Page 47 of The Stranger

“Stunning.”

“You know, this family has a lot of big, beautiful houses.” A sudden flash of mischief crosses her face. “What are the chances he’s trying to overcompensate for something?”

I frown as though I don’t have some impression of that being untrue. Though it pains me to admit it, there’s no correlation. Maybe he just likes big houses.

“I’m just sayin’.”

“And I’m not going there.” Not again.

“No one’s going there, Prim. And no one’s been there since he broke up with whatsherface.”

“Who’s… who’s her face?”

“The woman Daddy Beaumont was seeing last year.” She snickers, presumably at my lip-curling expression. “You don’t like that, huh?”

“I once caught my brother and his wife canoodling in their laundry room, which was traumatic enough, but hearing her call him daddy while he tried to drive the washing machine through the wall…” I fake gag on the distaste. “Who was he seeing?” I ask blandly as I fold a little salami around a slice of Manchego and pop it into my mouth.

First off, Zoe’s version of picky bits is first class. And second, it’s only natural to be curious. I’m just making friendly conversation.

“Some CEO of a beauty company. All legs and hair,” she adds, making a cloud-like gesture above her head.

“And she was older?” I picture a glamorous granny type in my head, someone like Helen Mirren. Who would say no to that?

“No idea. His wife was, though. So I heard. I only saw the girlfriend once or twice at dinner not long after I started working here. Then poof! She was no more.”

“Interesting.”

She laughs.

Hmm. Inside thoughts should not become outside words. I’m not jealous. I’m just surprised he found someone to put up with him.

“Disappearing women seems to be a bit of a pattern,” I say airily. “The temp nanny?” I add in response to her blank look.

“Yeah, who knows. But at least we know why the man is so grouchy.”

“Do we?”

“It’s a crying shame no one is hitting that.” She gives a slow shake of her head.

“I don’t think that’s it.”

She points the spatula my way. “Do you know something I don’t? Because I see way you are together.”

My heart goes a bit like it did when I thought I’d lost Sylvie in the grounds. Or when I was lost. “What do you mean, the way we are together?”

“At the dinner table.”

There is no way she can know about us. That night will never be spoken of—not until I’m in my nursing home. Hey, Edna, did I tell you about that one time I went to a sex club and had an orgasm so good, my legs almost went from under me?

I probably won’t even tell Edna the rest.

Oh my God. I had sex at sex club. I was pleasured orally at an orgy?

I’m still not sure on the terminology.

Zoe taps her spoon lightly against the bowl, and I jerk back to the moment.

“What about the dinner?” I ask carefully.