Back in the house, my Master reaches for his cell phone. “I’ll let Mrs Martin know to give you the accounts. Next week maybe.”
“You don’t need to. I’ll tell her myself. I need to take charge for myself.”
Setting the phone down again, he smiles slightly. “Yes, you do.”
*****
Climbing the back stairs, I turn off into the office. It’s all perfectly tidy. Almost too tidy, everything cleared from the desk. Not so much as a pen tray or a stapler in view. A filing cabinet sits beside the desk. Randomly, I tug at a drawer.
Locked.
Various folders, suppliers’ brochures and similar are housed in glass-fronted bookcases. I scan the file labels…
Purchases…
Receipts…
Suppliers’ statements…
Bank statements…
… then pull at the handle.
Also locked.
Hmmm…
I shrug it off.
Probably just good h
