Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO NEVER KNOCKED
The first warning that Isabella’s father had returned was not a car outside or a voice downstairs.
It was the hallway changing.
Two men in dark suits appeared near the staircase. Margaret straightened so quickly that the towel in her hands slipped to the floor. Even Isabella stopped coloring.
Emma held up a purple crayon.
“You want this one?”
Isabella did not answer.
Her eyes had fixed on the man walking toward them.
Sophia knew immediately who he was.
Adrian Moretti.
She had heard the name before taking the job. Everyone in the city had.
Newspapers called him a businessman. People who knew better called him nothing at all.
He was perhaps forty, broad-shouldered, dressed in a charcoal suit beneath a black wool coat. A silver watch flashed beneath his cuff. His face was controlled almost to the point of severity.
But when he saw Isabella sitting in the hallway, something changed.
Not much.
Just enough for a mother to notice.
His breath caught.
“Bella?”
Isabella stood so abruptly that the crayons scattered.
Then she ran into her room and slammed the door.
Adrian stopped.
The expression on his face disappeared behind something colder.
His eyes moved to Sophia.
“Who are you?”
“Sophia Bennett. The new housekeeper.”
“And the child?”
“My daughter, Emma.”
Emma waved.
“Hi.”
One of the guards looked away, perhaps hiding a smile.
Adrian did not.
“You were instructed not to disturb my daughter.”
Sophia felt fear crawl beneath her ribs.
“I didn't.”
“She was sitting outside her room.”
“She came out herself.”
His gaze sharpened.
“Isabella hasn't voluntarily left that room except for meals in six weeks.”
Sophia glanced at the closed door.
“Then maybe she needed someone who wasn't asking her to.”
Silence.
Margaret looked horrified.
Adrian stepped closer.
Sophia resisted the instinct to retreat.
“You've been employed here four days,” he said quietly.
“Yes.”
“You don't know what my daughter needs.”
“No,” Sophia said. “But neither does Emma. That's probably why Isabella likes her.”
His jaw tightened.
Then the bedroom door opened two inches.
A small voice came through.
“Don't make Emma go.”
Adrian turned.
The door closed again.
Something painful passed across his face.
He looked back at Sophia.
“You keep working.”
That was all.
But Margaret waited until Adrian disappeared downstairs before whispering, “Do you have any idea who you just argued with?”
“A father.”
Margaret stared at her.
Sophia picked up her cleaning cloth.
“That seemed more important.”
That afternoon Isabella allowed Emma inside her bedroom.
Sophia remained near the doorway while cleaning.
The room surprised her.
It was enormous, filled with expensive toys, books and dolls. Yet none appeared touched.
Emma crawled beneath a little table and announced that she was building a “crayon house.”
Isabella sat on the floor beside her.
Sophia was dusting a bookshelf when she noticed Isabella watching the hallway.
Not occasionally.
Constantly.
Every few minutes.
“Are you expecting somebody?” Sophia asked gently.
Isabella shook her head.
Sophia let it go.
Then Emma found the photograph.
It had slipped between the bed and nightstand.
“Pretty lady.”
Isabella lunged.
“Give it back!”
Emma froze.
Sophia hurried over.
“Emma.”
The toddler immediately held it out.
“Sorry.”
Isabella grabbed the photograph and hugged it against her chest.
Her breathing became shallow.
Sophia saw the picture only briefly.
A smiling dark-haired woman stood beside Isabella near a lake. Isabella looked perhaps five.
Her mother.
Sophia knew enough about the family to understand that Isabella's mother, Elena Moretti, had died recently.
But something in the photograph bothered her.
Elena wore a distinctive silver bracelet with three tiny stars.
Sophia had seen that bracelet before.
Not in the house.
She could not remember where.
“That's Mommy,” Isabella whispered.
Emma nodded solemnly.
“My mommy's Sophia.”
Despite herself, Isabella almost smiled.
Then Emma pointed at the photograph.
“What's behind it?”
Isabella stiffened.
Sophia looked.
Something had been written across the back.
Isabella quickly shoved the photograph beneath her pillow.
“No looking.”
Sophia respected that.
“Okay.”
Later, while Emma napped in the staff sitting room, Margaret finally told Sophia what had happened.
Elena Moretti had died seven weeks earlier in a car accident.
She had been driving alone along a private road near the family’s country property. The car went through a barrier during heavy rain.
Isabella had changed afterward.
“She loved her mother,” Margaret said.
“Of course.”
“No. You don't understand. Elena was the warmth in this house.”
Margaret glanced toward the doorway.
“Mr. Moretti loved his daughter, but he isn't an easy man. Elena was the bridge between them.”
Sophia thought of Isabella watching the hallway.
“Was Isabella at the country property that night?”
Margaret became very still.
“Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“No. She was here.”
The answer came too quickly.
That evening Adrian found Sophia cleaning the library.
“My daughter ate dinner downstairs.”
Sophia turned.
“That's good.”
“She hasn't done that since Elena died.”
His voice remained restrained, but gratitude lived underneath it.
“Emma asked her.”
“I heard.”
For the first time, Adrian almost smiled.
Then his expression changed.
“Isabella has nightmares. If she tells you anything unusual, you tell me.”
“What counts as unusual?”
“You'll know.”
He started away.
“Mr. Moretti?”
He stopped.
“Why does she keep watching the hallway?”
Adrian's shoulders stiffened.
“What?”
“She watches the hallway like she's afraid somebody will come.”
He looked toward the ceiling.
“My daughter witnessed nothing concerning Elena's accident.”
Sophia had not asked that.
Before she could respond, he walked away.
That night Sophia was gathering Emma's things when she realized her daughter was missing.
Her heart stopped.
“Emma?”
She hurried upstairs.
Isabella's door was open.
Inside, Emma stood beside the bed holding something.
“Mommy.”
Sophia crossed the room.
“What are you doing?”
“Bella dropped it.”
It was the photograph.
Sophia reached for it.
Emma turned it over.
On the back, in a child's uneven handwriting, were four words:
MOMMY WAS NOT ALONE.
Sophia stared.
“Where's Isabella?”
Emma pointed toward the bathroom.
The door opened.
Isabella emerged, saw the photograph and went white.
“You weren't supposed to see.”
Sophia crouched.
“Isabella, did you write this?”
A nod.
“Who was with your mother?”
Isabella began trembling.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Adrian appeared at the doorway.
His gaze fell on the photograph.
Then on his daughter.
Isabella backed away.
“Bella,” Adrian said softly. “Tell me.”
Her eyes filled.
For several terrible seconds she said nothing.
Then Emma walked over and took her hand.
Isabella squeezed it.
“I saw Mommy before she left.”
Adrian's face drained of color.
“With whom?”
May you like
Isabella looked directly at him.
“The man with your silver watch.”
