"It's an interior‑design firm."
"What are you, then? Some kind of decorator?" She grasped the door to steady herself and Ally suddenly wondered if she was slightly tipsy.
"Actually, what we do is probably closer to architecture."
Ally was collecting her belongings, hoping to get out before Eileen Bartlett decided to do something crazy.
"This is the first I've heard about all this." She turned and slammed the rear door.
"Mind if I ask you a question?" Ally said. "Do you have any idea why those back windows were bricked over?"
"It's for security," she said. "No one is ever down here."
That's obvious, Ally thought, which is why this job is so odd. This space clearly isn't being used now, and the social dynamic here doesn't bode well for a lot of cozy entertaining and dinner parties in the foreseeable future. So why is he spending money to renovate? And in this big hurry? And he just happened to pick me to do this as an audition for designing an entire museum. No, this whole thing definitely does not compute.
But of course it does. The job is a blatant bribe. To butter me up for something.
"Look, Miss Whoever‑you‑are, I want you to leave. I don't appreciate strange women walking around unescorted in my house."