forehead.
“Are you ill?” Caroline asked.
Delfina sighed. “Oh, Caroline, dear. If you only knew….”
“What’s wrong?” Caroline pulled a footstool over and sat beside Delfina.
“Everything….” She sighed again. “Just everything.”
Delfina had the look of a woman ready to dive headlong into a slump destined to last all afternoon. But who could blame her? The family had been through a great deal in the last year or so. Thomas dying in the prime of his life, Colin passing on a few months later, then little Joey’s mother abandoning him. Who could live through that heartbreak and not be affected?
Yet despite what the family had been through, Delfina was trying to go on with life, in her own way. Caroline couldn’t sit by and do nothing.
She patted Delfina’s hand. “Why don’t we do something to cheer you up?”
Delfina rolled her eyes toward Caroline. “You are a dear for suggesting it. But, well…”
“I know just what we’ll do,” Caroline said.
Delfina heaved another sigh. “Stephen was so smart to bring you here. He’s terribly smart, you know. That’s why Colin gave him a free hand to run the business so long ago. But Stephen is such a worrier. Goodness, I don’t know where he gets that.”
Caroline pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “I looked through the fabric sample book the decorator left,” she said. “I picked out one you’ll love. I want you to see it.”
Delfina pulled the cloth from her head. “You picked one? By yourself?”
Caroline hauled the sample book from the table in the corner of the room and sat on the stool again. She flipped through the swatches.
“This one,” she said.
Delfina’s eyebrows rose in mild interest. “Pink?”
“Certainly,” Caroline said. “Pink, for a true lady’s sitting room. It will look fresh and inviting, just like you wanted. We’ll get rid of this dark furniture and replace it with a lighter wood. Then we’ll paint the walls a softer color, redo the paper and put white rugs on the floor.”
“I—I like it,” Delfina said. “I think.”
“You’ll love it,” Caroline said. She gestured to the forest scene painted on the ceiling. “How about cherubs frolicking among fluffy clouds?”