I know too much about men like du Mond, and yet I don't know enough to protect myself. I would prefer not to learn anything more the hard way. She sighed. No, it isn't precisely danger that he represents, it's corruption, it's veniality. I can't imagine him doing anything magnificent, only petty—or anything really horrifying, only tawdry.
She pulled aside the bedcurtains, which was the signal for the ever-attentive Salamander to levitate her glasses into her outstretched hand. Oh, what an improvement that was over her former fumbling!
I wish there was a way to keep this Salamander with me when all this is over...
As her fiery servant moved to the windows and the window-curtains pulled apart to let in the daylight, the thin, gray light from outside was an ample reflection of her own dampened spirits, for she knew, as surely as she did not want to encounter du Mond, she assuredly would. It had always happened that way; the people she most wanted to avoid were always the first to greet her and the hardest to get rid of. With only the two of them in the house, it would be difficult to avoid him, for he could always find her by listening for her footsteps.
Ah well. At least if the weather has gone all grey and grim, I shall have the excuse to retire to my own rooms. She swung her feet over the edge of the bed, slipped into a dressing-gown and sought the bathroom. It's too bad that I was never the properly fragile type so I could plead some infirmity and get rid of him that way—
—on the other hand, Paul du Mond doesn't know that.
She stepped out of her night-things and into the hot bath—which was, as usual, at the absolutely perfect temperature, just short of painful and hot enough to forcibly relax every muscle in her body and open every pore in her skin. Yet another advantage of having a Salamander as a servant....
He saw me going out for a walk, but he cannot have any notion of how far I went. I could have gone for a genteel little stroll, rather than a healthy hike. That's the solution; I can be polite to him for a few minutes, then develop a headache and have to go off somewhere quiet! If I'm inside, I can either come back here or be in desperate need of fresh air. If I'm outside, I can manage a similar excuse! Just having a "polite" way to rid herself of du Mond's unwelcome company made her feel a fraction better. Her thoughts began to move a little more freely.
I wonder if I could discourage him in some other way? I didn't say very much the last few times I spoke with him. I could continue that; I could pretend I'm shy. But he might take that as a challenge; some men would. Can I also pretend to be rather stupid, I wonder? She thought that over, as the steam from her bath rose about her face and curled the loose hair into little ringlets.
Stupidity might disgust him, but then again, it might encourage him. Men generally didn't seem to mind stupidity in a woman, and besides, how could she be stupid and claim to have all the expertise in languages she did? Not stupid, but silly. I knew plenty of girls at the University who were amazing linguists, and hadn't the least sense. That might be a better ploy. She'd noticed that men with silly fiancees or wives didn't spend much time in their company. If he won't leave me alone, I could babble endlessly. I never saw a man who could tolerate babbling for more than a few minutes at best.
That should be a last resort, however. She didn't think she'd be able to keep up the pretense of being silly for very long.
She took a deep breath, and further relaxed. Now that she had a plan, she felt much better able to face the day and whatever it held. If only it didn't hold du Mond! She wasn't exactly afraid of him—but whenever she saw him, she was somehow acutely intimidated. He might not be all that prepossessing physically, but he was bigger and stronger than she was, and she had the feeling he was not averse to using that strength against a woman.
I wonder if it would be possible to convince Jason to send du Mond into the city more frequently—or perhaps to keep him there instead of here, and only summon him back if he truly needs the man. It was a nice idea, but she didn't entertain it for very long. Probably not. He is Cameron's secretary, and I'm not going to attempt to take on that task as well as my own.
In fact, she probably couldn't. Du Mond obviously had very exact orders from Jason Cameron, and a routine he accomplished without thinking. She would not be able to follow that routine as smoothly and invisibly. Cameron clearly expected and rewarded competence, and was just as clearly impatient of incompetence. If she tried to replace du Mond, she was doomed to failure, and she did not want to lose the respect she had so far gained.
Her own job had now spilled over into the daylight hours, for as of today, she would be busy reading the books Cameron suggested for her own education when she wasn't reading aloud to him. She had suggested that to him yesterday, pointing out that she was fully qualified to do research, and if he was not utilizing that skill as well as her translation abilities, he was not making the best use of her.
I'm doing quite enough as it is. It will be much easier to keep du Mond from finding out I know the truth about Jason that it would be to try to become, not only translator, student, and researcher, but private secretary as well. There are not enough hours in the day and night together to accomplish all four.
The grey light reminded her of winter skies back in Chicago, although she knew that once she actually looked out the window, the scene would bear no resemblance to winter as she had always known it. It was now nearly Thanksgiving, not that she expected that particular holiday to be celebrated in this household. The nearness of the holiday was just a measure of how long she had been here.
Only a week to Thanksgiving! It hardly seems possible.... Since each day was the same, with nothing to mark one day as different from another, they all tended to blur together.
It is so hard to keep track of what day of the week it is, much less what day of the month. They were not even near enough to the small hamlet of Pacifica to hear the church bells marking Sunday mornings, as she had heard every Sunday of her life in Chicago. And of course there was no question of actually attending church on Sunday, so she lost even that "event" to mark the beginning of a week.
She reflected on that as she dressed—warmly. It was too chilly for silk; the radiators in her rooms were operating and the Salamander kept a fire tended in each fireplace. Odd. I suppose if I were a properly brought up person I would feel very badly about skipping Sunday service, but I don't particularly miss not attending church. Was I bored? I must have been; the Reverend wasn't an entertaining speaker, and the music wasn't ever what I would call outstanding. I don't remember Father ever being very fervent about religion either. We always attended University Chapel because faculty was expected to, I suppose.