Page 55 of The Number of Love
“That would be lovely.”
“Wonderful. I’m in your debt.” He smiled and reached for a piece of paper, hoping that Red wouldn’t call him on the bluff. Or partial bluff, anyway. Heaven knew Drake couldn’t manage a trip to the shops in his condition, and he hated to keep asking Dot to make stops for him, knowing how eager she always was to get home. But this could work well. It wouldn’t feel like a handout to Red, not if he was doing something for Drake in return for the meal.
If he played it right, he could assure himself that Red was getting at least one solid meal a day. It would do, at least until he could help him find a permanent position.
He would make a list of all his father’s friends whose businesses were still in operation. Perhaps even get the admiral’s opinion—though he’d already asked Hall for one favor for an old friend today. Much as he liked his superior, he didn’t want to push his luck. Someone would know of something though.
The phone jangled. Drake jerked at the unexpected noise and then hissed at the pain that coursed up his side in protest.
Red jumped to his feet. “Shall I answer for you? Or bring it to you?”
“I don’t think it’ll stretch this far, but if you would?” By the time he got to it, it would probably have stopped ringing.
Red picked it up after the third one, though, answering with a chipper “Good morning, Elton residence. Holmes speaking.” He listened for a moment, brows scrunched together. “Hello? Anyone there?” After another moment of listening, he shrugged and hung up. “No one.”
Innocent, surely. A dropped line. It happened often enough. But Drake couldn’t convince his fingers to loosen around his pen. “I imagine whoever it was will call back.” It was the same thing he’d said to Dot on Tuesday night, whenshehad answered to an empty line. No onehadcalled back, though. Not until now.
Drake sucked in a breath and forced himself to get back to his list. He wouldn’t worry over wasted telephone calls. He’d focus instead on helping his friend. Tracking down anything he could on the anthrax question for Margot. And convincing Hall in whatever way he could that he was still useful, even when he couldn’t answer his own blighted phone.
That was certainly worry enough for one day.
17
He waslookingat her. Margot slid another bite of food into her mouth and didnotlook over athim. Despite the all-too-knowing grin that Willa shot her from across the table, proving that Margot wasn’t the only one aware of how Drake’s eyes kept drifting her way when he had absolutely no reason to let them.
Infuriating man. She’d been happy enough to consider him as a likely friend, until he had to go and ruin it all with that flirtation nonsense. She’d hoped he would have let such ridiculousness go by now, but apparently not. Did it never occur to him that she’d like to eat her dinner without someone staring at her and making her too conscious of every bite she took?
Smile, Margot, Maman said in her head.A long look is a compliment, and how do we respond to compliments?
She shot a glare at Willa, since she didn’t want to encourage Drake with even that much attention. Her sister-in-law just chuckled into her water glass, which thankfully went unnoticed by anyone else, since Dot and Holmes and Lukas were all laughing down at their end of the table. She hadn’t caught what had inspired the amusement because she’d been so busy ignoringhim, seated to her right, at the head of the table, that she’d apparently ignored everything else too.
She forked her last bite of chicken and lifted it to her lips. Counted her chews. Swallowed.
And why wasn’t Willa helping her? She, of all people, could commiserate with Margot’s discomfort over having anyone linger so long over herlooks.
Finally, at long last, Willa seemed to have had her fill of smirking and leaned forward. She’d say something biting and clever to him, no doubt. Willa was an expert at biting and clever. Or perhaps she’d just deflect his attention. Strike up a conversation that would force him to pay attention toherrather than to Margot.
So why did she turn her head toward the opposite table end? “Dot, this chicken is divine. May I get the recipe from you? Lucy would love to make it, I know. She considers it her own special challenge to make sure no one in the family notices the shortages.”
Some helpshewas.
Dot, face aglow, launched into a discourse about how pleasurable it had been to learn to cook when she and her aunt got this flat. Had she actually launched into the recipe, Margot might have paid attention—recipes were just mathematics, after all. But they were mathematics she usually happily left to theory.
Other than when she’d come here or gone to Lukas’s, she’d had nothing to eat that required more cooking than porridge since Maman...
It wasn’t lack of ability. It was lack of incentive. Cooking for one just seemed pointless.
“Did you have a happy birthday, Miss De Wilde?” Drake’s question was low, quiet, as if he’d asked a more sensitive question that he wanted no one else to hear.
She gripped her fork. If she didn’t look over at him now, it would be not only rude but telling. Proving she was deliberately ignoring him, and hence paying him attention through her inattention. She blinked and glanced his way. “As happy as could be expected this year. Thank you for asking.”
He smiled. Scientifically, she noted that his color was better this evening and the shadows under his eyes not so deep. According to Dot, he was making great strides of progress.
Good. The sooner he healed, the sooner he’d leave.
He picked up his own water glass but didn’t drink from it. “And how old are you now? My sister didn’t know.”
A question she’d grown tired of answering when she was six. “Two hundred sixty-three.”
