“Of course.”
“Then it’s decided.”
“No way,” Marla shot back.
“Hey, I don’t need this.” Tom was reaching for his briefcase. “You folks should sort this out.”
Alex stood his ground. “There’s nothing to sort out. You’re hired and that’s that. We’ll take your things up to the servants’ quarters and if you give me a minute, my wife and I will discuss it.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
Eugenia picked up the bad vibes. “Why don’t you come with me and I’ll give you a tour of the house,” she offered. “Nick . . . would you like to come along?”
“I’ve seen it,” he said stiffly, but caught the hint and walked out of the room as Eugenia ushered Tom upstairs.
Coco barked wildly.
“Shut up!” Marla growled at the dog and stamped her foot hard enough to jar her bones. “No more! Do you hear me?”
Dark eyes sparked. The little pedigreed thing seemed about to yap again, but with a disgruntled woof turned and, tail tucked between her short white legs, scuttled after Eugenia and the nurse.
“Miserable beast,” Marla muttered as she turned her attention to Alex. “I don’t need a nurse or a babysitter or whatever it is you think you hired,” she whispered, once she thought she was alone with her husband. “And don’t give me that garbage about me not knowing what’s best for me or that the doctor insists, okay, because I’m not buying it. Not one word.”
“Maybe this isn’t just about you,” Alex said, a vein becoming pronounced over his left eye. “Maybe it’s about Mother and Cissy and my peace of mind. How do you think I feel leaving you here with just my elderly mother or teenage daughter to look after you?”
“I don’t need looking after.”
“Of course you do,” he snapped, anger flaring in his eyes.
“I’m a grown woman and this house is crawling with servants. There’s Carmen and Fiona and Lars and God-knows-who-else!”
“None of whom have any medical training to speak of !” His expression was beyond exasperation and he, like Nick only moments before, clapped his hands on her shoulders. His eyes snapped fire. Marla had the feeling he wanted to shake some sense into her. “For God’s sake, Marla, for once in your life, think of others, will you?” he demanded. “This is a rough time for all of us. And things aren’t getting any better. I’ve still got the demands of the business, you know.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” she said, but some of her anger was dissip
ating, her self-righteous martyrdom flagging at the desperation etched across his features. Was it for her? Or himself? A thousand emotions tore through her, and in an instant she remembered another time, on this very floor, the feel of his hands over her upper arms. She flashed to the rage in his flushed face, the vein, the very same vein throbbing in his forehead. Bitch, he’d snarled, or had it been someone else? The fingers digging into her forearms had been there before, hard, steely, causing a white-hot pain. How many times had they replayed this same ugly scene?
She must’ve paled, her horror shining in her eyes because it was as if he suddenly realized what he was doing and dropped his hands to his sides.
“Hell, Marla, would you just, for once, not fight it?” he asked and ran shaky fingers through his hair. The fire crackled and hissed in the grate and some classical strains of music wafted on the air, at odds with the tension in the room and the rain spitting against the windowpanes. Alex reached into his pocket for a pack of Marlboros and shook one out. “Let me take care of you.”
Sagging into a chair, Marla dropped her head to her hands. “I . . . I remember . . . that we fought,” she said as she heard the click of his lighter. She looked up to find him inhaling hard on the cigarette, then walking to the mantel. “And now . . . now you lock your doors.” She glanced up at him, her head beginning to throb. “I wanted to get into the office, to use the computer, but I couldn’t.”
“Sometimes I have sensitive files in my office. Files from the office or the hospital or Cahill House. I don’t want the staff to find them.”
She flashed on the file cabinets she’d seen in his office. Couldn’t they be locked? He didn’t have to shut off the entire suite of his rooms, did he?
“I would like to think the staff is honest,” she said.
“They are. I’m just cautious. Because of my position.”
Or because you have something to hide—something else?
“It makes me feel more like an outsider.”
“It shouldn’t.” With the hand holding his cigarette he rubbed his temple, as if fighting a nagging headache.
The clock downstairs ticked off the seconds and Marla felt miserable, wondered how far from her husband she’d drifted, how much further she would continue to drift.