Nadya, having been sent home from the Westcotts’ that morning, spends her unexpected Wednesday off cleaning her own home. She has to keep busy, because she’s anxious.
She thinks now that perhaps she hasn’t been ambitious enough in her life, and that’s why she’s stuck here in this crummy house, cleaning other people’s beautiful houses, viewed with contempt by her only child. Maybe she hasn’t been such a good role model for her son after all, despite her hard work. She should have gone back to school, made something more of herself, but there was a child to raise all on her own, and bills to pay. And it took her such a long time to learn the English language.
And now her son might have got himself into trouble. She sighs heavily, gets up off her knees from scrubbing the kitchen floor. She must talk to Peter, but she is dreading it.
It’s hours later when at last she hears his key in the door and then his heavy step as he walks down the hall toward the kitchen, where she waits for him. She rises to greet him. She’s glad to see he’s sober. Or sober enough.
‘Peter,’ she says, ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘About what?’ He goes to the fridge to look for something to eat.
‘I’ve left something for you, you can reheat it.’
He takes it out of the fridge and puts it in the microwave. She waits for the noise of the microwave to stop and for him to sit down at the kitchen table facing her with his food. Then she says, careful to keep her voice neutral, ‘My employers spoke to me today– the Westcotts.’ He looks up at her, interested, chewing. ‘They have found cameras hidden inside their house.’
‘Really?’ he says, as if surprised.
‘They accused me of putting them there.’
Now he looks concerned. ‘Why would they accuse you?’
‘Because I have a key and know the security code.’
‘That’s bullshit. Did they fire you?’
‘No.’ She leans forward. ‘I didn’t do it, and of course I denied it. They seemed to believe me.’
‘That’s good,’ he says, looking down at his plate, taking another mouthful of pork and rice.
‘Peter,’ she asks, ‘did you have anything to do with those cameras?’
‘What?’ He drops his knife and fork. ‘Of course not. Why would you ask me that? I had nothing to do with any cameras.’
She nods, relieved. ‘I know you wouldn’t do anything like that.’ She watches him resume eating and muses aloud, ‘I wonder who it was?’
Chapter Thirty-Three
LARA RUBS LOTIONinto her hands while her husband sits beside her in bed, glasses on, reading the latest issue ofThe Atlantic. She has a book to read, the new Lisa Jewell, but she can’t stop thinking about Jill and Ted and what might have happened on that boat. She remembers Jill’s odd behaviour this morning, her reaction when Lara brought up Ramirez. He deeply unnerves Jill, that much is clear. And today, as much as she was trying to hide it, it was clear something was bothering her.
She turns to her husband. ‘Ben, remember when that Ramirez guy from the Coast Guard was here?’
He looks up from his magazine. ‘Yes. Why?’
‘I can’t stop thinking about it.’
‘You should. It was an accident.’
‘But Jill has been… different lately.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s not her usual self.’
‘They experienced a traumatic event. And now, with theinheritance– and all the attention on them– their lives have been disrupted. She’ll settle down.’
‘No, it’s more than that,’ Lara insists. ‘I’m worried about her. Today she seemed almost… frightened.’
‘Frightened?’ he repeats.
