Bequeathed

Chapter Eight: Hideaway

Claire has moved her furniture into one of the spare rooms. Claire knows that most of the house will remain unused - unless she gains a contingent of friends and invite them over for sleepovers. She lacks the friendships which would make it okay to entertain such juvenile activities, and she is too old to seek out those bonds. Her friendships had fallen off after Aunt Bev cut her off. She could no longer afford random trips to the vineyard and weekend getaways to Bora Bora. Her friends had found it easier to stop hanging with her completely rather than engage in activities that she could afford. Claire is certain they would all come running back if they knew Aunt Bev had died and left Claire everything.

Rob has shown her a different kind of relationship, one that doesn’t have to perform monetary tricks. She isn’t interested in inviting those fickle relationships back into her life…or maybe not yet. She has all this “house” and nothing much to do with it. At least Aunt Bev hosted dinner parties with people from her White Textiles. Even after Aunt Bev backed away from the daily operations, she still had parties. Though Claire had stopped attending the soirees, social media informed her of them.

“They're an opportunity to keep my eyes open by establishing relationships with my employees,” Aunt Bev had once said of her parties. Does Claire need to keep her eyes open? What will become of the day-to-day operations of her family's textile company? Mr. Simms hasn’t said. Her English Lit degree can’t help her run a fabric empire. She certainly had never paid any attention to the finer details of her family’s wealth. She doesn’t even know where the factories are. She vaguely remembers one being downtown. Her father had dragged her there one evening after school; the location and the details of the factory are hazy memories.

Claire stands in the middle of her foyer and looks up to the second floor. Mr. Simms has finally transferred the estate to her; she’s waiting on the euphoria she had expected. She won’t lie to herself and say money doesn’t change anything. It is nice to be able to afford to eat at her favorite restaurants without racking up credit card debt; it is a relief to be able to pay off said debt; it is freeing to be able to afford the things she wants in life; it is absolutely liberating to be able to exist without a looming deadline and an editor breathing fire down her neck. Claire has all this “house” without having to endure another Beck. Still, her win isn’t complete. The expansive house shines a light on her loneliness. Rob. He’s tainted the taste of her money. Claire won’t give up her wealth; she’ll relish all that it affords her. Completely indulging herself in finery, remind herself how sweet her wealth truly is. She will keep reminding herself until she has completely forgotten Rob.

“How are you doing down there?” William has exited his room - her room - and is standing on the topmost step. His hand is wrapped around the banister, and it appears he was making his way down the staircase but changed his mind.

Claire was so rapt by her thoughts that though she was admiring the…her house, she hadn’t seen William approach. Claire mounts the staircase without acknowledging him. She passes him by and goes to the master bedroom at the other end of the house. William has been paid the first half of his compensation for this ruse. In another few months, he will receive the other. Claire has been striking off the days. She had been keeping track of how long it will take to be rid of him. Lately, she has been counting the days until she’s completely alone. She’ll hold out hope for Rob. She’ll earn her way back to him. She’s prepared to be an investor for the tech company he's always talking about starting, whatever it will take to get him talking to her again.

Claire replaced her phone and gave him a call. He hung up once he realized it was her, blocked her new number as well. He’ll come around.

Claire gets to her room and makes a U-turn. The bed, the empty room…Claire didn’t know expanse could reflect lack so well. When she gets into these moods, these moments when she is surrounded by so much, but is stuck on what she’s left behind, she has to get out. “Dinner at Cho’s sounds like a good idea,” she says to herself.

“Hey…” William’s mouth hangs around his unfinished sentence. Claire meets him on her way to the steps. It seems he was on his way to Claire's room though Claire doesn’t know why he's violating the terms of the living arrangement she's established. She has made it abundantly clear that he isn’t permitted on her side of the house.

“Where you headed?” William asks.

“Out.” Claire slips her sunglasses on and heads for the door. She hops into her black jaguar and speeds off the property. She pulls up to Cho’s forty-five minutes later and hands her keys over to the valet. She doesn’t make eye contact or greet him. When she’s seated at her favorite outdoor table, she’s uncertain if she’s handed her keys over to a valet of some random guy in a redshirt. The waitress hands her a menu. She waves it away. “I’ll have my usual,” she says.

The waitress brings Claire her salad, adds the truffles at the table. She heaps on extra, gives Claire a smile. Claire's mind is still on Rob so when Claire smiles back at the waitress, Claire’s smile feels restricted to her lips. She bites in when the waitress leaves; truffles usually do the trick. She washes the bite down with her sparkling water. Large glass windows offer Claire a view of the garden at the back of the restaurant. She watches the roses, watches them until her lettuce goes limps under the dressing and truffles. Neither the food nor the ambiance is providing Claire with the escape she needs.

“Is everything okay, Ms. White?” the waitress asks.

“Yes…” Claire reads the waitress’ nametag. “...Sue.”

“I’d be happy to get you something else.”

“This is fine.”

Sue eyes the soggy lettuce. “It would be no problem at all, Ms. White.”

“I am fine,” Claire speaks each word slowly as if she is speaking to someone who struggles to understand English. Sue backs away from the table but returns a moment later. Claire is prepared to lash out; Sue slips her a note. “This was left for you at the bar,” Sue says.

Claire turns, looks behind though she has no view of the bar which is inside and on the other end of the restaurant. “Who is it from?” Claire asks.

“I can’t say,” Sue responds. “The bartender just said to give it to you.”

Claire opens the note, reads it; her head is light. I’m always watching. Claire hasn’t received any more calls since she replaced her phone and changed her number, yet her stomach sank when she received the note.

I’m always watching. Claire reads the note once more. Again, she spins in her seat, this time searching for whoever is always watching. “Who gave you this note?” Claire grips Sue’s arm.

“Ms. White?”

“Who?”

“The.. the bartender.” Sue yanks her hand free, backing away. Claire runs inside the restaurant, darting around a few chairs, bumping into the backs of others. The bartender is serving a glass of white wine to a young woman with auburn hair who looks barely old enough to be drinking anything stronger than sparkling wine. The bartender hands the wine over; the young woman takes the glass, her fingers sliding over the bartender’s hand before she fingers the stem of the wineglass. She smiles coquettishly. Claire goes up to the counter, leans in; Claire's face intercepts the exchange. “Hey!” The girl protests, but she moves over and bumps into the barstool next to her. Claire slaps the note on the table. “Who gave you this?” Claire asks.

The bartender shrugs.

“Who?” Claire stabs the note repeatedly. “The waitress said that you gave this note to her to give to me. Did…” Claire takes a step back as a thought begins to form that hasn’t occurred to her before. “...did you write this? Why are you watching me? What do you want?”

“What?” The bartender swipes a grey table cloth over the counter. “I don’t need any trouble, lady. I got a note and I gave it to you.” The bartender turns, his back to Claire, his face toward the shelves of alcohol. Claire reaches over the table and taps his shoulder. “The note…” She holds it up to his face.

“Lady, I need this job.” The bartender drops his voice to a near whisper. “Some of us have to work for a living.”

“Who gave you the note?”

“Some guy…I don’t remember. He slipped me a hundred bucks and told me to hand it to the blonde on the outside in the yellow dress and green pumps.”

He was here. Her dress, her shoes. He was here. He was close. He was observing her. Always watching. “Can…can you tell me what he looks like.” Claire sticks her fingers out, then balls her fist, trying to steady her shaking hand. The bartender looks down, then back at her face.

“I couldn’t say. I was preparing a few drink orders for the waiters. He didn’t want a drink so I didn’t really pay him much attention. He asked me to get the note to you, slipped the money and the note on the counter, underneath a container of straws. I didn’t even realize that he left a hundred bucks until I picked up the note.”

The hollowness in Claire’s stomach has risen to her head. The bartender takes up the note, reads it. “You should take this to the cops,” he says. Claire doesn’t want to go to the cops; she wants to flee; she wants to retreat behind the walls of Aunt Bev’s house. She pulls money from her wallet and drops it on the counter. “For the salad. Tell Sue she can keep the change.”

While waiting on the valet to bring her car around, Claire’s eyes dart about the front of the restaurant. Everyone coming and going is a suspect; anyone can be him…or knows him. She taps her right foot, shifts her weight from one leg to the other. What’s taking the damn valet so long. When he returns, Claire grabs the keys from him and races home. She doesn’t stop until she is at the house. Once she is safely on the property, she watches the gate close, ensuring no one enters behind her. She locks herself in the room, pretending not to hear William pounding the door a few minutes after she’s buried herself underneath her sheets. She won’t admit it to him - or even to herself out loud - but his presence across the hall will help her find peace enough to sleep.