Page 36 of For the Love of Lilah
“They exist.” Caufield waved the smoke away in a fussy gesture, but his eyes were intense. “They exist. Before the summer ends, I’m going to hold them in my hands.” He lifted them. They were smooth and white and clever. He could all but see the glittery green stones dripping from his palms. “They’re going to be mine.”
“Ours,” Hawkins corrected.
Caufield looked up and smiled. “Ours, of course.”
After dinner, Max went back to his lists. He told himself he was being responsible, doing what needed to be done. In truth he’d needed to put some distance between himself and Lilah. He couldn’t delude himself into thinking it was only desire he felt for her. That was a basic biological reaction and could be triggered by a face on a television screen, a voice on the radio.
There was nothing so simple or so easily dismissed about his reaction to Lilah.
Every day he was around her his emotions became more tangled, more unsteady and more ungovernable. It had been difficult enough when he had looked at her and wanted her. Now he looked at her and felt his needs meld with dreams that were unrealistic, foolish and impossible.
He’d never given much thought to falling in love, and none at all to marriage and family. His work had always been enough, filling the gaps nicely. He enjoyed women, and if he fell far short of being the Don Juan of Cornell, he had managed a few comfortable and satisfying relationships. Still, he’d never felt a burning need to race to the altar or to start building picket fences.
Bachelorhood had suited him, and when he had thought about the future, he had imagined himself getting crusty, perhaps taking up the pipe and buying a nice dog for companionship.
He was an uncomplicated man who lived a quiet life. At least until recently. Once he had helped the Calhouns locate the emeralds, he would go back to that quiet life. And he would go back alone. While things might never be exactly the same for him, he knew that she would forget the awkward college professor before the winter winds blew across the bay.
And he figured the sooner he finished what he had agreed to do and went away, the easier it would be to go. Gathering his lists, he decided it was time to take the next step toward ending the most incredible summer of his life.
He found Amanda in her room, going over her own lists. These were for her wedding, which would take place in three weeks.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“That’s okay.” Amanda pushed her glasses back up her nose and smiled. “I’ve got everything under control here except my nerves.” She tapped her papers together and set them aside on the slant-top desk. “I was all for eloping, but Aunt Coco would have murdered me.”
“I guess weddings take a lot of work.”
“Even planning a small family ceremony is like plotting a major offensive. Or being in the circus,” she decided, and laughed. “You end up juggling photographers with color schemes and fittings and floral arrangements. But I’m getting good at it. I took care of C.C.’s, I ought to be able to do the same for myself. Except...” Pulling her glasses off, she began to fold and unfold the earpieces. “The whole thing scares the good sense right out of me. So, take my mind off it, Max, and tell me what’s on yours.”
“I’ve been working on this. I don’t know how complete it is.” He set his list in front of her. “The names of all the servants I could find, the ones who worked here the summer Bianca died.”
Lips pursed, Amanda slid her glasses back on. She appreciated the precise handwriting and neat columns. “All of these?”
“According to the ledger I went through. I thought we could contact the families, maybe even luck out and find a few still alive.”
“Anyone who worked here back then would have to be over the century mark.”
“Not necessarily. A lot of the help could have been young. Some of the maids, the garden and kitchen help.” When she began to tap her pencil on the desk, he shrugged. “It’s a long shot, I know, but—”
“No.” Her gaze still on the list, she nodded. “I like it. Even if we can’t reach anyone who actually worked here then, they might have told stories to their children. It’s a safe bet some of them were local—maybe still are.” She looked up at him. “Good thinking, Max.”
“I’d like to help you try to pin some of the names down.”
“I can use all the help I can get. It’s not going to be easy.”
“Research is what I’m best at.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.” She held out a hand to shake. “Why don’t we split the list in half and start tomorrow? I imagine the cook, the butler, the housekeeper, Bianca’s personal maid and the nanny all traveled with them from New York.”
“But the day help and the lower positions were hired locally.”
“Exactly. We could divide the list in that way, then cross-reference...” She trailed off as Sloan came in through the terrace doors carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
“Leave you alone for five minutes and you start entertaining other men in your room.” He set the wine aside. “And talking about cross-referencing, too. Must be serious.”
“We hadn’t even gotten to alphabetizing,” Amanda told Sloan.
“Looks like I got here just in time.” He took the pencil out of her hand before drawing her to her feet. “In another minute you might have been hip deep in correlations.”
