Chapter 3 - The Photograph in the Apron.
By the time I left Stellan's office, my job no longer felt like the biggest thing I could lose.
That realization frightened me more than being fired ever had.
Mrs. Thornbury waited outside the door with both hands folded over the front of her gray dress.
She looked first at me.
Then at Fern.
Then at Stellan, who stood behind us holding Adrian's photograph.
"Is everything all right, sir?"
Stellan's gaze remained on the small picture.
"No."
Mrs. Thornbury blinked.
In three weeks, I had never heard him answer a question so plainly.
"Cancel my afternoon meetings."
"All of them?"
"All of them."
Her eyes flicked toward Fern again.
"Of course."
I tightened my grip on the baby.
"Mr. Cross, I should go."
His attention snapped to me.
"Why?"
The question was almost absurd.
"Because I brought my child into your house without permission."
"That stopped being the relevant issue thirty minutes ago."
"It hasn't stopped being relevant to my landlord."
His expression changed slightly.
"You think I'm firing you?"
"I assumed that was still possible."
"It isn't."
The answer came so quickly I stared at him.
"Why?"
His eyes dropped to Fern.
"Because until I know what happened to Adrian, you and your daughter stay where I can find you."
Every instinct in me bristled.
"I'm not evidence."
"I didn't say you were."
"It sounded like it."
Mrs. Thornbury took one careful step backward, clearly deciding this conversation was above her pay grade.
Stellan noticed.
"Stay, Evelyn."
She stopped.
It was the first time I heard her first name.
"Mara and Fern will use the blue sitting room when she has to bring Fern to work."
Mrs. Thornbury's brows rose.
"The blue sitting room?"
"Is there a problem?"
"Only that no one has used it since your mother moved out."
Something hard passed across his face.
"Then it needs the dust."
Mrs. Thornbury nodded.
"I'll arrange it."
I stared at him.
"I can't just bring my baby here every day."
"You brought her today."
"Because I had no choice."
"Now you do."
His tone was maddeningly final.
I should have been grateful.
Instead, I felt cornered.
"What exactly do you want from me?"
His gaze met mine.
"The truth."
"I've given you the truth."
"You've given me the part you understand."
The words landed harder than they should have.
Because he was right.
I had spent eleven months telling myself Fern's father had abandoned us.
That story hurt, but at least it had edges.
Now every edge had disappeared.
Stellan handed the photograph back to me.
"Go home at your usual time."
"And tomorrow?"
"Bring Fern."
"Mr. Cross—"
"Stellan."
I stopped.
Mrs. Thornbury looked down at the floor to hide what might have been a smile.
"What?"
"If my brother is Fern's father, Mr. Cross is going to become ridiculous very quickly."
He looked almost annoyed by his own sentence.
"Stellan is fine."
I had no idea how to answer that.
Fern did.
She reached toward him again.
Stellan's face changed.
He looked at her as though she had betrayed his attempt to restore distance.
"You cannot possibly want me again."
Fern made a delighted little noise.
Mrs. Thornbury actually smiled.
I almost did too.
Then the front doors opened downstairs.
A woman's voice carried up through the foyer.
Elegant.
Impatient.
Familiar enough to make Stellan turn instantly.
Mrs. Thornbury's smile vanished.
"Mrs. Cross wasn't expected until Friday."
Stellan's jaw tightened.
"Apparently she changed her mind."
Footsteps approached the staircase.
I looked down at my uniform.
At Fern.
At the photograph still in my hand.
"Who is Mrs. Cross?"
Stellan gave me a humorless look.
"My mother."
Before I could decide whether that was good news or terrible news, Helena Cross appeared at the top of the stairs.
She was in her early sixties, tall and elegant in a camel coat, her silver-blonde hair cut into a perfect chin-length bob.
She looked at Stellan first.
Then at me.
Then at Fern.
Her steps stopped.
The change in her face was immediate.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Fern was playing with the edge of my apron, unaware that three adults had suddenly forgotten how to breathe.
Helena Cross slowly removed her gloves.
"Whose child is that?"
Stellan moved subtly closer to me.
I noticed because men like him did not make accidental movements.
"Her name is Fern."
"I asked whose child she is."
Her eyes remained fixed on Fern's face.
I hated the way the question made my daughter sound like a problem being assigned to a department.
"Mine," I said.
Helena looked at me for the first time.
"And you are?"
"Mara Ellis."
"Staff?"
"Yes."
Her gaze returned to Fern.
"How old?"
"Eleven months."
Helena's face lost color.
Stellan saw it too.
"Mother."
She ignored him.
Her eyes moved over Fern's blonde hair, her gray-green eyes, the shape of her mouth.
Then Fern turned her head toward Stellan.
She smiled.
Helena's hand tightened around her gloves.
"No."
The word came out as a breath.
Stellan stepped in front of us.
"What do you recognize?"
Helena looked at him.
"Nothing."
"You said no."
"I said nothing."
"Mother."
His voice changed.
The warmth Fern had drawn from him disappeared.
The man from the rumors returned.
"Do not lie to me about Adrian."
Helena stared at him.
Mrs. Thornbury quietly excused herself, though nobody had given permission.
I did not blame her.
Helena looked toward the closed office door.
"Not here."
"Here is exactly where we're doing this."
"Stellan."
"Who does Fern look like?"
Helena's eyes flashed toward me.
"This woman told you Adrian was the father?"
"This woman didn't know Adrian was his real name until an hour ago."
Helena's face shifted again.
Fear this time.
I saw it clearly.
"How?"
Stellan held up the faded photograph.
"She knew him as Evan Hale."
Helena sat down on the nearest bench as if her knees had stopped cooperating.
For the first time, she looked older than her elegant clothes allowed.
"He used my name."
"Yes."
Her eyes filled with something she refused to let become tears.
"Of course he did."
I suddenly felt like an intruder in a room full of old grief.
Then Helena noticed the locket around Fern's neck.
Her hand went to her mouth.
"Where did she get that?"
I instinctively covered it with my fingers.
"It came in the mail."
"When?"
"After Evan disappeared."
"Adrian," Stellan corrected quietly.
The name still sounded wrong in my head.
Helena stood.
"Take it off her."
Every protective instinct in me flared.
"No."
She stared at me.
"Excuse me?"
"It's my daughter's."
"That locket belonged to my mother."
Stellan turned sharply.
"Grandmother's?"
Helena nodded.
"I gave it to Adrian when he left."
My fingers closed around the silver oval.
"Why?"
Helena looked at Fern again.
"Because he asked for something that proved he came from us without carrying the Cross name."
Stellan laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
"And no one thought that detail mattered when his car was found?"
"I told Gideon."
The name pulled Stellan's attention instantly.
"You told Gideon about the locket?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"The week Adrian vanished."
Stellan's expression became unreadable.
"And did Gideon know Adrian was using the name Evan Hale?"
Helena hesitated.
That hesitation answered before she did.
"Mother."
"Your father knew."
Stellan went still.
"How?"
Helena looked toward me as if deciding how much truth a maid deserved.
I held her gaze.
Fern tugged at my collar.
Finally Helena spoke.
"Your father had Adrian watched."
I felt sick.
Stellan looked almost unsurprised.
That was somehow worse.
"For how long?"
"Months."
"While he was with Mara?"
Helena closed her eyes.
"Probably."
A cold sensation moved down my back.
Suddenly every unexplained car I had noticed outside my old apartment seemed important.
Every time Adrian had changed restaurants at the last minute.
Every night he had checked the street before unlocking our door.
"Why?"
My voice shook.
Helena looked at me.
"Because my husband believed anyone close to Adrian could be used to pull him back into the family."
"I wasn't using him."
"I didn't say you were."
"Your husband apparently thought differently."
Stellan moved between us before the conversation could sharpen further.
"Enough."
Helena's attention returned to him.
"You need to call Gideon."
"I was planning to."
"No."
Her voice broke for the first time.
"You need to call him before he hears about the child from anyone else."
The warning in her tone tightened the entire hallway.
"Why?"
Helena looked at Fern.
Then at me.
Then at her son.
"Because if Fern is Adrian's daughter, she isn't just family."
Stellan's eyes narrowed.
"Finish the sentence."
Helena swallowed.
"Under your grandfather's trust, Adrian's child owns part of Cross Holdings the moment her parentage is established."
The words meant almost nothing to me at first.
Then I saw Stellan's expression.
This was not about money I wanted.
It was about money other people were afraid to lose.
Before any of us could speak, Stellan's phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
His face changed.
He answered on the second ring.
"Gideon."
A pause.
Then Stellan's eyes lifted directly to mine.
Whatever he heard turned them to ice.
"Interesting," he said.
Another pause.
"Because I haven't told anyone."
Helena went pale.
Stellan ended the call without saying goodbye.
"What did he say?" she asked.
Stellan looked at Fern.
Then at the silver locket around her neck.
"He asked whether the maid's baby is Adrian's daughter."
The hallway went silent.
I felt my stomach drop.
May you like
Because if none of us had told Gideon about Fern, there was only one question that mattered.
How had he already known?
