Part 9 (1/2)
”Right,” Emma affirmed.
Sandra left the room, and a moment later, the front door closed. Emma picked up Moby-d.i.c.k and settled on the corner of the sofa. ”Can you hear me from here, Mrs. Bracebridge?” she asked.
”Very well, thank you. But before you get settled, I'd like you to get another book. Do you see the gla.s.s-fronted secretary in the corner? On the top shelf, far left, you'll find Agatha Christie's Murder in the Links.”
Emma obeyed. She opened the door, found the book, and returned to the sofa. ”Got it.”
”Good. Now, this is important. When you are through reading, every day, you must remember to replace the book exactly where you found it.”
”Oh. All right. I'll do that.”
”It's Sandra, you see. She worries about me. She's afraid I'm getting senile. Getting lost in the past. And here's a little secret. I do get lost in the past. As often as possible. I love it there. But Sandra knows I've read Agatha Christie's entire oeuvre several times over. I don't want to cause her any alarm, and she will become alarmed if you tell her you're reading Agatha Christie to me. So this is our secret, all right?”
Emma grinned. ”Absolutely. I'm very good at keeping secrets. I--”
Millicent cut her short. ”All I care about is that you keep my secret. Now please read.”
Emma read.
After thirty minutes, Emma excused herself to fetch iced tea for herself and Millicent. The tea provided a necessary pick-me-up; the warm dim room with all its heavy rugs, sofas draped with afghans, and antiques piled on top of antiques began to seem claustrophobic to Emma. No sounds came in from the street, no children laughing, no birds singing. Only the ticking of the clock in the hall provided any counterpoint to Emma's voice. As she read, she found herself giving a distinctive voice to each character, using a French accent for the Belgian detective, a pompous British one for Hastings, and high fluttering voices for the women. She was rewarded by seeing Millicent smile whenever Poirot spoke. Emma read along, stopping only to refresh her throat with some tea, and soon the clock struck four.
”It's time for me to go, Mrs. Bracebridge,” she said.
”Very well, mark the place where you stopped. There's a bookmark over on the secretary. You'll have to remember where you left off on the page. I don't like my books marked with pencil or pen.”
”Is there anything I can get you before I leave?” Emma asked after she'd put the book back on its shelf.
”I'll be fine.” Mrs. Bracebridge felt around on the table next to her until her hand closed on the remote control. ”I'll listen to television until the girl comes to bring me my dinner and help me to bed.”
”Well, then, I'll see you tomorrow. Same time, same station,” Emma said.
Mrs. Bracebridge was pleased by that. ”Yes. Same time, same station.”
Stepping out into the sunlight made Emma squint. The fresh air revived her, brought her back to the present. She stood for a moment, enjoying the sight of a family biking down the street, the children ringing their bells and laughing, a man with curly black hair walking his black standard poodle, the window boxes of houses along the street radiant with color. The blue sky, illuminated by the golden sun, spread like a luminous canopy over the trees and rooftops. Summer. How hard it must be to lose all this, Emma thought.
Sandra Bracebridge had told Emma that if she spotted any signs of senility, Emma was to inform her immediately. Emma smiled. As far as she was concerned, Mrs. Bracebridge's desire to enjoy more of her beloved Agatha Christie was only a sign of good mental health.
It was time for her to drive out to Surfside to pick up four children, drive them out to Annye's health food store to choose whatever they wanted for dinner, and deliver them to their house in Sconset. The Bennett father was still in London on business and the Bennett mother had her hands full with social engagements, so she'd hired Emma as a chauffeur and maid of all jobs for two hours in the late afternoon. The four kids were noisy and quarrelsome, but after the tomblike quiet of the Bracebridge house, Emma welcomed the clamor. At the house, the children shoved and pushed one another, yelling, as they fought their way out of the car.
”Grab your towels, kids!” Emma reminded them. ”And your beach bags!”
She'd forgotten she was as invisible to them as a gnat. She crawled into the backseat of the SUV and gathered up the sodden sandy beach towels. She carried them and one of the beach bags to the back of the house. She made two more trips to take in the beach paraphernalia and food. Once everything was out of the car, she went to the back of the garden to shake the sand out of the towels before lugging them past the outdoor shower and into the laundry room. She stuffed the towels into the was.h.i.+ng machine and started the wash cycle, then went into the kitchen and began to empty and clean out the beach bags and coolers. As she worked, she heard Mrs. Bennett trying to rein in the children, who were in the family room with the television volume on high.
Emma had just finished with the coolers when Jody Partridge came in the back door to begin her s.h.i.+ft as babysitter for the evening. Jody was an island woman in her late thirties, married, with two children of her own.
”How are the maniacs?” she asked Emma.
Emma dried her hands on a dish towel. ”Maniacal. Have fun.” She hurried out of the house.
She had a free hour before she went to her next job, babysitting for a couple staying at a local B&B. As she drove back into town, she tried to remember what food was left in the house. She wasn't hungry, really. She'd forgotten what it felt like to be hungry. But she couldn't remember when she'd last eaten and she was shaky from low blood sugar.
What were Duncan and Alicia doing now? Perhaps they were strolling around the Public Garden, holding hands and enjoying the soft summer air before meeting friends for dinner at the Taj. The friends would be wealthy, like Alicia, and perhaps as they lingered over dessert, they'd discuss vacations ... oh, no. No. Duncan and Alicia wouldn't come to Nantucket on vacation, would they? Duncan's family had a summer home in Maine. Surely they'd go there. On the other hand, Duncan had loved Nantucket. He had a lot of friends here, and a lot of contacts. What if Emma were working, pus.h.i.+ng a baby stroller around town or running into a store to pick up something for one of her clients, her hair frizzed with humidity, and she ran into Duncan and Alicia ambling down the street in all their sleek perfection?
It was a nightmare thought. It took her breath away. And now that she'd imagined it, she couldn't get the scene out of her head. It played itself over and over, filling her with dread.
16.
Lily Tonight the Hennersons were holding a fund-raiser for the next senatorial candidate. It was going to be a crush of the wealthiest people summering on the island. It was just the kind of event where she could meet someone. The One. So she wanted to s.h.i.+ne.
But her look just wasn't coming together. Lily was on the verge of tears as she stood in the middle of her bedroom, surrounded by every dress and skirt and top she owned. She'd tried them on in every possible variation, but nothing worked. She wanted to look sophisticated. She wanted to look fabulous. She wanted to be able to just go out and buy herself a new dress.
Emma had the sort of clothes Lily coveted. City clothes. Sleek silks and crepes, expensively subtle. And Emma had said she'd loan Lily some of her things.
Lily went into Emma's room. Emma's bed was unmade but she'd finally unpacked her bags. Lily rooted around in Emma's closet and came out with a filmy silk s.h.i.+rt in pale olive that would be dynamite with Lily's red hair. She took it into her room and tried it on. Wow! It was perfect. She slipped into a pair of cream silk capris, clipped on a dangle of earrings, and slid her feet into high-heeled sandals. All right. In fact, very nice. She smiled at herself in the mirror. If she were a man, she'd be attracted!
She heard voices in the kitchen. Good. Her sisters were home. She hurried down the stairs. Wait till they saw her! Wait till they heard she was going to see inside the fabulous Hennersons' house!
Abbie and Emma were in the kitchen. Emma was pawing through a cupboard while Abbie squatted down as she searched through the vegetable crisper.
”Where's Dad?” Abbie was asking.
Emma replied, ”Out fis.h.i.+ng. Said he'd get dinner at Henry's.”
”The peanut b.u.t.ter's all gone,” Abbie said. ”And there is only one slice of bread, and it's the heel.”
Lily positioned herself in the doorway, hip stuck forward, model-style. ”Ta-da!”
Abbie's face when she saw Lily was not full of admiration but of irritation. ”Lily, weren't you the last person to have breakfast this morning?”
”Well, I guess, so what?”
”So you used the last of the bread for toast, right?”
”Well, why not? Honestly--”
”So didn't you notice there was no bread left? Didn't it occur to you that you should have gone to buy bread? Not to mention fruit, cereal, milk, yogurt?”
Impatiently, Lily shot back, ”Why should I buy the stuff? You guys are here now. You eat here, too.”
Emma joined the argument, crossing her arms and glaring at Lily. ”Just because we're here doesn't mean you get to be a baby again.”
Lily sniffed. ”Well, that's mean!”
Abbie said reasonably, ”Come on, Lily, Emma and I work. We were out of the house and working while you were still in bed.”
”I work, too! I have to leave for work right now, actually!” She hated how her sisters treated her, as if they were adults and she was a hopelessly silly little girl.