to let the morning in, a very bright morning. She squinted against the glare.
"What time did you say it was?" she asked, hoping she'd heard wrong, knowing she hadn't.
Mrs. Dreiser turned toward the bed, purposeful steps taking her generous figure to the bureau where she'd temporarily set a tray bearing coffee, toast, and half a grapefruit.
"Six minutes to nine, madam," she said, placing the tray across Simone's knees.
"Mrs. Dreiser, I told you to wake me at seven." Simone's voice was sharper than intended. She handed the tray back and put both feet on the floor.
"I intended to, but the gentleman said to let you sleep. He informed me you weren't feeling well." Mrs. Dreiser stood holding the tray, looking seriously aggrieved.
"And what gentleman would that be?"
"Mr. Bluebell."
"That's Bludell, Mrs. Dreiser, and where would the, uh, gentleman be at this moment."
"He's in the library with Mrs. Doucet."
"Josephine Doucet! My mother?" she asked stupidly.
Mrs. Dreiser, stolid to the last, didn't see fit to remind her there was, to her knowledge, only one Mrs. Doucet. She sniffed instead.
Simone stood so abruptly, her head spun. What in heaven's name was Josephine doing here at this hour? She would expect Simone to be up, of course. A wave of guilt swept over her, followed by a coil of anxiety.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Dreiser. It's not your fault. Please, leave the tray, and tell Mrs. Doucet and Mr. Bludell I'll be right down."
Mrs. Dreiser nodded regally and left the room. Simone had inherited the Dreisers when she'd bought the house last year. They were unfailingly correct, competent, quiet as ghosts, and as much a part of her Eaton Square home as the faded carpets, carved moldings, and the Sargent's canvas in the upstairs hall.
The closet yielded a gray skirt and matching blouse. Simone tossed them on the unmade bed, took a quick gulp of coffee, and headed for the shower.
Twenty minutes later, damp hair pulled into a severe twist at her nape, she opened the library door. Josephine sat behind her desk; Blue lounged in a chair directly facing her. Simone couldn't imagine what they'd found to talk about. Three deep breaths, Simone. Take three deep, deep breaths. She walked into the room.
Blue stood immediately. He was wearing chinos and a red Polo shirt bright enough to jam a light meter. She'd bet he was sans socks. It's a wonder Josephine hadn't eaten him alive. Every person in Anjana knew its founder didn't have a casual bone in her body.
Josephine also rose and, moving from behind the desk, she walked toward Simone with her hands extended. "Darling, how are you? Blue tells me you're not well. Was it something you ate? Should I call Claridges and complain?"
"I'm fine. Just fine." Simone pulled her hands from her mother's and walked toward her desk to pour herself a cup of coffee. From this vantage point, braced against the desk, she faced Josephine and Blue. When she managed to ignore the blaze that was Blue's shirt, she focused on Josephine. "I didn't expect you this morning."
Josephine lifted a hand, the gesture casually dismissive. "I was passing by and thought it would be a good time to get better acquainted with your new man."
Simone sipped her coffee. "A spontaneous gesture? Unlike you, Josephine," she said coolly.
Josephine reached for her handbag. "Yes, and it's made me late for a meeting." She looked at Blue, then Simone. "It appears you've made a good choice, Simone. But while Blue's certainly qualified, be careful—very careful—he doesn't become a distraction."
She feathered a kiss on Simone's cheek and sailed out of the room, her parting words creating a vacuum that quickly filled with oppressive silence. Blue came up beside Simone and quietly refilled his coffee cup while her face burned with anger and embarrassment. Duplicating her posture, he leaned against the desk and sipped his coffee.
"Your mother—" he started.
"Never mind."
He compressed his lips and nodded slowly.
Simone turned and put
"What time did you say it was?" she asked, hoping she'd heard wrong, knowing she hadn't.
Mrs. Dreiser turned toward the bed, purposeful steps taking her generous figure to the bureau where she'd temporarily set a tray bearing coffee, toast, and half a grapefruit.
"Six minutes to nine, madam," she said, placing the tray across Simone's knees.
"Mrs. Dreiser, I told you to wake me at seven." Simone's voice was sharper than intended. She handed the tray back and put both feet on the floor.
"I intended to, but the gentleman said to let you sleep. He informed me you weren't feeling well." Mrs. Dreiser stood holding the tray, looking seriously aggrieved.
"And what gentleman would that be?"
"Mr. Bluebell."
"That's Bludell, Mrs. Dreiser, and where would the, uh, gentleman be at this moment."
"He's in the library with Mrs. Doucet."
"Josephine Doucet! My mother?" she asked stupidly.
Mrs. Dreiser, stolid to the last, didn't see fit to remind her there was, to her knowledge, only one Mrs. Doucet. She sniffed instead.
Simone stood so abruptly, her head spun. What in heaven's name was Josephine doing here at this hour? She would expect Simone to be up, of course. A wave of guilt swept over her, followed by a coil of anxiety.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Dreiser. It's not your fault. Please, leave the tray, and tell Mrs. Doucet and Mr. Bludell I'll be right down."
Mrs. Dreiser nodded regally and left the room. Simone had inherited the Dreisers when she'd bought the house last year. They were unfailingly correct, competent, quiet as ghosts, and as much a part of her Eaton Square home as the faded carpets, carved moldings, and the Sargent's canvas in the upstairs hall.
The closet yielded a gray skirt and matching blouse. Simone tossed them on the unmade bed, took a quick gulp of coffee, and headed for the shower.
Twenty minutes later, damp hair pulled into a severe twist at her nape, she opened the library door. Josephine sat behind her desk; Blue lounged in a chair directly facing her. Simone couldn't imagine what they'd found to talk about. Three deep breaths, Simone. Take three deep, deep breaths. She walked into the room.
Blue stood immediately. He was wearing chinos and a red Polo shirt bright enough to jam a light meter. She'd bet he was sans socks. It's a wonder Josephine hadn't eaten him alive. Every person in Anjana knew its founder didn't have a casual bone in her body.
Josephine also rose and, moving from behind the desk, she walked toward Simone with her hands extended. "Darling, how are you? Blue tells me you're not well. Was it something you ate? Should I call Claridges and complain?"
"I'm fine. Just fine." Simone pulled her hands from her mother's and walked toward her desk to pour herself a cup of coffee. From this vantage point, braced against the desk, she faced Josephine and Blue. When she managed to ignore the blaze that was Blue's shirt, she focused on Josephine. "I didn't expect you this morning."
Josephine lifted a hand, the gesture casually dismissive. "I was passing by and thought it would be a good time to get better acquainted with your new man."
Simone sipped her coffee. "A spontaneous gesture? Unlike you, Josephine," she said coolly.
Josephine reached for her handbag. "Yes, and it's made me late for a meeting." She looked at Blue, then Simone. "It appears you've made a good choice, Simone. But while Blue's certainly qualified, be careful—very careful—he doesn't become a distraction."
She feathered a kiss on Simone's cheek and sailed out of the room, her parting words creating a vacuum that quickly filled with oppressive silence. Blue came up beside Simone and quietly refilled his coffee cup while her face burned with anger and embarrassment. Duplicating her posture, he leaned against the desk and sipped his coffee.
"Your mother—" he started.
"Never mind."
He compressed his lips and nodded slowly.
Simone turned and put
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