Dolly All the Time(65)

“Hello,” I say. Helena is Stewart’s height and German and annoyed.

“Nice to meet you,” she says.

“We were out late and ended up staying at her place,” Stewart says. “I should have texted.”

“It’s fine,” she says. It’s not. “I have berries and breads for you in the sunroom. I’ll bring coffee and start your eggs. Miss, how do you like your eggs?”

“Whatever’s easiest, thank you,” I say.

Stewart hangs his suit jacket on the back of a leather barstool and rolls up his sleeves. “That is not an answer,” he says. “First of all, she prefers tea, if you have it. Milk and honey. And, Dolly, you have here the greatest breakfast chef in America. Don’t tell Gladys.” Helena smiles for the first time. “You should have your eggs how you like them.” He takes my hand and smiles at me.

“Okay, well, scrambled?” I say.

Helena nods. “Medium? Hard?”

“Medium, please.”

“I’ll start them. I’ve brought your bags to Stewart’s room, if you’d like to change,” she says.

“Thanks, we’ll do that,” he says. He takes my hand and leads me out of the kitchen and down the long hall to the front stairs. He stops and kisses me at the bottom of the stairs. “I really love having you here.” I kiss him again and don’t say how much I love being here or anywhere with him. Being able to reach out and touch him anytime I want.

I follow him upstairs. We arrive at a wide landing that leads to two hallways. We turn left and he opens the last door to a room with a wall of windows that are open to his back garden. There’s a king-sized bed upholstered in heavy gray silk and dressed in puffy gray linens. I take off my shoes to feel the thick white rug beneath my feet.

“Maybe you should keep me here,” I say. He pulls me close and unzips my dress. It falls to the floor and I climb onto his bed. We are terribly late for breakfast.

I don’t meet Helena’s eyes when we finally emerge. I’m in jeans, sneakers, and my favorite Red Sox T-shirt, and I have combed my hair back into submission. The sunroom is just off the kitchen, with two walls of glass looking directly into the garden. Stewart has a Japanese maple that Christopher would adore and a rainbow of blooming flowers, including the lilies I saw in the front hall. He takes a seat at the little table next to me so we can both see the garden.

Helena brings our eggs. They’re still hot, which makes me think she was waiting for us to finish doing what we were doing up there. I thank her, still not meeting her eyes.

“I need to check in. I think they thought I’d be back by now.” It’s eleven thirty and I’m not on the schedule to work. Gus knew I wouldn’t be around for breakfast.

“I have calls at two and work to do before,” Stewart says. “Would you be okay with staying here until three?”

I’d be okay staying here forever. “Sure,” I say, and text my dad and Gus together. Me: Off to a slow start here, but I did grab your sweatshirt from home. Probably won’t be back till around four thirty

We spend the day in his den. Stewart sits in an armchair with his laptop, and I lie on the deep black sofa. It’s so strange not to have anything to cook or clean up, nowhere to be. I find myself researching commercial-sized ovens for my imaginary bakery at the fish house. I look up “best practices for shipping raw fish” and the cost of take-out crabcakes in different parts of the country. I watch him concentrate behind his horn-rimmed glasses. He calls Smithers several times to make changes to a document. He catches me watching him and smiles. “Don’t make me come over there,” he says, and I blush. If I could make him come over here, I would. I want the weight of him on me, I want his mouth on my neck. I want him to say everything again, about how close he wants to be. I want to wake up with him a million tomorrows in a row.

He’s different when he’s on his call. He’s firm but accommodating, like he’s in charge but he’s happy to let the other party think they are. I wonder if that’s what’s happening here between us, his letting me think he’d follow me anywhere. But then he looks up at me midsentence and seems so happy to see I’m still there that I believe him.

As soon as the call is over, he is on top of me on the couch. “That took forever,” he says, and kisses me.

“It did,” I say, relieved to have him back.

Helena is in the doorway. “Sorry, I didn’t—” She stops.

Stewart rolls off me but keeps me in his arms. “It’s fine,” he says. “What’s up?”

“I’m going shopping and was wondering if you’re here for dinner.” She’s taking us in, and her surprise is giving way to a small smile. It’s the way Henry looked at our entwined hands last night, like it was a very pleasant shock.

“We have to head back,” he says. “Probably soon.”

“Thank you very much for breakfast,” I say.

“My pleasure,” she says. “I will see you next time.”



* * *





His arm is around me on the car ride from the Whitfield heliport. I rest my head on his shoulder, and Gus’s Red Sox sweatshirt acts as a blanket over our laps. When I look up at him, he’s already looking at me. I don’t know what his look is telling me, but I smile anyway, because I loved last night. I will recount this all to Naomi today and probably to Kim and Layla over drinks and darts in the fall. But part of me really wants to call Patsy and tell her that for one night I was the princess. I was beautiful with the prince, and I am bedazzled from the inside out.