by Julia Ariss
"The library?" Fanny asked, brightly.
"Yes."
"Don't worry. By tomorrow at this time we'll have forgotten there was ever such a thing as inclement weather," she reassured Katherine, though she was secretly pleased she wouldn't have to defend her drink from wasps when she could be poring over Katherine's extensive collection of first editions.
After Katherine left, Fanny took the scarves out one by one and laid them on the bed. She would change into her black dress for happy hour and select one to drape over her shoulders, cleverly drawing the eye upward. There were several Liberty and Hermès in the mix, brands she had only ever seen adorning waifs in glossy ads, all stunning stand alone pieces, but the one that caught her eye was not among them, an unknown label. It had been wrapped lovingly in tissue, separate from the pack, given special treatment and it featured Caterpillars of Canada, the most unlikely of prints. Butterflies were the oft used up-tempo subjects, the stars, not their slow-moving former selves from a lesser life. It was so distinctive, so unforgiving in its attention to detail, so bizarre and yet she knew without having to try it out that she'd found the one.
When she made her way to the library her father was standing chatting with guests. He lit up when he saw her and introduced her to the property caretaker, who'd reeled in their dinner from the lake that morning, an offering to make up for the absence of his wife (and Katherine's chef) who'd been called away unexpectedly. Standing alongside was an older couple, neighbours from Katherine's condominium in Kingston. After insuring Fanny had a drink in hand, her father, who had the burden of an unfinished crossword hanging over his head, enlisted the help of the caretaker, who shared his obsession, to finish it off. She was left to chat with the couple, excellent sorts with an appetite for light gossip, who regaled her with intriguing background notes on Jack. After a while it occurred to her she should track down her hostess and offer her a hand but she was stopped in her tracks by an unmistakable knife-like crowing emanating from the kitchen.
Footsteps could be heard and Jack entered the room accompanied by Sam who carried a tray of hors d'oeuvres in a take charge attitude, with Katherine trailing behind holding small plates and napkins. Jack smiled and greeted everyone, then took the tray from Sam and placed it on a table near the fireplace. He was dressed casually in charcoal jeans and a dark golf shirt and Sam was outfitted as if she'd only just returned from a bracing day at the horse trials, in tailored jacket, jodhpurs, and shiny black boots; the only thing missing, her riding crop.
Jack set about refreshing drinks with Sam close at his heels, directing things as he worked. Fanny's glass did not really merit attention yet, but she was still pleased when he wandered over and refilled it anyway, bestowing on her the slow grin.
"Glad you could make it up," he said, placing the wine bottle at arm's length away, on a trolley.
"Thank you. Me too," she said with a flutter.
Sam, who had not left his side, watched closely and then with a blade like sweep of her eye, endeavored to cut her down to size but Fanny, refusing to be cowed, held her stare.
"You remember Sam," he said.
"Yes, yes, of course, from the barn. Hello again," Fanny replied.
Sam smiled tightly and muttered something indecipherable. Jack looked on silently, and then when his eyes settled on Fanny's scarf, he murmured, "Good choice," before moving toward the fireplace.
Sam, missing nothing said, "Yes, your scarf. So... colourful."
Fanny caught a glimpse of burning coals under her heavy-lidded scrutiny. "Caterpillars are the new black," she remarked, knowing better. "And I love it." She stole a glance at Jack, but he had wisely leant down at the hearth, having turned his attention to stoking the fire.
"Unseasonably cool," he observed as he poked at the embers.
"More wood I think Jack," Sam barked.
"Yes we need reinforcements. But first, I'm going to have one of your hors d'oeuvres, Sam. Stuffed mushroom?" he said to Fanny, which immediately roused her father's attention and drew him over.
"Yes please," she said, moving to Jack's side, allowing his dizzying blend of soap, and wood smoke, and savoury goodness to wash over her. She put a mushroom on her plate to be sporting, but declined a second, though they were small and not bad, merely unremarkable, and it was petty of her, she knew. Jack had several, to spare Sam's feelings she suspected, and when it was settled there were no other takers, her father polished off the rest.
Jack disappeared shortly thereafter without a word, presumably to retrieve more wood. Her eyes trailed after him as she sipped. Her father returned to a small table where he was now facing off against the caretaker, also a formidable chess opponent, and Fanny and Sam were left to pass their cordial loathing off for civility.
"Oh dear, your glass is dangerously close to empty," Fanny said, which was true, "can I pour you some more?" she asked.
"No thanks, it's just mineral water," Sam said, raising one hand in alarm and shooting her the superior look of the rigidly self-disciplined. "I allow myself one small glass of wine with dinner."
"Oh, why's that?"
"I run marathons."
"Ahh... "
"And alcohol dulls the senses."
"Erm. Isn't that the point?"
"Everything in moderation," Sam said, shuddering slightly, before stalking off, which strengthened Fanny's conviction that at such times she was her own best company.
Jack returned a few minutes later with a large bag of wood and resumed his fire-building duties. "The fireplace is wonderful, so tranquil," she said trying to catch his eye as she joined him at the open hearth.
No sooner had she said it than the logs settled with a noisy pop and hiss causing Jack to grab her arm in an effort to shield her from the sparks.
"Not too close," he warned.
After releasing her from his grasp, he closed the screen and Fanny touched her arm where the singeing, exquisite pressure lingered. She briefly considered staging a re-enactment of her careless misstep but he was summoned to the chess table - where her father's pawns were showing signs of weakness - to provide tactical backup.
She opted to take a solitary stroll around the library. The space was sprawling, bordered by rich wood inlay with Persian rugs underfoot, wood-panelled traditional luxury, complete with charming nooks; it was the sort of room, she concluded, where a solitary stroll was accepted conduct, would barely raise an eyebrow. She tested her theory and every set of eyes, Jack's included, were transfixed on the game. She examined the artwork, admired the décor, spun a globe, and perused the content of the shelves at length, then finally settled herself in a cushioned window seat with a coffee table book. It was the perfect spot, she realized, to snatch a moment alone with someone. She peered over her book at Jack, but he was kept busy, occupied with hosting duties, or her father's King's safety, or Sam's grating requests. She wondered if this was perhaps by design, to keep her at bay.
If he wandered her way, she decided, she would ask about his flight, or the paintings, or his favourite breakfast, harmless prattle to flush him out. It occurred to her, after a few minutes, that to look at a simple book of photography - scenic lookouts - without comprehending the pictures was a telltale sign there was far more interesting scenery to behold within striking distance. She strolled over to the chess table and thrilled inwardly when Jack reached his arm around her shoulder, but it was merely to switch on a lamp, which shed more light on the game.
Sam was talking horses, holding forth to anyone who would listen about her former glory days on the circuit and her more recent turn as a trainer.
"Yes, horses have always been my passion, as long as I can remember," she said.
"Then it was lucky you were able to transform your hobby into a career," Jack commented, his eyes glued to the board.
"It's what I do best," Sam said, eyeballing Fanny as she jostled for position next to Jack. "And how do you spend your free time, Fanny?" she asked. "Do you have a passion?"
Everyone t
urned and waited, with interest.
"Um, hmmm... well that's a loaded question. Ha. I've had some spare time lately, it's true." Her eyes darted to her father for backup, but he shrugged feebly. "I ya, like to ah, daydream," she said, finally. "I mean I fantasize. About weighty things, I mean."
After a slack-jawed silence her father came to her rescue and piped up, "She loves research. She's a google extraordinaire," he added, unhelpfully.
Sam's face had flash frozen into an indignant pout but she managed to spit out, "That's it? You google?"
"Sometimes very narrow areas of expertise can be productive," Jack said.
Fanny gave her father a wretched look and turned to Jack. "I suppose I like putzing about as much as the next person, but I also like great movies and... and cheesy musicals and pleasant surroundings and reading and chocolates and a droll sense of humour, but if you're asking me to put my finger on the one vital thing, I couldn't possibly choose. Cripes, did I leave something out?"
"Wine, possibly?" Sam suggested.
"I think what Sam's getting at is: what are your goals, your aims, Fanny?" Jack asked.
"Oh. That. Wait a minute. Aren't good hosts supposed to supply their guests with benign questions, like their weather predictions, say?"
"It's blue skies tomorrow," Jack said.
"I suppose that does about sum it up," Fanny said, looking vaguely put out. "Now what am I going to talk about if I can't drone on about the balmy forecast?"
"You could talk about your secret love of rain, or enquire how everyone's day has gone thus far, or pay someone a compliment, or talk about a scintillating news item. I once had a list..." her father offered, trailing off.
"Or. You could tell us where you hope to take your career," Jack suggested, coolly sliding his hands in his back pockets.
"Where? Well, as it happens," Fanny said, nodding her head as if she knew, as she rummaged for words, "the thing is I may have lost my way in the dark forest of joblessness but there's a ray of light poking through. I've seen it, although it keeps shifting, which is annoying. Let's just say, I'm receptive to all possibilities, at the moment."
"The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others," Jack said.
"Oh, you're quick. That's a good one," Fanny said.
"It's not mine. It's Gandhi."
"Figures. That old soul. Obviously on the fast track. I'm much less evolved."
Sam's nostrils were still flared from a series of unconcealed yawns when Katherine glided back in from the kitchen, and seizing the opportunity to change the subject she asked, "Where did you say you're wintering again this year, Katherine? Your upcoming sojourn?"
"Oh, I didn't. But since you mention it, I've often dreamed of going on Safari though I've never made a move to do anything about it. I feel guilty about abandoning my Foundation at that time of year," Katherine said adding, "which I'm told is a rather high class problem." Fanny's father received an arch look as she spoke, but she shrugged her shoulders mischievously at Fanny.
"Do you need any help with dinner," Fanny asked.
"Yes thanks. Would you retrieve some wine for the table?"
"Of course," Fanny replied, pleased with her assignment. "Um... the wine rack?"
"I'll show you," Jack offered.
Sam glowered at the dirty side plates and began noisily stacking them. Jack led Fanny out of the library, then down a set of stairs into a room infused with the scent of cedar. When he turned on the light she found herself facing row upon row of bottles in a cavernous wine cellar with floor to ceiling crates yet to be unpacked. "Ah. The wine rack. Yikes. I dunno-" she stammered.
"We haven't had a chance to talk privately," he interrupted, locking eyes and edging closer.
"Oh. No, we haven't," she said, swallowing. "It's tricky... with the milling about."
"I wanted to tell you about Erasto. He's doing much better. Very much better, in fact. He's made excellent progress, but they tell me he still has a long road ahead, which comes as no surprise."
"Oh-h-h. That's good! I'm so pleased for him. I wasn't sure if you would know anything yet, but I think about him all the time." She sought his eyes. "Thank you... for that."
"A weight's been lifted," he said looking away.
She caught his mouth curl up in the shadow of a smile. "I'd like to visit him," she said, "before I get settled into a new job, and after I get his guitar out of hock. First things first."
"He'd love to see you," he said, turning back. "I know that. And good thinking about his guitar. Missed that one."
"It's his passion. Everyone's got one but me, evidently."
"Passion," he scoffed. "Ridiculous word. Should be removed from circulation. Over-used."
"Not to mention, misused."
"And over-rated."
"What's wrong with saying life's purpose?" she asked. "Not that I have one of those, either."
"You're off to a good start with Erasto," he said, angling his head to the side.
"Jack, I have no idea."
"You have no idea, what?"
"I have no idea... which wine goes with trout."
"No... no we can't have a wine philistine the likes of you handling such a momentous decision. The real reason I tagged along, incidentally. How about a little sniff, swirl, and sip?" he said, removing two glasses from a cupboard and pulling a corkscrew from his pocket.
"Ooh. That sounds fun. I'll try not to gulp. Cuz I'm a class act."
Jack spun back again then stopped dead, holding her gaze. "Class is not the ability to choose the correct wine Ms. Bower. That's just knowledge. Class is how you treat other people, especially those less fortunate, and you have it in spades-"
Fanny was wide-eyed with delight, hoping he'd carry on in the same vein but he was cut short by Sam's shrill directive from the top of the stairs announcing the fish was resting or some such garbled country-house code, unfamiliar to Fanny though she sensed, patently designed to break up the party.
"Dinner in the dining room," he said, tilting his chin down and frowning. "Sorry, I guess we should go catch up with the others."
Exquisite manners and consideration of others was desirable in a host up to a point, she concluded, but it spoiled all the fun. She looked on as he put the glasses away and pulled two bottles out, seemingly at random, dusted them off and turned toward the exit. She waited for him to turn back to her, to change his mind and damn the torpedoes but the moment had passed, snuffed out by Sam. "Yes, best not to keep them waiting," she said. Her waiting she fumed. And who invited that killjoy anyway? This was but one of a barrage of dark thoughts that popped into her head, where they remained, bound and gagged, as she trooped after him up the stairs.
***
After dinner was served, consumed, cleared away and compliments paid, Fanny was amused to observe the guests fragment along gender lines, the men to the library to play Euchre and the women to view a DVD. Sam had been nominally civil at dinner but Fanny excused herself anyway, to work on online applications she explained, with the intention of joining them in due course.
She set up her laptop in Katherine's office and allowed herself a few minutes reprieve to google a Safari holiday. Just for kicks she told herself. Only take a minute. Three hours later she was still glued to the screen, steeped in Africa, having typed and organized reams of notes, no closer to her dream job but buzzing from the thrill of the hunt. It struck her that she could parlay her love of "research" into a full-time job, something remote and home officey, a satellite position but from the comfort of her chaise lounge. Virtual personal assistant? But... nah. Even if the job existed and as much as she would delight in armchair administration, the temptation would be too strong to slide back into her long-established, anti-social ways.
"Time for me to turn in," her father said, coming up from behind.
Fanny closed her laptop and turned around.
"Oh crap. I lost track again. And the card game?" she asked.
"Over. But I walked away wi
th my head held high."
"Oh dear... that's too bad."
"It stings," he said screwing up his face.
"Are you alright? You're a bit pale."
"Too many of those mushroom thingies," he whispered, grimacing loyally.
"And you look pooped."
"Touch of the flu, I think. But everyone's spent. Even the youngsters have toddled off to bed," he said.
"You mean Jack, Sam?” Together?
"Yes, both of them. Must be the rain."
"Okay, um... I'm right behind you."
Only after Fanny had closed her door and readied herself for bed did she notice the books on the nightstand and the note. Some light reading it said. She recognized neither Katherine's pretty script nor her father's illegible scratch. All three books covered the same topic. She lamented the amount of thought that had gone into picking the very genre she liked the least. Ugh. Self-help, she groaned. And yet, she knew it was the gesture that mattered. A pleasant humming spread across her chest and coursed throughout her body. She arranged her pillows for maximum comfort against her headboard, picked up the first book, and set her mind to open, in a gesture of the good faith in which they were chosen.
After a marathon night of reading and possibly in spite of it, so pleasantly surprised and buoyed was she by what she'd learned - and because of the glorious sun filtering in through the drapes - she bounced out of bed. She had a quick shower and pulled on a yoga top and pants, then crept quietly onto her terrace to practice a few invigorating poses. It was as she was bent over in downward dog that Jack happened upon her just after he turned the corner of the house.
"Good morning. Don't let me interrupt," he said, and looked away, but only briefly.
"Good morning," she said, as she upended herself. She stumbled and righted herself again after a momentary dizzy spell. "Just working out the cricks."
"Slept poorly?" he asked.
"Mm hmmm. About your recommended reading."
"Been busy?"
"I was kept up until the unholy hours of the morning. Everything I needed to know about the introvert? Anything you wish to add?"