The following morning dawned overcast and very cold. So cold, in fact, that CC lingered longer than usual under her warm covers, dreading the frosty air in the room. When she finally forced herself to push the blankets back, she immediately wrapped her thin robe around her body, annoyed that she had left the warm one at her penthouse. Well, Niles could go fetch it for her, she decided, as she slid her feet into her slippers.
Warmed by a hot shower, and dressed in a blouse and slacks, CC made her way to the kitchen half an hour later. The family wasn't there; nor was Niles, but he had left a plate of croissants on the counter and water for tea in the kettle.
As CC sat at the table—why bother with carrying things to the dining room, though it did feel terribly informal to eat in the kitchen—she skimmed the newspaper for headlines of interest. Smuggling ring busted, nor'easter coming, and two cursed Lloyd-Webber musicals breaking records.
Impatiently folding the paper with a snap of her wrists, she shoved back her chair and stood quickly, then tossed the paper on the table. She was just about to go look for the lazy butler when he came downstairs, his hair damp from, she assumed, a shower. Had he prepared breakfast in his… pajamas? She wondered.
"Welcome to the world of the living, Babcock," he said, grinning at her.
She grimaced at him. "You're the one just now taking a shower. I had to get my own breakfast," she complained.
"Poor thing," he mocked. "Don't forget to wash your dishes," he added. "It's my day off."
Ignoring that, she followed him into the living room. "Where is everybody?"
"Mr. Sheffield took Miss Margaret and Master Brighton to that toy store they enjoy so much on Fifth Avenue. Miss Grace is already down for a nap."
"You mean he was here this morning? And not drunk?" She knew it was unkind, but it wasn't exactly an unfair question.
"Wonders never cease," he observed wryly, sinking into the sofa.
"Not so fast; I need you to run an errand for me." She sat across from him in an armchair, letting the topic of Maxwell drop. Maybe he was going to shape up without her having to read him the riot act.
"I'm not working today," Niles repeated.
She ignored that, too. "When I woke up this morning to the frigid temperature in my room, I realized I'd forgotten my warm robe at my penthouse. I'd like for you to go get it for me."
"Babcock, we have plenty of robes here. I'll give you mine," he offered, letting his mind drift to an image of her body ensconced in his clothing.
"No, I want mine," she argued, and rose, joining him on the couch. "Come on, Niles, are you going to make me beg?" She lowered her voice on that last question.
His eyes widened and he clamped his mouth closed before he asked her, Could I? Instead, he said, "I won't now, if you promise to later." Just the right balance between bravado and flirtation, he congratulated himself.
"So you'll go get it?" She asked, refraining from reacting to his comment.
"You'll have to listen for when Miss Grace awakens," he said, arising from the couch with a long-suffering sigh.
"Not a problem. It's hanging on the hook on the door of the master bath. Don't touch any of my other things," she warned.
He rolled his eyes. "Are you sure you brought all your battery-operated friends?" He questioned. "I'm not making another trip over there tonight when you suddenly realize you forgot those, too."
She stood, and crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes, retorted, "I can't believe you don't know already. Haven't you had a chance yet to snoop around my room?"
He shuddered melodramatically. "No telling what I'd come across," he said, mimicking her comment from the night before.
CC's lips twisted into a smirk. "Isn't that my line?" She lifted her eyebrows suggestively.
He threw up his hands, unable to cope with that expression on her face and still stay vertical. "Fine, Babcock. Check on Miss Grace periodically, and I'll be back with your godforsaken robe." He stalked over to the closet and slipped on his hat and scarf, then his winter coat, then his leather gloves and moved towards the door.
"Aren't you going to drive?" CC asked him.
"Have you looked outside today? It's pouring the snow; I'm not braving the roads. I'll just take the Underground."
CC walked to the window and peeked out. Sure enough, snow was piling up on 75th street, and vehicles were moving at a crawl.
"Well, you'd better hurry before it gets any worse," she advised, fishing her keys out of her purse and handing them to him.
"Thank you," Niles said derisively, and closed the door behind him. The double doors kept snow from coming in, but cold air seeped into the room in spite of Niles's speedy exit.
Rubbing her arms with her hands to try to warm up, CC headed upstairs in search of a sweater.
An hour later, after a trip that should've taken 20 minutes, Niles thanked the doorman and entered Miss Babcock's building. The penthouse elevator zipped him to the top floor, and within a few moments, he'd opened her door and stepped inside. Babcock, never one to conserve energy, had left several lamps on, and he looked around the apartment. Stylish and extremely expensive, the décor reflected its owner's tastes, and Niles slid his snow-covered shoes off near the door so he could explore freely.
He moved first into the kitchen. He wanted a look at her appliances, because though he was sure they were rarely used—he fed her most of the time, after all, as she herself had pointed out—he'd wager that they were top-of-the-line and more modern than those in his kitchen. His eye was drawn immediately to the sub-zero refrigerator/freezer, large and gleaming stainless steel, decorated with—he stepped closer—the drawing Miss Grace had done of Babcock before Mrs. Sheffield—before. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and brought his hand up to the piece of thick construction paper, remembering the moment in the playroom. Closing his eyes against tears that rose unbidden, he sighed.
Most of the time he was able to suppress thoughts of Mrs. Sheffield and the life the family had had before her death, because he had to, in order to help her children cope with the loss of their mother. But at moments like this, when he was alone and something stirred his memories, he felt the full weight of the loss of his friend and employer, and wondered how the family would ever recover.
And Babcock had saved the scribbles of a small child, and displayed them in her home. He'd watched her burgeoning awareness of Miss Grace's attachment to her with amusement and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on, and he had to admit that the last thing he'd expected to find in her kitchen was crayon artwork done by Miss Grace. Even if it was, he thought with a faint smile, a drawing, however abstract, that would appeal to her narcissistic tendencies.
Tapping his finger thoughtfully one last time against the rough paper, Niles turned and headed for the master bath to collect Babcock's robe, somehow out of the mood to invade her privacy.
