Interpreting this to mean I was to follow her, I stood up, making a motion to do so. She preceded me out the door, and I closed it behind her. "I won't be long," I called.
A few minutes later, I found Mrs. Hopewell waiting for me on the second-floor landing.
"I hope that Mr. Westbrook has been told about me," I said, as we descended the stairs. "Mr. Trent seemed rather startled yesterday."
"He has been informed," the housekeeper replied coolly. "He knows who you are."
"Good."
It was curious, I thought, that Mrs. Hopewell had made the long trek up to the third floor to fetch me rather than employing the intercom, or Henry, or the young man I had noticed at her beck and call in the kitchen earlier. Of course, that is the problem with wanting to be in control-it requires a great deal of personal effort.
"Mrs. Hopewell, do you still live in the house?"
"Yes."
"If I remember correctly, you are in the section that connects to Mrs. Caulfield's wing, the second floor of it."
She glanced sideways at me. "You must remember a great deal from your time here."
"Just bits and pieces," I replied. "I don't think I could draw a map of the house or the estate, but I do seem to know how to get from one place to the next."
She waited till we reached the bottom of the steps, then turned toward me, blocking my path with her foot. Her muddy brown eyes had a peculiar shine to them. "I am sure your mother filled you in on many things."
"No, after we left Mason's Choice, she and I never talked about the place." I saw no reason to inform Mrs. Hopewell that we never talked at all.
The woman's nostrils quivered, as if she could sniff the truth, then she ushered me to the office and gave a quick double rap on the door.
"Thank you, Louise," a voice called from within.
She opened the door.
"Katie Vefterelli," Adrian Westbrook greeted me, rising from behind the desk as I stepped inside the room. "All grown-up! What an enchanting sight you are! Welcome back, Katie," he said, taking my hands warmly, then cocking his head slightly to the right, as if looking over my shoulder. "That will be all, Louise."
Mrs. Hopewell turned abruptly and exited.
"The door, Louise," he called after her.
It was closed. I imagined her listening through the keyhole.
"Hello, Mr. Westbrook."
"Mr. Westbrook? Have we suddenly become formal? Must I now call you Miss Venerelli? Don't you remember, child, you insisted on calling me Adrian, no matter how many times your parents corrected you. You said you liked the name much better. You're not going to change that, are you?"
"Well-" "I'd be insulted-l'd feel like a doddering old man if you called me Mr. Westbrook. I'm already old and will be doddering soon enough, as I'm sure they've told you. They're all abuzz about my impending demise. It's a wonder they haven't put tags on the furniture, claiming their loot. But don't you make me a relic before I have to be."
His blue eyes had lost none of their spark, and his white hair, though shorter than in his pictures, was still thick. He hasn't had radiation recently, I thought. His color was poor, as was my father's, but despite illness and age, he was a handsome man, having the large, even features Robyn had inherited, plus a sense of humor, which she hadn't. The lines engraved in his face traced amusement rather than frustration and anger.
"You look wonderful," I said honestly.
"You've worked one day and you want a raise?"
"You know that isn't true. And you know that what I said, is."
He smiled. It was nice to feel at ease with someone in the house. I had liked Adrian as a child and found that I still liked him now.
He gestured for me to sit down, then took a seat himself. "My condolences on the loss of your father."
"Thank you."
"And your mother, how is she?"
"I haven't seen her since I was five."
For the second time in two days, I had someone gazing at me incredulously.
I knew she and Luke had separated, but I assumed…" He didn't complete his sentence. "So you are on your own," he said. "That can't be easy."
"I can handle it."
One corner of his mouth turned up slightly. "I have no doubt."
"I do have one matter relating to my father, which I need to take care of," I went on. From my pocket I pulled out the ring. "He asked me to return this to you."
Adrian stared at it. "Good Lord."
"You recognize it?"
"Yes, of course. It was my grandmother's."
I don't know why my father took it," I said, shifting in my seat uncomfortably. "All I know is that I am supposed to return it."
I laid it on the table next to Adrian, since he didn't seem inclined to take it There was a faraway look in his eyes.
"It would really help me," I continued, "if you could tell me why Dad had it. I never knew him to be a thief."
"Oh, Katie, of course he wasn't a thief," Adrian said, picking up the ring, then placing it in his desk drawer. "Luke was an artist, with an artist's temperament, as I am sure you know."
"Yes…."
"I'm equally sure I wasn't the only client your father accused of failing to appreciate his genius."
I smiled a little. "You weren't."
"He left here in an artistic huff. I suppose he took the ring, fearing that I wouldn't make good on the work he had completed for me. I did, eighteen months later, when he surfaced in England, painting for an old college chum of mine."
I frowned. "He should have returned the ring then."