Page 7 of Hawthorne

“S-sure, sir,” he stutters.

“Harry, if you can’t, you can tell me, and we can rearrange. I am not the boogeyman.” I laugh bitterly.

“I can, sir, it’s just the housekeeper’s presence is also required. It can’t be read without her, so I’ll just have to make sure she can also come tomorrow.”

What?

Why would she be called to go as well if she’s just the housekeeper?

“Do you know why?” I ask.

“No, Your Grace.”

“Well, I guess we’ll find out tomorrow morning then. Have a nice day, Harry,” I say before hanging up the call.

And just like that, Camilla has seeped her way back into my mind.

Hoping it’s not permanent.

3

Camilla White

Every time yesterday’s phone call replays in my head, I cringe.

Aunt Lizzie’s attorney called me to request my presence today for her will reading, and I couldn’t believe it. The man laughed out loud when I bluntly told him to read it again because I was the housekeeper and not a family member.

He was a sweetheart, not taking my shock personally, and apparently, it wasn’t a mistake. I am needed there.

Saying I was—and still am—shocked is an understatement.

Why would I even be required there? I am simply the housekeeper. Does this mean I am not needed anymore? Will I be fired?

Oh my, if that happens, I need to find a place to live, but…where? That manor has been my only home, even if it isn’t my house. The simple thought of leaving it behind, the only thing I have left, is…

“Okay, Camilla,” I whisper to myself after a deep breath. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’ll find out soon.”

Sometimes, a pep talk is all one needs. Right?

Right!

I look around for the first time since entering the huge, tall building. It is modern, sleek, and spacious with little to no decoration. It’s also bright since the outside is made of glass walls. What a clever way to save money on electricity.

The double glass doors of the entrance have already been closed by the doorman, and I finally take a step to the building’s reception.

“Good morning, can I help you?” The receptionist gives me a warm smile from behind the huge white marble counter.

“Good morning. I have an appointment with Dr Harry Langford.”

“Let me check,” the receptionist says, typing on her keyboard. “Ms White?” she questions, and I nod. “You’re early.” She smiles. “But he is ready, so you can go up. It’s on the tenth floor. Go ahead.”

I thank her and smile before heading to the elevators on the far left-hand side of the reception counter. Pressing the button, I awkwardly stand before the metal doors, waiting for it to arrive.

My eyes move up to check the little screen, watching the numbers descend when something changes.

The hairs on my neck raise, and the air I inhale feels warm. This unwelcome jittery sensation settles in my bones, only getting worse when I feel a hovering presence behind me.

“I must confess…” I shiver when his body heat oozes towards my back, right before a puff of hot air hits the top of my head, ruffling part of my hair. “It’s quite intriguing to have you here. Why would my aunt want you present for the reading of her will?”

---