by Aubrey Rose
The poor girl. He had rambled on and on and she had tried to listen. Eliot eased her upright in her seat, but her head lolled down. She must be exhausted. Trying not to make any sudden movements, he picked her up and carried her carefully to the guest bedroom, laying her down in the oversized bed and tucking the blankets in around her chin. She slept on, her lips slightly parted, and he brushed back a strand of her hair from her face. She shifted and murmured something. He leaned close to hear what it was she was saying.
“...wonderful,” she said. “You’re wonderful. Everything...wonderful.”
Eliot couldn’t help pressing a soft, protective kiss to her temple. His hand rested gently on her head, and the kitten jumped up at the foot of the bed, curling up on her feet and purring so loud that Eliot was sure it would wake her. Still she slept on, her hands tucked against her cheeks in a prayer pose. He could not say what it was that he felt in his heart, a possessiveness that he did not deserve to feel. It was all he could do not to stay and watch her sleep, for he was afraid that if he left she would vanish again and he would not have her there with him. The kitten’s tail switched across the blanket more slowly, then came to rest. Despite hating most cats, Eliot had to admit that this one was rather cute.
Eliot stood and left them both asleep and warm in the giant bed.
CHAPTER NINE
“See, I cast the die, and I write the book. Whether it is to be read by the people of the present or of the future makes no difference: let it await its reader for a hundred years, if God himself has stood ready for six thousand years for one to study him.” - Kepler
The first night in Budapest I woke in that odd hour between first and second sleep, near midnight. The snow outside fell softly against the windows, the flakes drifting up onto the panes and crusting the glass white such as it never had been in Pasadena, and for a moment I didn’t know where I was, my self so far removed from anything close to what I called home.
Then I saw the moon outside. I exhaled, and my sense of dispossession evaporated, disappearing almost as quickly as my white breath into the air. A sense of peace came over me. I would see my mother’s grave, and I would know love. I felt as certain of this as I did anything else, and this time I did not have to walk to calm myself. Indeed, there was nowhere to go—I was where I needed to be. As I fell back into sleep, I caught myself smiling.
I woke up in the most beautiful room I had ever been in. The large canopied bed swathed with velvet fabric enclosed me in my dreams. I confess that my dreams mostly revolved around Eliot, his beautiful eyes and quiet smile. There lingered a tension between us from our former encounters, a magical feeling that I could not put my finger on—did not want to put my finger on, lest it dissipate. I knew he still wanted me, and I still wanted him, and though we had both accepted that we could not have each other, there was still a longing that I saw in his eyes which I am sure was reflected in mine.
I dressed quickly in jeans and a light sweater, splashed water on my face and brushed my teeth in the granite sink with copper fixtures. Everything here gave off an air of old elegance, of beauty enhanced by age rather than deteriorated by it. I tiptoed down the hall and down the main staircase. There was a chill in the air here that was not in my room, but my sweater kept me warm.
“Hello?”
“Brynn?” His voice came from just around the corner on the first floor. I hopped down the rest of the way down the stairs and turned the corner to see him at the stove, the countertop covered in flour. Lucky sat on the edge of the countertop, licking at a small saucer of milk. Both kitten and man were dusted lightly in patches of flour—Lucky on his tail and Eliot on the end of his nose.
I clapped my hand to my mouth to stifle a giggle.
“Before you say anything, know that we—both of us—had the best of intentions with breakfast.” Eliot came over to me and gave me a chaste hug, careful not to transfer any flour from his body to mine. I reached out and swiped my thumb across his nose to get rid of the flour. He stared cross-eyed at my fingers and caught his breath. I stepped back and surveyed the kitchen, my hands on my hips. The sinks looked like they had been hit by a tornado, with piles of plates and glasses left unwashed, sprawling over the countertops. Behind them the huge windows gave a picturesque view of the mountains covered in snow, a fir forest creeping up to the edge of the estate.
“What exactly is it you are trying to make?” I asked.
“Pancakes. It seemed so simple at the university dining hall,” Eliot explained. “I found a recipe in a book, but I must have added too much water. Then I tried to put more flour in to rebalance, you understand.”
I nodded seriously, my suppressed grin threatening to come to the surface.
“And that’s when I realized we were out of eggs. And this little one—” he said, frowning and pointing with a batter-covered spoon, “would not leave me alone. I had to give him cream to get rid of him!”
“That is a shame.” I petted Lucky on the head, and he purred happily, rubbing himself on my hand. He already looked happier than when I had found him yesterday.
“My mother always used to make such delicious palacsinta,” Eliot said, sitting down with a sigh in one of the kitchen chairs. “Like pancakes, but stuffed with things, you know.”
“What do you normally have for breakfast?” I asked.
“Oh, just tea and bread with butter and honey,” he said. “And a side of bacon. The butcher has such fresh cuts here. Much better than in America.”
My stomach grumbled, and Eliot raised his eyebrows.
“Sounds good to me,” I said. “How about you make us some breakfast while I clean this up?”
Lucky meowed in apparent agreement and I got to work on the dishes while Eliot put a kettle on for the hot water. He happily fried up thick slabs of bacon, and the kitchen filled with the rich, heady scent of the meat. We sat down at the countertop with large mugs, the windows to the backyard now showing the first rays of sunlight coming over the mountaintops.
“What a gorgeous place,” I said. I sipped my tea. Eliot brought over the plates full of bread, honey, and bacon.
“Sometimes I forget how beautiful it is,” Eliot said. There was a sadness in his voice. “We can go and walk the grounds later today, perhaps. I don’t want you going out into the woods on your own.”
“Why not?” I bit into the loaf of bread, sweet and buttery and crusty. My stomach calmed down as I continued to feed it the most delicious bacon I had ever tasted. I bit off the fatted parts first, leaving the crisp meaty bits for the end.
“Poachers.” Eliot sipped his tea and put the cup back down on the granite countertop. “Among others. The deer are out, now, and the poachers come too close to my house for comfort. They’re not allowed, of course, but when they track a deer past the boundary line...”
He shrugged. “Let’s just say that they don’t care too much about whose property is whose.”
“They wouldn’t shoot me, though!” I caught Eliot staring at my carefully dissected bacon. While he averted his eyes, I hastily ate the rest. My food routines would seem strange to anyone, and I didn’t want Eliot to think I was weird.
“Of course not. At least, not on purpose. But always wear something bright to go out. I’ll make sure Marta knows to buy you a brightly colored coat.”
“Marta?”
“My brother’s wife. I called and asked if she might take you shopping today for some warm clothes.”
“Oh.” My mind raced. “But, I really can’t. I mean...”
Eliot looked at me, all questions in his eyes. How could I tell him that I was too poor to buy breakfast, let alone a coat?
“I think I’ll be fine once the heater is on in the apartments,” I finished lamely.
“Nonsense,” he said. “You’ll freeze just walking to the academy from there. I really should have known. You can’t ask a girl who lives her whole life in California to pack warmly for Hungary.”
“But,” I protested, my skin growing warm. “I
mean, it’s just... I really don’t have the money, you know.”
A flash of realization crossed his eyes, but Eliot waved his hand in the air casually.
“Of course, but Otto owes me a debt from long ago. I’ve already arranged it.”
“But—“
Eliot took my hand in his, and I felt a rush of warmth from the pressure of his palm over mine.
“Please, Brynn. It’s no trouble at all, and we can’t have students traipsing around the city dressed for summertime.”
I swallowed, nodding.
“And that reminds me, you’ll be needing money for lunches and things.” He dug into his pocket and brought out a handful of bills. “I noticed you hadn’t changed any of your money yet.”
I took the money from him, startled with the generosity that he pressed on me.
“I’ll...I’ll pay you back.” I looked down at the bills. There were a half dozen 10,000 forint marks. I had no idea how much that was in dollars, but it felt like a lot.
“Of course, but no rush, no rush.”
“Who’s the guy on the money?” The face looking back at me from the red and blue bill resembled Jesus, a man wearing a crown of crosses with a beard and long hair.
Eliot peered over. “Him? That’s Saint Stephen. Some say he was the first king of Hungary, although really there were others before him. He ruled over the country when the Pope gave us independence from the Roman Empire.”
“So he’s famous here?”
“Well, we get a holiday for him. You’re always famous if you have a holiday. That way people are sure to remember you, if only because they get a day off.” Eliot winked.
“The only saint we have a holiday for is Saint Patrick,” I said, tucking the bills into my pocket. “And I’m pretty sure people think he was a leprechaun.”
“Saint Stephen was a good one as far as they go,” Eliot said, his voice turning quiet. “’Be strong lest prosperity lift you up too much or adversity cast you down.’ He preached a good doctrine, even if he didn’t always follow it.”
A knock sounded from the front door.
“That must be Marta,” Eliot said. He got up from his chair. “Early as always.”
“Can Lucky stay here with you while I’m gone?” I asked.
Eliot eyed the kitten warily. “As long as he promises not to claw my leg when he wants cream.” He left to go open the door for Marta.
“You’ll be good, won’t you, Lucky?” He purred convincingly as I scratched behind his ears.
A woman came through the door, and I thought for a moment that she must be a giantess, so tall were her heels. Her blond hair piled atop her head in a bun that extended her height even farther, and a crisply tailored suit fitted her lean body perfectly in a robin’s egg blue. She crossed the kitchen in a handful of strides and pulled me close to her in a familiar hug, her bosom pressing against my chest. I smelled a delicate violet scent of perfume, and her diamond earrings tickled my cheek.
“So this is Brynn!” she cried, exclamation punctuating every word she said. She spoke nearly perfect English, her accent slightly British but otherwise unnoticeable. She pulled back and took me by both arms, examining me. I tried on my most convincing smile. “How darling. Eliot’s told me so much about you! And of course Otto is dying to meet you, as well.”
I wondered what Eliot had told her that promised so much of me, but I decided she must just be overly friendly. My jaw hurt from smiling broadly, and when she turned to Eliot for a hug I was glad for the chance to relax my face.
“Eliot, dear, why haven’t you come to visit us again? We’d love to have you for dinner. This time less of a party, yes? I’ll make sure Otto doesn’t go overboard.”
“I’ve been working,” Eliot said. “And if you can find a way to stop Otto from going overboard, you’re a more valiant person than me.”
“Oh, stop!” she cried, her tittering laughter filling the kitchen. The peace of the morning’s quiet had been shattered by her presence, but curiosity filled me up as I watched her move. This was Eliot’s sister-in-law? I wondered about the rest of his family. I wondered about the brother. Who would marry such an unstoppable force as this lady?
“Shall we go, then?” Marta was looking at me, her bright blue eyes framed by long lashes. “We have so much to do, I don’t want to stand around waiting.”
“Um, sure,” I said.
Eliot caught Marta by the arm as we went to leave. He spoke a few quick words in Hungarian. Marta’s eyes darted over to me, but quickly turned away. She spoke back in their native tongue, a kind tone to her words, and patted Eliot on the shoulder, kissing him twice alternately on the cheeks. She turned to me expectantly.
I had only read a little bit about Hungarian customs, and the two-pronged kiss hello and goodbye was completely unfamiliar to me. Not knowing what to do, I was startled when Eliot leaned forward and kissed me on the cheeks. His lips barely brushed my skin, his face pressing lightly against mine, but I felt the contact as piercingly as when he had touched my hand before. My body leaned forward of its own account, aching to be held.
“Goodbye, Brynn,” Eliot said softly. “I will see you later.”
“She’s in good hands,” Marta said, taking me by the arm and spinning me away toward the door. “I will show you all of Budapest!”
I had longed to see Budapest for ages, but now all I wanted was to stay with Eliot, to walk the grounds with him and work on math with him. I might be in good hands with Marta, but the only arms I wanted around me were not hers.
Marta drove a sleek sports car, bright orange and convertible, but when I asked her what kind it was, she just shrugged.
“Lamborghini,” she said. “I don’t know what kind. I think it is too slow on curves. Otto gave it to me last month to try.”
We took off with a roar, and despite her misgivings, I thought the car sped nicely along the roads. I couldn’t imagine having a husband who would buy me flashy, expensive cars just to try out for size, but Marta took it all in stride.
“We shall have to go to the opera sometime when you are here. I adore the opera, don’t you?”
“I’ve never been,” I said.
“Oh, you will love it!” Marta went on, gushing about all of the things in Budapest that I would admire. I believed her, but our mission today was only to find clothes, and I was disappointed that we would have to shop instead of seeing all of the magnificent culture that Marta went on and on about. Marta’s face lit up, though, when we pulled up directly in front of a crowded street of shopgoers. She parked the car on the side of the street in front of a chic boutique and jumped out.
“Are we...uh...should we park here?” I asked. The curb was painted red, and nobody else had parked anywhere near.
“Government plates, darling,” Marta said. “Don’t worry, I’ve never gotten a ticket.”
I felt strange leaving the car parked in an obviously illegal spot, but Marta didn’t care so I tried to ignore it. I hated breaking rules, but I was just a guest here, after all. A cold guest. The chill pierced me as soon as I got out of the car, so I hurried inside the door of the shop behind Marta.
Marta strode into the boutique and immediately began picking out clothes. One of the shopgirls seemed to recognize her and trotted eagerly behind, letting Marta pile her arms up with pretty things. I walked around the edge of the store, looking carefully at the winter coats they had hanging up. The prices seemed outrageous, and I did some mental calculations in my head just to make sure I wasn’t going crazy with the currency conversion. Some of the coats cost four figures in American dollars! I didn’t even want to touch the fabric, for fear of damaging it.
Marta waved me over to the back, where the shopgirl had a mountain of clothes heaped over her arms. At first I thought they were meant for Marta, but she ushered me into a dressing room and hooked all of the hangers on the rod inside.
“I...I just need a coat,” I stammered to Marta. She had picked out dress after dress, blouses and skirts that
seemed lovely but not at all meant for cold weather.
“First we need to dress you properly,” Marta said. “Then we can worry about coats to match.”
Her tone was so commanding that I couldn’t disobey. I began trying on clothes, one by one. After I came out to model the first dress that fit, Marta conversed with the shopgirl in Hungarian. The girl listened, nodded, and sped out the door as quick as could be. Marta asked the other girl to find me dresses in different sizes if they didn’t fit, and together they admired me in the mirror, pinching the fabric up one way or the other and chattering in Hungarian rapidly. I felt like a zoo exhibit. A pampered, classy zoo exhibit.
The first shopgirl came back with a bag that turned out to be filled with bras and panties. Marta laughed at my red face when the shopgirl brought out the underwear.
“Don’t worry, I will come with you to try these on privately,” Marta said. I thought her definition of private was a little off, but I tried to refuse and she just clucked at me. “To be beautiful outside, you must be beautiful inside,” she said. “And that includes underwear.”
I had to admit, once we found a bra that fit me comfortably, every dress I put on looked better. Marta gushed over some outfits and pooh-poohed others, without any rhyme or reason that I could tell. All of the clothes seemed beautiful and well-made. We tried on shoes, dresses, skirts, and every time Marta wanted something that the store did not have, the shopgirl ran out to the street and came back with it.
One dress in particular stuck out to me as lovely, a light violet satin that flowed over my curves, accentuating my hips. I thought it was a little low-cut, but when I came out with it on, Marta’s eyes shone in delight.
“You are beautiful,” she said. “Magnificent! Don’t you think so?”
The shopgirls nodded in brisk agreement as I turned in the mirror. I smiled as the delicate fabric swished around my ankles.
The pile of clothes Marta had approved was quickly rung up, folded, and placed into golden paper shopping bags. Marta insisted that I buy six sets of the underwear that had fit me, “in different colors, just in case,” as well as two beautiful wool coats in red and black. I began to protest the cost, but Marta pulled out a card from her small purse and charged it without a second thought. I thanked her profusely, but she waved it away with her hand.