Lost Among the Living(85)

There was the briefest beat of surprise, and then Mabry said, “I see Alex has indeed told you more than he should have. Casparov was one of the clumsy ones, Mrs. Manders. And in any case, I can’t use him because Casparov is dead. We found him shot at his desk in 1918.”

I swallowed my shock. “And you’d like my husband to replace him?” I said. “No. He’s tired, Colonel.” I knew it was true—it came through in Alex’s new bitterness, the dreary anger that sometimes crept into his voice. “He’s exhausted. He’s come to this house to finish the assignment you gave him, to put his cousin’s death to rest, and that is all.”

“Do you think he’s going to be happy?” I could hear exasperation in Colonel Mabry’s voice, another unprecedented show of emotion. “Do you think a man like that will be content reading the news and listening to the wireless at night with his children for the next forty years?”

“If he wants to be,” I said. “You’ve just implied that my husband can do almost anything he sets his mind to. If he sets his mind to listening to the wireless with his children, then I’m sure he can do it. If he’d be happier working for you, then Alex will tell me. Until that happens, you’re to leave us alone.”

They were bold words, but as the colonel took his leave and we descended the stairs, I was unsteady. Outside, the weak late-autumn sun was vanishing behind an ominous bank of clouds as Colonel Mabry walked with a swift, formal gait toward his motorcar, putting his hat briskly back on his head.

Dottie was not in the large parlor, so I walked on watery legs to the morning room, where I found Alex reading the newspaper. He was half sitting on the table, one long leg hitched up, his tall body framed against the French doors behind him. “There you are,” he said. “Have you spoken to Aunt Dottie? Pack an overnight bag. We should get going.” He glanced up. “Something’s upset you. What is it?”

For a moment I couldn’t speak. I paced to the French doors and looked out at the terrace, pressing my palms together, trying to make my hands stop shaking. I took a breath.

Behind me, I heard a rustle as Alex put the paper down and stood. “Jo?”

I turned and came toward him. I put my hands on the back of his neck and he let me pull him down and kiss him, but it had a hard, desperate edge to it, and when we parted, his gaze was dark and wary.

“Care to explain?” he asked.

I dropped my hands. “Thank you for coming home,” I said.

“I told you I would.”

“I know you did.” My gaze dropped to the newspaper. Do you think he’ll be happy reading the newspaper and listening to the wireless with his children for the next forty years? If we didn’t have children, he wouldn’t even have that. I had not wished to discuss my lack of conception over the years with Colonel Mabry.

The sound of Dottie’s oxfords clunking toward us down the hall interrupted the depressing turn of my thoughts. She stood in the doorway and stared at us, her eyes narrowing.

“Alex,” she said, “stop looking at your wife like that. I prefer decorum in this house. Manders, pay attention.”

“Yes, Dottie,” I said.

“A servant tells me that Colonel Mabry has abruptly taken his leave. I am left to assume he did not purchase a painting.”

I felt Alex startle in surprise beside me, but I said, “No, he didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“I see. I certainly hope that his decision had nothing to do with your behavior.”

“No, Dottie.”

“Then his intentions were not as sincere as he led me to believe, which is something I disapprove of. I dislike having my time wasted, as you know. Please come to the library and begin work, as I have a wedding to plan. Alex, go away and amuse yourself.”

As she turned away and clipped back down the corridor, Alex turned to me. “What the hell was she talking about?”

“I’ll explain,” I said. “Let me talk to Dottie.” I followed her down the corridor to the library.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX



I came into the library rehearsing what I would say in my head, but Dottie spoke before I had the chance. “You needn’t say it, Manders,” she said. “I already know.”

I should have known she’d anticipate me. “I just need today off, Dottie, and then tomorrow—”

“Don’t be a fool,” she said. She had circled behind her desk and was sorting through her papers. “I certainly don’t intend to be. You’re resigning.”

“I didn’t think I was,” I said.

“Didn’t you?” Dottie found her cigarette holder beneath her papers—her desk was uncharacteristically messy—and opened her silver cigarette case. “Then I don’t think you’ve been paying attention to what’s happened the past few days. Your husband has come home. Your resigning was only a matter of time.”

I pulled up the chair at my typewriter desk and sat. “Dottie,” I said, “you don’t need a paid companion. I’m not sure you ever have.”

She screwed a cigarette into the holder and looked at me shrewdly. “I have a wedding to plan,” she said again. “The engagement party was a success, despite my nephew’s terrible sense of timing. But the wedding will be something else entirely. It’s going to be the event of the season, and I want it to happen before Christmas. Perhaps I don’t need a paid companion, but an assistant would have been useful.”