Ben turned, putting the plate in front of me, then pointing at it. 'Eat,' he said, in that no-nonsense style of his that probably had all his business associates quivering.
I barely flinched at his attempt to lay down the law. For the first time, I didn't feel intimidated by him, and I didn't know whether it was because he had stood up for me against Ruth or because he insisted I eat, even though I'm sure Ruth had no intention of feeding me.
Ben picked up his plate and, without knowing what else to do, I picked up mine and followed him to the glass dining table where only two places were set, opposite one another. At the Liebenbergs' I was used to eating with the children at their dinnertime, so this was a bit of a first for me. I glanced at Gracie, who seemed too fascinated with trying to stick her foot in her mouth to notice what was going on. She seemed in a particularly happy mood, no doubt that late sleep had given her plenty of beans.
I suddenly didn't feel so bad about Ruth on her hands and knees upstairs, scrubbing the carpet. It's what she deserved for making me think that the reason she had been called was because I couldn't be trusted. I took my seat, thinking – or hoping – that wasn't the case, that my first week had showed Ben I was capable of looking after his daughter. And then strange things began running through my head.
Maybe this is him wanting to have a chat with me. Soften the blow over dinner. Oh God -
The sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle of red drew my attention, and before I could register what was going on, Ben was pouring me a glass. My eyes returned to Gracie and Ben smiled.
'Relax, you're off the clock, remember?' he said, placing a glass next to my plate.
'Yeah, but you're not,' I blurted.
He looked up from filling his own glass. 'Just one with dinner.' He said it in such a convincing way, I believed him.
'True,' I said, watching him take a sip. 'I mean, it's not like you're breastfeeding or anything.'
Ben choked and spat out a dribble of red, clasping a hand over his mouth, before having a coughing fit, his eyes watering.
I rescued the glass he put down in haste, moving it from the table that trembled with each cough.
'Are you okay?' I asked, trying not to laugh, because there wasn't anything funny about seeing someone gasp for breath.
Ben nodded. 'Fine,' he rasped, wiping down the front of his blue shirt that now had a smattering of red wine. With ragout on his shoes and red wine on his shirt, he was a hot mess. One night in with me and his dry cleaning bill had skyrocketed.
'I'm sorry. I will not say "breast" mid-sip ever again.'
Ben regained his composure. 'Let's toast to that,' he said, taking his glass, clinking it with mine and giving me a sheepish smile. I masked my own smile, bringing my glass to my lips just as Ruth entered the dining area carrying a mop and bucket, her eyes darting between us. Sharing a joke with Ben, I felt awkward once again. It didn't matter how Ruth had treated me, here I was, reflected in the eyes of an outsider, no doubt being wildly inappropriate with her boss.
If only Penny Worthington could see me now.
I put down my glass, silently swearing off another drop.
'How did you go?' Ben asked Ruth, unaware of – or ignoring – the laser beams that were shooting out of her eyeballs.
'It will need to be professionally cleaned, but I don't know if that will make any difference.'
I thought of how my mother would have reacted: she would have been devastated by an unmovable stain in the carpet, but in Ben's world it wasn't a big deal.
'I'll call the carpet layers tomorrow and get them to replace it.'
Oh, to have money.
'Anything else, Mr Worthington?' Ruth asked, like a robot programmed for obedience against her will.
'No, that's all, Ruth, you can go now.'
'Will you need me tomorrow?' she asked, glancing ever so briefly at me.
'No, Ruth, that'll be all.'
She nodded before turning to head out.
'But, Ruth … '
She paused, looking expectantly at him. 'Yes, Mr Worthington?'
He casually shifted the base of his wine glass under his fingertips, his eyes focused intently on the way it turned. 'If you are going to walk through the front door of this house, know this: Sarah is the appointed caretaker here and I would remind you to give her nothing but the utmost respect. Am I clear?' His eyes lifted from the glass. It was a look that said, 'Don't fuck with me, and don't ever bring your dirty looks or attitude here again.'
My heart would have felt all warm and fuzzy had the tension not been so thick and I hadn't wanted to slide under the table, mortified. I decided to opt for a sip – make that a big bloody gulp – of wine.
The silence was broken by Ruth. 'Yes, Mr Worthington.'
'I'll walk you out,' he said, pushing his chair back. I thought Ruth might object, but she remained quiet, waiting for him before turning down the hall. I wanted to say goodbye to her but realised now wasn't the time.
And now that I was alone with the wine and the food, I wished I'd just taken the tray and stayed in my room. I was faced with a meal I didn't want and an expensive glass of red I couldn't bring myself to tip down the sink.
There was nothing for it – I skulled the wine.
I winced then cleared my throat, eyes watering, taking in the impossibly large pile of food before me. I couldn't eat it. Ugh, why didn't Ben have a dog? A hungry Rottweiler under the table would be perfect. I had limited time to think of a good enough reason to excuse myself. Headache? Nausea? Menstrual cramps? Definitely not.
'What am I doing, Grace?' I looked at Grace, who was staring at me and kick-kick-kicking her legs.
'You're no help,' I said, thinking maybe I was being ridiculous, that I should just have dinner, get to know Ben a little; this was a prime opportunity. I didn't know how many one-on-one dinners there would be, considering his work seemed so demanding, so I'd better take the chance while I could.
I refilled my glass with wine, thinking myself mature and worldly, turning again to the plate of food. I ran my fork through the stew, letting the steam rise. Breathing in the aroma of spices made my mouth water. Who was I kidding? I would never turn down a feed, even if seeing it plastered all over the stairs didn't do wonders for my appetite.
I was about to take a sneaky taste when light, quick footsteps came down the hall and, much to my surprise, Ruth appeared. I froze, fork suspended in front of my lips, as I watched her walk to the kitchen stool to unhook the coat she'd forgotten.
'Lucky you remembered,' I said, trying to seem like there were no hard feelings, but when Ruth turned to me, pulling on her coat, I could tell that the feeling was most certainly not mutual. I was nervous with her being within reach of sharp objects.
'He might let you into his bed, but he will never let you into his heart.'
I lowered my fork. 'Excuse me?' I said.
'I've seen your kind before. He'll find out soon enough.' She almost spat out the words, looking at me in disgust.
'And what kind is that exactly?'
She buttoned her coat and swung her bag over her shoulder. 'Gold digger,' she sneered, looking me right in the eye, making sure I understood her.
'He hired me!' I said, astonished. I couldn't help it – was this what she really thought of me? And then I realised how I sat at the table set for two, sipping red wine; all that was missing were some candles and some Barry White crooning in the background. Was this crossing the line? Ruth seemed to think so.
Ruth strode off down the hall, to where Ben no doubt held the door for her. Her words were spinning in my head.
He might let you into his bed but he will never let you into his heart.
Is that what this was all about? Did he plan to wine and dine me tonight? Was Ben Worthington a smooth-operating playboy with an illegitimate child he was burdened with from a past lover? My stomach lurched, and it wasn't just the red that had done it.
I heard the front door close, and without needing any advice from a squirming Grace in her bouncer – or from anyone for that matter – I grabbed my dinner plate, marched to the kitchen and dumped the food in the bin, happy never to see it, or Ruth, ever again. I rinsed and shoved the plate into the dishwasher just as Ben reappeared. I didn't give him a chance to speak; without meeting his eyes, I handed him my serviette.
'Goodnight,' I said, going down the hall to the stairs, aware of him watching me the whole way.
Chapter Eighteen
I must admit, I had been called far worse things in my life than a gold digger. Besides, the notion was so ridiculous I should have laughed. And yet I didn't; I couldn't find anything amusing about it. Ruth's accusation bothered me, and I tossed and turned in my bed, smelling the faintest odour of damp carpet chemicals. Why was I wasting my last opportunity for an uninterrupted sleep by letting Ruth's words keep me awake? And I was still bloody starving! Lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, I debated going all the way downstairs to get something to eat. Grace hadn't stirred in hours and as far as I could tell the house was still, so if I was going to do it, I would have to do it now.
I ripped back the covers, pulled on my fluffy bed socks and pressed my ear against the door, listening intently before turning the handle and stepping out into the-
'Oh shit,' I whispered, feeling the damp of the carpet seep through my socks. Even now Ruth was torturing me. I humphed, skimming my way along the wall to avoid the wet patch. By now I was an expert at moving from floor to floor in silence, stalking through the night like a jungle cat. I could almost feel my heartbeat spike when I reached Ben's floor, but it was unlit and quiet like always. I had never explored this floor but it gave me the feeling that no one was home, no one lived here. Or maybe that was because I never, ever lingered on the third floor out of fear of finding out that someone very much did.