Though he refused to comment, he did raise one judgmental eye brow as if surprised by the fact that she recognized the artist.
“Is it an original?”
“Probably.”
Tessa couldn’t help but to laugh. How could he not know, considering the fact that an original would set someone back at least a million dollars, if not more? And then she rethought her question. Chances were, rich people didn’t discuss such things. In fact, it was an impolite error on her part to even ask. Her working class roots were showing, no doubt.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. Now you’re going to think I’m casing the joint.”
“Are you?”
“No,” she exclaimed, embarrassed by the question and the fact that she was stupid enough to plant the seed in his mind. “God, no. I was trying to be funny.”
“There is nothing humorous about grand larceny, Ms. Maguire.”
“You’re absolutely right. My bad.”
“Well, then leave the jokes for someone more qualified.”
Tessa blushed profusely. The knack she had for digging herself a hole by saying ridiculous things when she was nervous always caused her so much grief and humiliation. This time was no different, except for the fact that someone was ungracious enough to call her out on it.
Bastardo.
Her new employer needed to lighten up or she needed to control her incoherent babbling in stressful situations, otherwise they would never be able to co-exist together, and it didn’t take a genius or a clinical psychiatrist to figure out who would have to change. Tessa was simply going to have to work on her own idiosyncrasies or wind up with a pink slip.
CHAPTER THREE
The servants’ quarters were located in the far corner of the east wing of the house. Along the way she had been fortunate enough to spot the laundry and utility rooms but only because the doors were slightly ajar, otherwise she would have been wondering around for days trying to find them, since Mr. Richards did not seem to find it necessary to burden himself with the task of giving her a proper tour. They also passed the entrance to what had once been an impressive green house, large enough to have at one time, been able to provide fresh cut flowers for every room in the mansion. In the back of her mind, she made a mental note to ask him if she would be allowed to bring it back to life. Of course, that would be a question better asked once their relationship evolved into something friendlier than mutual suspicion.
Finally, they came upon a door that he opened and then stepped aside so she could enter in front of him. The suite was actually an apartment, larger than the one she had left behind in Charlotte, but small enough to be considered cozy and intimate. The living room was decorated in shabby chic style with yards of faded chintz and plaid fabrics. The high piled wool carpet was a cream color that matched the base color of the floral wall paper and floor to ceiling drapes. It looked like a room straight from the glossy pages of, Traditional Home.
Without asking, Tessa passed through the small hallway that was flanked by a roomy bathroom on the left and a galley kitchen on the left, complete with a built in breakfast nook. The blue and white toile wall paper trimmed by crisp white cabinetry and wood work gave the small space a cheerful feeling. The window seat surrounding the white trestle table topped by warm yellow gingham cushions and pillows, offered anyone sitting there a breath taking view of a private rose garden just beyond the windows which were left unadorned, and allowed the sun to light the room throughout the day. It would be the perfect place to start the mornings with a cup of coffee.
It was all Tessa could do not to squeal in delight when she stepped into the bedroom. A large brass canopy bed draped in antique lace drew her eyes to it instantly. The duvet was of ivory colored silk that seemed to envelope a thick down comforter. Four plump pillows of lace and velvet topped the bed, making it very enticing to someone as sleep deprived as she was at the moment. The drapes dressing the French doors were layered in the same lace as the canopy. How in the world did a cantankerous male like Mr. Richards create the perfect feminine haven?
As if he guessed what she was thinking, he mumbled something about his mother hiring a decorator from Boston to do the room, which was a real disappointment. Thinking he was gay would have helped her understand his distaste of the previous housekeepers, and greatly improve her first impression of him.
Trying to appear as if she did not believe him in the least, Tessa grinned and rejoined him in the living room. By the way he kept rubbing the back of his neck she could tell he was more than just a little uncomfortable in this part of the house. Maybe he found knocking elbows with the hired help distasteful. Well, she could end his suffering easy enough.
“I hope I haven’t made you late for work. It’s a quarter ‘til seven.”
After glancing at his own watch as if he had a hard time believing anything she said, Mr. Richards adjusted his sleeve on the way to door.
Tessa hurried to add, “You know I can come back when you get home. I don’t mind.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re already here. Spend the day getting acclimated to the place. I’ll have Carlos and his sons carry your things in.”
“That won’t be necessary. I packed it myself, so I’m sure I can unpack it,”
“Suit yourself.”
Unceremoniously, her new employer turned and left the room without saying another word. If he was aware of the fact that she followed him through the house, he never acknowledged her. It was only when he was getting into his SUV that he gave her any notice.
“Is there something you want to say, Ms. Maguire, or is it a habit of yours to tag along at people’s heels?”
Frustrated by his constant belittling, Tessa cast her eyes downward as she spoke. “I’m sorry. It just seems a little weird. I mean, really you don’t know me from Adam and you’re already assuming that I won’t burn your house down in some freak dryer lint accident.”
“I guess that’s a chance I’m going to have to take. Besides I’m insured against art thieves and careless housekeepers.”
“But you didn’t even trust me about my age.”
Sliding behind the steering wheel, Mr. Richards started the engine, leaving Tessa to wonder if he was going to totally blow her off and leave in the middle of a conversation. But he did not. He promptly rolled down his window in order to respond.
“If I had seen you in this light earlier, I would’ve believed you.” As if he found the expression of disbelief on her face humorous, Mr. Richards offered her a conservative smile. “I will see you this evening, Ms. Maguire.”
“Rude…” she huffed under her breath as he pulled away. It may have been an extremely insulting comment, but it was also funny. So Tessa would forgive him this one last time.
Constantly feeling the need to pinch herself every time she headed back into the house—no—mansion, with arms full of boxes, Tessa was in a state of disbelief at the unexpected turn life had taken. Surely she wasn’t the only person in the world economically naïve enough to assume private residences like this only existed in fairytales and movie screens. Abundant wealth like this seemed so surreal and unrealistic. Even standing behind the velvet ropes of Vanderbilt Castle, she could never wrap her head around the fact that it had once been a family home.
Lavish lifestyles of the rich and powerful she thought had disappeared with the Industrial Age, but apparently not, since she was standing right dab in the middle of a perfect example of capitalistic greed. Unchecked materialism was a human condition she had never encountered before, not growing up as she had, deep in the Appalachians where everyone struggled, but no one did without because of the generosity of their neighbors.
It was evident by the way Mr. Richards spoke to her that along with greed came a certain amount of self-righteous indignation, as if he honestly believed himself to be better than her because of their economic differences. In the past, she had had some pretty arrogant bosses, but none of them had ever treated her with so little regard or com
mon decency. At times, when he looked at her, it was as if the mere sight of her assaulted his delicate senses.
To combat the direction her thoughts had taken, Tessa reminded herself that perhaps a lot of the resentment manifested from her own psyche, and that subconsciously his wealth magnified her own insecurities. After all, standing face to face with a man whose tailored Italian suit probably cost more than her Volkswagen when it was brand new, was quite intimidating. Especially while she was wearing a pair of faded Levis bought for two dollars at a yard sale. No, to confront a worthy adversary in a war of wit and words, you had to be confident in yourself, and hand-me-downs proved to be a very poor substitute for a suit of armor, especially when your opponent was the epitome of success.
Pushing the back door open with her rump, Tessa laughed at her own inner dialogue and headed through the house with the last load of personal belonging. This insane lack of self-esteem was not going to sway her from the goal of proving to her loved ones that she was capable of seeing something through to its fruition.
As the boxes were emptied, clothing hung and put away, and photographs and books displayed, her apartment suddenly took on a very personal and homey feel. Tessa’s eyes scanned her surroundings and felt satisfied. Her private sanctuary was now the most welcoming room in the mansion.
If only the little girl she once was, who grew up in poverty and hardship, had been able to see this. But she was gone now, chased away by the responsibilities of adulthood that arrived on her doorstep much too soon.
“For heaven’s sake, get a grip,” Tessa chastised herself out loud. Why in the world couldn’t she allow herself to be content with the fact that everything was working out virtually as planned? Aside from the fact that she was now the property of a narcissist tyrant who lacked anything even remotely resembling a sense of humor.
By midday, she had taken an abbreviated self-guided tour of most of the rooms that occupied the first floor, losing count somewhere around sixteen, and that was just the rooms in the main part of the house. A locked set of massive pocket doors separated it from the west wing, and she had no desire to rummage through desks and drawers to find the keys. If it was locked, there was probably a very good reason for it. And after her verbal faux pas that morning, the last thing she wanted was to give Mr. Richards more reasons not to trust her.
How did he live like this, she wondered, isolated and alone in a house that felt more like a museum, or mausoleum, if she let herself be totally honest? The only sounds available to break the eerie silence were the creaks and groans of an old house settling on its foundations; at least that was what she was telling herself they were.
After seven hours of jumping at every unexplained noise, Tessa’s nerves were starting to unravel a bit. If not for the companionship of the retrievers, she would have probably spent the morning outside exploring the grounds, which was exactly what she decided to do when she heard the voices of the gardener and his crew gather in the driveway for lunch.
Carlos, the supervising groundskeeper, was the first to approach her with an extended hand and shy smile. In charming broken English, the elderly gentleman introduced himself, his three sons and two grandsons before telling her that he had begun working for Mr. Richards’ grandfather, the late Edward Collins, over a half a century ago, and praised the man for his kindness and generosity. Without him, Carlos assured her, he would have never been able to bring his family to the United States, where they not only thrived, but prospered.
When Tessa questioned him further about what it was like working for Mr. Richards, he simply grinned and nodded, nimbly dodging the question by saying he was grateful the grandson had kept him on.
The six Martinez men began sharing what they knew of the estate. It consisted of ten thousand acres of prime New England real estate, much of which was pristine woodland with a lake and several brooks than ran into it. Despite the offer of untold millions, the family kept it from ambitious real estate developers who salivated at the idea of turning it into upscale housing developments and shopping malls.
Beyond the hundred acres immediately surrounding the mansion was the Collin’s stables that had once been renowned for breeding Morgan horses. Now it was rented out to the equestrian club at UMass, with only a few Morgan horses remaining for family use, which the Martinez men were also responsible for.
At the edge of the fields was a large private lake, which Carlos and his family was also given special permission to use for their outdoor recreation. They were very proud of this, and it showed in their smiling and weathered faces. But the one fact that thrilled Tessa the most was the miles of woodland trails that were maintained for horseback riding and hiking. After living in urban areas for the past six years in small apartments, she welcomed the opportunity to wander aimlessly in the forest as she had in her childhood.
By dusk, the men had finished their work and headed home for the evening. Tessa was alone again. Sensing her uneasiness the retrievers remained at her side, content to follow her around the huge kitchen and lie at her feet as she busied herself preparing dinner for their master—as well as hers. The thought of it made her giggle out loud. At least she was thankful that he hadn’t yet asked her to wear a French maid uniform, although the kids would have gotten a big kick out of it. Images of traipsing around in a black dress and apron helped to keep the mood light as darkness fell.
Since she had no idea where light switches were located beyond the kitchen and pantry, Tessa remained trapped there, unwilling to fumble around in the shadows of the mansion to make her way to her private suite, especially with the symphony of unexplained noises. And since she couldn’t get a signal on her cell phone there, she wasn’t even capable of calling her family to have their sweet voices alleviate the unreasonable fear she had of the old house. The one saving grace was the flat screen television positioned under the cupboard next to the pantry. Turning it on and finding the Discovery Channel, Tessa raised the volume until no sounds beyond the kitchen were audible, and lost herself in preparing the first meal for the new boss—a meal that may very well make or break their bargain.
An hour later the cordless phone placed on its charger next to the coffee pot began to ring. Rushing to silence Planet Earth with the remote that just happened to be sitting on the far side of the room, Tessa answered the call after several rings, but not before calming her breathing and the sudden case of jitters, because she knew instinctively that it was the lord of the manor.
“Richards’ residence,” she greeted, pleasantly formal. They hadn’t gone over proper phone etiquette so she was forced to improvise.
“Ms. Maguire, this is Seth…”
“Who?”
Tessa knew who it was, but felt the need to make a least one passive-aggressive statement about the way she had been treated that morning.
“Seth Richards.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize your voice. You sound much older on the phone.”
Clearing his throat as if a little annoyed by her teasing, he asked if she had gotten moved in okay. Deciding not to try and goad him any further, Tessa donned her professional voice and told him yes, thanking him politely for his concern.
“Good. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes.”
There was weariness in his voice as if he was beyond the point of exhaustion, too weary in fact to sound even the slightest bit pompous, and for that she was grateful. Glancing at the digital clock on the oven, she realized he had just put in a sixteen hour day. Why was he even bothering to make the trip home from Boston just to turn around and make the drive back in eight short hours? Not that she was complaining, in fact, she was relieved. Maybe he would be generous enough with his time to actually show her where the blasted light switches were.
“Should I gather the servants and sound the cannons then,” she said dryly, not certain as to why it felt so natural to test his patience so early in their blossoming relationship built on mutual distrust and angst.
&
nbsp; Ignoring the barb completely, as usual, Mr. Richards replied, “When I get there we’ll go over your job description and responsibilities. I’ll also have you fill out and sign your tax forms. And after this morning, I’ve decided to have your fingerprints ran through the FBI database and have a background check performed.”
“Yes, sir,” Tessa begrudgingly agreed with some of the wind taken out of her sails. She had so hoped he would take the bait and insult her back. A mean-spirited but playful discourse was far preferable to a cold, insincere one. Instead, he matched her attempt at humor with a dire warning that her name was about to be submitted to homeland security.
Check mate.
As intuitive as she fancied herself to be, she had not seen that coming.
Memo to self; never mention casing your boss’s house on the first day of employment.
The silence that followed must have clued him in on the direction of Tessa’s thoughts, because he admitted rather blandly, “That was my attempt at humor, Ms. Maguire.”
If that was truly the case, he needed to brush up on his delivery, because she was about to admit to every speeding ticket she had ever gotten, not to mention the dozens of parking tickets from the city of Charlotte she never paid, which caused her to wonder if her driver’s license was even valid.
What Remains Page 3
