Page 11 of One Last Goodbye

She laughs, and I can’t help but smile. Perhaps it’s a bit impolite of me to say this, but the plump, jolly Sophie brings to mind an image of Mrs. Claus. She seems perfectly suited to a life of tending to others’ happiness.

“Someone in this house has to think of basic necessities,” she says. “The Jensens live on some planet of wealth where necessities just materialize in front of them without effort. The other servants are too snooty to step one foot outside of their jobs, and Keller… well, he’s well-meaning, but he’s a secretary more than he’s an estate manager. Don’t let him fool you. It’s me who runs this household.”

“I believe you.”

And I do. Mr. Keller doesn’t seem to know even what his job is. Of all the people I’ve met here, Sophie is the one who appears most well put together.

The kettle boils, and Sophie sets it on a service with two cups and saucers, a jar of sugar and a crock of cream. As an Englishwoman, I can’t tell you how gratifying it is to see a proper tea service. If there was ever a change proposed to the British flag, it should be a full tea service complete with biscuits.

And God love this woman, but she brings out a tin of biscuits and places it on the service. I meet her eyes and say sincerely, “Sophie, I believe I will marry you.”

She laughs and tosses her hair saucily. “If you insist, but I will wear the tuxedo.”

“Wear whatever you want. I ask only that you make me tea every day for the rest of my life.”

“Done!” She lifts the service and the platter of sandwiches and deftly makes her way to the dining room. “Before you ask, yes, we’re allowed to use the main dining room so long as the family isn’t using it and we clean our mess. If there’s one upside to working for Americans, it’s that their rules when it comes to propriety are far less rigid than the rules across the pond.”

“So I’ve heard.”

I join her at the table and allow her to pour me a tea. When she places one lump of sugar in the glass and adds just a spot of cream without needing to be told, my love for her increases. I’ve had very few true friends in life. After Annie leaves, I withdraw inward, and I suppose I remain that way long enough that I grow comfortable with it. So I rarely make friends. Perhaps it’s too soon to hope that Sophie and I can become close, but I allow myself the hope anyway.

Still, I have a job to do. Sean is looking into Thomas, and thus obliquely into Frederick’s business. If anyone has information on the household that can help me understand this family’s dynamics, it’s Sophie.

So, I ask, “How long have you worked for the Jensens?”

“Thirty-two years and a fortnight as of today,” she replies. She notices my expression and smiles. “Yes, I started when I was a girl. Fifteen years old, to be exact. Frederick was… let’s see… it was right after he finished his undergraduate work, so… twenty-two.”

“Did your family work for the Jensens?”

“Oh, no. Father was a pig farmer in Derby, and mother a happily devoted farmer’s wife. They wereveryunhappy when I accepted Frederick’s offer of employ.”

“He hired you so young?”

“He did. He was enchanted with my cooking.” She once again notices my expression and laughs. “It wasn’t likethat,don’t worry. He’s never been anything but a perfect gentleman to me.”

Her smile fades a little when she says that, however, so I doubt she’s being perfectly honest with me. “So you were around when he met Catherine.”

“I was. What a surprise it was when he proposed to her, let me tell you.”

Now I’m getting somewhere. “Oh?”

“Oh my, yes. Frederick wasquitethe ladies’ man before he met Catherine. No, not withme. I already told you, he’s been a perfect gentleman with me. But with others… well, he told you how they met, right?”

“He was hosting the contestants of the Geneva Fashion Show, and Catherine was among them.”

“Yes. Also the New York Fashion Show. And the London Fashion Show. And the Paris one. And Rome and Madrid and Tokyo.”

My eyes widen. “I see.”

“Oh yes. Frederick certainly has a type.” Her face hardens slightly. “Cold, contemptuous, aloof ice queens. And Catherine was their empress.”

I wonder if perhaps Sophie may wish that Frederick hadn’t been a perfect gentleman to her. She smiles at me and for the third time proves able to read my face. “I’m not jealous. Heavens, Mary, but you so desperately want me to be enamored with him. No, despite the age difference favoring Frederick, I feel—and always have—like more of an elder sister than a loveinterest. The man simply wouldn’t take care of himself if not for me.

“As for Catherine,” her face hardens again. “I can’t pretend I love her. I don’t hate her, but as I said, she is cold and contemptuous. Her entire persona is based around being superior to everyone around her. She craves attention, not so she can bask in it but so she can make it clear to her admirers that they are unworthy of having that attention reciprocated.” She sips her tea. “I didn’t think their marriage would last, to be honest. But Frederick still loves her despite everything, and Catherine couldn’t bear to admit defeat in something so serious as marriage. So, they continue.”

I risk probing a little further. “Despite everything?”

She takes another sip of tea and looks at me shrewdly. “I think I’ve said enough for now.”

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