Love Isn't Blind 1 Read Free Page B

pour some wine already."
    "I'll get it," said Ashley, reaching for the bottle.
    "So how have you been finding the work?" asked Anthony.
    "Quite enjoyable, actually," she replied. "You speak so clearly and it's very easy to transcribe. I have to admit to feeling I'm being let in on a secret as the first person to hear your new story as you write it."
    "We're only at the beginning now," he said. "Just wait until we get past the halfway point. I always struggle with my characters around this time, and it's nearly impossible for me to not want to go back to the beginning and tear everything apart."
    His hand slid along the table, his fingertips skimming the surface delicately until they found the base of the wine glass. Ashley was impressed with how agile he was around something like a delicate wine glass. What little she knew about people who weren't born blind led her to believe that it took years of dedicated practice to adjust to a life without sight.
    "I've never been one to shy away from a challenge," she said. She sipped her own wine and watched him. He was smiling and seemed perfectly amiable, not at all like the dour hermit Helene had made him out to be.
    "No, I don't doubt that for a second. My years of service have taught me how to take the measure of a person, and I knew you'd be the right one for the job. I've written my last five books by recording the narratives and having them sent off to be turned into text, but I've never been fully happy with how they turned out. There's just something missing in the process, and after reviewing the work you've done so far, I was thinking it might be more efficient to meet each day and discuss the previous night's work. Would you be amenable to such an arrangement?"
    Was he really asking her to provide editorial feedback on the story in progress? This was huge, and it showed her that he had a tremendous amount of faith in her abilities as a writer. "Of course, that would be great," was all she managed to say.
    "Excellent." He closed his eyes, seemingly out of habit, and sniffed the air. "Mmm, it seems as though dinner is about to be served."
    As if on cue, Helene appeared with a bright orange, enameled cast iron pan held between two oven mitt clad hands. She placed it on the table and served each a generous portion of the rich beef stew. She disappeared, only to reappear seconds later with a basket of fresh baked bread and a dish of rich creamery butter.
    "It's an old family recipe," said Anthony. "I've been trying to get her to hand it over since the first time she made it for me, but she refuses to give it up. All I know is that it takes her most of the day to prepare."
    "Oh, it's not like you'd cook it anyway," said the housekeeper, wiping her hands on her apron.
    "Don't think dear Helene is being insensitive to my lack of sight," said Anthony. "I was never one for cooking before the accident, so it stands to reason I'd be a lot less inclined now that I can't see whether I am picking up an onion or the wrong end of a chef's knife."
    "It is quite delicious," said Ashley. She hadn't anticipated having his lack of sight come up in conversation, and she didn't entirely know how to react.
    "I'll leave you two to talk," said Helene.
    "How is your new project coming?" asked Anthony.
    "Oh, it's going well enough, I suppose. How did you know I was working on a new story?" she asked.
    "Lucky guess," he replied. "Like I said, I learned a few things about judging people and situations during my years with the CIA. I obviously knew you were an aspiring author when I hired you; and since moving down here and into my home is a major transition for you, it seems only fitting that you use this opportunity to start a new project."
    "That's remarkable," she said. "I hope you won't think me too forward, but how much of what you write in your books is from your time working in the field?"
    He turned to face her with a deadly serious expression. "That's classified information, I'm afraid. I could