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“We’ll inspect the house together. Show me your security protocols.”
“Is that something I’m supposed to have?”
She didn’t catch his response but gathered it was neither flattering nor safe for children’s ears.
“What do you usually do when you first get home?”
“Go into the kitchen.”
“Show me.”
She nodded, walking through the mud room, kicking off her shoes, then climbing the staircase into the hallway. There was no door at the top of the stairs, and she spun, moving into the large, airy open-plan kitchen and lounge area. She placed her handbag on an armchair as she went.
The house was immaculate – less attributable to Max’s preference for order than a hardworking housekeeper who made sure the clutter was put away each day. Max rubbed her neck as she walked. She’d much prefer to get into yoga gear and put on a movie, order Uber Eats and relax, but she couldn’t pull out of her plans. It wouldn’t be fair to Bettina, and on top of that, there was someone out there who was trying to terrify her, and she refused to let them think she was cowered.
“There’s no alarm system?”
Her eyes flicked to his.
“There is an alarm system.”
“You don’t set it?”
“There’s a housekeeper here all day,” she defended, aware how naïve that must sound to someone like this.
“Alice Holmes?”
Of course he knew about Alice.
“She’s here on her own throughout the day?”
“No. I have a team. Gardeners, a cook, someone who does my laundry and my driver; there are seasonal changes. In summer, she hires more gardeners, or when I’m travelling she pares back to a skeleton staff. Alice is the only full time staff member though, the others come and go.”
“And each has a key and access to the alarm?”
“It’s not a key, it’s one of those pincode door things. You know, where you press in a number? The number gets changed every few days, and Alice is in charge of that. Many’s the time I haven’t even known how to get into my own damned house,” she said with a soft laugh, pulling open the fridge and removing a bottle of wine. She grabbed two glasses on autopilot, but Noah moved closer, putting a hand over the top of one before she could fill it.
“Right, you’re working.” She grimaced. “I’ll try not to drive you to drink this week then.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
“Alcoholic?”
“No.”
She frowned, pouring herself a generous measure of pinot gris and lifting it to her lips, inhaling it before taking a hefty gulp. She closed her eyes, letting the flavour seep through her body, into her exhausted cells.
“You do this every night?”
“Usually. Or make a tea,” she felt compelled to defend. “It really depends on the kind of day I’ve had and what I’m doing that night. I always come into the kitchen first.”
“Fine. Then what?”
“I don’t know, Noah. I’m not someone who lives like clockwork. My life is chaotic.”
