Page 7 of Jane Deyre
I nod.“Oui. Je parle français.”
“Well, my dear Jane Deyre. It looks like you have an additional job. I will double your salary... to fifteen hundred dollars a week.”
I stay silent. Stunned. I’ve barely ever made five hundred a week. I do the math quickly in my head.
Oh my God! Six thousand per month! I already feel like a millionaire. Sign me up for the gala!
Ms. Fairfax pinches her thin lips and looks harshly at Mrs. Rochester. “I think you’re making a mistake. This girl... this woman. She’s not been vetted. We don’t know anything about her credentials. Or her background.”
Inwardly, I shake. If she knew about my background, she might call 911.
The woman keeps her steel-gray eyes on me like a guard dog. “For all we know, she could be a wanted child abductor.”
“What’s an ab-dur-cur?” asks Adele while Mrs. Rochester pales. The slight tremor I noticed earlier is clearly more visible. She shakily takes a long sip of her Cointreau.
“Something, my dear child, you need know nothing about.” She turns to Alice. “That was uncalled for. Miss Deyre looks like a lovely young woman. And besides, she saved Pilote’s life, right, my precious baby boy?” She strokes the longhaired cat’s snow-white fur and I hear him purr.
Unrattled, Ms. Fairfax persists. “Edwina, I will remind you that you found her on the street. She’s nothing more than a piece of riff—”
Mrs. Rochester slams her tumbler on the coffee table. A loud bang. “Enough, Alice.”
As stiff as a board, the social secretary silences. A smile curls on Edwina’s lips. She looks like a woman who’s accustomed to getting her way.
But so does Ms. Fairfax. Defeated, she balls her bony hands and scowls.
“Very well. And where might she be residing?”
I still can’t believe I’m going to be living in this gorgeous Hollywood mansion with one of Hollywood’s greatest legends.
“I think the guesthouse would be perfect. It hasn’t been used in years.”
A muscle in Alice’s jaw twitches. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
Edwina arches her pencil-thin brows. They look like they’re tattooed onto her face. So unlike the thick, dark sculpted brows in the portrait above the mantel. The caterpillar-like brows, similar to my own, that set her apart from other actresses of her era. “And why might that be?”
Alice, aka Ms. Fairfax, evades the question. “I’ll have Grace tidy it up.”
“Excellent.” Edwina polishes off her drink. “That will be all.”
And with that, her social secretary turns on her heel and stomps out of the room, leaving a draft of cold air in her wake.
CHAPTER 3
Jane
With my new charge, Adele, skipping off, I’m left alone again with the formidable Edwina Rochester.
“Dear, please finish your drink. It would be such a shame to waste one bit of this precious nectar.”
My tumbler is still half full; Edwina’s is empty. I’m tempted to offer her the rest of mine, but she doesn’t give me the chance. “Jane, dear, would you be kind enough to pour me some more. I’m so comfortable here and I’d hate to wake my darling fur baby.” Pilote has fallen asleep on her lap.
“Sure, no problem.” Feeling a little tipsy from the small amount of alcohol I’ve consumed, I collect Edwina’s tumbler and make my way to the bar. I return to my seat after handing her the refill. She instantly takes a sip.
“I have a very good feeling about you, Jane. My darling goddaughter has been such a challenge, but it’s understandable. The poor child is motherless.”
I take a swig of my drink. “That must be awful for her.” That I know for a fact. I grew up an orphan. But I didn’t have a fairy godmother to take me in. A wave of sadness sweeps over me, but I wash it away with more of the Cointreau, now glad to have it. It’s smooth and soothing.
“My dear, I’d like you to start right away once you settle in. I’m sure Alice will let me know when the guesthouse is ready.”