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CASSIE
THE LAST TIME I was invited to the Mansion I was naked beneath a full-length coat and led upstairs
blindfolded, where a sensuous feast (and lover) awaited me. This time was a little different. It was
Matilda waiting for me, looking somber on the porch in the middle of a hot August Saturday. I already
knew what preoccupied her. After I had gotten off the phone with an angry Dauphine the night before,
I’d had a hard time sleeping, so I called Matilda and told her about the auction, and Pierre’s stunt.
“I cannot believe Pierre,” I said, greeting Matilda on the porch. “Dauphine’s shaken.”
“I don’t blame her. In the almost forty years that we’ve been doing this, we’ve had trouble with
only one man: Pierre. I should have trusted my instincts when he first joined, but we were all dazzled
by his charms.”
“Well, there’s one consolation in all of this: his fifteen million will keep S.E.C.R.E.T. running for a
long time,” I said.
“If we keep it.”
I had never questioned whether we’d keep the money. But the way Matilda was talking, giving it
back suddenly seemed a possibility.
“Anyway,” she continued, “whether we keep the money is a decision for the whole Committee, not
just me. I’m heading to Dauphine’s house now.”
“Should I come? Can we postpone this … session?”
“No. This is a job for the head of the Committee and time is of the essence. I may be able to
convince Dauphine to stay in S.E.C.R.E.T., but if not, I hope I can at least convince her to accept our
apologies. Meanwhile, you, my dear, have an exciting task at hand that also needs to be completed.
Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Nervous?”
“Yes.”
“Has Jesse contacted you?”
“I’m seeing him tonight.” I couldn’t help but beam a little.
Matilda didn’t echo my enthusiasm; instead, her tone shifted back to one of concern.
“After all that’s happened, and how wrong I was about Pierre, I do hope I’m not wrong about Jesse
too.”
“I don’t think you are,” I said, wondering why she continued to plant these doubts about him.
I followed her into the Mansion, up the stairs, then down a long, cool corridor, where she stopped
in front of a narrow door. She unlocked it. Inside the small room was a single grey club chair facing a
wall of glass. Matilda pulled the chair out for me. The room on the other side of the glass was dimly
lit but spectacular, with two floor-to-ceiling windows to my right, draped in thick burgundy curtains,
cupids carved into the wooden valences. Ancient oil paintings of beautiful women in shoulder-baring
gowns hung along the ivory-colored walls. The bed itself was a piece of art, each poster carved to
look like a willow trunk, fronds decorating the oak fascia. In the center of the room sat a tufted chair,
armless, with gilt legs, the seat and back embroidered with burgundy roses.
I felt more nervous than I had during one of my own fantasies.