He nodded as if he understood that perfectly, as if he understood more than most people the need for a space that was entirely your own.
“Very well,” he said.
He stood, which meant the conversation was over, and extended his hand. Rebecca stood and shook it. His handshake was firm and brief.
“Grace will show you around the house today,” he said. “She will explain the routine. You can begin properly next Monday. That gives you a few days to arrange your things.”
“Thank you, sir,” Rebecca said.
He gave a small nod and turned to walk back toward his study. Then he stopped, just for a moment, without turning around.
“Rebecca,” he said.
“Sir?”
A pause, short but noticeable, as if he had started a sentence and then changed his mind about how to finish it.
“Welcome,” he said simply.
And he walked away down the hall.
Grace was waiting in the kitchen, standing by the counter with a glass of cold water, trying very hard to look like she had not been listening.
“Well?” she whispered the moment Rebecca came in.
“He said I can start Monday,” Rebecca said.
Grace pressed both hands together and looked up at the ceiling. “Thank God.”
Then she put the glass of water in Rebecca’s hand. “Drink. You looked nervous.”
“I wasn’t nervous,” Rebecca said, and then took a long sip of water.
Grace laughed quietly. “Come. Let me show you everything before he hears us talking and comes out.”
They moved through the house room by room, Grace explaining each one in a low, efficient voice, the way someone passes on something they have spent years learning.
The kitchen first. “He has his eggs scrambled. Not wet, not dry. In the middle. 2 minutes on the heat after you turn it down, then off. Brown toast, not white. Orange juice in a glass, not a cup.”
She opened a cabinet and pointed to where each thing lived. “Every single thing goes back exactly where it came from. He knows if it doesn’t.”
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