Truth - Romig Aleatha (читать книги полностью без сокращений бесплатно txt) 📗

“Thank you, Mr. Roach.” She extended her right hand. After only a moment’s hesitation, he accepted. “I’ve had a marvelous teacher. I believe we have a deal, am I correct?”

“Yes, Ms. Nichols, we have a deal. I certainly hope you’ve enjoyed your relaxing stay in San Antonio.”

“Thank you, I have. Oh, Mr. Roach. If you’re considering tampering with the GPS in my rental car, let me save you the trouble. The data’s been permanently deleted. Shall we begin tomorrow with breakfast, let’s say 7:30?”

Phillip thought how helpful that information would have been earlier this evening, before he spent forty five minutes trying to extract recent destinations from the built-in Global Positioning System within her Chrysler 200. There was no question in his mind – he’d seriously underestimated this woman. He wondered if he were the only person to make that mistake. He truly doubted it. “I’ll be lurking in the shadows at 7:30. Forgive me; I don’t want to be included in future photos.”

“Then we’ve never met.” Claire turned to leave then glanced back, “Until tomorrow.”

He nodded and watched her walk away. Her posture exuded confidence, straight spine and slightly raised chin. The backless dress exposed her feminine lean body. A faint white line from a slender bathing suit strap was visible across her tanned back. Below the bare skin, covered with the soft white material was one of the most perfect round behinds he’d ever seen. Watching it sway with just the perfect amount of sultry yet aristocratic movement, he concluded: she does a fine job walking in those shoes. A clandestine four days with her in this five star hotel wouldn’t be a bad tour. Hell, it might even be worth losing his job. 

The body of Mr. Roach’s email was short and simple:

Mr. Rawlings, I apologize for the inconvenience and delay. My laptop decided to reject the SD card from my camera. I’m glad to say the kinks have been resolved. As you will see, I have multiple photos of Ms. Nichols from throughout her four day holiday. I honestly expected to see her with someone. However, it seems this was truly a four day get-a-way meant only for her personal rest and revitalization.

I have a return ticket on her plane. We should arrive in San Francisco at approximately 5 PM PST, 7 PM CST. I’ll be available by telephone after that, if you need to reach me. Again, I’ll remain dedicated to this assignment until I learn otherwise. Thank you, Phillip Roach

Tony clicked the attachment. A parade of pictures: Claire eating breakfast, lounging at the pool, at dinner, in a bar… After a fast pass through all fourteen photos, Tony went through them again, slowly digesting the contents. He wondered about San Antonio. Why? Why would she go there? It didn’t make sense. But then again why not? She’d always enjoyed warm weather and sunshine.

A man growing old becomes a child again. 

—Sophocles

Chapter 14

1984...

Marie combed Ms. Sharron’s thinning hair and talked endlessly about nothing. Mrs. Sharron Rawls enjoyed hearing her talk. When Marie would momentarily pause, to collect her thoughts or take a breath, Ms. Sharron would gently tap her arm, indicating for her to continue. Marie wondered if the sweet elderly lady understood the words being said, or if she just liked the sound of her voice. Heaven knows, even with the large staff, the enormous house could be incredibly quiet and lonely. There were times Ms. Sharron would allow the sounds to be the radio or the television, but without a doubt, she preferred voices. When Marie spoke, Ms. Sharron’s breathing would regulate and her expression would calm.

It would seem that after a year and a half, Marie would have run out of things to say, but she hadn’t. She could ramble at length about nothing. Truthfully, she hadn’t planned on staying with the Rawls for this long. She, of course, never saw herself as a nurse maid. Yet, given her circumstances, this job was a god send. And now, barely twenty–three years old, she feared it would end too soon. After all, Ms. Sharron was barely a shell of who she’d been when Marie began.

In the beginning, it was sad to see the way she struggled for words and their meaning. Nevertheless, as Marie spent day and night by her side, she found humor in the most unlikely places. Surprisingly, Ms. Sharron found humor too. This shared bond and most absurd witty view of an unfortunate reality, bound these women despite their drastic differences. The rest of the family was too serious. Especially Mr. Samuel Rawls, Ms. Sharron’s son. Marie shuttered to think how he would react if he knew the way they laughed at some of her mishaps.

Marie never had formal caregiving training. Then again, is someone formally trained to care? Wasn’t it as simple as being observant to needs and fulfilling them? If Ms. Sharron looked toward her cup, she needed a drink. If she fidgeted in her bed or seat, she needed to get up and move. It wasn’t rocket science, yet other than Mrs. Amanda Rawls, whose presence for some reason agitated Ms. Sharron, the men in this family were hopelessly incapable. Even when they tried, they were often too self-absorbed to notice the slight clues Ms. Sharron put forth.

Marie’s duties transformed as Ms. Sharron’s disease progressed. In the beginning, Ms. Sharron tried diligently to maintain certain responsibilities. Being that she always oversaw the household staff, she felt it necessary to maintain that assignment and appear competent to her husband. After all, he ran a million dollar business. With tears in her eyes, she explained – over and over, it was her duty to be sure his home ran efficiently. Marie caught-on quickly to the roles of the different employees. She helped Ms. Sharron not only monitor job performance, but payroll. Ms. Sharron didn’t write checks, but she compiled the information for Mr. Rawls’ accounting staff; Marie made sure Ms. Sharron’s figures were correct. Eventually, Mrs. Amanda Rawls took over the responsibility. In actuality, it happened before Ms. Sharron became aware. Ms. Sharron believed she and Marie were still in charge, but they weren’t. In time, she forgot about the staff and household responsibilities. After all, in her mind she wasn’t the wife of a tycoon, but of a handsome young soldier.

Mr. Nathaniel Rawls spent a lot of time with his wife. It broke Marie’s heart, to see the look in his eyes as he attempted to make conversation. For the most part, Ms. Sharron was beyond speech. However, if her eyes saw the real world, which rarely occurred, they lit-up when she saw her husband or grandson. Marie learned early that Anton looked remarkably similar to Nathaniel as a young man.

When she was more lucid, Ms. Sharron enjoyed passing the hours looking through old photo albums. Marie learned a great deal about the Rawls’ family history from those albums.

Marie also researched dementia and Alzheimer’s disease and learned recalling memories from the ancient past was somehow easier than recent memories. That inability to recall recent events aided Marie’s monotonous dialogues. It wasn’t like she needed to talk about new things every day or every hour. Ms. Sharron likes the sound; content was unimportant.

There were only so many stories a twenty-three year old could tell. At first she talked about books and movies. For someone so young, her mature interests made good stories. She enjoyed foreign films and biographies. Marie found learning about people and why they did what they did, fascinating. Sometimes instead of telling stories, Marie would read aloud. The mansion had a large library. Marie could find book after book that filled her interests and needs. With time, she also talked about her past. It wasn’t like it mattered. Ms. Sharron couldn’t remember or repeat her sordid story.