Chapter Four #2
“I did no such thing.” He straightened his already perfectly postured shoulders, reminding her of the peacock she’d once seen when accompanying Isabelle to a gentile garden party as a child.
“I merely made an offer for our potential mutual benefit, which she declined. I did not press the matter.” His voice was now formal and superior.
“Might I remind you that Solomon Weiss offered for her as well?” Narrowing his eyes at her, he asked, “Are you this hostile to him? Or am I special?”
It took everything in her not to sock him. But she controlled herself. Violence in such circumstances was wrong. Besides, she needed to keep that single hand in working order.
“Sol Weiss has never kidnapped me,” she returned.
“I…” He raised a finger, a strange expression crossing his face, and he dropped his hand to the side. He glanced again at the ceiling, the silence returning as he continued to do whatever—allegedly conjugating—in his head.
“Are you quite finished?” she asked after more than a minute of uncomfortable silence.
However, he did not respond immediately. No, he forced her to wait even longer, with no choice but to stew. She balled her fists, willing herself not to cede any more power.
“For now,” he said finally.
Curiosity itched at her, and she couldn’t help but ask, “What tense?”
He eyed her for a moment.
“Passé composé,” he said. “That’s the French for—”
“It’s informal past indicative,” she finished. “You’d use it for conversation.”
“You are correct, Miss Adler,” he said softly after another pause.
“You sound surprised.” She sniffed, then, catching the odd expression on his face, she asked, “What?”
“Now you’re incorrect,” he said. “I’m not surprised in the slightest. Most people speak quite highly of your facility for knowledge. You’re not good at reading tone apparently.” The smirk returned.
“I read it just fine,” she snapped. “Perhaps you’re the one who’s not good at conveying. Or that your range is rather limited, falling primarily somewhere between self-satisfied and arrogant?”
There was another pause.
“Why don’t you just read the letter?” He gave a weary sigh.
Oy, he was vexing. Awful Roger—Isabelle’s nickname for him from when they’d been children—was an understatement. Speaking of which…
Rebecca flicked open the seal and pulled out the card, squinting down at it. She glanced back at Berab. “Where are my spectacles?”
Rising rather slowly, the man sauntered to a credenza before returning to the bedside, handing her—Rebecca gasped at the cracked left lens and the bent, single temple remaining. What had—
She’d been wearing them when her face collided with the road.
Cursing inside her head, she raised what was left of her spectacles, holding them to her face with her good hand, as she leaned over the card.
Dear Rebecca,
I hope you’re on the mend. I can only imagine the frustration you must feel at what has occurred. This is why Hashem used to open the earth and swallow up our more prominent members when their outsized delusions of grandeur overtook their abilities to uphold their responsibilities.
What has been done to you is unfair. But please, Rebecca, accept the help you need from Roger. It is his responsibility. And while he is not my favorite person, I trust him regarding this matter.
As I promised you prior, no one in the community will poach your patients. And I am confident that Roger shall provide any and all space you need to render supplies when you are able. A few days, or even a week, without that work will not ruin your business or anyone else’s.
Please be well so you might be able to visit, as my relations are lovely, but I most certainly need someone with whom I can be honest without appearing mean-spirited.
Or truly, with someone who does not mind the same.
But only after you’re healed. Remember you’re their guest. Behave like it.
I want you to be in good spirits so you can tell me how exactly far the stick goes up Awful Roger’s arse.
Love always,
Isabelle
Postscript: Your mother does not know what has occurred, as I postulated that permitting you to write her with the news was the preferable course of action. Persuasion was rather easy.
Oy. Her mother.
Her mother was not going to be pleased.
Or more, she was going to needlessly worry and fret instead of enjoying her much-deserved break in Brighton.
What a headache.
Though at least such a problem was in the future instead of now, as her current headache was in the form of the man she’d be stuck living with for the next few weeks, and that was about all she could bear at the moment.
If that.
“I presume everything is settled.” He waved toward a cord attached to a bell on the wall behind her. “I can send in Marguarite, my housekeeper, if you’d like. She’ll act as your maid. You’ll probably desire a bath and to be dressed.”
Ah, yes, words spoken by a man who almost certainly never fully dressed himself and probably couldn’t imagine the same for her.
Given her hours, it had always seemed cruel to call for help when others should be sleeping, and thus she and her mother wore functional but simple garments that fastened in the front so assistance wasn’t required.
Something she’d demonstrated for him seven months ago, actually.
Not that she was thinking of that time.
“I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself,” she retorted, before glancing around. “Where are my things?”
“About that.” He took another audible breath. “While a significant portion of the house survived, the contents of three rooms were not quite so fortunate, that being the room in which the damage occurred and those directly above and below.”
Rebecca attempted to parse his words. Specifically, the identity of the three rooms: her workroom, the secondary parlor below, and her bedchamber.
“Did any of my supplies or personal effects survive?” she managed to ask.
“I don’t believe so.” He pointed toward a corner of the room. “All anyone was able to save was that trunk, which was in the cellar.”
Rebecca gazed at the receptacle used to hold their condom molds, which apparently had fallen through multiple floors. At least it didn’t need to be replaced, so she’d not need to explain its contents to Berab. Her lip twitched at the thought of watching him squirm at being asked to procure such.
But didn’t she deserve a touch of amusement? Especially as her personal effects included her garments and without garments, she was stuck not merely in the house but in the room.
“When shall I be able to dress and with what?” she asked, grinding her teeth once more.