21

She was probably repeating herself a little too much, but she still told herself she was really bad. She didn't know if he was. Maybe he was. But she certainly was.

He stared at her as she stared at him, then turned away and went back to the mansion.

Did he live there? And if he really owned it, how could he have bought it? In the time they'd been together, he'd been a civil engineer working for a large company. He earned a good living, but that was all. He couldn't even afford a low-end apartment, so to buy this huge, sumptuous hotel in this neighborhood...

She wanted to know the answer to that too, but it was one more that was probably doomed never to be revealed to her.

How could she ever confuse him with his twin, Ronnie, for whom, despite the misunderstanding, she felt nothing. And probably vice versa.

"He didn't wear his glasses when he escorted her to her cab..."

The driver heard what she had just whispered dreamily, but this time he refrained from commenting, thinking that this woman with such a sublime, modern allure was decidedly odd.

***

Crystal had lied to the driver: unlike her personal life, her professional life was going perfectly well. Apart from a few minor technical problems, the week at the office was carefree, or so she thought, and once again, she was wrong. Her subordinate Lydia arrived late for work. Crystal couldn't believe it. This effigy of punctuality, who loathed tardiness more than anything else in her life, had arrived late. She was an ordinary-looking woman with a very sweet disposition, a few years older than her superior, but that didn't stop the two women getting on very well, and a bond of mutual respect had grown up between them from the start of their collaboration.

Yes, Crystal really liked the young woman, a single mother devoted to her daughter and work, so when she noticed she was running late, she waited anxiously. She'd be making calls if in the next five minutes she still didn't show up.

Lydia arrived within that time, but her superior and friend knew at once that something was wrong. And she sensed it was something serious.

But first she forced herself to start with some basic pleasantries.

"Lydia, Lydia, I should commemorate this day as the day Lydia Maxwell, queen of punctuality, arrived late, and to her work no less."

Lydia had hung up without her coat, then turned to face her friend, her face lit with a tight smile.

"My apologies, you are right to commemorate it indeed. But I can assure you it won't happen again."

Crystal stared at her for a long moment. She was wearing a light yellow suit and black heels this day, her short brown hair held back by a barrette that set off her face, neither beautiful nor ugly, brimming with green eyes. Eyes that were usually laughing and sincere, but at this moment reflected deep anxiety and terror. But perhaps worst of all was the lameness that the young woman had noticed as soon as she arrived, but which her subordinate had done everything in her power to alleviate.

"Lydia," the young woman began earnestly, "I'll come straight to the point. It's obvious to anyone that you've got a problem today, your face is very expressive not to mention your memorable lateness, so let's both spare ourselves the detours and pretense, and tell me right away what's wrong. I'm sure I can help. I'm your friend." 

Lydia bravely held her friend's gaze. She wanted to confide in her friend, that was clear to see, but above all she wanted help; one had no idea of clearly feeling such fear without longing for help, but in the end, she backed away.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Crystal. But I thank you for your concern. I'm lucky to have a supervisor who cares about me in more than just a professional way."

"We're friends, I'll have you know, so..."

"I know. So about the Jefferson case..."

"What happened to your foot?" interrupted the young woman, still glaring at her subordinate. The latter flinched and turned pale.

"But nothing, I was hurrying to catch my bus and sprained my ankle a little, that's all."

"That's all, obviously."

"So, I was saying, about the Jefferson file, I've got it..."

"I hope it's not Marie." Crystal insisted again, genuinely concerned by her subordinate's sudden change.

Marie was her daughter. Lydia pursed her lips.