The Husband's Secret(86)
“I love your house,” said Tess as Cecilia led her through to the kitchen.
“Thank you, it’s—oh!” Cecilia stopped abruptly at the kitchen door. “I do apologize for this mess!”
Walking in behind her, Tess said, “You’re kidding, right?” There were a handful of breakfast bowls on an island bench, a half-drunk glass of apple juice sitting on top of the microwave, a solitary carton of Sultana Bran and a small pile of books on the kitchen table. Everything else was in perfect, shining order.
Tess watched in bemusement as Cecilia whirled around the kitchen. Within seconds she’d stowed the dishes in the dishwasher, put the cereal away in a giant pantry and was polishing the kitchen sink with a paper towel.
“We ran unusually late this morning,” explained Cecilia as she scrubbed at the sink as if her life depended on it. “Normally I can’t leave the house unless everything is perfect. I know I’m ridiculous. My sister says I have that disorder. What is it? Obsessive-compulsive. That’s it. OCD.”
Tess thought Cecilia’s sister might have a point.
“You should rest,” she said.
“Have a seat. Would you like a cup of tea? Coffee?” said Cecilia frantically. “I have muffins, biscuits . . .” She stopped, pressed her hand to her forehead and briefly closed her eyes. “Goodness. That is, ah, what was I saying?”
“I think I should make you a cup of tea.”
“I might actually need to . . .” Cecilia pulled out a chair and then stopped, transfixed by the sight of her shoes.
“My shoes don’t match,” she said, awestruck.
“No one would have noticed,” said Tess.
Cecilia sat down and rested her elbows on the table. She gave Tess a rueful, almost shy smile. “I have a reputation at St. Angela’s for being the opposite of this.”
“Oh, well,” said Tess. She filled a very shiny-looking kettle with water and noticed that she’d left a few droplets on Cecilia’s perfect sink. “Your secret is safe with me.” Worried that she’d implied that Cecilia’s behavior was somehow shameful, she quickly changed the subject. “Is one of your daughters doing an assignment on the Berlin Wall?”
“My daughter Esther is learning about it for her own interest,” said Cecilia. She pulled the pile of books toward her and opened one of them. “She gets crazily interested in these different topics. We all end up becoming experts. It can be a bit draining. Anyway.” She took a deep breath and suddenly turned in her chair to face Tess as if they were at a dinner party and Cecilia had decided it was time to focus on her instead of the guest on her other side. “Have you been to Berlin, Tess?”
The pitch of her voice was not quite right. Was she about to be sick again? Could Cecilia be on drugs? Mentally ill?
“No, actually.” Tess opened Cecilia’s pantry door to find tea bags and her eyes widened at the array of labeled Tupperware containers of all shapes and sizes. It was like a magazine ad. “I’ve been to Europe a few times, but my cousin, Felicity . . .” She stopped. She’d been about to say that her cousin, Felicity, wasn’t interested in Germany and so therefore she’d never been, and she was struck for the first time by what an odd thing that was to say. As if her own feelings about seeing Germany were of no consequence. (What were her own feelings about Germany?) She saw a tray set out with rows of tea bags. “Gosh. You’ve got everything. Which tea would you like?”
“Oh, Earl Grey, just black, no sugar. Really, please let me!” Cecilia went to stand up.
“Sit, sit,” said Tess, almost bossily, as if she’d known Cecilia forever. If Cecilia was behaving unlike herself, so was Tess. Cecilia sat back down.