Page 5 of I Dream of Danger
Oh.
Numb with cold and pain, she opened her purse and gave him the door keys. She didn’t have to rummage. Her purse held a now-empty wallet, an ancient cellphone with very few minutes left, an old lipstick, and the keys.
In a moment, Nick had the door open and was standing there, waiting for her.
He watched her walk the few short steps to the porch and up to the portico. Lucky thing he wasn’t looking around.
The grounds had always been a showpiece. When Nick disappeared, Rodrigo was still coming twice a week to take care of the extensive gardens. The drive had been flanked by seasonal flowers in large terracotta vases. The vases and flowers were long gone. There were no flowers anywhere and the hedges had long since lost their shape.
Elle had received three official notices of ‘abandonment’ in the past six months.
Nick didn’t seem to notice, thank God.
Inside the house, though, it was worse than outside.
The house had always been immaculate. Ever since her mother had died, when she was five, the house had been ruled by a benevolent tyrant, Mrs. Gooding, who kept it polished and fragrant with the help of a maid several times a week.
Mrs. Gooding was long gone, as was the maid.
Elle had done her best, but the house was big, and the last months of her father’s life had required round the clock care from her. She napped when she could, exhausted, and did the best she could to keep a bare minimum of cleanliness.
Her father had taken ill during the night, and they’d rushed to the hospital, where she’d kept vigil by his side for four days and four nights. Then the funeral.
The house was a mess. A freezing cold mess, because she hadn’t turned the heat on, knowing she’d be away all day.
This time Nick noticed.
He stopped inside the foyer and she stopped with him. His neck bent back as he looked up at the ceiling of the two-story atrium. Once there had been a magnificent Murano chandelier with fifty bulbs, that had blazed as brightly as the sun. Now there was simply a low-wattage light bulb hanging naked from a cord.
The rest of the foyer was naked, too. Watercolors, the huge Chinese rug, the console with the ornate carved mirror atop it, the two Viennese Thonet armchairs on either side of the Art Deco desk with the enormous solid silver bowl full of potpourri—gone.
Nick didn’t react in any way. His face was calm and expressionless.
What was he thinking?
Later, after he’d disappeared, one of her high school classmates said that he’d been earning extra money playing poker with lowlifes, and he always won because he had the best poker face anyone had ever seen.
She was seeing that now. There was no clue to his thoughts.
Perhaps—perhaps she’d hoped to see some softness or gentleness when he looked at her. But no.
She gestured awkwardly toward the back of the house. “Would you—would you like something to drink?”
He nodded his head briefly without saying anything. She turned and walked into the kitchen, knowing he didn’t need her direction. He knew the way.
His showing up had scrambled her brains, but now she forced herself to think, to reason things out. Where had he come from? Had he travelled a long time? Would he stay the night?
Her heart gave a huge thump in her chest at the thought.
“So.” In the kitchen, Elle turned to face him, plastering a smile on her face, making a real effort not to wring her hands. “What can I offer you?”
Oh God.
Too late she realized that there was very little to offer. If he wanted alcohol there was none in the house. Her father had had a fine collection of whiskeys, but they had gone years ago and she had never bought another bottle. There was no food, either, she suddenly remembered. Only a last frozen pizza in the freezer.
“Coffee would be fine.” His voice and eyes were so calm. She tried to cling to that, to calm herself down, but it was hard.
This was Nick. Nick was here, right now, in her kitchen, squinting slightly at the last rays of the sun shining through the kitchen window right into his eyes.
