Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
The vacuum cleaner is a make called Henry. Painted on his red cylinder are two big eyes and a smile. Whenever she sees Henry, she can’t help but smile. She plugs him into the wall and begins to vacuum the rug and the wooden floor. Fifteen minutes later she’s finished.
The Mister is not in the hallway as she pulls Henry back to his sleeping place in the laundry room cupboard. Alessia gives him a friendly pat before shutting the cupboard door and heading into the kitchen.
“Hi,” the Mister says as he comes into the kitchen. “I have to go out. Your money is on the console table. You can lock up and set the alarm?”
She nods, so blinded by his broad smile that she has to stare down at the floor. But inside her, joy unfurls like a morning glory because he’s leaving and she’ll be able to play the piano.
He hesitates for a moment before holding out a large black umbrella.
“You’re welcome to borrow this. It’s still raining cats and dogs outside.”
Cats and dogs?
Alessia is stunned. She glances quickly at his face, and her heart skips a beat at his warm smile and this generous gesture. She takes it from him. “Thank you,” she whispers.
“You’re welcome. Until Wednesday, Alessia,” he says, and he leaves her alone in the kitchen. A few moments later, she hears the front door close.
Alessia stares at the umbrella. It’s old-fashioned, with a wooden handle and a gold collar. It is exactly what she needs. Marveling at the Mister’s generosity, she wanders into the living room and sits down at the piano. She props the umbrella up against the end of the keyboard and in honor of the terrible weather begins to play Chopin’s “Raindrop” Prelude.
* * *
I bask and glow in the wake of Alessia’s whispered “Thank you.” I am ridiculously pleased with myself. I’m finally able to help her with this small gesture. I’m not accustomed to doing good deeds—though I probably have an ulterior motive for my kindness, a motive I don’t want to analyze too deeply right now, as it might confirm I’m the shallow fucking bastard I think I am. Still, I feel good about this gesture, and it’s a novel feeling.
With renewed energy I bypass the lift and fly down the main staircase to the ground floor. I’m reluctant to leave, but I have a meeting with Oliver and various contractors at the Mayfair development. Glancing down at my clothes, I hope they don’t expect me to arrive in a suit. That’s just not my style.
No. That was Kit’s thing, and he had a wardrobe full of bespoke Savile Row suits to prove it.
Outside, I dodge the raindrops and hail a cab.
* * *
“I think that went well,” says Oliver. I nod as we walk through the new limestone atrium of one of the rebuilt mansion blocks. Workmen in high-vis jackets and yellow hard hats go about their business around us as we make our way to the boarded front of the building. The dust in the air claws at my throat. I need a drink.
“You’ve got a flair for this, Trevethick. I think the contractor liked your suggestions.”
“Oliver. It’s Maxim. Please use my name. You used to. Before.”
“Very good, my lord.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
“Maxim.” Oliver gives me a brief smile. “We’ll need to get an interior designer to source everything for the show apartment, probably within the next month. I’ve compiled a list of three that Kit liked to use.”
Kit? Kit was Kit. Why can’t I be Maxim?
“Caroline might be a good idea,” I say.
“Oh? Lady Trevethick?”
“My mother suggested her.”
Oliver bristles.
Oh? What does Oliver have against Caroline? Or is he bridling against Rowena? She often has that effect on people.
“I’ll talk to Caroline, but send me the names of the others and some examples of their work,” I respond.
Oliver nods, and I remove my hard hat and hand it to him.
“Until tomorrow,” he says, and pushes open the rickety door of the temporary wooden hoarding that hides the façade of the building.
The rain has finally stopped, but it’s dark. I pull up the collar of my coat and wait for a cab while I decide whether to go to my club or go home.
* * *
Walking around the baby grand piano, I think about Alessia stretched across it while she was buffing the ebony to a glossy shine. It gleams under the chandelier. Who would have thought I’d be so attracted to a woman in a nylon housecoat and large pink panties?
How could she have worked her way under my skin in such a short time? I know nothing about her, except she’s unlike any woman I’ve ever met. The women in my life are bold and confident and know what they want and how to ask for it. She’s not like that. Demure and totally focused on her job, Alessia seems reluctant to engage with me…almost as if she wants to be invisible. She confounds me. Her shy acceptance of the umbrella comes to mind and makes me smile. She was so surprised and appreciative, and I wonder what her life must be like that she’s so grateful for such a simple gesture.