Armand

Armand walked a half-step ahead of the girl through the east wing corridor, past the shrouded furniture and the stacked crates of fixtures waiting to be installed. He was conscious of her behind him, the soft scuff of her socked feet on the stone, the way she kept pulling at the hem of that dress. He had worked for Ash Maxwell for eleven months now. He understood what the dress meant. He understood what the absence of luggage meant. He understood, in the way of a man who has chosen to accept unusual employment conditions in exchange for unusual compensation, what this girl was here for.

He stopped at a heavy oak door at the end of the south corridor and pushed it open. The room beyond was small but beautiful: a single bed with a linen canopy, a writing desk by the window, a wardrobe, a private bathroom visible through an interior door. Fresh flowers on the nightstand. Lavender, naturally. Everything white and clean and soft, and warm light pouring through the casement window.

He turned to look at her. She stood in the doorway, taking it in, and her expression had shifted from wary to something almost wondering. He doubted she'd ever had a room this nice.

"Écoute, petite," he said, in the French of the south, the vowels rounded and lazy.
[Listen, kid,]

"Ces gens-là sont dingues. Tu vas t'en rendre compte. Mais ils sont aussi très sérieux. Je te conseille de ne pas faire de vagues." He leaned against the doorframe.
[Those people are crazy. You'll realize that soon enough. But they're also very serious. I advise you not to make any waves.]

"Si tu joues le jeu, tu vas trouver ça plutôt agréable ici."
[If you play along, you're going to find it rather pleasant here.]

She looked at him. Those grey-green eyes. Christ.

"Ah, tiens, voilà ta chambre. La mienne est au bout du couloir." He pointed.
[Ah, look, here's your room. Mine is at the end of the hall.]

"Je te laisse t'installer. Retrouve-moi dans le hall d'entrée dans un quart d'heure, je te fais visiter."
[I'll leave you to get settled. Meet me in the entrance hall in fifteen minutes, and I'll show you around.]

He left her there. He walked back down the corridor toward the kitchen, and he did not look back, because if he looked back he'd see the outline of her through that dress, and he'd already seen enough to understand that the next few weeks were going to be long, and complicated, and precisely as interesting as Madame Maxwell intended them to be.