Page 54 of On Thin Ice

“I agree.” Edna’s vote was vehement.

“If you’d rather look at other gowns, I can bring more in red.”

“No, I do like this one.” They did as well. I loved the dress and how it made me feel—and, with their agreement, I was certain.

“Perfect.” We spent the next few minutes with Marco tugging here and there, making sure he knew exactly how it fit on my body. He promised to make a couple of alterations and he’d return the next week with it, as well as a pair of shoes and a wrap of some kind. “The next time you put this on, you’ll believe it had always been made especially for you.”

While Edna showed Marco out, I got back in my clothes. When I stepped back out from behind the screen, I was looking around the room until Edna returned. She said, “I guess I’ll leave the mirror here until then in case he wants you to try on a variety of shoes.”

Which opened the door so I could ask the huge question I’d had earlier. “I love this room. Why isn’t it ever used?”

“Mr. Whittier never said it explicitly, but I think it’s because it’s kind of a family room. The eldest Mr. Whittier one time told me about watching football games in here with friends they’d invited for Thanksgiving one year. When the boys were younger, we would sometimes give them an hour of television time in here.”

I stopped myself before I referred to the man of the house as Sinclair rather than as Mr. Whittier—which might have tipped Edna off. Strange enough that the new girl was chosen to go to the ballet…but now she’s getting familiar with the boss too? Edna was a smart woman. I suspected it wouldn’t take much to tip the scales to make her suspicious. When I finally spoke, I felt a little nervous, realizing just how close I’d come to giving it all away. “Mr. Whittier showed me the television room one day.”

Nodding, Edna began walking toward the door to the west hall. “The one in the main hallway. So think about it. If it was you all by your lonesome, would you rather watch TV in this giant room or over there in a more intimate space?”

I almost laughed, because no space in this mansion was intimate, not even the closets, and especially not the television room—and, knowing she probably lived in a place not unlike my father’s house in Winchester, she would no doubt agree if we’d had a rational conversation about it. But her perspective was relative: and here, in this mansion, the television room on the first floor of the east wing—a room that was larger than the living room back home—was far cozier than the overwhelming, large great room. However, that giant space was cozy in its own way, thanks to the way it had been decorated. The designer had an eye for how to create small spaces inside a large one, so that, even when watching television on a huge sectional, a person might feel comfortable.

Hardly thinking about it, I answered, “I guess so.” But I was pondering Sinclair again. Did he avoid this room for the same reason he avoided the second floor of the east wing?

I wondered.

As we walked back down the west rear hall, Edna said, “Next Friday, you’ll have someone here to do your hair and makeup for the ballet.”

“What?”

As if it were an everyday occurrence, she said, “Yes. That afternoon. So you’ll probably only work a half day that day. I’ll stick around to make sure the woman gets here, so maybe we’ll eat a quick lunch together. Then you can shower if you want and, when she gets here, I’ll leave the two of you to it.”

“So…what will happen exactly?”

“Probably just what you think,” Edna said, pausing when we arrived at the main hallway. “She’ll make you look like a princess.”

“I should probably paint my nails.”

“Or,” Edna said, her eyes lighting up with mischief, “we can get mani-pedis Friday morning.”

I giggled. “Both of us?”

“Why not? I’ll ask Mr. Whittier later. He’s been in such a good mood lately, I can’t imagine him saying no.”

I couldn’t help growing more excited. The polish on my toenails had begun to chip worse and, even though Sinclair hadn’t said a word about them, I was sure he noticed when we were intimate together. He didn’t miss much.

And I suspected I knew why he’d been in such a good mood lately—because I had been as well.

“I guess I better get back to work,” I said, turning to walk toward the door leading downstairs.

“Wait. I needed to ask you if you have any allergies.”

“Allergies?”

“Yes. Like…gluten sensitivity or latex or anything like that. The makeup/hair woman wanted to know.”

“Oh.” I smiled again, feeling quite spoiled. “Not that I know of.”

“I’ll let her know.”

In just a few moments, I was back downstairs, trying to pick up where I’d left off, looking through a box of small objects, some which looked like mere trinkets and some that appeared to be worth a fortune.

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