Chapter Sixteen
He didn’t come after her again for several more days—mainly because he was off traveling.
Houston, for a meeting with board members of an unknown corporation. Phoenix, to confer in person about a start-up business of solar energy. Up to San Francisco, where three prominent area councilmen were putting in place a small cattle ranch, and wanted Ben’s expertise. Back to San Antonio, on some political free-for-all.
It made Caroline dizzy, the way he was criss-crossing the country in such a short time. If not for his own private jet, so as to bypass airports, security, and air traffic schedules, he would have been tied down even more than he was.
At least he had been considerate enough to provide his itinerary for Caroline. He had had Marilou print a list of dates and times, the hotel at which he would be staying in each city, and the telephone number for every single one. The number for his cell phone was prominently displayed, just in case she hadn’t already programmed it into her own records.
In case Sophie needed him for anything, he had told her, with a glint in his eye. Or maybe the newest family member. Meaning Jasper.
Caroline sometimes felt fragile enough to wonder if he were enjoying some female companionship in those hotel rooms, after hours. Perhaps the best champagne, and chocolate, and a vase full of red roses. He was a very virile man, as proven by their few times together. As much as he had taken from her, he so obviously had wanted more.
True, he seemed to schedule his need for sex with her in between these business jaunts. So was he being supplied with sex by someone else, elsewhere, when she wasn’t available? And, if she asked, could she believe what he told her? They had repeated their vows before an ordained minister, so that should have been a bargaining point. Still, each had spoken an untruth about the “love” part. Could faithfulness be far behind? She seemed to remember something about “forsaking all others…”
And, even though a mail order bride, didn’t she have the right to expect as much consideration and loyalthy from her husband as she was giving him?
Surprisingly, he had aimed a kiss at her cheek before he set off on this latest junket. More to the point, he had hugged Sophie, told her to behave herself, and to make sure she took that dog into the back yard, not the front. A final wink and he was gone.
“Well,” said Caroline, somewhat breathlessly. The man had that effect—it was like trying to make one’s way through the eye of a hurricane.
“Uh-huh. He’s always in a hurry, isn’t he?” She got down from the table, and her breakfast of a chocolate chip waffle, to play with Jasper. “But I gots my dog, now. And I gots you, Carrie. So I don’t miss Daddy so much.”
Oh, telling phrase! Caroline’s heart ached for the child. How lonely her childhood must have been, relegated always to the back corner of her father’s exceedingly busy life. And how simply she had accepted Caroline’s presence, as Daddy’s new wife and her own new mother.
But at least, she thought, with some measure of pride, Sophie was neglected no more. Even a stepmother—a caring, concerned stepmother—could fill the empty spots.
The puppy was a baby. Always hungry. Always energetic, racing in ecstasy with Sophie one minute, despite his injured paw, only to collapse in utter abandon the next. Outside, while Caroline sat on the terrace lounge working desultorily at her laptop, Sophie played with Jasper, fed him, watched him while he slept, and played some more. He had spent the night in Sophie’s room, with, happily, no accidents. (Caroline had given herself the task of carrying him out the back door at two hour intervals.)
Having decided that she must take a firmer hand on the reins of the household, from ordering supplies to checking about the laundry to looking into some summer activities for Sophie, she was studying some online menus to find some easier, lighter fare when she was interrupted.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Taggart?”
Caroline looked up, frowning against the bright sunshine. Next time she came out here, she’d wear some sunglasses. Or the ball cap that Ben made fun of. “Yes? Oh, it’s Maria, isn’t it? What can I do for you?”
“Esperanza and me, we were wondering—”
“Yes?”
“Well, we were not sure…and I said I would ask the Señora, did you want a meal in the dining room tonight?”
“No, let’s not go to all the trouble. There’s only the two of us, anyway, and…” She stopped, curious. “But why are you coming to me, Maria? Even if you’re the one who normally does our serving, I would expect Mrs. Wyeth to take that responsibility.”
The girl, for she was barely more than that, with her thick shining black hair and vivid coloring, was all but wringing her hands. “Mrs. Wyeth, ma’am, she is—enfermo…sick. She is sick.”
“Sick? Is it serious?”
“Me, I am not for sure, Mrs. Taggart. When I knocked on her door this morning, she only told me to go away, she was not well.”
Caroline stood up. “Okay, Maria. I’ll go check on her. Thanks.”
Mrs. Wyeth was not sick. She was sulking.
As the Ten Buck’s full-time employee, the housekeeper was given a suite of her own, along with her salary. It was a very nice suite, in a private wing jutting off to the side of the main house, set up, according to the floor plan, with spacious bath, personal terrace, sitting room and bedroom, and a small kitchenette.
“Mrs. Wyeth,” called Caroline, after knocking on the door. “Mrs. Wyeth, I understand you’re feeling unwell. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Silence. Then a mumble.
“Mrs. Wyeth. I really need to check on you. If you’re ill, I have to come in.”
Another mumble. Something that sounded like “Bugger off.”
She tried turning the door knob. Locked. As she had expected.
All right. Caroline had come prepared; no flies on her. A master key undid the lock, the latch clicked, and in she walked.
To find Mrs. Wyeth fully dressed, taking her leisure on a chaise longue, sipping some dark liquid from a glass filled with ice cubes and flipping through the pages of a magazine. She looked up at Caroline’s entrance with a glare like thrown daggers.
“This is my own private room. What are you doin’, comin’ in here without my permission?”
“I was told you were ill,” said Caroline, just as coldly. She could play lady of the manor, very well, since it seemed to be expected of her. “You didn’t answer; I wanted to make sure there would be no need for an ambulance.”
“I’m takin’ a sick day.”
“So I shouldn’t get you to the hospital for immediate care?”
“I’m takin’ a sick day,” the cook repeated, as if Caroline had not heard the first flat statement.
“Yes, so I understand. Which I would have no problem with, Mrs. Wyeth, if you would but inform me, in advance, so we can plan our schedule.”
“The schedule,” mocked Mrs. Wyeth. “Always the schedule.”
“Yes, it’s done in all the best houses. Well, I’ll leave you to your sick day. Do you suppose you might be needing one tomorrow, as well?”
She cocked her head on one side, considering. “I don’t know yet. I’ll let you know.”
“You just do that. On a timely basis, if you please.”
Resisting the impulse to slam the door, instead of shutting it carefully behind her, Caroline stalked down the hall to the main house. In the kitchen she found Maria; Esperanza was busy folding towels in the laundry room adjoining.
“Well, girls, nothing major. Mrs. Wyeth is only throwing a hissy fit.”
The maids, clad in neat grey uniforms, looked at each other, then back at Caroline. “Pardon, Señora?”
“Yes, she’s a little pissed off for some reason. So we’ll leave her alone to wallow in it.”
Again that exchange of glances. “Pardon. Wallow?”
“Meanwhile, don’t bother about lunch. Or dinner.” Caroline grinned at the two of them, literally rubbing her hands together with glee. “I’ll fix Sophie soup and a sandwich shortly. And I do believe we’ll head into town later, see what trouble we can get into. It’s about time we eat at a fast food restaurant and have something fattening and greasy. I swear, that child has been positively deprived.”