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A large hand waves, dismissing my question, then we’re back on the staircase, slogging all the way to the top floor. He’s still carrying my duffel bag, and it shifts against his shoulder with each lurching step. I get the bizarre urge to reach out and spread a hand over his back.
Not to steady him. Tofeelhim. Bet his skin is warm under that shirt; bet his muscles feel good as they flex.
“You’ll figure it out. It’s not rocket science. But you need to see the top floor for your work tomorrow.”
Right. Work. As an artist’s assistant.Thisartist’s assistant.
What are the chances he’s more patient when his paintings are on the line?
“Supplies are in here, mostly.” Mr Grangemoor raps on the first door frame we come to. “You’ll need to keep them well stocked. Make sure you order supplies weeks in advance, because deliveries are slow in the mountains.”
I nod quickly.
“I draw in here sometimes.” A door swings open under his palm, but the room is too dim to see properly. My employer limps further down the corridor. “And I work in here sometimes… or in here… the light is best inherein the afternoons…”
Apparently every room on the top floor is some kind of studio. I stumble after my new boss in a daze, groggy with tiredness after my long day. The air is clogged with dust, even up here. Job number one for tomorrow? Find a cleaning service—or failing that, a vacuum cleaner.
“This,” Mr Grangemoor says, spreading a scarred hand over the final door in the corridor, “leads to my private quarters. Never, ever go in here. If I’m in these rooms, I’m not to be disturbed. Do you understand?”
I bite my tongue and nod. Like he said, it’s not rocket science. Besides, what does he think I’m gonna do? Run into his bedroom on a Sunday morning and bounce on the bed to wake him up? Demand a walk like a puppy?
My duffel is pushed into my arms. I blink up at my new boss, and he glowers back down at me.
With clear reluctance, he says, “I’m glad you’re here, Miss…”
“Turner. Helen Turner.”
And he’s a big ol’ liar. Those words might as well have been forced out of him at knife point. But hey, he’s the one who put the advert in the paper; he’s the one who needs an assistant. Me, I just want space and time to draw without worrying about making rent, and this job is perfect for that. Cranky employer or not, this is the dream.
“Okay. Night, boss.”
Rufus Grangemoor grimaces as I spin on one heel, heading back along the creaky corridor.
His eyes follow me all the way out of view. The weight of them makes the back of my neck tingle.
Two
Rufus
Iwake just after dawn to the muffled scream of the vacuum cleaner. It bellows along the corridor outside my room, getting louder as it comes close. The door rattles as it thumps against the wood.
“Oops,” someone says out there, then bashes the door once more.
Jesus.
She’s cleaning already. Helen, or whatever her name is. Miss Turner. She’s only been here for one night, and already she’s digging out the cleaning equipment, probably dusting bookshelves and laundering curtains, like she’s the lady of the house and not some overreaching assistant. Houseproud after one night.
Hasn’t she realized there’s no point? It’s not like we’ll get any visitors out here.
“Fuck,” I mutter, mashing my head against the pillow and yanking the covers over my head. “Fuck.”
I’ve slept for two hours, maybe. Three at a stretch. My leg ached so badly in the night, I had to bite down on my pillow not to howl.
It’s no comfort, but I did this to myself. Hired some busybody without bothering to take references, too relieved that someone accepted the job; set her up in my home rather than in town. Why didn’t I rent her a room and drive to collect her each day?
Because I’m not a goddamn nanny, that’s why. The mattress springsplunkas I roll to one side with a groan, swinging my feet down to the drafty floor. My bad leg’s extra stiff this morning, the thigh muscle knotted harder than bone, and I shouldn’t have tried to hide my limp yesterday. Who exactly was I trying to fool? Or even worse: to impress?
The vacuum roars out in the corridor. It jars the door one final time, then retreats back the way it came.
