The furniture was a smart mix of new contemporary pieces and several threadbare, worn-from-love side chairs. The painting over the fireplace looked like a Sonia Delaunay. The evening sun in London seemed to stay out forever. The rays stretched in long golden strands through the double French door...
Cendrine, the nonmaid maid, picked up on the second ring. They spoke in rapid French. “You might as well stay on the line, Cendrine, to save Letitia the trouble of having to tell you everything all over again. Go wake her up and tell her I need a shoulder to cry on or to b...
Maybe I could swoop in once a month, clean up the occasional corporate mess, and swoop out. That idea comes to a screeching halt when Alexei suggests I actually call on some of Voyanovski’s larger clients and introduce myself. “No way.” ...