“I am not a difficult man, but I am a particular one. Do you understand the difference?”
“Yes, sir,” Rebecca said. “Difficult means nothing is ever right. Particular means everything has a right place.” She met his eyes. “I can work with particular.”
This time the almost-smile became a real one, small and brief but genuine. It appeared and disappeared so quickly that Rebecca was not entirely sure she had seen it.
He glanced down at his hands for a moment, then back up at her.
“I will be straightforward with you,” he said. “Grace has worked in this house for 5 years. She knows every corner of it. She knows my routine, my preferences, how I like things done. She is leaving, and that is a gap that will not be easy to fill.”
He said it without drama, simply as a fact.
“I am not looking for someone who will try to impress me in the first week and then relax. I need someone consistent, someone who does the same good work on a Tuesday as on the first day.”
“I understand,” Rebecca said.
“Good.” He straightened slightly in his chair. “The job is 6 days a week. Sundays are yours. There is a small room at the back of the house. It is clean and private. You are welcome to stay here, or continue living where you are currently and come in each morning. That choice is yours.”
Rebecca thought for just a second. “I will come in each morning, sir, if that is all right. I’m used to my own space.”
He nodded as if he understood that perfectly, as if he understood more than most people the need for a space that was entirely your own.
“Very well,” he said.
He stood, which meant the conversation was over, and extended his hand. Rebecca stood and shook it. His handshake was firm and brief.
“Grace will show you around the house today,” he said. “She will explain the routine. You can begin properly next Monday. That gives you a few days to arrange your things.”
“Thank you, sir,” Rebecca said.
He gave a small nod and turned to walk back toward his study. Then he stopped, just for a moment, without turning around.
“Rebecca,” he said.
“Sir?”
A pause, short but noticeable, as if he had started a sentence and then changed his mind about how to finish it.
“Welcome,” he said simply.
And he walked away down the hall.
Grace was waiting in the kitchen, standing by the counter with a glass of cold water, trying very hard to look like she had not been listening.
“Well?” she whispered the moment Rebecca came in.
“He said I can start Monday,” Rebecca said.
Grace pressed both hands together and looked up at the ceiling. “Thank God.”
Then she put the glass of water in Rebecca’s hand. “Drink. You looked nervous.”
“I wasn’t nervous,” Rebecca said, and then took a long sip of water.
