Page 105 of Jane Deyre
“Ms. Fairfax, I’ve found people who have nothing to say are hiding something.”
That subtle tic in her jaw that I’ve noticed once before manifests itself. An edge creeps into her voice. “Detective, I havenothingto hide.”
She tugs at the hem of her jacket as if she’s trying to cover something up. On my next breath, I hear a meow. And the sultry voice I know so well.
Edwina. Wearing a shimmering cerise caftan and matching turban, and fully made up, she swans into the room, slowly but steadily with the help of her cane. Upon her entrance, both Billings and Mancuso rise. Passing by Ms. Fairfax, she heads straight over to the detectives, with Pilote trailing her, and gives Billings an effusive double-cheek kiss. After what happened tonight, I would expect her to look shaken, but she’s not. Maybe she was earlier and took something to calm down. A sedative or a drink.
“My dear detective, can I get you something else to drink? Perhaps some Cointreau?”
He chuckles. “A beer would be great, but you know I never drink on the job. Oh, and by the way, the missus is thrilled to be going to your retrospective. We both are and can’t wait to read your memoir. She’s already bugging me about buying her a new dress to wear. And for me to get my tux altered.” He pats his belly. “Heh-heh. I’ve put on a few since the last time I wore it.”
Ms. Fairfax’s brows shoot up. Her taut-as-a-tightrope forehead looks like it may snap in half. “What!?Theyweren’t on the list of invitees!”
Edwina flicks her wrist dismissively. “Calm down, Alice. I personally invited Detective Billings and his wife. In fact, make a note. I want them to have VIP seats.”
Her social secretary huffs and then gives the detective a long, dirty look.
“Detective, this is way past Mrs. Rochester’s bedtime. It’s not good for her health. I suggest you leave now and return later in the week.”
Edwina stamps her cane on the floor. “Alice, please. I am not a five-year-old. You have no right telling me what time I should go to bed. And for your information, most nights I don’t go to sleep until two a.m.” She gestures dramatically. “The night has just begun.”
Ms. Fairfax silences. Her body stiffening, her thin lips tightening.
Edwina’s vision shifts to me. “You poor darling. You’ve gone through so much. Thank God my godson was there to spare your life.” She eyes the bandage on my neck. “How are you feeling, dear?”
“I’m fine.” Am I really? I was almost stabbed to death, still don’t know if I’m delusional, and the man I love is married.
At the very thought of him, he appears. Freshly showered, his hair slicked back, clad in sweats and a Yale T-shirt. His beautifully formed feet bare. His facial hair trimmed, he looks rejuvenated, nothing like the weary-looking, bearded man who came to my rescue. The man who kept his word when he said he would kill John Reed if he ever came near me. I will be honest, reader. While I’ve been answering Detective Billings’s questions, I’ve had to train my mind not to think about Mr. Rochester. The utter lack of gratitude I showed him after he saved my life. His deceit overpowering me. The love-hate I feel for him. Despite my mixed emotions, my heartbeat accelerates and my nerve endings buzz at the sight of him. His eyes meet mine for a brief moment and then move to Detective Billings. I’m sure he wants nothing to do with me. I can’t blame him given the way I treated him. Plus, he belongs to someone else.
“Detective, how is Jane doing?” he asks to my surprise.
“We’re done. Everything she said corroborates your story. Neither of you will be charged with any form of manslaughter. You are both free to leave at your own will.”
Avoiding eye contact with Mr. Rochester, I rise to my feet. “I guess I’ll head back to the guesthouse.”
Detective Billings: “I’m afraid that’s not possible. It’s a crime scene. My people will be there all night.”
“Oh, then I guess I’ll call an Uber and stay at a motel.”
“My dear, you will do nothing of the sort!” declares Edwina.
“My godmother is right,” says Ward, striding toward me. “Jane Deyre, you’re staying here tonight...
“With. Me.” Two sharp syllables. Emotive and emboldened.
The social secretary’s jaw drops to the floor. So does mine. Before she—or I for that matter—can utter a word, Detective Billings tells her to take a seat. He has some questions to ask her.
Lowering herself onto the couch, she shoots eye daggers at me. The cat’s out of the bag. Suddenly, I feel faint and wobble on my legs. Maybe it’s because I stood up too fast and haven’t eaten a thing all day. Or am experiencing a latent reaction to this evening’s traumatic events? Or a swoony reaction to Mr. Rochester’s presence?
My knees about to buckle, he swoops me up in his arms. Despite myself, I melt into him, too weak to protest. Too weak to pay any attention to Ms. Fairfax.
Carrying me out of the room, Mr. Rochester looks over his shoulder.
“Thank you, Detective. Kindly do me one favor. I know you’ll want to bag the book as evidence, but please have your people return it to me... and the portrait they’ll find. The book is Jane’s. The portrait is mine. They mean a lot to us.”
“Mancuso,” I hear the detective say, “call Samson and tell her to look out for those things. I want them carefully bagged and returned to me before we leave the premises.”
I watch as Mancuso does as he’s asked.