After fretting about this for a while, Cassie found her thoughts returning to the disastrous news of Jacqui’s death.
Checking the time, she saw that it was five-thirty p.m. She had no idea how long Mirabella’s boutique stayed open, but tried calling the number again just in case.
As before, it just rang.
Cassie was starting to wonder whether the boutique might have caller ID, and Mirabella was not answering when she saw Cassie’s number come up on the screen.
Or maybe the boutique had just closed early.
Either way, Cassie found herself unable to accept the news that the woman had given her earlier that day. She could not believe that her sister had died so recently. She felt, deep down, that she must be alive. Perhaps Mirabella had made a mistake, or been thinking of another Jacqui. Perhaps she had made up the story because her sister was hiding from an abusive boyfriend, or evading debt collectors, or lying low from some other threat.
If Cassie couldn’t get hold of Mirabella on the phone, she would have to go there and speak to her face to face. In person, she was sure the woman would not find it so easy to lie, and Cassie would have the time she needed to find out the truth.
While Cassie was calculating how long it would take to drive to this town, which looked to be at least a two-hour journey from where she was, she heard a tap on the door.
“Come in,” she called, and then realized that the cook might not understand her.
She got up, but before she reached the door, it swung open.
She’d expected to see the cook, but Ms. Rossi herself was standing in the doorway, holding a tray covered with a silver salver.
As she walked into the room, Cassie found herself backing away.
Ms. Rossi closed the door behind her and placed the tray on the desk.
Then she took a seat in one of the two gold-upholstered chairs in the corner of the room, and gestured for Cassie to take the other.
“Please sit down. We need to talk,” she said.
Although the invitation was polite enough, Cassie found herself trembling with nerves as she perched on the edge of the ornate chair.
The businesswoman’s personality was so intimidating, and she held such power. Being in trouble with her seemed more serious than getting scolded by an ordinary person. Cassie wished she had known better, or had at least asked permission before playing a game with the children. Under Ms. Rossi’s stern gaze, she felt inadequate, as if she’d failed to achieve what had been expected of her.
“I am going to be patient with you,” Ms. Rossi said calmly, “because I can see you do not understand.”
“No. No, I don’t, and I’m very sorry.” Cassie seized the proffered excuse eagerly.
“My girls live different lives from the people you are used to. We live in a very different world from yours. Childish games have no place in their life.”
“It was just some fun for them,” Cassie whispered, feeling she must attempt to explain, no matter how weak or pathetic her words seemed.
“Here, you misunderstand again. My girls have fun, just not in the way you know it. They enjoy their singing lessons, and their horse riding.”
Cassie nodded reluctantly as Ms. Rossi continued.
“However, running around the house, playing destructive games, is not something that I want them to learn. This unruly behavior should not be encouraged. You have seen, have you not, how quiet and well-disciplined they are?”
“Yes, they are.”
Cassie longed to speak up in the children’s defense, to explain that in her view, lessons and play were two different things, and that play was just as important to help the girls grow up into happy, well-rounded adults. After all, play allowed you to use your imagination and to learn through making mistakes. Lessons were only instruction.
The problem was that Cassie had nothing on which to base her argument. She had no childcare qualifications, nor any real experience. If Ms. Rossi challenged her on this, where were her credentials, and how could she prove that her version carried any weight?
Ms. Rossi was highly qualified and must have access to top experts on the subject. So maybe she did know better, and children could be happy even if they didn’t play?
“I understand,” she said in a small voice.
“You have not had the advantages my children have enjoyed. Nor, I can tell, have you had the benefits of the classical education which they are receiving. I knew that was a risk when I hired you, but I assumed you would rise above it. I do not want you to drag the children down through your own incompetency, and make them less than they should become.”
Cassie found herself shriveling under this criticism. It was as if Ms. Rossi was deliberately calling her stupid and badly brought up, and explaining that she was damaging the children just by being the way she was. The businesswoman’s words cut deep, even though Cassie was sure she didn’t mean them in that way—did she?
“I’m extremely sorry,” she said, and her voice sounded small and anxious. “Now that you’ve explained, I understand where I went wrong. I’m glad we have had this conversation so that I can make sure to obey the rules.”
“Good. I am sure you will not find it difficult to change your ways. Remember, you have impressed me as an intelligent young woman, which is why I took the chance and employed you.”
Cassie felt a spark of pride at the praise, but then the businesswoman continued.
“Just remember, my standards, and my daughters’, are high, and I will not compromise them. You have a lot to live up to. You have disappointed me once. You had better not do so again.”
Her tone grew hard again, and Cassie could sense the threat in her words.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ms. Rossi stood up and Cassie jumped to her feet, eager to show respect as she headed for the door and marched
