She hesitates briefly while staring into my eyes, and I can tell she wants to say something. “Bea, go play in your room,” she says to the little girl. Reluctantly, Bea listens, sprinting down the hall to her own room, leaving Phoenix and me alone. After breathing a pensive sigh, she says, “Monsieur St. Claire is a private man. It’s best you don’t go upstairs or bother him unless it’s important. Don’t ask about his work or where he goes at night.”
