“Everything is so far away in this house. You learn to carry as much as you can to limit the trips.”
She backed into a side door and laid the silver on a broad, high worktable. “Here it is.”
I rolled the candles off my makeshift laptop tray and onto the table. The business center was a fourteen-by-fourteen room, a little larger than the Green Room’s bathroom. It felt like a butler’s pantry that covered all the bases from the seventeenth century to the twenty-first.
In one corner sat a state-of-the-art scanner-printer-copier-fax machine. Above it resided the house’s modem, router, amplifier, and bins for assorted cables. And a twenty-seven-inch plasma monitor and a thirteen-inch laptop stood on a narrow side table. In the center, at which we stood, sat a high worktable, four feet square with a polished wood top. The top was at least two inches thick and formed by woodcuts pressed together, like a fancy cutting board. It was oiled to a velvety finish. Cupboards lined three of the four walls, a paned window was centered on the fourth, and a single armchair with a small circular table beside it was tucked into a corner. It was a perfect little oasis.
“We use it for odd jobs like sewing, polishing silver, and ruling the modern world.” She nodded to my computer. “May I quickly polish this silver, or is your work private?”
“Not at all. Please stay.”
Sonia polished; I checked e-mails and wrote one to Dr. Milton. Sonia whittled the ends of new candles to place within the candelabra. I rewired two green lamps I found resting on the side table.
“Gertrude would die if she knew I had you working.”
“Don’t tell her. I love this stuff.” I laid down the pliers as a knock drew our attention to the door.
Nathan peeked in. “I’ve been searching for you . . . Hey, Sonia.”
“Hello, Mr. Hillam.” Sonia fitted the last candle into place.
“Tilney now.” He leaned across the table on his elbows to her. “You can call me Henry, but only in private. I wouldn’t want Mrs. Jennings to hear you, because despite what you may hope, Sonia, we can’t marry. I have to go back to America someday.”
Sonia giggled, hoisted the candelabra high, and left us.
“You are such a flirt.” I twisted the last wire and reseated the lamp’s neck.
“As if you ever noticed.” Nathan circled the table and climbed onto the stool next to me. He pulled the cord on the lamp I’d already fixed. On. Off. On. Off. “This is some room. What do you say we bring Isabel in here, show her all the tech, and wake her up? Turn on all the screens? Show her YouTube?”
“I don’t think it works that way.” I twisted the lamp’s neck into place and continued to my real questions. “Did I really miss something? You flirted with me?”
“When I first arrived at WATT, yes. It was highly unprofessional, but I couldn’t help myself. You never noticed. I figured you had a boyfriend. That was an easier blow to the ego than you didn’t like me.”
“Like you!” My exclamation surprised us both.
“You have resurrected my ego.” Nathan’s face split into a broad grin. “What was it then? Your focus was definitely elsewhere.”
I almost quipped that he’d been too subtle, that it hadn’t been my fault. But Moira closed my mouth before I opened it. Everyone can see the way he looks at you. Why do you give him the Heisman every day? Instead I offered him a clueless head shake—it was all I had.
Nathan laid a palm on my closed computer. “Do you have more work you need to do?”
“Just a couple e-mails I need to send. I was using the lamps to work out answers to a few of Benson’s questions, but I can send them later.” I placed the harp into its sockets and spun on the finial.
“Send them now. I’m in no rush.” Nathan pushed away from the table and flopped into the armchair. He grabbed the book resting on its side table. “I’ll wait for you.” He twisted the book to see the spine. “Of course. Pride and Prejudice.”
“I think they have one in every room.”
“And why not? It’s a manual for life—setting right pride, prejudice, misconceptions, and self-illusions. Also some good fun. Right now I’m going to take my cue from Caroline Bingley and sit here and admire you while I pretend to read.”
I blinked; he laughed.
“Well, go on . . . Get to work.”
I opened my computer and got to work. Although I was focused on Benson’s questions, I was also acutely aware of Nathan. He filled the room. I felt him lean back and I heard the book’s spine creak upon opening.
The silence smoothed out until I came to a marketing question.
“Hey . . . TCG.” I looked up and instantly regretted using Isabel’s nickname.
Nathan’s eyes remained fixed on the book, but they took on a hard quality, then within the same heartbeat, a hurt one. He cleared it as his gaze met mine.
“I . . . I have a marketing question for you.”
“Shoot . . . But you must know what those letters mean.”
“Tall Consultant Guy.”
He dropped his head as if disappointed by my dishonesty. “I’m not an idiot, Mary, and by your expression, you know the truth too. TCG. Third. Choice. Guy.”
“That’s why you said that earlier. Third. How’d you find out? And if you knew . . . why’d you continue to go out with her? Why for six—” I left the question hanging, as I didn’t know how to end it.
Nathan laid the book in his lap. “She was talking to Tiffany about someone being a first choice guy. Then I caught my picture with the initials on her contacts list one day. It wasn’t hard to put it together. As for your other question, it was never serious. It was more to keep either of us from being odd man out with all the couples we knew. And she was persistent; she kept calling.” He gestured to me. “I get why now. But why did I keep saying yes? I—” He folded his lips in. “Total honesty here? It was probably ego. An attempt to prove I was more. No one wants to be third choice, even if they couldn’t care less about being any choice.”
“I shouldn’t have asked you to come.” I rested my elbows on the table, head in hands. I recalled Nathan’s stories from earlier. His grandfather was right. How people treat you is more about themselves than about you. Nathan and Isabel were more about Isabel, or even about Isabel and me, than anything else. Me and Nathan? I’d wanted help, I’d wanted to confront Isabel, I’d wanted . . . I looked up at him. Nathan. I’d wanted Nathan. And now he was here, smack between me and Isabel, and he was hurt and it was my fault. I’d made it about me. I raised my head. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t ask, remember? I kinda forced it on you.”
“You did.” I couldn’t offer a smile. He gave me one anyway.
Nathan pushed out of the armchair and joined me at the table. He leaned against the side directly across from me and, elbows to table, our heads were about twelve inches apart.