Then he leant forward over the desk and steepled his fingers. ‘I’m not someone, Louisa, used to finding myself lost for words, but … I confess I am right now. I discovered something two days ago. Something which has left me rather shaken.’

He looked up at me. I looked steadily back at him, my expression a study in neutrality.

‘My daughter Tabitha had become … suspicious about some things she’d heard and put a private investigator on the case. This is not something I’m particularly happy about – we are not, as a family, prone to investigating each other. But when she told me what the gentleman had found, it was not something I could ignore. I talked to Agnes about it and she has told me everything.’

I waited.

‘The child.’

‘Oh,’ I said.

He sighed. ‘During these rather – extensive discussions, she also explained about the piano, the money for which, I understand, you were under instruction to remove in increments, day by day, from a nearby ATM.’

‘Yes, Mr Gopnik,’ I said.

He lowered his head as if he had hoped against hope that I might dispute the facts, tell him it was all nonsense, that the private investigator was talking rubbish.

Finally he sat back heavily in his chair. ‘We appear to have done you a great wrong, Louisa.’

‘I’m not a thief, Mr Gopnik.’

‘Plainly. And yet, out of loyalty to my wife, you were prepared to let me believe you were.’

I wasn’t sure if it was a criticism. ‘I didn’t feel like I had a choice.’

‘Oh, you did. You absolutely did.’

We sat in the cool office in silence for a few moments. He tapped on his desk with his fingers.

‘Louisa, I have spent much of the night trying to figure out how I can put this situation right. And I’d like to make you an offer.’

I waited.

‘I’d like to give you your job back. You will, of course, receive better terms – longer holidays, a pay rise, significantly improved benefits. If you would rather not live on site, we can arrange accommodation nearby.’

‘A job?’

‘Agnes hasn’t found anyone she likes half as much as she liked you. You have more than proven yourself, and I’m immensely grateful for your … loyalty and your continued discretion. The girl we took on after you has been … well, she’s not up to it. Agnes doesn’t like her. She considered you more of … of a friend.’

I looked down at the dog. He looked up at me. He seemed distinctly unimpressed. ‘Mr Gopnik, that’s very flattering but I don’t think I would feel comfortable working as Agnes’s assistant now.’

‘There are other positions, positions within my organization. I understand that you do not have another job yet.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘There’s not a lot goes on in my building that I don’t know about, Louisa. Usually, at least.’ He allowed himself a wry smile. ‘Look, we have openings in our marketing and administrative departments. I could ask Human Resources to bypass certain entry requirements and we could offer you training. Or I would be prepared to create a position in my philanthropic arm if you felt that was something you were interested in. What do you say?’ He sat back, one arm on his desk, his ebonized pen loose in his hand.

An image of this alternative life swam before my eyes – me, dressed in a suit, headed to work each day in these vast glass offices. Louisa Clark, earning a big salary, living somewhere I could afford. A New Yorker. Not looking after anyone, for once, just pushing upwards, the sky limitless above me. It would be a whole new life, a real shot at the American Dream.

I thought of my family’s pride if I said yes.

I thought of a scruffy warehouse downtown, filled to the brim with other people’s old clothes. ‘Mr Gopnik, again, I’m very flattered. But I don’t think so.’

His expression hardened. ‘So you do want money.’

I blinked.

‘We live in a litigious society, Louisa. I am conscious that you hold highly sensitive information about my family. If it’s a lump sum you’re after, we’ll talk about it. I can bring my lawyer into the discussion.’ He leant over and put his finger on the intercom. ‘Diane, can you –’

It was at this point that I stood. I lowered Dean Martin gently to the floor. ‘Mr Gopnik, I don’t want your money. If I’d wanted to sue you or – or make money from your secrets I would have done it weeks ago, when I was left without a job or anywhere to live. You’ve misjudged me now as you misjudged me back then. And I’d like to leave now.’

He took his finger off the phone. ‘Please … sit. I didn’t mean to offend you.’ He motioned to the chair. ‘Please, Louisa. I need to get this matter sorted out.’

He didn’t trust me. I saw now that Mr Gopnik lived in a world where money and status were prized so far above everything else that it was inconceivable to him that somebody wouldn’t try to extract some, given the opportunity.

‘You want me to sign something,’ I said coolly.

‘I want to know your price.’

And then it occurred to me. Perhaps I did have one, after all.

I sat down again, and after a moment I told him, and for the first time in the nine months that we’d met, he looked properly surprised. ‘That’s what you want?’

‘That’s what I want. I don’t care how you do it.’

He leant back in his chair, and placed his hands behind his head. He looked off to the side, thinking for a moment, then turned back to me. ‘I rather wish you would come back and work for me, Louisa Clark,’ he said. And then he smiled, for the first time, and reached across the desk to shake my hand.

‘Letter for you,’ said Ashok, as I walked in. Mr Gopnik had instructed that the car should bring me home and I had asked the driver to drop me two blocks away so that Dean Martin could stretch his legs. I was still shaking from the encounter. I felt light-headed, elated, as if I were capable of anything. Ashok had to call twice before I registered what he’d said.

‘For me?’ I stared down at the address – I couldn’t think who knew I was living at Mrs De Witt’s aside from my parents, and my mother always liked to email me to tell me that she’d written me a letter just so I could keep a look out.

I ran upstairs, gave Dean Martin a drink, then sat down to open it. The handwriting was unfamiliar so I flicked the letter over. It was written on cheap copier paper, in black ink, and there were a couple of crossings-out, as if the writer had struggled with what he wanted to say.

Sam.

30

Dear Lou,

I wasn’t entirely truthful when we last met. So I’m writing to you now, not because I think it will change anything but because I deceived you once and it’s important to me that you know I will never mislead or deceive you again.

I’m not with Katie. I wasn’t when I last saw you. I don’t want to say too much but it became clear pretty quickly that we are very different people, and that I had made a huge mistake. If I’m honest, I think I knew it from the start. She has put in for a transfer and although they don’t like it much at head office it looks like they’ll go ahead with it.

I’m left feeling like a fool, and rightly so. Not a day goes by when I don’t wish I’d just written you a few lines every day, like you asked, or sent the odd postcard. I should have hung on tighter. I should have told you what I felt when I felt it. I should have just tried a bit harder instead of throwing myself a pity party at the thought of all the people who had left me behind.