Page 5 of The Lost Heiress
Ana considered this for a moment. “Yes, Tuesday is fine,” she said, still not fully believing it. “I can do Tuesday.”
“Wonderful,” Jacqueline said. “I’ll send the starting paperwork to your address.” She handed her a crisp bill. “For the valet.”
Ana took it, still trying to recover from her confusion. “Thank you,” she said.
“And, Ana?” Jacqueline said, her voice very serious.
“Yes?”
“Remember—don’t be nice.Theycertainly won’t be.”
Ana pulled to the end of the drive, where it opened up into a motor court. She parked in front of the stone steps that led up to the grand front doors.
“You can do this,” she said to herself, her hands braced on the steering wheel. She took a deep breath. “I can do this.”
Ana pulled her duffel bag over her shoulder and tugged her suitcase out of the trunk. She looked up at the cold stone house, which did nothing to welcome her. If anything, the windows, with their wrought iron grills, looked like judgmental eyes glaring down at her. A chilly coastal breeze pushed up against the house, and Ana shivered.
She made her way laboriously up the front steps, hauling both bags herself. By the time she reached the top, she was out of breath. Hershoulder was sore where the strap of her bag dug into it. She went to ring the doorbell, but before she could, the door swung open.
A middle-aged woman stood there, dressed in a black dress and sturdy black oxfords, her hair pulled back into a sharp chignon at the base of her neck. Ana couldn’t help but wonder if the woman had been there the whole time, watching her struggle up the steps.
“Oh, hello,” Ana said. She put her suitcase down and shifted the bag on her shoulder to free up her hand, which she extended to the woman with a friendly smile. “I’m Ana Rojas, the new caretaker. You must be Mrs. Talbot?”
Mrs. Talbot only looked at her. She did not return Ana’s smile or extend her hand. “The help’s motor court is around the side of the house, by the kitchen,” she said and then promptly shut the door in Ana’s face.
Ana stood there a moment, shell shocked at the greeting. If she had not been warned about Mrs. Talbot’s temperament, she might have thought she was playing a joke on her, some sort of initiation prank. Ana stood there for a full minute, waiting for the door to open again, to be admitted into the house, and when she wasn’t, she turned and laboriously lugged her duffel and suitcase back down the stairs to her car.
She was still out of breath when she unloaded them again a few minutes later in the cobbled motor court along the side of the house.
“Leave your things and your keys with the car,” Mrs. Talbot called from the kitchen doorway.
Ana looked over to see her standing in the doorframe, her arms folded sternly across her chest, as if Ana had crossed her once again.
“I’ll have Manny bring them up to your room,” Mrs. Talbot said.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Ana said, her grip tightening on the handle of her duffel. “I don’t have that much. I can get them.”
“Shall I have Manny leave early, then, without pay, since you’re determined to do his job for him?” Mrs. Talbot asked. “Will you cook and clean as well? Should I tell the maid and the chef to go home, too,since you’re perfectly capable of cleaning a toilet and making toast? Shall I let go of the whole staff?”
“Oh, no, I wasn’t—” Ana said.
“You’re dawdling,” Mrs. Talbot said. “I have much to do and very little time, and if you put me off my schedule, I shall be cross indeed, and none of the staff will thank you for that.”
Ana hesitated a moment, not wanting to let go of her bag, to leave it there in the custody of a complete stranger. What kind of place was this, after all? Who were these people? Would they riffle through her things—out of instruction or idle curiosity—or, perhaps, even unpack them for her, all her underwear and socks, her nightgown, touched by strange hands? Ana shivered at the invasion. But what choice did she have? She couldn’t risk upsetting Mrs. Talbot further; if she protested at all, it would seem like she was being unruly. So Ana reluctantly put her duffel bag and suitcase back into the trunk for the third time that day and left her key in the trunk lock.
“I would prefer to unpack the bags myself,” Ana said as she joined Mrs. Talbot in the kitchen. “If that’s all right.”
Mrs. Talbot gave her a wild, disapproving look. “We’re not here to wait on you hand and foot, if that’s what you’re expecting,” she said.
Relief washed over Ana, and she realized she had been holding her breath. “Oh, no, of course not,” Ana said.
She glanced around at the kitchen. It was the largest kitchen she had ever been in, and she had worked for a summer at the Desert Grille, a steak house in San Bernardino that sat a hundred. There was a long rectangular warming-and-prep table running down the middle, and along one side of the room stood a stainless steel three-compartment sink and drainboard, cabinets housing the dinnerware and glasses, chests of flatware, a commercial twelve-burner gas range with a griddle and two convertible ovens. There were four large refrigerators lined up in a row and, beyond that, a pantry. It was an industrial-size kitchen, meant for serving large parties, not just catering to a family home.
“We have a way of doing things here, as you’ll quickly learn,” Mrs. Talbot said. “I trust you won’t be disruptive and that you won’t question my authority again. I will not tolerateinsubordinatecharacters.”
“Yes,” Ana said quickly. “I mean, no. I didn’t mean to be difficult.”
“Very well,” Mrs. Talbot said and then went on. “Breakfast is served at eight o’clock sharp on weekdays, nine a.m. on weekends. Lunch is at noon, dinner at seven p.m. You’ll eat with Saoirse in the dining room or on the terrace if the weather permits. Tea is served at three thirty p.m. in the blue room,” Mrs. Talbot rattled on, barely pausing for breath.
