Château de Lamorlaye,” Fallon said dramatically, tracing an invisible marquee in the air in front of him.
“Sure, I’ll do that,” Beck said. But he still planned on sleeping with a crowbar near his bed.
W ITH THE TWINS out playing in the park, Jade had put some elbow grease into scrubbing the smell out of Becker’s apartment. When he entered his quarters after a long shopping expedition with Thérèse in search of the perfect wood to repair the main staircase, he found Jade backing out of the room, spraying an air freshener as she went.
She heard him coming and turned, smoothing the fabric of her khaki skirt over her hips. “Mr. Becker—I’m just finishing up here. . . .”
Beck tossed his coat and wallet onto the chair just inside his bedroom door, then moved down the hall to where Jade stood.
“I scrubbed the room with vinegar and soap. Including the walls. And I used bleach in the corner with the . . . pee in it.” She seemed embarrassed to have to use the word. “I read online that baking soda helps, so that’s what you see on the floor over there. It’s supposed to sit at least overnight. And you might want to leave the window open too. Just to air it out. I’ll be back in the morning to mop up the soda.”
She’d scarcely made eye contact with him while she spoke. She’d taken in his faded jeans and the white T-shirt he wore under an unbuttoned plaid shirt but had merely skimmed his face.
“I didn’t expect you to—”
“It’s nothing.” She smiled a little and bent over to toss her supplies into the yellow bucket on the floor. “Mr. Fallon doesn’t like his employees to complain that their rooms smell like urinals.”
Beck wasn’t sure what she wanted from him. An apology? A more heartfelt thank-you? Whatever it was, he wasn’t inclined to play along.
After a moment of silence had passed, Jade pulled down on the hem of her pale-blue long-sleeved T-shirt and smiled tightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish supper. It will be served at six, if you care to join us.” She paused. “Or I can bring a tray up to your quarters for you if you’d rather eat alone.”
She brushed past him on her way to the stairs, leaving a hint of lily of the valley in the castle’s stale air. He watched her go, her ponytail swinging and her head held high.
He dropped a pair of pink rubber gloves on the sink when he entered the kitchen half an hour later.
“You left these upstairs,” he said.
Jade gave him a look and tossed the gloves into a bucket beneath the sink. “Thank you, Mr. Becker.”
The kitchen smelled of onions and basil. A thick stew bubbled on the stove, and lettuce floated in a sink full of water under a window with a view on the outside corridor that led to the fruit cellar.
“So what are you, exactly?” Beck asked, kicking himself moments later for his lack of tact. Nice job, Becker.
Jade turned to look at him, brow furrowed, and repeated, arms crossed, “What am I?”
Becker conceded the point. “Okay, that was poorly put,” he said. “What I meant to ask is, what exactly do you do?”
“Aside from graciously scrubbing the pee off a perfect stranger’s floor?” she asked sweetly.
Beck paused, trying to guess at the subtext of her statement, then giving up. “Yup, aside from that,” he said.
Jade turned back to the sink and began to take lettuce leaves from the water, checking each one for dirt and bugs before tossing it in the basket of a spinner. “Well, Mr. Becker, since you ask so kindly, I’m a bit of a . . . what would you call it? A home assistant, perhaps.”
“Une femme à tout faire?” Beck asked in perfect, albeit québécois , French.
Jade’s head snapped around, then tilted to one side, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “That’s a good French term, Mr. Becker. ‘A woman who does everything.’ Not the type of French an American student would normally learn in basic language studies.”
Beck decided he liked the precise and
“Sure, I’ll do that,” Beck said. But he still planned on sleeping with a crowbar near his bed.
W ITH THE TWINS out playing in the park, Jade had put some elbow grease into scrubbing the smell out of Becker’s apartment. When he entered his quarters after a long shopping expedition with Thérèse in search of the perfect wood to repair the main staircase, he found Jade backing out of the room, spraying an air freshener as she went.
She heard him coming and turned, smoothing the fabric of her khaki skirt over her hips. “Mr. Becker—I’m just finishing up here. . . .”
Beck tossed his coat and wallet onto the chair just inside his bedroom door, then moved down the hall to where Jade stood.
“I scrubbed the room with vinegar and soap. Including the walls. And I used bleach in the corner with the . . . pee in it.” She seemed embarrassed to have to use the word. “I read online that baking soda helps, so that’s what you see on the floor over there. It’s supposed to sit at least overnight. And you might want to leave the window open too. Just to air it out. I’ll be back in the morning to mop up the soda.”
She’d scarcely made eye contact with him while she spoke. She’d taken in his faded jeans and the white T-shirt he wore under an unbuttoned plaid shirt but had merely skimmed his face.
“I didn’t expect you to—”
“It’s nothing.” She smiled a little and bent over to toss her supplies into the yellow bucket on the floor. “Mr. Fallon doesn’t like his employees to complain that their rooms smell like urinals.”
Beck wasn’t sure what she wanted from him. An apology? A more heartfelt thank-you? Whatever it was, he wasn’t inclined to play along.
After a moment of silence had passed, Jade pulled down on the hem of her pale-blue long-sleeved T-shirt and smiled tightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish supper. It will be served at six, if you care to join us.” She paused. “Or I can bring a tray up to your quarters for you if you’d rather eat alone.”
She brushed past him on her way to the stairs, leaving a hint of lily of the valley in the castle’s stale air. He watched her go, her ponytail swinging and her head held high.
He dropped a pair of pink rubber gloves on the sink when he entered the kitchen half an hour later.
“You left these upstairs,” he said.
Jade gave him a look and tossed the gloves into a bucket beneath the sink. “Thank you, Mr. Becker.”
The kitchen smelled of onions and basil. A thick stew bubbled on the stove, and lettuce floated in a sink full of water under a window with a view on the outside corridor that led to the fruit cellar.
“So what are you, exactly?” Beck asked, kicking himself moments later for his lack of tact. Nice job, Becker.
Jade turned to look at him, brow furrowed, and repeated, arms crossed, “What am I?”
Becker conceded the point. “Okay, that was poorly put,” he said. “What I meant to ask is, what exactly do you do?”
“Aside from graciously scrubbing the pee off a perfect stranger’s floor?” she asked sweetly.
Beck paused, trying to guess at the subtext of her statement, then giving up. “Yup, aside from that,” he said.
Jade turned back to the sink and began to take lettuce leaves from the water, checking each one for dirt and bugs before tossing it in the basket of a spinner. “Well, Mr. Becker, since you ask so kindly, I’m a bit of a . . . what would you call it? A home assistant, perhaps.”
“Une femme à tout faire?” Beck asked in perfect, albeit québécois , French.
Jade’s head snapped around, then tilted to one side, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “That’s a good French term, Mr. Becker. ‘A woman who does everything.’ Not the type of French an American student would normally learn in basic language studies.”
Beck decided he liked the precise and
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