Read The Caregiver (Book 1 of The Caregiver Series) Page 6
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That night our tea together was ruled by silence. I didn’t have the courage to look Sayer in the eye, not after what must have happened with George before I came in.
But then he ripped the veil of silence. “I don’t want to know what that man did to offend you, Scarlett. I do want you to know that you have my complete trust. That deal fell through the moment we stepped into that bloody hotel room.”
“I’m sorry for any grief I’ve caused you, Mr. Sayer.”
“None at all.”
“George is very angry.”
“George is always angry. You’re doing a good job. That is all you need to know.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sayer.”
He stretched out his hand over the desk. “Let me see your hand.” I complied. He took it in his and turned it, searching for something. “You didn’t hurt yourself?”
“No, sir. The knife has a very good grip, very easy to use.”
“Good,” he squeezed my hand before releasing it. “It’s unusual for men like me to use young women like you for security purposes, you must know that already.”
“I did work for Cisneros for some time, to pay for my education.”
“He told me all about it. However, situations like these do come up from time to time. I’m not the kind to exploit women like others do, having them look like hookers and dragging them everywhere they go just to show them off. That’s why I prefer you wear suits, like the men do.”
“I understand and have no problem with it whatsoever.”
“You do have a resemblance to my daughter,” he was now pondering on some thought tucked away in his mind while one of his fingers softly caressed the rim of his now empty cup. “She is as tall as I am, and her skin is powder white, but... it’s in the eyes, the way you look at people. I don’t really know how to explain it.”
“This is a first for me, Mr. Sayer.”
“It’s the underlying innocence.”
“Excuse me?”
“There are people that, no matter what they do, if they’re bad at heart you can see it in their eyes a mile off. Good people, on the other hand, no matter how many bad things they do, you can still read between the lines, what lies behind their pupils. There is no way to fake it, take my word for it.”
I became speechless, trying hard not to lock my eyes on his, because that way I could see it too. I had seen it, as he said, a mile off. He also had it, a fundamentally good heart. Although the word ‘innocence’ didn’t really strike me as accurate in his case. I wanted to hate him, I swear I did.
“She’s in Africa running an orphanage,” he proceeded to put the empty cups on the tray. “She has traveled the world doing missionary work,” he scoffed, “some kind of atonement for all the shit I’ve done.”
“We’ve all got shit we carry with us everywhere we go. What’s important is what we do about it.”
“There’s no retiring from this business. Once you’re in, you’re in it for life. You can slow down, and if you’ve kept a low profile, you can stay that way, have a semi-retirement. It’s tiring, really. Maybe not for you, but for your family. The constant vigilance. You can’t let fear get to you or you’ll turn paranoid and fuck things up.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m sorry to put you through my ramblings.”
“No need to, sir. You can talk to me all you want. You give me little enough work to do, as it is.”
“You’re doing more than enough, keeping this place alive,” I finally looked him in the eyes and noticed they were glistening, “keeping me alive.”
“It’s my job.”
“Yes,” he snapped out of whatever had entranced him. “Keep it up.”
I leapt to my feet.
“And…” he spoke again, “you can start calling me Armand instead of ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Sayer’.”
“OK.”
I took the tray and left as quickly as I could, taking with me the feeling that I was losing some self-control and that he, quite clearly, was going through the same.