By the time the sun was dimming in the sky I had reached the colouring-in stage, the picture coming to life in a way that excited me. I stopped when I found myself getting annoyed at not having the right shade of Tiffany blue for the woman's bag. Then I remembered I had my own Tiffany-blue bag and felt decidedly smug. I dragged it over, reaching in for the blue box tied with a white ribbon. It seemed such a shame to untie the original bow, but I did. Taking out the drawstring bag, I gently tipped the contents into my palm. The little heart-shaped silver earrings fell into my hands. New, shiny, and engraved with the classic 'Please return to Tiffany & Co. New York'. I stood, skipping into my room to the mirror, pulling my hair back from my ears and pushing the studs through. I gathered my hair and turned my head from side to side, admiring the way the light made the earrings glint. This was the answer to happiness. In the future, I'd just prescribe myself a dose of Tiffany for any sleep-deprived state of hopelessness. Sure, my allowance was going to be blown and the purchases would have to be minuscule, but there was something therapeutic about the place.
There was a creaking on the stairs outside my room, so fleeting I thought I might have misheard, but when a shadow lingered underneath the door there was no mistaking someone was there. It made me unexpectedly nervous: was Ben home? Coming to check how my day had been, maybe? To explain why he had been called out to work? But that was a ridiculous thought. Ben Worthington didn't explain himself and especially not to me.
I hated the way I had to collect myself to face whoever was on the other side of the door. I hated that weaker part of me. Putting on my best casual 'Oh, hey there' expression, I whipped open the door.
'Oh, hi, Ruth,' I said.
The cranky woman held a tray of food. I was surprised that she'd served me but also amazed that she hadn't so much as spilled a drop on the tray after navigating those stairs. She didn't even seem out of breath. Was she for real?
'Dinner is ready,' Ruth said curtly, shoving the tray into my hands.
'Th-thanks,' I managed, juggling the tray and, much to my annoyance, spilling some of the delicious sauce over the edge of the plate onto the tray.
Ruth pursed her lips together, looking at me like I was the most incompetent human being on the planet. 'Don't thank me, thank Mr Worthington.'
'Oh, is he home?' I asked, hating the way my voice sounded so eager.
'He is downstairs with Grace,' she said, turning to leave.
'Ah, Ruth?'
She paused at the top of the staircase.
'Do you think it would be all right if I ate my dinner downstairs?' Instead of up here like a leper, I wanted to add. If I was going to fit in, be an integral part of this household, then I would have to make an effort to get rid of this ridiculous intimidation I felt when I was around Ben Worthington. This was his house after all, and I would be the one who would have to adjust if I was going to stay.
Ruth looked seriously pissed off. More so than usual, like she had wanted me to be locked away out of sight, or maybe she was just annoyed that she had gone to the trouble of carrying the tray all this way. She doubled back to me in a huff, grabbing the edge of my tray.
'Fine,' she bit out, trying to take the tray from me.
'No, look, it's okay, I can carry it,' I insisted.
Ruth scoffed. 'You can't even stand still and not make a mess, give it to me.'
'No, Ruth, I've got this.' I pulled back, making the cutlery tinkle.
Ruth's eyes were ablaze as she held onto the tray. 'Give it to me,' she barked, drawing it to her chest.
'No!' I yelled, hauling it closer to me. Back and forth we heaved until the inevitable happened. The tray went flying, and the shit hit the fan, or rather, the ragout hit the cream Westminster carpet.
It looked like a crime scene. A reddish, orangey-tinged crime scene that trailed down the staircase in a splattered effect that any abstract artist might have appreciated. But it just made me feel terrible, even more so when my eyes landed on a particular gooey chunk that had landed on an Italian leather shoe on the landing below.
Ben stood there holding Grace, his narrowed eyes following the sprawling mess to where Ruth and I stood frozen, mouths agape like two naughty teenagers.
Chapter Seventeen
It didn't take long for the panicked blame game to start.
'You stupid girl,' Ruth cried. 'I told you to let go, how many times did I tell you? Now look what you've done.'
'What I've done?' I said incredulously. 'I told you I had it, but you wouldn't listen. I was going to bring it down myself, I was trying to do you a favour.'
Ruth scoffed. 'I wouldn't trust you with organising a lucky dip let alone carrying a tray down the stairs. Why do you think I was the one called in today to look after Grace?'
'Ruth!' Ben's voice held a warning. His gaze burned hot – it was enough to make me want to recoil. 'That's enough,' he said. 'Take Grace downstairs.'
He had directed Ruth in a way that didn't invite negotiation. It was also a clear means to dismiss her and leave him alone to deal with me. Never had I thought that I would want Ruth to stay but I did now, desperately, as I watched her pick her way down the stairs past the mess. She took Grace from Ben, giving me a parting glare. I read victory in that look. Should I just resign now? Or hand over my weekly allowance for the next six years in order to pay for the damage?
Ben's expression was stony as he folded his arms and casually leant against the wall. I braced myself for the lecture, so when he said, 'Nice earrings,' I nearly swallowed my tongue. Was he serious?
The lighthearted observation didn't make me feel any more at ease. Maybe he was being smart, giving me a none-too-subtle hint that my Tiffany expeditions were over now? There was a gleam in his eyes, but I couldn't tell if it was an indication that he wasn't mad, or if it was the calm before the storm.
'How was your day?' he asked. Why was he making small talk while standing on a staircase deeply soaked with tomato ragout? Shouldn't he be yelling at me to get some paper towels or something?
'It was a good day,' I admitted, and it had been. Damn near perfect until now.
Ben sighed, pushing off the wall. 'Well, there's no need to cry over spilt … whatever the hell this is.'
'Ragout,' I said. I didn't want to admit that I had been looking forward to this. Ruth mightn't have a soul, but she sure could cook.
'Right, okay,' he said. 'Well, I'm sure there's more where that came from, come on.' He tilted his head down the stairs, and I followed, stepping as delicately as I could manage around the slush. Without thinking, I grabbed Ben's hand, which he held out for me to take as I skipped and jumped down the last couple of steps to relative safety. Except now I was in the rather dangerous position of holding Ben's hand, so warm and large. I bet if we placed our hands palm to palm he would be able to bend the tops of his fingers easily over mine. I wanted to test the theory, but that would be inappropriate, as was me holding his hand. I pulled away and could feel my cheeks burning as red as the stained carpet.
'I think I should probably clean this up first,' I said, thinking how much worse it looked from this angle.
'Ruth can clean it before she goes.' He seemed unfazed. His home was a pristine showcase and I was taken aback that he didn't want heads to roll.
'Ah, that's probably a bad idea,' I said, following him to the next set of stairs. Didn't Ruth hate me enough as it was?
Ben stopped on the edge of the top step, almost causing me to slam into him. He turned to look at me, a glimmer of something in his eyes. 'Well, like she said, Ruth doesn't trust you to run a lucky dip – how can she trust you to clean that mess?'
Was this his way of punishing Ruth? My shoulders slumped. 'She is going to hate me.'
Ben laughed, a deep-bellied laugh that made me frown as he turned to the stairs. 'I think it's safe to say she already does.'
Ruth cleaned without complaint, which only made me more uncomfortable. I made a mental note to no longer eat food provided by Ruth, at the risk of being poisoned.
Now that my clothes were infused with the smell of dinner, I had lost my appetite. Honestly, I couldn't think of anything worse than another plate, even when Ben assured me there was plenty.
'Um, if it's all right with you, I might just make myself a cheese toastie,' I said, smiling at Grace in her bouncer as I tried to pry a giggle out of her. She was playing hard to get.
'A sandwich?' Ben repeated with horror.
'I'll have you know that it's not just any sandwich; in fact, I don't want to boast, but I make a world-famous grilled cheese.'
'Really?'
'It's known from Australia to Slovenia.' That was true – the Liebenbergs loved my cheese toasties.
Ben's brows rose as he nodded, apparently impressed as he dished out a plate of dinner. 'Cheese between white toast. Sounds mouthwatering,' he said.
'Oh, it's so much more than that.'
'Right,' he said, placing the plate on the bench.
'It's pretty intense, and usually served on the side of my world-famous minestrone soup, but that's a whole other story.'
Ben grabbed another plate, filling it. He was facing away from me but I could see the pinch of his cheek that said he was smiling. It seemed strange that we were bonding over this topic, but aside from Grace, there wasn't much else to talk about.