Richard did not look at him, keeping his gaze fixed on me.
“You have always been too soft with him, Mary,” Richard said.
He turned back toward his study, his leather shoes clicking twice before the heavy door shut behind him.
***
At nine o’clock, the hum of the yellow kitchen clock seemed louder than the rain beginning to tap against the glass windowpane.
I stood in the carpeted hallway near the telephone table, holding a stack of folded white dish towels that needed to go into the linen closet.
Through the thick oak door of the study, I heard the low murmur of Richard’s voice, a steady rise and fall that did not sound like his usual office conference calls.
He spoke in a tone I had not heard him use in years, soft and hurried, almost gentle.
I leaned slightly closer to the wood, my shoulder brushing the cold wallpaper of the hallway.
“I will take care of the deposit by Friday,” Richard whispered on the other side of the door.
I held my breath, the towels pressed hard against my chest, my thumb tracing the hem of the top towel.
“She does not suspect anything,” he said.
A floorboard creaked under my slipper as I shifted my weight, and the whispering behind the door stopped instantly.
The receiver clicked onto the cradle inside the study, followed by absolute silence.
I took three quick steps back toward the kitchen, my heart thumping against my ribs.
The door handle turned, and Richard stood in the frame, his eyes locking onto mine before I could turn the corner into the dining room.
“Do you need something, Mary?” he asked, his hand still resting on the brass knob of the door.
“No,” I said, looking down at the white towels in my arms. “I was just putting these away.”
He checked his gold watch again, his thumb rubbing the glass casing.
“I have several private client calls today,” he said, his voice dropping back into its usual cold cadence. “Keep the house quiet.”
“Of course,” I said.
“I do not want to be interrupted before lunch,” he said, then stepped back into the room and closed the door.
