Privately, Tony and Claire spoke superficially discussing staff concerns and weather. Their only sincere talks involved Nichol. That was until the night before Nichol’s move. Claire decided she wanted to show Tony something. She didn’t expect a consequence for her compliance; nevertheless, he’d told her there was something she needed to do—something she needed to face. Claire wanted him to know, she’d done it.
Following their nightly visit with Nichol, driving up the winding estate drive, Claire asked, “Do you need to leave right away?”
“I have some work back at the office.”
“It’s after 9:00 PM. Can’t it wait until tomorrow? I have something I’d like to show you.”
“I can’t stay long.”
It wasn’t enthusiastic, but nonetheless, he’d acquiesced. Silently, they entered her home. Claire went from room to room turning on lights. Tony trailed a few steps behind, looking around each open space. It was his first time inside the house since Nichol’s visit. While she and the Vandersols were present, he did a stellar performance, pretending it was his home too.
This house wasn’t as large as the former dwelling; therefore, most of the members of the staff lived in another building on the estate. The only exception was Shannon who now had a room near Nichol’s. Finding each room empty, Tony asked, “Why isn’t someone from the staff here?”
“I gave Shannon the night off, since Nichol is moving in tomorrow, and the rest of the staff is done for the day.”
Tony shook his head. “What do you mean done? They should be here so that you don’t come home to an empty house.”
“That’s ridiculous. Phil’s familiarizing himself with the security and obviously there was a guard at the gate. I’m a big girl.”
He didn’t argue; however, Tony’s posture revealed his displeasure with the way she was overseeing the staff. Claire wanted to say, if you lived here you could do it differently, but since you don’t, it’s my decision. Although the sentence was on the tip of her tongue, she reminded herself of the reason for her invitation and swallowed the words. Baiting him into an argument wasn’t her goal; nevertheless, she couldn’t help the slight bit of sarcasm as she motioned toward the kitchen and said, “Since there’s no one here to wait on you, help yourself to something to drink. The thing I want to show you is upstairs. I’ll be back down in a minute.”
Earlier in the week, her belongings had arrived from Everwood. She’d been through some of it, but she hadn’t opened all the boxes. What she wanted to show Tony was still packed away. Honestly, she hadn’t been sure she’d be brave enough to ask him to stay and see it, but on the drive home, she decided if she were to do it—it should happen before Nichol’s move.
Hurriedly, Claire searched box after box. Aware of her internal time clock, she didn’t want to make Tony wait too long. When she reached the bottom of the last box, Claire found what she’d sought. From the surface, they didn’t appear to be anything special—your garden variety spiral notebooks; however, both she and Tony had learned years ago that things weren’t always as they appeared. As she freed the notebooks from the other items, she felt Tony behind her.
He hadn’t touched her, but her increased pulse told her he was there. For the first time since the day of his divorce declaration, every fiber of her body surged with electricity. Without turning, she said, “I’m sorry it took so long. I thought I knew where they were.”
Trying to remain unaffected by the familiar, yet recently unaccustomed feeling, Claire stood. When their eyes met, she fought to breathe—her lungs momentarily needing direction—inhaling took effort. Determined to stay strong, she looked directly into Tony’s black eyes as unbridled hunger consumed her. The intensity of the gaze staring back at her instantly reminded Claire of her captor—not the one who took her body—the one who took her heart. Pretending to remain aloof, she pressed forward and presented her notebooks. “Here they are.”
He tried to subdue the hunger boiling within him. As he watched her walk bravely toward him, he felt the intensity behind his eyes grow. Reaching for the notebooks, he asked, “What are these?”
“My compartments.”
Tony opened the top notebook. “Your compartments? What do you...?” His words trailed as he began to read—