Chapter 5 - An Unexpected Visitor at Dawn
The morning sun filtered through the lace curtains of Martha’s spare room, casting pale geometric shapes across the braided rug. I had spent the first few hours unpacking my single canvas duffel bag, arranging my few remaining clothes in the empty drawers of an oak bureau that smelled faintly of lavender and old cedar. My muscles ached from the emotional exhaustion of the previous days, yet my mind remained wired, turning over every possible outcome of my sudden flight.
A sharp, authoritative knock at the front door broke the morning quiet. It was too firm and rhythmic to be Martha returning from her early trip to the neighborhood bakery. I paused with a folded sweater in my hands, listening as heavy footsteps creaked down the hallway downstairs. A murmur of voices drifted up through the floorboards, followed by Martha’s distinct tone rising in defensive irritation.
"She's resting," Martha said sharply downstairs. "And even if she wasn't, I don't care who you are or what kind of car you parked in my driveway. You can't just barge in here."
"I am not here to cause a scene, Mrs. Hayes," a cool, modulated voice replied. It belonged to a woman, carrying a smooth cadence that I recognized instantly.
Vivienne.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I set the sweater down on the bed, smoothed out the front of my thrift-store blouse, and walked quietly toward the bedroom door. The handle turned smoothly under my palm as I stepped out into the narrow upstairs hallway. Looking down the wooden staircase, I saw Vivienne standing in the small entryway. She wore a tailored cream trench coat over a silk dress, her blonde hair pinned into an immaculate updo that looked entirely out of place against Martha’s floral wallpaper and modest coat rack. An expensive leather handbag hung from the crook of her arm, and her eyes scanned the modest interior with undisguised clinical disdain.
"It's fine, Martha," I called out, my voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in my veins. I descended the stairs slowly, keeping my posture upright. "Let her up."
Martha stood near the front door, her arms crossed defensively over her apron, glaring at the visitor. She looked back at me with worry etched into the lines around her eyes, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of trouble. I gave her a small, reassuring nod, signaling that I could handle whatever brought the hotel investor's daughter across town to this working-class neighborhood.
May you like
Vivienne turned her gaze upward, watching me descend with the calm, predatory grace of someone accustomed to getting her way in every boardroom and ballroom. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, she stepped into the small parlor area, bringing with her the crisp scent of expensive perfume that cut sharply through the smell of Martha’s brewing coffee.
"Clara," Vivienne said, her lips curving into a polite, tight smile that did not reach her eyes. "You certainly don't make things easy to find. It took my assistant three phone calls and a substantial tip to track down where you had vanished to."
