When he got to work the next morning, he watched her face carefully, and waited until they were alone in the kitchen. Then he spoke to her in a low voice so no one could overhear, although Alphonsine’s English wasn’t fluent, but just in case. For all they knew, she spoke better English than she let on.
“I know you’ve lost something, and you don’t know who to suspect and who to trust right now. I’d like to help you with it. Is it something of great value?” he inquired. She hesitated and then shook her head and decided to trust him.
“It’s of great sentimental value. They were my mother’s two favorite pieces of jewelry. I had them in a small jewel case in a drawer. I was going to put them on yesterday and the case was empty. It could have been anyone. I haven’t opened the case since I moved, and there have been a million people in and out of the apartment.” He was relieved that she was telling him. He thought it was a good sign. She had to trust someone, or her life would be untenable, and he was glad she had chosen to confide in him.
“Let me handle it. Trust me. I know we don’t know each other well, and you have no reason to trust me. I’d like to handle this in a way that I think will get results.”
“Are you going to accuse someone directly?”
“I don’t think I’ll have to. And with any luck, you’ll get your jewelry back. It’s worth a try.” She nodded, and for some unknown reason, she thought he was being honest with her, although she had been almost certain it was him, the day before.
“Come with me,” he said quietly, and she followed him to her bathroom, where a plumber was working on a leak under the sink. Joachim had called him to do some repairs and adjustments. He asked the plumber to go to the living room and wait for them there. He then went to Olivia’s bedroom, where Alphonsine was making the bed. She was coming every day while they got settled. She looked frightened and startled when they walked in together, and Joachim used a harsher tone with her, and told her to go to the living room. There was a window washer hanging out the dining room window, and Joachim sent him to join the others and then he and Olivia walked into the living room and sat down.
Joachim was wearing an odd expression and used a tone that Olivia hadn’t heard from him before. He looked and sounded harsh, merciless, to the point of frightening. He suddenly looked like the head butler, a man to fear, or the police. He eyed each of the three people seated across from them, and then he spoke, as Olivia observed their faces. The plumber looked confused, the window washer clearly had no idea why he was there, and Alphonsine looked terrified and was shaking in her seat.
“I have a very disappointing announcement to make to all of you. There has been a theft in the house, of two pieces of Madame White’s jewelry. Of course, I have no choice here, I am obliged to notify the police. You may not leave the apartment before they arrive. They will want to speak to each of you, and probably fingerprint you. We cannot take this matter lightly, and the insurance company will want to question you too. I will be very grateful to any of you who have information on the theft, if you saw anything unusual, or saw someone take them. If the items reappear, there will be a reward to any of you who find them. Five hundred euros, and no further questions will be asked. In the meantime, and until the items are returned, we will wait for the police.” There was shocked silence in the room, as Olivia waited with them, and Joachim disappeared, presumably to call the police. She was sure he would, in order to terrorize the three suspects further.
Joachim returned a few minutes later to tell them that the police would be with them shortly.
“Can I go back to finish the windows?” the window washer wanted to know, and Joachim said he could. The plumber went back to the leak under the sink, and Joachim and Olivia walked into the kitchen. Alphonsine had been crying when they left the room.
They were sitting in the kitchen, talking quietly, when Alphonsine rushed in, shrieking that she had found the missing items. She said they had been swept under the corner of the rug, and she hadn’t seen them previously. “Someone must have dropped them,” she said. Her hand was shaking violently, as she held them out to Olivia.
“Are those the missing items?” Joachim sounded fierce when he asked Olivia, and she nodded with tears of relief in her eyes and took them from Alphonsine.
“Thank you,” she said softly, although it pained her to be grateful to a thief.
“Do I get the reward?” the maid had the nerve to ask him, and he nodded.
“Yes, you do,” he said quietly, took out his wallet, and handed five one-hundred-euro bills to her. She looked pleased but still shaken, as she slipped them into her apron pocket, and left the kitchen.
The police showed up twenty minutes later, and Alphonsine had mysteriously vanished.
“She must have gone down the back stairs,” Olivia said when they went to look for her and couldn’t find her coat or her purse.
“She won’t be back,” Joachim told her. He explained the situation to the police and apologized for bringing them out for nothing. They asked if Olivia wanted to file a report or a complaint against the maid, and she said she didn’t. Alphonsine didn’t have keys to the apartment, and Olivia agreed with Joachim. Alphonsine wouldn’t be back, if she had to face the police. She had probably done things like it many times before, with her previous employer who was elderly, and at the hotel before that. The police had suggested that too. It was a common occurrence.
The police departed quickly, and the plumber and window washer left when they finished their work. Joachim called the safe company and told them it was an emergency and they had to come that afternoon. They agreed to, for an additional charge. Joachim reported Alphonsine to the agency. They apologized profusely, and promised to find better candidates, and said they would take her off their books. Olivia was smiling when he hung up, and was wearing her mother’s earrings and ring. She had mixed feelings about the ring, but her mother had loved it, and it was pretty.
“Thank you. I’m sorry I was short with you yesterday,” she said to him. “I didn’t know what to think.”
“It’s all right. You’re among strangers here. You don’t know me. I’m sorry it happened. I had a bad feeling about her. She was a little too sweet.”
“You can hire the next one. And don’t forget to list her reward with your expenses. And by the way, Joachim, you’re pretty damn scary when you put your head butler face on.” The look on his face, and his tone, had been worthy of Carson after all. She smiled when she said it.
“I only do that when absolutely necessary,” he said, laughing. “It always works.”
“You scared me.”
“I scared her. That was the important thing. Amazing how she had the cheek to collect the reward. But she’s gone, and she won’t be back. She thought you’d be an easy victim. Be careful, Ms. White, and I’ll keep a closer eye in future.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly, ashamed that she had thought he was the thief. She knew now that he was trustworthy, and she had at least one person to protect her among strangers. She had an ally. She was grateful to have her mother’s jewelry back, and that Joachim was an honest man. She was glad to have a butler after all.
Chapter 8
They worked hard on the apartment, and Olivia bought more than she expected to. Joachim knew Paris well, and took her to interesting places where she found things she liked. It was taking shape nicely and had a distinctive style to it. She liked vintage pieces and antiques, and mixed them well with contemporary ones. She had a great eye for what would bring a room to life, after all her experience with her decorating magazine. Her new home had style and personality. Some of it was very subtle, as she was. The more Joachim got to know his new employer, the more he liked her. She was honest and straightforward. They respected each other. He wasn’t overly personal, nor was she, and they were together constantly, while she continued to decorate the apartment. She often asked his opinion
before she bought something. He never volunteered it when she didn’t ask. Some purchases she was sure of the minute she saw them, others she was less sure of. And some were frankly awful, or very odd, but somehow, she made them work when she got them home, which always surprised him. She had a good eye and very definite taste.
He usually left work by dinnertime, but occasionally he stayed late to help her work on a project she couldn’t do alone. She had a passion for antique books and had bought a whole collection of vintage fashion and decorating books in an auction at Drouot. She found innumerable treasures there.
He stayed late one night to put together a bookcase and help her put the books away. She could have done it herself, but it was easier with his help. The bookcase was ten feet tall, dwarfed by the high ceilings, and she was up and down a tall ladder all night. It was ten o’clock when they finished, and neither of them had eaten. They were too engrossed by what they were doing, and he could tell that she didn’t want to stop and would have been teetering on the high ladder all night alone in the apartment, so he stayed. He offered to make dinner when they finished. They both admitted they were starving. She had bought a roasted chicken at the supermarket. He made a quick bowl of pasta and she made a salad to go with it. He was an adequate cook for himself, but had never worked as a chef, and didn’t want to.
They sat down at the kitchen table together. She had set it simply with colorful placemats she’d bought at one of the shops he’d taken her to. She set a bouquet of white tulips on the table. She used linen napkins and had a nice touch about the way she did things. She was very visual about her surroundings and had an eclectic style. It wasn’t grand in the way he was used to, but she had a good sense for fine things, and he had learned that her home was important to her. She was having fun with the apartment.
“I used to come home from work so tired, I’d eat a salad out of a plastic box, or wouldn’t eat at all,” she volunteered, as he served her the simple pasta he had made with fresh tomatoes and basil. “It’s lovely having time to actually sit down and do things nicely. Great pasta, by the way,” she complimented him. “My mother always insisted we sit down to a proper meal.” She had always set a pretty table for George, with candles and flowers on the table. She had everything ready whenever he dropped in and acted as though he was expected. She would have been the perfect wife if he’d ever married her. It still angered her that he never did.
“What was your father like?” he asked, curious about her. She talked about her mother, but had never mentioned her father. Eating together, at a late hour, after working side by side all day dropped some of the barriers between them.
“I never knew him,” she said bluntly. “Or actually, I did. But I didn’t know he was my father until after he died. I thought my father had died when I was a baby.” It was an odd admission to make to someone she barely knew, who was her employee. Joachim was quiet for a minute, as he digested the information.
“That must have been painful for you, when you found out about your father,” he said. “I never knew mine either. He died when I was three. I only found that out recently. He left us before that. It was just me, my brother, and my mother. She remarried when I was seventeen. That’s when we came to France from Buenos Aires. My stepfather was a wonderful person. I only lived with them for a few years, and then I left for England, and stayed there. It’d odd never having known your father. My mother did a good job with us for all those years before we came here. She’s a remarkably strong woman.”
Olivia was pensive, thinking of her own mother. “Mine wasn’t. She gave up her whole life for one man. They never married. She spent every moment waiting for him, and only came alive when he was with her. She was like a ghost in a way, or a shadow. She never materialized until he was in the room. I hated it for her. It made me gun-shy about ever being dependent on a man. So I became addicted to my work instead,” she said. “I suppose we all have our addictions.”
He nodded, thinking about it. It explained why she wasn’t married at forty-three. He had less of an excuse, other than the nature and demands of his job. He had dedicated himself to his career too, to the exclusion of all else, with the exception of occasional passing romances that he never allowed to become serious involvements. But he never let them get in the way of his work. They had that in common too.
“My mother met my stepfather when she was fifty-four,” he said. “She was almost forty when she had me. He was the love of her life, so I suppose it can happen at any age. I remind her of that now when she tells me I should be married.” He grinned at Olivia. It was easy opening up to her, and unusual for him. He always kept his distance, but in many ways their circumstances were similar. They were each at a crossroads in their lives, during a pause between jobs, with previous single-minded direction. Olivia seemed very vulnerable to him, and his instinct was to protect her, as he had from the dishonest maid. That was part of his job too. He had shielded the Cheshires, particularly as they got older and more fragile. He had been at his side with the marchioness when the marquess died. Their children had never been very attentive. They had grown up in boarding schools from an early age, and weren’t close to their parents, except when it suited them, which wasn’t often. But he supposed the same could be said of him, working in England now that his mother was alone. She never complained, and made it easy for him, and he felt guilty about it.
Olivia wondered about his brother, but didn’t bring it up, despite the confessions of the evening. It had seemed so painful to him the last time it came up, when he said he hadn’t seen him in twenty-five years. She assumed that they must have had a terrible falling out for that to happen. And she was impressed by his dedication, and obviously deep affection for his mother. He always spoke of her with a warm smile or a look of concern. She hadn’t been as warm with her own mother. She had so hated her mother’s willingness to give herself up to George until there was nothing left of her. He had always come first, above all else, even her daughter. He had destroyed her mother’s life, and she had let him. She was his willing slave. Olivia still shuddered at the thought of any relationship like that. She would never let it happen to her. She would rather be alone than a slave.
Olivia and Joachim enjoyed dinner together, and the relaxed atmosphere between them. Most of the time they were too busy to talk much, and concentrated on the task at hand, whatever it was. Their dinner had led to confessions.
He had hired a new maid for her, a Portuguese girl who was hardworking and seemed honest, so far. But Olivia kept her few valuables in the safe now, at the back of one of her closets. She had learned her lesson. She even locked up her purse.
* * *
—
As she got to know him, Olivia had become aware that Joachim was a very private person, with clear boundaries. He always kept in mind that he worked for Olivia and acted accordingly, which made their conversation over dinner unusual. He never said how he spent his days off. He never talked about a girlfriend, which didn’t mean he didn’t have one. Because of the nature of the job, he knew more about Olivia than she did about him, which occasionally made her uncomfortable. She had never had anyone in a comparable position in her home life, or even her assistant at the magazine, although there wasn’t that much to know about her, except her history, which she had never shared with anyone, but had talked about with Joachim.
It had bothered her all her life that she was illegitimate, and her mother had been the mistress of a married man. It bothered her morally, but it also made her feel less than others, and she never told the men she dated. She would have told someone she intended to marry, but she had never even come close to that. She knew that all her romantic relationships were temporary, and most of them were a dead end, for one reason or another, geographically or socially, or she just didn’t think the men were good enough. Her mother had had the prejudices and snobbisms of her Boston family, who had shunned her on moral grounds for having a c
hild out of wedlock with a married man, and punished Olivia for it by disapproving of her whenever they saw her. Even as a child she could feel their icy disapproval of her.
Her mother had never liked a single boy Olivia dated when she was younger. Later, she never bothered to introduce them to her mother. There was no point. She wasn’t planning to stay with them anyway. But at least none of them were married. That was one trap she had never fallen into after watching her mother’s agonizing loneliness all her life, and her pain whenever George was with his family. Holidays were days of mourning for Margaret, and became that way for Olivia too, with her mother always too depressed to celebrate anything, except when George showed up. In recent years, Olivia had spent Christmas and Thanksgiving with friends, and she no longer needed an excuse once her mother had dementia. She didn’t know what day it was anyway, and holidays went unnoticed and unacknowledged. Margaret’s longstanding affair had touched every area of their lives. It was almost a relief to Olivia when George died. They no longer had to wait for him to show up, and she didn’t have to see her mother disappointed. But his death hadn’t freed her either since Margaret never put her life back together. It was too late by then. She didn’t have the energy or emotional strength to do it.
It made serious relationships seem dangerous to Olivia. They could ruin your life if you let them.
Joachim had always had the same feeling, although his mother wasn’t bitter. She was vibrant and alive, and refused to be defeated by poverty or solitude, or her losses, and things had turned out well for her in the end. It made Joachim feel that he had his whole lifetime to meet the right woman. He had never had a strong desire to have children, and he didn’t have biology to contend with, as women did.
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