a few times in eighteen years. His father sat by the phone every Sunday night, waiting for calls that almost never came. Julian looked at me without recognizing him.
“It’s Mary, isn’t it? Or Mara?”
“Martha, sir.”
“Okay. I’m looking into my father’s cases. Meet me at the office in ten minutes.”
He left before I could answer. Mr. Whitaker had once promised that I would always be looked after, but I assumed he was just comforting an elderly housekeeper. I straightened my apron and walked into the office, where
