Beauty and the Dark

by Georgia Le Carre

  When I woke up I was in a beautiful room. Guy was sitting on a chair next to the bed.

  “Where is Lena?” I whispered.

  “You are not ready to see her. Heal first. Then you can see her.”

  I grasped the bed covers tightly and fought back the tears. I was sure he had tricked me. “Where is she?”

  “She is in London.”

  He did not seem to be lying. “Does she know I’m here?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I love her and I don’t want to break her heart by letting her see you in this state.”

  I stared at him in shock. What a wonderful man. He wanted to spare her the pain. Suddenly, shame flooded into me. Lena was clean. I was not. I squeezed my eyes shut. “Don’t tell her I’m here. I can’t face her. I’m dirty. I’m too dirty,” I began to sob.

  He leaned forward, his eyes blazing with inner fury. ‘You’re not dirty. You’re an angel with a broken wing, but broken things can heal. You will fly again. I will make you fly,” he grated.

  I couldn’t reply because I was crying so much.

  He was as good as his word. Immediately, he set about calling in an army of doctors, nurses and professionals to heal me. When the haze brought about by the drugs left my system and my head cleared, I just wanted to die. I couldn’t cope with the things I had done.

  All those men.

  All those filthy things.

  Until then I had been in survival mode. Knowing nothing but the irresistible urge to survive. Feelings are a luxury. I felt nothing even at the worst kind of humiliation and degradation.

  The first feelings I experienced were rage. Terrible fury. It boiled and bubbled like lava in my blood. It ate me up. I trembled with it. I lashed out. I wailed. I screamed. I sobbed for hours. I was filled with hate. I hated my father. I hated my mother even more for what she allowed my father to do to me.

  I hated Valdislav.

  I hated myself.

  I hated the world.

  I hated God.

  I even hated my blameless sister. It was not enough that she was beautiful, she had found a wonderful man like Guy. I turned my hatred to Guy. I screamed hysterically at him.

  Naturally, I hated the people who had been brought to cure me. I tried to claw my psychiatrist’s face and had to be held back by the servants. She pissed me off. Sitting there as smug as a well-fed cat spouting glib nonsense.

  “But how do you feel about it?”

  “I feel like scratching your fucking face to shreds.”

  All the professionals were in agreement. I was too damaged for outpatient treatment. In fact, in their professional opinion, I was more than a little mad. I should be locked up and medicated. Guy wasted no time.

  He fired them all and did a strange thing.

  He went to Tibet to personally call on a powerful shaman to come to the castle and take over my rehabilitation. I don’t think money changed hands. It was a special favor.

  Master Yeshe was only as tall as me. I still remember the day he arrived. I was curled up tight on the bed. My thumb was in my mouth and I was sucking it so hard my thumb was red and raw. I was not angry that day. My mind was numb, but tears were pouring from my eyes. My body was remembering some great hurt.

  Dressed in blue robes he walked towards the bed with the help of a crooked black walking stick. I couldn’t see him through the haze of tears. I could only tell that he had a sparse white beard, and his eyes were so small they were merely slits in his round, ageless face. He came very close to my body and held his forefinger six inches in front of me.

  Suddenly, the tears stopped. I stared at him in shock.

  He smiled. “You will be well again,” he said in Russian.

  His method of dealing with my uncontrollable fits of rage and pain was bizarre, but it worked.

  Every day for three weeks we met before the sun came up in the foyer, which was filled with the scent of lilies. On the first day, I tried to wish him good morning, but he touched his finger to his lips and pointed to his feet. They were bare. I took my shoes off, and without exchanging a single word, we began our walk.

  We walked barefoot through the vast grounds of the castle. We never spoke. Not one word. The ground was so cold the soles of my feet turned blue, and a few times I hurt myself on thorns and sharp stones, but always at the end of the walk I felt good. The soles of my feet became toughened and, slowly, every day I felt a little better than I had the day before. The demons were leaving me.

  I was healing!

  I began to accept all those terrible, unfair things had happened to me even though I had done nothing to deserve them. Valdislav could never again come near me, tell me what to do, or touch me. In this safe setting I would slowly rebuild my life. Become a different person. I learned to be grateful that I had another chance. Another chance to be peaceful, and for the first time in my life to be master of my own body. I started to look forward to my sister’s arrival.

  On the day Master Yeshe left the castle he said his last words to me. I remember them even now. He was drinking butter tea.

  “Baby steps.”

  As he uttered those words, he moved his hands as if they were feet taking small steps.

  They were nothing words, but their power to me was and is incalculable. In every situation that looked like it could overwhelm me, I said those words silently, and suddenly I was quietly walking barefoot with him in the cold morning air inhaling the smell of moss, rotting leaves, and wet earth. And just like that I was filled with peace and tranquility again.

  Three

  Sofia

  Guy looks down at me from his great height, his eyes kind and protective. “We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to,” he says gently.

  Love and gratitude well up in my heart for him as I smile shakily.

  “Don’t tell her that,” my sister tells Guy, her voice anxious. “She has to start somewhere. This is a safe environment for her. We’ve come this far. She can do it.”

  “Don’t force her, Lena. There is no hurry.”

  I look from Guy to my sister. She is frowning and all kinds of thoughts and fears are visible on her face. She desperately wants me to agree to go in. For her this is an important milestone. My first social engagement after more than two years at the castle. All this time I have only ever gone out to the village to buy little bits and pieces.

  She has my best interests at heart and I don’t want to let her down, but my eyes glance longingly at the car waiting at the end of the path. In my head I hear Master Yeshe’s voice.

  “Baby steps.”

  I take a deep breath. I can do this. This is my life. I control it. Valdislav is a bad memory.

  I force a smile on to my lips. “It’s okay, Lena. We’ll go in.”

  My sister’s face breaks into a relieved smile. “Thank God. I promise you, Sofia you won’t regret doing this.’

  With an imperceptible nod, Guy puts his finger to the doorbell and the door is opened by a smiling, olive-skinned woman in a black dress. Her accent marks her as Spanish. She welcomes us into the warmth of the interior and closes the door.

  The air is perfumed with the smell of cinnamon and spices. I can hear the laughter of people coming from deeper in the house.

  I look around me curiously.

  The tall, highly polished granite hallway looks festive and welcoming with its Christmas decorations, including a mini Santa’s cabin in the woods tucked away in one corner. There is a plate of biscuits and a glass of milk outside the little door.

  The sight makes me smile.

  I knew Santa Claus did not exist from the time I was tiny. My father never made any attempt to infuse magic into our lives. How wonderful that the Barrington’s children have so much.

  A tall girl in a white shirt and black skirt comes into the hallway. She smiles at us and offers to take our coats. I watch Guy help Lena out of hers and give it to the girl before turning to me. I have an irrational desire to keep
mine on a little longer, but I let him help me out of my coat. Instantly, I feel cold and horribly exposed. I fidget with my dress. It is pure white and beautifully cut, but I realize I probably shouldn’t have worn it tonight. It is too revealing. The black dress would have been better.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ my sister whispers.

  She means to be encouraging, but I shrink further into myself, utterly certain I won’t be able to fit in. That old terror comes back in a rush. One of the men will recognize me. He will crack a rude joke about me. I will bring shame to Guy and my sister. My lungs suddenly feel empty and I draw in a shuddering breath. Both Guy and my sister’s head whip around in my direction.

  “Are you all right?” Lena asks. Her eyes are sharp with concern that she has pushed me to take this step too quickly.

  I swallow hard.

  Baby steps.

  It is crazy to think that the rough and ready men who came to Valdislav’s brothel would be invited to such a fine house. Even the idea is stupid. Of course, I can do this. I straighten my spine. “Yes. Yes, I am,” I say firmly.

  “We can still go home if you want to,” Guy offers.

  I shake my head. In my mind I am walking barefoot in the woods amongst the yolk-yellow bulbs of winter aconites dotted on the frozen ground. Everything is still and calm. There is nothing to fear. No one can hurt me here. Not while Master Yeshe is around.

  My sister and Guy take up position on either side of me. They have broken themselves up to offer me support. I silently vow not to let them down, or bring embarrassment to them tonight.

  I’ll simply smile and say hello to anyone who approaches me, then I’ll find a quiet corner and sit down. Nobody will even know that I’m here. I’ll make myself invisible. The sound of our shoes echo around the grand space as we follow the olive-skinned woman.

  We are shown to a large, elegant room with a massive marble fireplace. There is a cheerful log fire burning in it. The mantelpiece is garlanded with greenery and decorated with white candles. Next to the fireplace there is a massive Christmas tree festooned with beaded snowballs, knit sweater ornaments, ‘snow’ branches, angels, pine cones and delicate glass balls. Lots of gaily wrapped presents are arranged under the tree.

  I allow my gaze to quickly skim over the group. There are about fifteen to twenty people assembled in the room. The men are in dark suits and the women in party dresses. I try not to look at their faces.

  A stunningly beautiful lady dressed in an elegant wraparound black dress comes forward. She has creamy skin and long black hair. “Merry Christmas,” she greets, kissing Guy and Lena.

  “Is this Sofia, then?” she asks with a warm smile.

  “Merry Christmas to you too, Lana,” my sister replies. “Yes, this is my sister Sofia. Sofia, this is Lana Barrington.”

  “Merry Christmas,’ I echo, holding my clammy hand out.

  Instead of shaking my hand, Lana grasps my shoulders and kisses me on both cheeks. ‘How lovely to finally meet you. Your sister talks about you all the time and I’ve been dying to meet you ever since I heard that you walk barefoot on frozen ground,” she gushes.

  “Oh. I … er … it’s … lovely to meet you too,” I stammer, and mentally kick myself for being so lame.

  Her smile doesn’t falter. “Well, come in and try a glass of mulled wine. It’s made from a very special old Roman recipe. It has saffron, mastic, and roasted date stones.”

  As if on cue, a waitress stops by carrying a tray full of thick glasses three-quarters filled with a murky liquid the color of ox blood.

  A tall, handsome man with cold, dismissive eyes comes up to us. His body language tells me immediately that he must be our host, the reserved husband, Blake Law Barrington. Lena says he used to be a banker to the bankers and that his wealth is quite literally astounding. One look at him and I believe it.

  He shakes Guy’s hand and exchanges greetings with him before turning to smile at Lena and me. As our gazes touch I have a strange sensation: this is a dangerous man. Underneath his beautifully cut, civilized clothes he has no limits. He could kill with a smile if he had to. I have met men like him before only once or twice. Their coldness reaches into their souls. He extends his hand and I slip mine into it. His handshake is firm, but impersonal.

  He breaks our handshake, slips his arm around his wife’s waist, and looks down at her. Instantly, I see that he adores her. She is the real love of his life. Without her he would be a heartless monster.

  Something tugs at my heart, a longing to be part of a great love, but I know I’ll never let anyone get that close to me. My firm intention is to live and die alone.

  Four

  Sofia

  My sister gently places her hand on my back and steers me towards the fireplace. I realize I am shivering. She positions me with the tree on my left and the fireplace on my right. I take a sip of my wine. It tastes sweet and smoky. I take another sip. And another.

  Slowly the heat from the fireplace warms my back while I stand there silently, and listen to my sister talking to Lana. I notice that Lana has taken the cue from my sister and does not try to draw me into their conversation. The mulled wine seeps into my veins, warming and relaxing me.

  No one approaches us and I begin to feel protected and hidden away amongst the greenery and tight circle made by my sister and Lana. My body loosens. My skin feels warm and glowing. This is not so bad. I can do this.

  For the first time I notice the music playing discreetly in the background. I listen to the snatches of conversation floating around me. The waitresses circulate with platters of finger food. I can’t eat a thing so I shake my head politely.

  From across the room I catch Guy’s glance and smile back. A look of relief crosses his face. Someone comes up to whisper something in Lana’s ear. She excuses herself and follows the woman. My sister turns to me and beams. I can see that she is pleased with me.

  I smile back mistily. I am more than a little tipsy.

  “You’re doing very well,” she whispers, bestowing me with a truly radiant smile. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Another woman comes to join us. Lena introduces us. I smile and nod politely, then tune out of their conversation. I turn my gaze to the window. There is a thick layer of snow on the ground and the Barrington’s garden looks like a winter wonderland.

  From my vantage point I can see the edge of what looks like a massive conservatory. It is softly lit with round yellow lamps and seems to have a mature orange tree in it! The tree is at least seven or eight feet tall with a thick trunk and branches groaning with fruit. Instantly, I am seized by the need to go and have a closer look.

  “I’m just going to find the toilet,” I tell Lena. I don’t want to drag her with me or ruin her party. I just want to look at the tree.

  “I’ll come with you,” she says immediately.

  I touch her hand in a stopping gesture. “No, I’ll be fine.”

  She stares at me. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Okay I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

  I nod and leave the room. The alcohol makes me feel as if I am floating. I drift down the thankfully empty hallway towards the conservatory. I open the door and gasp.

  It is not a conservatory at all, but a breathtakingly beautiful orangery. Whoever the Barrington’s gardener is, he is a genius of color and texture. He has created a magical garden where everything is in season. Oranges, lemons, limes, bananas, strawberries, chilies. Even the flowering plants are all in bloom.

  There are roses, lilies, japonica berries, scarlet willow, and a whole load of other flowers I don’t recognize. The rich smell of the earth mixes with the sweet scent of jasmine and fills my nostrils. I move deeper into the garden, my high heels sinking into the soil. Impulsively, I take my shoes off and let my feet feel the cold soil.

  Baby steps.

  I let my fingers trail over the velvety petals of a white trumpet flower and smile to myself. For the first time since we left the
castle I feel glad that I came out. I feel brave and oddly happy.

  As I stand there congratulating myself, the door at the opposite end of the entrance I came in from is suddenly opened. I whirl around in a panic and almost laugh with relief. An adorable little boy in blue pajamas and bare feet comes in and closes the door behind him.

  For an instant he looks almost ghostly pale standing against the dark of the night. Then he takes another couple of steps closer and comes into the circle of light cast by one of the lamps. I know instantly that he must be Lana and Blake’s son, Sorab. He has his mother’s beautiful eyes, the lashes long and sweeping down his cheeks, but the rest of his face is all his father’s. Lena was right, he is indeed adorable.

  “Hello,’ I say, pleased by his appearance. I thought we had arrived too late and I had missed the opportunity of meeting him or his sister.

  “Hello,” he replies, staring up at me with huge eyes.

  “What are you doing up at this time of the night?”

  “I had a bad dream and I couldn’t sleep. I was looking out of my window.’ He turns and points to a first floor window across the garden. Next to it is a balcony with a wrought iron spiral staircase coming down from it. “And I saw you here. I thought you were a Christmas angel.”

  I laugh, all the stress and dread of tonight momentarily gone. “A Christmas angel? That is certainly not me.”

  “Why are you here on your own then?” he demands.

  “I was at your parents’ party, but I came in here to look at the orange tree.”

  He rubs his eyes and yawns. “Oh.”

  “So you had a bad dream, huh?”

  “Yeah,” he confirms, nodding solemnly.

  “Want to come over here and tell me what it was about?” I ask, pointing to a bench behind me.

  He walks over and we sit next to each other. His feet do not touch the ground and there is about a foot between us. He looks up at me and I raise my eyebrows encouragingly.

  He slouches. “I dreamed of a dragon.”

  “You did?” I can’t help exclaiming.