“I washed and ironed those last week,” I said.
“Good. One must maintain standards, especially when there are so many eyes on the family.”
“Whose eyes, Eleanor?”
She did not answer immediately, instead placing the fork precisely two inches from the edge of the placemat.
“The community,” she said. “The people who buy Daniel’s houses. They look at how we live.”
I watched her thin fingers smooth the linen runner. The gold cross caught the afternoon light coming through the heavy drapes.
“I have always kept this house exactly as he wanted,” I said.
“Of course you have, dear,” she said, but her tone was flat, empty of any real warmth. “Though sometimes a little more flexibility is required when a man is under this much pressure.”
I did not ask what she meant by flexibility. I knew Eleanor’s language too well, her ability to turn a compliment into a quiet warning.
“I will get the extra leaf for the table from the basement,” I said.
