"I saw Adrian the other day; his wife had a son," Joy said, steering the conversation from Arnella's supposed wicked ways, but Alric was itching to take it back up.
Arnella nodded. "Yes, Cathy had a boy. He is super cute. Looks just like Avia, their daughter. I really like Cathy."
"You would," Alric snorted. "Wasn't she an exotic dancer or something? Sounds like something you'd do."
"I can't dance around a pole to save my life. I think it has something to do with my lack of coordination. I've tried it though." She winked at him suggestively and then laughed when he grimaced. "I like Cathy because she is a genuinely nice person. Last Christmas, when I stayed with my uncle, I spent a lot of time with her."
Joy turned the topic to other neutral things while Alric studied Arnella. He drank in her features; he didn't care if his mother saw how intently he was doing it.
Without her heavy mascara on, he could see that she had natural eyelashes that were so thick that they looked like they were clumped together. They shielded big brown eyes that were the deepest brown, almost black. She had a straight little nose and a generous mouth, which was brushed with the faintest pink. Her skin was light and blemish free, except for a birthmark on her lower right shoulder. He remembered seeing it at the pool party.
Why he remembered that in such stark detail after all this time was a strike against him, he berated himself. He preferred higher standards in a woman, and Arnella was obviously free with her favors and didn't care who knew it. He still gritted his teeth when he thought of that guy, David, with his hand on her buttock, cupping it in an intimate way. He had seen him around campus this summer. He had been doing summer classes. They were all in the same faculty of science. He had been tempted, several times, to ask them where they had disappeared to with Arnella but had decided against doing so.
"I have to go now." Arnella stood up after they had sung happy birthday to Joy and had a slice of cake. She got another slice to take with her on her journey as well. "Thank you so much for lunch. You may have saved my life."
"So, who are you going to stay with at Mount Faith?" Alric asked, standing as Arnella made to leave.
Arnella shrugged. "I have no idea. I could stay with my brother or my uncle or my cousin Micah. His house is finished and it looks gorgeous; he has room. I saw it in December. He is the most laid back of my cousins—should be fun to stay with him."
Alric wanted to prolong his conversation with her, and he didn't know why. They had reached the front of the house, and the question that was eating away at him like termites in wood popped out involuntarily. "So how was it with three guys? Is it something you do regularly?"
Arnella stopped abruptly and spun around to him. "I don't want to talk about that ever. You hear me? Stop bringing it up! What's it to you anyway?"
"I have never met a more morally bankrupt person in my life," Alric said simply, "you are like fire, dangerous and beautiful. You can't help but stare at it but you know you should keep far from it because you can get burnt."
Arnella hissed her teeth. "Then don't get burnt, Alric. Tracy is a lovely rich girl who is not morally bankrupt. Be fascinated with her. She likes you."
She walked to her car and got in jerkily. She had to slam the door twice for it to close. She hung her head outside the front window, and said, "See you around," then drove away.
Alric stood in the driveway inhaling her car's exhaust fumes and wishing that his fascination with her wasn't burning brighter than ever.
Chapter Four
Arnella paced outside the president's building for what felt like hours. She had finally arrived at Mount Faith, but she didn't want to face her uncle. He was particularly stern with her because in December, when she spent the Christmas with them, he had strongly encouraged her to come up to Mount Faith for school.
After Kylie's wedding, she had sneaked out of the house and went back to Santa Cruz without telling him goodbye. She just could not take the constant nagging about her lifestyle, but now she was desperate.
She glanced at her watch; it was three o' clock. If she didn't stop the pacing, she would make herself hungry. She slowed down, took a deep breath, and walked into the building. Better face the music now while she still had the strength.
The receptionist looked up at her enquiringly when she leaned on the desk.
"Is Doctor Bancroft in?" she asked, hoping perversely, that the receptionist would say "no". That way, she could say that she had tried to see him but it didn't work out.
"He is in," the receptionist said, "but he won't be for long. He is heading out for a meeting shortly."
"Okay," Arnella heaved a sigh. "Could you tell him Arnella is here to see him?"
"Yes," the receptionist nodded. She spoke briefly on the phone and hanged up. "His office is the last door down the hallway."
Arnella sighed again and headed to the office. She had been to the office before and didn't need the receptionist to tell her where it was. She had just been stalling for time.
She opened the imposing door and stepped into the plush interior. The decor was changed to red and gold. It was beautiful. The red was bold and warm and somehow tamed by the gold. She stood at the door and Ryan Bancroft coughed.
"Ehem, the run away niece," Dr. Bancroft said, removing his reading glasses and folding his arms over a swathe of papers.
"The stating of the obvious uncle," Arnella said fearlessly, going further into the room and sitting before his desk.
"You are here in my office, my territory," Dr. Bancroft said a hint of pleasure in his voice, "so you must want something."
Arnella nodded, "I do."
"You look slimmer," Ryan said, "too slim. Like you've been starving yourself or are you trying to get into the modeling world?"
Arnella shrugged. "I heard that you can't be too rich or too thin, and I am too short to model."
Bancroft chuckled, "I see you have come with your acerbic wit. You are not playing the humble card even though you want something?"
"No," Arnella said, "I don't think people should play around with humility, it's either you are, or you are not. You and I are not humble people."
Bancroft nodded. "Good point. So tell me; what do you want?"
"Money," Arnella said, "for art supplies and a place to crash for a while until I can get my paintings done."
Bancroft started shaking his head. "No!"
"Why not?" Arnella asked, a touch desperately. He had never told her "no" before. He had always tried to help her and Vanley because their father had died when they were little, and he had felt responsible for them. He had been their sole provider for years, until he found out that their mother was drinking away the money he sent to them for food.
"Because," Bancroft got up and reached for his jacket that was on a stand, "you need to do something for me. The money will have to come with strings attached."
"What?" Arnella growled. "I hope it's nothing illegal."
"It is not illegal, on this side of the world, for women to attend university. So no, it is not illegal." Bancroft sneered. "You are going to do an associate degree in general studies for two years. That's all I ask."
"That's unfair!" Arnella shouted. "Why can't you just accept that I don't want to go to school? High school was enough. I passed all my subjects with high honors"
"Only because I insisted," Bancroft leaned on the desk, "and let it be known that I was so proud that you finished. I feel I have a responsibility to you, like I do for my own daughters, and it would be grossly unfair if you did not get a chance to do at least an associate degree. The General Studies associate degree here is pretty flexible. You get to do courses in English, mathematics, biology, physics, computer science, history, philosophy, art, and a foreign language. Maybe you should choose French as your language. The summer Olympics will be in France next year, and Marcus is hoping to participate. You can go support your cousin and get a first hand feel of the language."
Arnella was about to rant, but she loved the sound of
going to Europe and learning a new language. Her uncle was dangling that in front of her like a carrot.
"Did you say art?"
"Yes." Bancroft glanced at his watch. "There are some art courses in the general studies line up. I am sure you will shine there, and the best part is that if you ever decide to do your bachelor’s degree, I will help you."
"I won't want to," Arnella said sullenly.
"But you'll do this?" Bancroft asked impatiently.
"Yes," Arnella said reluctantly. "The things people have to do for money."
Bancroft chuckled. "Your problem, Arnella, is that you have no concept of what people have resorted to for money, and my hope is that you never will."
Arnella got up, "I am not staying with you and Aunt Celeste for two years."
Bancroft put his hand in the small of her back and they walked to the door.
He turned back, grabbed his checkbook from a drawer, and scribbled on it swiftly. "Here; this is enough money to cover your art supplies and whatever else you may need in the short run. I don't care where you stay, once you take care of yourself properly. I will put an allowance in your account for the first year. The second year you better find yourself a job."
Arnella exhaled and took the check; he was more generous than she expected. Tears crept into her eyes and she batted them back. What was wrong with her? She did not usually cry.
"Thanks, Uncle Ryan."
Bancroft hugged her around the neck and they walked to the door. "Don't you dare stay away so long when you know you need help," he said gruffly. "You are Oswald's only girl. I often wish I had taken you and Vanley from that mother of yours when you were growing up."
He reached the office door. "Stay out of trouble. Classes for the next semester officially start the first week in September, three weeks from now. If you are not there, I am going to hunt you down and drag you here kicking and screaming."
"Yes, Sir." Arnella smiled weakly and headed out of the building, feeling a little brighter than when she arrived.
Next stop would be a house on Mount Faith Drive. She drove slowly toward it.
The house did not have any room that would be conducive to painting, but despite her forced school attendance, she was not going to neglect her first love. What was she going to do?
*****
When she drove up to the house, the gate was open, and a late model Mercedes was in the driveway. Deidra was standing beside it, talking and laughing with Kylie, who had one of those designer puppies under her arms.
"Hey," she waved to them when she got out of the car.
"Hey," both Kylie and Deidra said to her at the same time.
"What are you doing up here?" Kylie asked, hugging her when she came closer to them. "You never told me you were coming, I could have arranged for us to hang out."
"Uncle Ryan demanded that I come to school for two years, so we'll have all the time in the world to hang out." Arnella sniffed. "What are you two doing here, especially you, the new Mrs. Bancroft?"
Deidra grinned. "I love hearing that. I came for some stuff from my house and Kylie was here so I stopped by. So, are you going to live here now?" Deidra asked, looking at her bags in the back of the car.
"Not sure," Arnella shook her head, "I won't have anywhere to paint if I live here. All the rooms are too small and doesn't have enough light for my purposes."
"You paint?" Deidra asked surprised. "What do you paint?"
"Anything that catches my eye," Arnella shrugged. "The other day I started sketching handbags, of all things; I have a whole folder with them."
"Handbags?" Deidra's eyebrows rose. "That's my sort of business. Let me see what you have."
Arnella shook her head. "I don't want to..."
"Show her," Kylie interjected before she could finish her protest. "I have seen your work before and you are really good."
Arnella sighed and reached into the back of the car for one of her sketchbooks. She handed it to Deidra and turned her back dramatically. She usually felt odd when people were looking at her work in front of her.
"Only handbags are in that book." She looked over her shoulder as Deidra scanned through the sketchbook. "You can tell me if you hate them you know; I won't mind."
"I can't believe it." Deidra had spread the sketchbook on the trunk of her car and was leafing through. "You designed these from out of your head?"
"Yes." Arnella spun around reluctantly.
Deidra pointed at one picture. "This would look good in a soft brown leather. This," she pointed to the opposite page, "would look positively divine in black and white."
She turned the pages slowly and then looked up at Arnella. "You are a genius. Such detail. Such design. You could rival any fashion house with these. I could come up with some shoes to match these. Hunter green, suede, leather."
"So you like them?" Arnella asked slowly.
Deidra shook her head, "No, girl. Like is too mild a word. I love them. Here's the thing. I can sell them for you. Share the profit fifty-fifty."
"Are you serious?" Arnella asked Deidra, who was looking excited enough to burst.
"I have been waiting for some unique way to take the market by the storm and here, you just gave me the idea," Deidra said, her head filling with styles and designs to go with the handbags. "I am going to call these Nella—Nella handbags, and Dee Bee shoes. Oh, Arnella, you are a Godsend. I have some shoe ideas that would be perfect with these bags."
Arnella grinned. "Thanks."
"No." Deidra was happily packing up the sketchbook. "Thank you. You know, if you really want a place to stay, I have a house further up in the hills. The basement is south facing with lots of natural light. You can paint to your hearts content. My sister Charlene won't mind the company. Just yesterday she called me complaining that she's lonely alone in the house."
"But Char will soon marry Micah, so Arnella may have the house all to herself soon," Kylie said cheerfully.
"And," Deidra pulled out her car keys from her bag, "here are the keys to my brother James' old car. It's in the garage doing nothing. I was going to have my father sell it, but here you are. Maybe you should park that in a junkyard somewhere." She looked at Arnella's mother's car and turned up her nose.
"You are a snob," Kylie said, laughing. "I think Arnella's car is classically rustic."
"No," Deidra said, "sorry Arnella, you are about to become a brand, and brand people don't drive around in rust buckets. Nella bags. I can't wait. So, I'll send you the contract for these designs. As soon as they start selling, you'll start getting paid. In the meantime, sketch fashion to your hearts content and call me when you have a lot."
Arnella nodded, gripping the new car keys in her hand and feeling a little surreal. She didn't even know what type of car it was; all she knew was that it had to be much better than the one she was currently driving.
"Oh, I need your number," Deidra said excitedly. "We can talk periodically. Kylie will show you where the house is, and Char will give you a set of keys. I'll call her later and let her know she is going to have company."
Just like that, Arnella had gone from starving artist, to a university student and a handbag designer with a studio in the hills.
Chapter Five
Arnella walked around in the house she shared with Charlene. She still couldn't believe that she was living there. Everything was just so expensive-looking and clean. It was her second day there after her encounter with Deidra, and her head was still spinning at the swiftness with which her circumstances had changed. If she had known that this was how things would turn out, she should have packed up her stuff and moved to Mount Faith a long time ago, but all things happen in their own time.
The basement that Deidra recommended was huge, airy, and well lit. It was just right for her needs. Charlene had helped her clean up a shelf in her greenhouse for her to store her paints when she buys them. All she needed now were several more easels and she would look like an honest to goodness painter.
She was l
iving her dream, except for that promise she made to her uncle that she would be attending the university for two years, pursuing General Studies. It sounded like hell to her.
She sat in one of the overstuffed chairs in the living room and stretched and rubbed her neck. She had a shiny clean black Honda to drive, and she lived in a mansion. Surely, something bad was going to happen to her.
Nothing good ever happened to her without something terrible happening after. She remembered when she lived in West Virginia with her dad, mom, and big brother. She had been happy; life was cozy; she was loved. Suddenly, when she was eight, a stern-faced policeman had come to the door and told her mother that her father was dead—killed in a bar room brawl.
For years, she thought that bar room brawl story had been a lie. In her recollection, her father had not shown any signs of being an alcoholic. How could he be in a bar, involved in a brawl?
Her mother had broken down after her father died. She changed from the happy, well-adjusted housewife and mother to a vacant-eyed alcoholic. The transition happened in less than a year.
Her Jamaican grandmother had died and left a house and some money in a will. Her mother had packed them up and moved to what Arnella saw as a strange country with strange people, tearing her from her friends and all she held dear.
Vanley, who was six years older, had held her in the nights when she cried herself to sleep because her mother had not quit drinking when she returned to Jamaica. Instead, she had gotten worse. That was when Arnella had taken on her tough exterior. She had turned into a little horror. Her brother had started boarding school shortly after coming to Jamaica, so he had no idea of how bad Arnella had it at home with a bitter woman who thought that her world had collapsed around her.
Arnella had taken solace in painting. She had always received art supplies from her uncle Ryan, who had taken a very keen interest in them after his brother died. Arnella had also taken to running away, sometimes running to strangers, especially when her mother got so drunk that she would beat her for nothing at all.
Sense of Rumor (Mount Faith Series: Book 6) Page 4