I mouth ‘no’ but she ignores me.
When Chauncey sticks her golden locks through our door, I inhale sharply: she’s dazzling. Her skin positively glows; a minute passes before I notice the frown crossing her painted, pink lips.
I wave my hand and hasten to say, “Don’t worry about it.”
Linnie speaks over me: “Raven doesn’t have anything to wear.”
Chauncey examines me and giggles. Thanks Linnie, a little humiliation in front of “Chauncey-the-Evil” is just what I needed.
Chauncey gives a wink, that I assume is supposed to be cute. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I glower at my sister.
“What?” Linnie jumps off the bed. “She’s really nice; you’ll see that, if you give her a chance.”
I doubt it, but I let Linnie lecture me on all the benefits of forgiveness and open-mindedness, until Chauncey returns with two dresses.
“You may have these.” She lays a black and a yellow dress on my bed. “They’re too big for me.” Chauncey wears a magnificent dress, blue with silver beads; the colors complement her blonde waves of hair and her bronze skin.
“Are you sure?”
She swats her hand through the air as she exits.
I take off my tank top and slide on the black dress.
Linnie helps me zip up the back. “I don’t see how this could be too big for Chauncey,” she mumbles, “Since this dress is tight on you.”
No way is this dress too large for Chauncey, as she’s about two sizes bigger, but if she wants me to think she’s smaller, fine. The cut, empire waist and ruffles give the dress an almost childlike appearance. The black matches my hair and contrasts with my porcelain skin, making me look paler and younger.
“Are you two ready?” Chauncey calls from the hall.
After Linnie dries her hair and dresses, I lead the girls the way Nicholas instructed. We exit the guesthouse through the rear door and walk to where a tall hedge separates the main house and the gardens. Hanging lanterns stretch out of the garden wall and light the little stone pathway. We ascend a stair to a large patio, in the center of which a statue of a woman pours water and light into a glistening pool. The stone patio extends out, large and circular, with three massive benches and a view of an expansive garden, lit by the disappearing sun and quarter moon.
“Wow!” Linnie whispers under her breath, “This is so cool. We’re actually at a castle.”
“It’s not what I expected,” Chauncey scoffs to her painted nails.
An elderly man in black livery holds open the back door: “If you will follow me please, ladies.”
We follow him through what must be the game room, evident by the pool and card tables. The same light wood and cream combination make up all the furniture and walls, contrasted only by the dark blue carpets. “This is the game room,” the elderly servant confirms, in a dispassionate tone. He leads us up a polished staircase to a gallery passageway, overlooking the game room on one side and the gardens, through large windows, on the other. The hall ends at a pair of open French doors with a view of a splendidly set table.
The wood walls and giant windows remind me of a ship’s interior, a very opulent ship’s interior. Crystal glistens everywhere; crystal chandeliers, bowls and candleholders adorn the long oval table, sending fractured light dancing throughout the space. Silver, crystal and porcelain place settings decorate half the table. We walk toward the chairs, as laughter booms in from another set of French doors and I turn.
While the servant helps Linnie and Chauncey into their seats, I cross over to peek outside. Albert, dressed in a gigantic black suit, gesticulates, speaking in furious Swedish to a chuckling Nicholas and Stephen. They all hold wineglasses and Stephen smokes a cigarette.
I step onto the half-circle balcony, which extends over a hedge maze garden, and inhale the twilight air. “Beautiful.” Extensive gardens wind out below: paths and archways break and connect many shadowy hedge enclosures. Beyond the gardens, moonlight illuminates an extensive pasture, all the way to an orchard.
The men turn.
“Raven,” Stephen calls. “You are the one that is beautiful!”
Nicholas cuts in front of Stephen and offers me his arm.
Taking Nicholas’s arm feels a little funny: the only person who ever offered me his arm before was my grandfather when I was little. I wrap my arm through his, then glance up and catch Nicholas’s expression. I snap my gaze to the table, hoping my cheeks aren’t reddening.
He leads me to the table and the servant hastens to pull out my chair. I could never get use to this, all the pampering and the old fashioned manners; it’s way too awkward. I sit and thank the old man, earning me a nod. Nicholas and Stephen sit next to me, while Albert sits on Linnie’s far side. The seats on both sides of Chauncey are unoccupied.
The table is set with three of everything, except for knives, of which there are two. I glance at Linnie with a nervous grin.
She shrugs back, as another man, dressed identically to the first servant, places a bowl of soup on top of my plate tower.
Soup spoon, I got that. I pluck the utensil out of the silver assortment and start. The soup is some sort of seafood bisque, seasoned to perfection; I close my eyes and let the liquid roll over my tongue.
“Please excuse my lateness,” a formal voice sniffles, interrupting my appreciation. Tobias seats himself in the chair between Linnie and Chauncey, leaving the chair at the head of the table empty. He straightens his silverware, one by one, until they are aligned. He nods at his work, then looks up. “And excuse my grandfather’s absence; he is...” He clears his throat, “…under the weather.”
Nicholas cocks his head and furrows his brow, “Grandfather, sick?”
I concentrate on my soup.
“I’m surprised you’re not dining at his bedside,” Stephen says.
Tobias sounds lofty, “He told me he would rather I...” He does not finish his sentence, on account of Albert and Stephen’s hooting laughter.
“Does your soup taste strange, as if something’s sour?” Chauncey says to Linnie, her voice carrying over the laughter.
Stephan stands, leans over the table and scoops up a spoonful of Chauncey’s soup.
Tobias and Chauncey wear identical expressions of indignation.
I hide the smile that’s threatening to emerge.
“Taste’s fine to me,” Stephan remarks as he plops back in his seat, “But perhaps you could make some suggestions to the cook. I hear you have a knack for adding ingredients.”
Chauncey replaces her angry expression with a wide-eyed stare. Her gaze flits my way.
I have no temptation to smile anymore.
Chauncey stands, she sounds disheartened, “Whatever your grandfather has must be contagious, I also feel ‘under the weather’.”
Linnie scoots back from the table, “Do you want me to...”
“No.” Chauncey gives one sharp shake of her head.
All four men rise from their seats, as Chauncey hurries out of the room with the elderly servant in tow.
I’m happy, that’s all it takes: for her to leave. The food tastes as luxurious as the room looks. Nicholas tells me they rarely eat in it.
Tobias announces, “Grandfather asked that I give you ladies a tour of our castle in the morning. I was thinking seven thirty; would that work?”
I pause with my spoon hovering, “Um…” I set the spoon back in the bowl. “We’re still a little jet-lagged.”
“Don’t worry about it Toby,” Steven cuts in. “We’ll give the girls a tour.”
Tobias straightens up in his chair and clears his throat, “No, I think not Stephen.” He emphasizes the name. “Grandfather requested I give the tour, rather than the assignment I had planned upon.” He turns back, “So, how about seven forty-five?”
I paste on a smile, “Yeah, that’s fine.”
“For me, too,” Linnie adds, with a poorly concealed smile, slipped my way.
The food delights
everyone and, besides a few somber comments from Tobias, the company outdoes our dinner. Linnie and I leave the house, escorted by Nicholas, giddy, and I didn’t even drink wine! We promise Nicholas, with mock seriousness, that we will go straight to bed, so we can be ready for our ‘grand tour.’
Nicholas backs away from the house; my gaze lingers on him, as he disappears behind the hedge.
“Coming?” Linnie sticks her head back out of the door.
I follow her in. We head toward the indoor hot tub. Before we step through the open door, the sounds emanating from within cause us to spin and dash for our room. We collapse onto our beds in fit of laughter.
“Who was that?” Linnie asks between breaths and giggles.
“I think it was Chauncey and the chauffeur!”
“Wow! I’m never using that hot tub.”
I nod furiously. “Me neither.”
After we dress for bed, we lie with spurts of laughter still escaping. I turn to Linnie, and ask, “So which brother would you pick, if you had to choose?”
“Hmm, I’d take the hairy one, Albert. But I’m turning over a new leaf, no more men.”
“Really? You’re gay, now?”
“Shut up!” She says, throwing her pillow at me. “I’m taking a lifelong vow of celibacy.”
“Sure… I give you a month.” I say, throwing the pillow back.
We giggle a little more. Soon, Linnie’s laughter turns into heavy, even breathing and, in no time, I drift into sleep.
I’m staring up at bright green eyes. A finger traces down the bare skin of my stomach, causing eruptions inside.
“This is wrong; I know that this is wrong,” I breathe. “We cannot do this.” My voice is lower, raspier than it is in my wakeful hours. I’m pretty sure we’re speaking Swedish, and as only in dreams, I can understand.
His lips fasten on mine and, though my words say, ‘this is wrong,’ my body screams, ‘this is oh, so right!’
He traces my lips with his tongue, then catches my lower lip with both of his. His hand wraps around my waist, as he whispers in my ear, “wrong and right are just opinions; you choose: either take what you want or be too frightened.”
“No...” I beg, as he kisses down my throat. My hand squeezes his arm. “This is wrong, I know it.”
My eyes snap open. I glance around; I’m alone in my bed. Linnie is lightly snoring in the bed across the room. The “Chauncey and chauffeur” ruckus outside has quieted down, also. I’m only wearing shorts and a T-shirt and the night chill nips, but, I’m sweating.
I touch my lips and inhale. I need fresh air. I find a crocheted quilt in the small corner cabinet; I’m too warm, so I just carry the blanket, while tiptoeing out of the room.
The night air bites as much as I expected, so I cocoon myself in the blanket. Even though I walk to the rose garden, I’m too restless to stop. Following my route from earlier this evening, I walk along the house to the back patio. The lanterns still shine along the hedge wall and, on the patio, the fountain sprays droplets of lighted water. I sit on a bench facing the water-bearing stone woman.
The water performs a hypnotic dance, spraying and splashing from the sculpture’s vase into the luminous pool. I hold up my hand: the moonlight dances across my fingers. Curling into a ball, I swaddle my legs with the blanket. I should go inside; I’m cold. But the night, moon and water are so peaceful; I can empty my mind and repress all those things I don’t want to think about.
I suck on my lower lip and my breathing speeds up. Just focus on the water; think about the water and the moon, nothing else.
Something shifts in my peripheral vision. I peer around.
Someone's there, a man, staring down from the third floor window.
I jump, draw back and manage to focus on him, before he steps into shadow. Even after the dark swallows him, I continue to stare at the place where Nicholas’s grandfather’s icy gaze watched me.
Chapter Ten
Day Eight
My palm hides a yawn; I don’t think Tobias sees.
He tells Linnie, Chauncey and me about yet another portrait of an ancestor. I see why he wanted us to start so early: we’ve been touring for nearly three hours.
He pauses; I raise my hand. When he gives a stiff nod, I ask, “Is this painting famous?” I point to the central piece in the lavish living room. The giant canvas fills the wall lengthwise, looming above an enormous fireplace. “This castle looks so familiar.”
“Perhaps,” he cuts through the room to stand between me and the painting, “if you’ve studied Swedish history. We are still on this castle’s, the former Leijonskjöld Slot’s, foundations, which extend much larger than our current home.” He continues his explanation, while marching out of the room: “The former Leijonskjöld Slot spanned from the small wall encircling the front of the guesthouses, all the way to the furthest gardens on this estate. Unfortunately, the castle burned and collapsed two centuries ago.” His exit from the room muffles the rest of his explanation.
I don’t follow. Maybe lack of sleep muddles my mind, but I swear I’ve seen this castle before. I envisioned living in a palace just like this when I was little, with the tall crenellated walls, topped with turrets.
That must be it; this painting is of the mythical castle every young girl dreams about. Too bad those walls collapsed (not that this house isn’t plenty lavish, as our extensive tour more than demonstrated).
Alone in the room, I pivot and glance around the only room showing a little variety from this light wood and cream décor theme, and follow out the door.
Tobias paces back and forth on the foyer’s carpet, while Linnie and Chauncey rest on a bench.
“Only a few more places to show you ladies,” he says as he spins and marches out the front door.
We follow and pause in the driveway, between the three houses.
“This, as you know,” he gestures to our guest house, “Is our visitor accommodations, constructed at the same time as the main house. By our grandfather’s orders, men are not allowed to enter, while unmarried women are in residence...”
Linnie coughs, with her gaze on Chauncey.
“...So, I will not be showing you this part of our residence. And this,” (he gestures to the identical house on the other side) “Is a gentlemen’s club, open to members in the Skane area.”
“Gentlemen’s club?” Chauncey shows her first enthusiasm of the morning.
“Our club is under construction at the moment, so you will see little foot-traffic.” He examines Chauncey and clears his throat. “And women are never allowed inside.”
"So, no woman has ever been in there?" Chauncey asks, sounding unconvinced.
"We are not sexists. We actually tried admitting a woman once, one of Stephen's friends, Cassidy Dixon." He says the name with obvious distaste. "The invite was on Stephen's insistence; she behaved disgracefully, it was a mistake, and no woman will be ever be invited in again.”
“Uh-oh,” Linnie whispers nudging me with her elbow, “the west wing is forbidden.”
I stifle a laugh, I wonder if this Cassidy could have possibly out-disgraced Chauncey. From Tobias's pinched lips, I can tell the opportunity for discussing anything interesting, like past embarrassments, is over.
Tobias clears his throat again, for the millionth annoying time. “If you will follow me.” He walks through the space between the men’s club and the main house, to a large building behind.
“Is that the stables?” Linnie says, bouncing with every step. “I noticed you have horses.”
“No, our stables are across the grounds, I’m not taking you on that tour. Grandfather said to give you a tour of the house, not the grounds.” Yet another throat clearing. “This is our garage.”
Even though cars are really not my specialty, I appreciate the spread in their garage. We take an elevator to a lower level, where the really expensive cars gleam in rows. They also have every shape and size of motorcycle I could imagine. I smile as I notice a beat-up little red Vesp
a scooter at the end of the line of gleaming cruisers and sport bikes.
“I like this one,” I say, laughing, to Linnie.
She pats me on the shoulder. “Only you, Raven, only you.”
“As much as I want to climb into every one of these Ferraris, if I don’t lie down soon, I will collapse,” Chauncey says, griping.
Tobias sniffs and straightens his posture. “I also have matters to attend to. I'm a busy man. Thank you ladies for taking my tour, I’ll leave you here.” He turns on his heal and crosses to the open elevator.
Linnie and I call after him, “Thank you!”
“Thank God,” Chauncey says under her breath.
Tobias holds up his hand in a stiff wave without turning, walks into the elevator and out of view.
Linnie runs over to Chauncey and slings an arm around her shoulder. “Didn’t get much sleep last night?”
Chauncey lays her head on Linnie’s shoulder, “I thought the tour would never end.”
Linnie strokes her head. “Let’s get you to bed, huh?”
I follow the girls, about ten paces behind, to the elevator. I pretend to be admiring a grey Lamborghini, which truly deserves admiration, and tell them I’ll wait for the elevator to come back.
Would Linnie still love her as much if she knew what Chauncey’s really like? Not that I’ll tell her; I wouldn’t do that. Maybe I should. I mean, Linnie trusts her and Chauncey’s evil. I decide that I shouldn’t tell her; I’m not getting in between them, especially since we’re stuck with Chauncey for the rest of this vacation.
Linnie waits on the steps of the guesthouse, when I meander over. She links her arm in mine. “I’m starving!”
Deciding we would get lost, navigating through the guesthouse, we walk around to the guesthouse kitchen. Even though this kitchen supposedly only serves guests, our kitchen at home could fit in here twice-over. This space has more of a laid-back feel than anywhere else I’ve seen in these mansions; pots and pans hang along one wall, and years of chopping and dicing wears and notches the central counter. The cook we saw yesterday is not here, but Nicholas and Stephen are.
The Deception Dance Page 10