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“Makaio the big guy?”
“Lucian’s bodyguard.” The dimples in her cheek as she tries to hide a smile tells me he’s something more to her, but I don’t bother to pry. “Anyway, it’s just better if you don’t answer the door.”
“And lock it.” I nod toward the plates she’s stacked on the tray, the food mixed together in one big massive slop. “Do you need help with those?”
“No. Probably best you don’t run into Jose in the kitchen. He tends to be touchy-feely.”
“Ah. Yeah, I’ll pass.”
“Catch up with you later, then.”
It’s almost eight-thirty by the time I reach the elevator, and I’m hoping that Mrs. Blackthorne got enough sleep that she won’t be needing another nap today, because the thought of sitting in the doll room, staring off at the walls, is enough to want to scratch my eyeballs out.
The elevator door opens on Rand, who offers only a half-smile as he exits the car. “I trust you slept well?”
“Yes, thank you. Best sleep I’ve gotten in a while.”
“Very good. And your first day with Mrs. Blackthorne?”
“Uneventful.”
What an understatement.
“I was thinking perhaps you could take her down to the piano room today. She’d love to hear you play.”
“Sure, I can do that.”
“Excellent.” Arms behind his back, he turns to face me, as I step inside the elevator. “The Master has important meetings today, so it’s best if Laura isn’t within earshot. She’s never been fond of business talk.”
“I’ll keep her entertained.”
With a sharp nod, he walks off, and I hit the button for the second floor. The doors open on the familiar doll room, one I’ve come to dread after yesterday, but the deep and hearty laughter I hear is a good sign.
I follow the sound to the most luxurious bedroom I’ve ever laid eyes on. Dark, rich wood furniture with gold trimming, paintings of cherubs and goddesses on the walls and ceilings, with lush greenery dotted about the wide open space. Perhaps the only room brimming with life in this place.
A man stands alongside Laura, where she sits in a wheelchair, allowing him to listen to her heart through the stethoscope.
“Steady as a metronome.” He tugs the ear-tips out and drapes the instrument over his neck. “Except for that slight flutter when I touched your hand.”
With a demure smile, she pretends to push him away. “Oh, stop, you old flirt.” Her gaze lands on me in the doorway, and she waves me over. “Michael, this is my babysitter, Isabelle.”
“Isadora, actually.” I stretch my hand out to him, and when he bends to kiss it, I clear my throat. The desire to pull my hand away twitches my muscles. “I’m her companion.”
“Lucky girl. I’ve wanted to be her companion for many years. Stubborn woman still turns me down.”
A gust of laughter flies out of Laura, and she sets her hand to her chest. “You are shameless, Michael.”
“You must be the doctor?”
Frowning, he tips his head. “What gave you that impression?”
Another burst of laughter, this time from the two of them in unison, leaves me feeling small and stupid.
“I’m only playing with you darling, yes. I’m her longtime physician and friend of the family. Dr. Powell.” He glances down at his watch and huffs. “And I’m afraid if I don’t cut this right now, I’m going to be late for my next appointment.”
“You’re cheating on me?” The flirtatious trill to Laura’s voice is painful to listen to, or maybe I’m just not accustomed to this kind of play. No one flirted with Aunt Midge--not even the fishermen who’re out at sea for months. Not that she’s an unattractive woman. I’m guessing, in her heyday, she was probably quite a catch, but she never tolerated that kind of behavior from the men.
“You know I’m solely devoted to you, Lady Blackthorne.” As he did with me, he bends forward and kisses the back of her hand. “Until we meet again.”
“I’ll be sure to wear something … decent next time.” The raspberry shade of lipstick is smudged in the corner of her lips, and a rose color blush is scattered too low on her pale cheeks, as if she rushed to apply it. “No more unexpected visits.”
“I promise. And I’ve given the new formulation to Nell. I sent her out to pick up the script for you this morning.”
“Excellent.”
I give a tight-lipped smile as he passes, and once he’s out of the room, I notice the sparkle in her eyes has immediately dulled. “I’d like to take you down to the piano room. To play for a bit. Would you like that?”
“I don’t know.” She crosses her hands in her lap and looks away from me. “I may as well go back to bed.”
“No Chopin, then?”
“You know Chopin?” From the corner of her eye, she gives me a onceover. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to come with me to find out, won’t you?”
A harsh breath escapes through her nose, and she rolls her eyes. “If you insist. And then after, I’d like you to put me to bed.”
Taking the handles of her wheelchair, I inwardly groan at the thought of another long and boring afternoon spent counting her dolls.