Chapter 3 - THE MAN EATING DINNER DOWNSTAIRS
Damian did not storm into the dining room.
That frightened Clara more than if he had.
He folded Joanne’s letter carefully and put it inside his jacket.
Then he said, “You’re going back to the kitchen.”
Clara stared at him.
“No.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“No?”
“I spent twenty years not knowing what happened to my mother.”
“And now you’re standing in a house full of armed men.”
“Exactly.”
“You think that makes arguing with me intelligent?”
“I didn’t come here because I’m intelligent.”
For one second, his mouth almost moved.
Then the expression disappeared.
“Why did you come?”
“To find the truth.”
“You took a housekeeping job under your real name.”
“I wanted someone to recognize it.”
“I did.”
“Eleven months later.”
That landed.
Damian stepped closer.
“If Anthony framed Joanne, he cannot know who you are until I understand why.”
“He already heard my name in the kitchen.”
“Then we find out what he does next.”
Damian returned to dinner.
Clara went back downstairs but stopped outside the service door.
Through the narrow opening, she watched him take his seat.
Anthony Costello sat three chairs away.
Sixty-three.
Silver hair.
Expensive dark suit.
He smiled easily and spoke like a beloved uncle.
Victoria Kensington sat beside him.
That bothered Clara.
She had assumed Victoria was merely a wealthy socialite desperately trying to become Damian’s wife.
Now she wondered why Anthony seemed so comfortable with her.
Chef Gerard touched Clara’s arm.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
He looked toward Damian.
“Nothing does not normally involve the boss taking a maid upstairs during a peace dinner.”
“Then tonight is special.”
Gerard gave her a strange look.
“You sound like Joanne.”
Clara froze.
“You knew my mother?”
His face went blank.
Too late.
“You knew her.”
“I was a dishwasher then.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I didn’t know who you were.”
“My surname is Hughes.”
“There are many Hugheses.”
Clara didn’t believe him.
Gerard looked toward the dining room.
Then lowered his voice.
“Your mother saved my life.”
“What?”
“Not here.”
Before she could ask more, Victoria entered the kitchen.
Her heels clicked against tile.
She looked directly at Clara.
“Mr. Costello wants coffee.”
Gerard moved toward the machine.
Victoria stopped him.
“I said Clara.”
Clara felt the warning immediately.
Still, she prepared the tray.
Victoria watched her.
“You caused quite a scene with that pie.”
“I baked dessert.”
“You embarrassed me.”
“You said you baked it.”
Victoria smiled without warmth.
“You should learn something about this house. People survive longer when they let powerful people take credit.”
Clara met her eyes.
“My mother taught me the opposite.”
Something flickered across Victoria’s face.
Recognition.
Fear.
Then she turned away.
As she did, Clara noticed a thin gold chain around her neck.
A small pendant rested against her collarbone.
A diamond bracelet charm.
Clara had seen it before.
In a photograph of Damian’s mother.
It was the miniature replica of the bracelet Joanne had supposedly stolen twenty years ago.
May you like
And when Clara asked where Victoria got it, she smiled.
“Anthony Costello gave it to my mother.”
