Free Quiet Dell: A Novel by Jayne Anne Phillips Page A

books toward him. “I know the books show expenses for my business, which was only breaking even. I shall finish my present commissions, curtail my work, and try to rent the studio space. We will also rent rooms, to gentlemen exclusively, and provide board. That will be our income, and will allow us to stay in our home.”
    “Yes,” he said carefully, “initially, at least, but let us think forward, beyond this next year. I’m aware that your daughter Grethe requires special consideration.”
    Anna nodded. “Yes, a childhood fever left her compromised. She is trusting and good, but not perceptive. She needs protection.”
    Malone paused, and continued. “We must think in terms of the next fifteen years, until such time as your son reaches adulthood, and will I’m sure provide for you. He must be educated. I will of course grant you a mortgage on your house, but I suggest you consider selling Cedar Street and buying a smaller home with less land, a town house perhaps, and live off the capital until such time as—” He saw her stricken look, and went on. “Or you could sell the parcel of land behind the house; there’s frontage on the street back of the property, adjacent to Mayor McKee’s home, which makes the land attractive to an investor or builder.”
    “Fifteen years,” Anna said. She reached for the water, but could not bring herself to raise the glass to her mouth.
    “It’s difficult to make decisions now. Unfortunately, it will be necessary at some point. Mortgaging the home incurs debt, whileselling it could provide you with careful income.” He waited, observing her. “Would you like some hot tea?” His gaze took in her untouched water glass, and her gloves twisted in her hands.
    “No, thank you, Mr. Malone.” Shame suffused her like a warm glow. She probably seemed quite stupid, to cling to a house she could not afford. Odd, the clarity of her thoughts that day, which concerned not this meeting, for which she had tried to prepare, but Heinrich, whom she saw as clearly as though he were beside her. He would stand at the window in their dark bedroom. Moonlight bathed his face and bare chest. He was just her height, and the muscles of his arms and thighs stood out like ropes. He tensed as though bearing a great weight, then came to her for his solace. He began, knowing she would not limit, hinder, resist. Nearly faint in a banker’s office chair, she could feel Heinrich lift her off her feet, and saw in his eyes the complete desolation she’d refused to acknowledge.
    Yes, he was desolate, desperate.
    “Mrs. Eicher?”
    Asta forced herself to meet Malone’s gaze. “Yes, Mr. Malone?”
    “You’re a silversmith, aren’t you, Mrs. Eicher, as was Heinrich. You are an expert on silver and design. Given that Heinrich’s mother lives with you and can help with the children, might you consider inquiring about employment in that realm? Perhaps with a firm downtown?”
    “My mother-in-law is nearly seventy, Mr. Malone, and my children are young. When I worked at our own enterprise, I was near them, in the backyard studio, always supervising.” Others never understood that Lavinia entertained the children but indulged odd enthusiasms. She was shattered by Heinrich’s death, and would make a martyr of him; she needed distraction. Asta planned to rent both back bedrooms, have nice young men coming and going, provide board. Lavinia would go on with the children’s piano lessons and theatricals and walks, and help with the cooking. “No, I shall simply have to try to make it work.”
    “I see. Well, then, I shall do all in my power to help you.”
    When she took her leave, Mr. Malone clasped her hand in his two hands, which were deep and fleshy and warm, and dwarfed her own. He was soft-spoken, gentle, as though, being a big man, he took care not to overwhelm. The unwelcome thought that his wife was fortunate flickered in Asta’s mind, for a man that size possessed of Heinrich’s appetites would