Jennifer Sullivan couldn’t imagine Quentin Tyler being the one to help her bathe. A man as pampered as him, who probably couldn’t tell wheat from barley or lift a finger in the kitchen, certainly wouldn’t have done it. But she couldn’t remember anything about Nanny Rose helping her either.
“Nanny Rose?” she asked. “You called her into the room last night? So she saw me drunk? And all those bruises… she must have seen those too…”
“If I didn’t call her to help, who else did you expect? Grandma? Or me?” Quentin Tyler snapped as he tossed aside the blanket on the sofa and stood up. “Go downstairs and keep Grandma company. I’ll join you in a bit.”
Jennifer Sullivan couldn’t have imagined such a scenario and was already frightened of him to her core. She wanted to say she hadn’t washed up yet
