“Indeed.” Eldon sniffed. “I should like to remind you that nothing is to be removed from the library—”
“Of course.”
“And please do not touch anything you do not feel you need for your project. Some of these items are quite valuable—”
“Of course.”
“And then I must remind you—”
“Not to open the doors and let the sunlight in because the books will turn to dust. Right.” He’d told her that not five minutes ago. She wasn’t likely to forget. “Do you want to warn me not to feed Mogwai after midnight?”
He stared at her.
“Never mind. Eighties joke.” Gretchen put her hands on her hips, trying not to show her excitement. She couldn’t wait to explore this place, but that wouldn’t happen with Eldon hovering. She needed to act like this was no big deal, and as soon as his back was turned, then she could do all the leisurely exploring she wanted. Time to seem bored.
Gretchen feigned a yawn. “So where are the letters?”
“Right this way.” Eldon made his way to the back of the room and gestured at a matching rosewood secretary desk. She’d seen furniture like this, but only in antique stores or museums. The legs were spindly and painted with delicate designs, and as she watched with growing delight, Eldon opened the desk, revealing a flat writing surface and myriad cubbies used for mail. “This desk has been designated for your work area.”
“Mmmhmm.” She tried to seem casual and unexcited, even though she wanted nothing more than to sit down and run her hands along the wood.
“The letters are in this trunk.”
Gretchen glanced politely at the large steamer trunk set up next to the desk. “The container that holds the letters is in the trunk?”
“No,” Eldon said. “The letters are in the trunk.” He leaned over and flipped open the lid, revealing the contents.
There were letters, all right. She’d been expecting a lot of letters, of course. Maybe she just hadn’t properly visualized exactly how many letters. This trunk was filled top to bottom with envelopes, all neatly left in slit-open envelopes and lined up like playing cards. There had to be more than several hundred letters in that freaking trunk, maybe even a few thousand.
Her mouth fell open and she moved to the trunk, staring at the contents. “All these?”
“All these,” Eldon agreed. “They are cataloged by year.”
“I see that,” she murmured, touching a small tab separating a line of the envelopes. It was labeled 1885. She did a quick glance down the row, looking at the tabs to get an idea of the scope of the project. They started with 1872 and continued all the way up until 1902. “Are there really thirty years of letters in here?”
“So it seems.”
Holy crap! Okay, so she hadn’t been initially excited about this project, but now she was fascinated. What could these two letter writers have to talk about for thirty years that would have been so interesting that the letters were carefully kept and preserved for all this time? “When can I start?”
“You can start tomorrow.”
***
“You’re fine with me going back to work and leaving you here?” Audrey awkwardly patted Igor’s wrinkly little head, then returned to brushing her hair, readying for work.
The hairless cat meowed and rubbed against her hand in response.
Gretchen, still lolling on the bed in her pajamas, patted the blanket to call the cat. She didn’t have a day job like Audrey. She didn’t have to get out of her pajamas if she didn’t want to. “I’m fine. I start the letters today, and if this weekend is any indication, Eldon’s the only one I’ll ever see. Mr. Buchanan is either avoiding us or not in residence, and either way suits me fine,” she lied.
After all, she knew the truth—not only was Mr. Buchanan in residence, but he was totally, completely avoiding Gretchen.
She knew why, of course. She’d seen the man naked as could be. Strangers tended to frown on that sort of thing, after all.
But Audrey didn’t know any of that. If her sister did find out, she’d insist that Gretchen leave at once. Audrey was a bit prudish about that sort of thing. Growing up, the twins had been models of decorum, and Gretchen had been the wild child. Now all the wildness had gone out of Gretchen and seemed to have slid into Audrey’s twin, Daphne. As for Audrey, well, she still had that good girl mentality.
“I’ve met Buchanan a few times, Gretchen.” Audrey brushed her pale red hair in rapid strokes, glancing occasionally at Gretchen through the mirror. “He’s not what I’d call friendly or pleasant. I just worry about you being here with only that man and that horrible butler.”
“I’ll be fine, Audrey. Me and Igor will just work on the book, live off sandwiches, and get this project done as soon as possible. It’s no big deal.”
Audrey paused from pinning up her hair into her typical workday chignon. “You’re sure? It’s not that far of a drive from the Hawkings building. I can get into a cab and come get you if—”
“If what? I fall down the stairs and no one notices my crumpled form for weeks? Come on, Audrey. You’ve seen this place.” Gretchen rolled over in the bed and gestured at the room. “This house could fit all of my apartment building in here with room to spare, and there’s only two guys living here. The odds of me running into him are slim to none. If I need anything, I just ring for Eldon.”
“I know. I still don’t like this.” She licked a finger and smoothed an errant strand of hair, staring at her reflection in the mirror. “It’s a weird setup.”
“Yeah, but if Buchanan was a creepster, there are lots of cheaper ways to get women. Hookers don’t cost nearly what the publisher’s paying me.”
“That is so not funny.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s kind of funny if you think about it. I’m the literary equivalent of a hooker. Give me a contract and I’ll do whatever you want, baby.”
“Still not funny.”
“Come on. Just a little bit funny.”
“Nope.”
Igor began to purr, and Gretchen scooped him up in her arms, cuddling him. The cat was surprisingly soft despite his lack of fur. His skin felt like crushed velvet, and she couldn’t resist his sweet but ugly face. “Tell Audrey it’s funny, Igor.”