The Girl in the Scarlet Chair: A New Adult and Clean Romance with Supernatural Elements (City of Affection - Book 1)

by Janice Tremayne

  “Oh, that’s good to know.” Harry thought Clarisse being a man-hater may benefit him in an odd way.

  “So, it’s your first real time together—what have you been talking about?” Marjorie was forthright and the prying type. It’s how she got the information that made her the office gossip.

  “We talked about the photo she posted on her Skype profile … the one that caught my eye. When I think about it—it’s the main reason I am here. She is beautiful in that photo.”

  “Was it the photo of her sitting in the scarlet chair?”

  “Yes, how did you know?” Harry was beginning to sense that Clarisse had been keeping her updated. “We briefly talked about the chair today—but I don’t think it’s her favourite topic.”

  “You’re lucky she provided you with that photo because she can only sit in the chair once a year—on the Day of the Dead.”

  He briefly glanced across the tables in front of him and caught a view of Clarisse placing the order from the café window. He said, “That doesn’t make sense … sitting in a chair once a year?”

  “It’s only superstition—every family has their strange beliefs, and some take it more seriously than others,” Marjorie said with a grin.

  Harry sat back in the chair and kicked out his feet. Although he was not the superstitious type, the talk about the red chair had piqued his interest. He did not want to be probing—but he wanted to know more.

  “Yes, Clarisse mentioned the first of November—I will be in Manila. I’m leaving the day after, in the evening.”

  “Hopefully she will invite you to her family celebration of the dead? The cemetery is two hours’ drive from here.”

  Harry looked at Marjorie and was silent, not knowing what to say next. “I would love to be with Clarisse on her family day and share the experience.”

  “Oh, I made that sound so dreary—in our custom, only people that are close to the family are invited to the celebration of the dead.”

  “It will be my privilege to attend,” he said hopefully.

  As Clarisse made her way back to the table, he was conscious of his appearance, instinctively combing his fingers through his hair while straightening his collar.

  Marjorie leaned closer to him, cupped her hand in front of her mouth and whispered, “Be careful of her mother—she does not have a good track record with the men Clarisse has brought home in the past.” Marjorie turned sideways to avoid Clarisse’s glare. “And you being a foreigner isn’t going to help either.”

  He did not know how to take the advice from Marjorie. Was she trying to warn him and scare him away? If so, why? By the time he could evaluate her comments further, Clarisse was at the table.

  “I got our order … and yes, I got you something too, Marjorie,” she said.

  The evening was full of laughter and banter. Clarisse had a wicked sense of humour—Harry found her exciting to be around. The more he got to know her, the greater his admiration. Many times, he pinched himself, thinking it was a dream.

  Marjorie stayed for a little longer but had to leave to get up early the next morning. Harry could see from the corner of his eye that she signalled to Clarisse with an OK gesture. He presumed it was about himself but did not want to assume anything.

  Harry gently kissed Clarisse on the cheek and said goodbye. She invited him to the Day of the Dead celebration with her family. He was excited and apprehensive at the same time—and not sure what to expect. Clarisse did not discuss the chair again and he did not raise the topic either. He sensed it was a touchy subject, and anyway, he would see the scarlet chair at her family celebration tomorrow.

  On his way back to the hotel room, he could hear the congregation singing in the background. An open-air Catholic church in the heart of a shopping centre was unheard of back home. The priests scheduled mass every hour and would change over to ensure the best experience for worshippers. It was well organised and provided continuity from one service to another. People observed the mass on their way home from work. He stopped temporarily to have a look and noticed it was packed with worshippers, with standing room only. A young girl handed him an envelope to make an offering to the church and moved on to another person. Harry grew up as a Catholic—it was all routine for him.

  Harry attended the private Catholic school system until he graduated from university. He continued attending mass regularly until he got married and lost connection with his faith. It’s not that he gave up on his faith—having an atheist partner who refused to marry in the church made him lose touch with his upbringing. His ex-wife would criticise him for going to mass. She thought it was a complete waste of time—although she had no issue working until late each night to further her career. Her faith was the church of work and career ambition rolled into one. Harry had told her many times her church was the workplace—that her company constituted her religion. It was just one of the many complex incompatibilities of his marriage that gradually pulled them apart.

  Harry stood at the back of the church with a slanted view of the ceremony. He was daydreaming about his childhood when he attended church with his parents. It was a nice feeling and he could remember growing up with lots of hugs and kisses. His dad liked taking them for pizza after mass for a family treat.

  What he would do to relive those moments again. It brought back fond memories—making him feel at peace while listening to the church choir.

  5 day of the dead

  It was the first of November and the Day of the Dead—Día de Los Muertos. It was going to be a day of celebration and Clarisse was on her way to pick up Harry from the hotel.

  Harry made his way to the hotel foyer and sat on the art-deco sofa waiting for her. Time passed by, and she had not arrived—she was running 45 minutes late, and no Clarisse in sight. He was starting to get fidgety, pacing up and down the foyer before sitting down again. There were no messages on his iPhone—this made him feel highly strung.

  “You have been waiting for her a while?” said an elderly woman sitting opposite him.

  Harry did know how to respond as was caught off guard. “Yes, she’s nearly one hour late and I’m not sure what to do?”

  “This is normal—you don’t need to worry.”

  “Really?”

  The older woman provided him with a dose of optimism.

  “She is testing you … to see how much you care about her. She will make you wait—deliberately. It might feel odd to foreigners like yourself, but in our country, men expect it.”

  “So, they just wait?”

  “Oh yes. They don’t complain either. If you love the girl—then you wait.”

  “I wasn’t aware—I wish I’d known.” He felt as though he missed something culturally significant.

  “Oh, and one other thing—I hope you didn’t ask her to meet you in the foyer in public view?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  The older women leaned closer and gazed at him.

  “She is probably feeling uncomfortable meeting you in the foyer of an international hotel. She is concerned about the people around you—what they may say about her. You know—meeting a foreigner in a hotel lobby can be misconstrued as something else. Does that make sense?”

  “I think I know what you’re trying to say. I should have asked her to meet across the road in a more discreet location. Maybe a quiet café or something like that.”

  The older woman smiled and nodded her head.

  “Oh, must go now, my driver has arrived—and by the way, she expected you to know this but has forgiven you because you’re not a local.” She grabbed her designer bag from the sofa and waved goodbye. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, and I hope everything works out. You seem like a nice guy.”

  He had received a lesson in etiquette and realised relationships were more complex in this country. He understood why Clarisse was running late and blamed himself for not researching the local customs. He sat back on the sofa and took a deep breath and ordered a coffee to pass the time.

  Ano
ther thirty minutes passed when the concierge approached him.

  “Sir, I have a message from a Miss Clarisse … I assume you’re Harry?”

  “Yes, I am.” Harry feared the worse— that he might not get to join Clarisse for the Day of the Dead celebration.

  “She asked if you can walk across the road to the Vogue Café and meet her there. I can point you in the right direction if you like?”

  Harry felt a sigh of relief and exhaled a deep breath. “Sure, that would be perfect. Thank you.”

  Harry looked across the road and could see the signage of the Vogue Café. He crossed a busy intersection with no traffic lights—dodging cars from all directions. He had to be quick, or he would be stuck there for a long time.

  Finally managed to get across this damn road, he thought.

  Directly in front was the Vogue Café—a charming French provincial-style café in the heart of the central shopping complex. As he got closer, Clarisse waved to him from the window with an alluring smile. Each time Harry met with her, the splendour of her looks captivated him even more. He had never felt like this before and was struggling to deal with this new emotion.

  Before taking his seat, he greeted Clarisse with a kiss on the cheek.

  “Are you going to sit down?” she asked.

  “Oh yes. You look great today in that stunning dress. I like the colour of jade and the flowering prints—are they depictions of a local tropical white flower?”

  “Thank you so much, Harry, it’s sampaguita, our national flower—we also call it ‘jasmine sambac’.”

  “I’m sorry about asking you to meet me in the foyer of the hotel … not a good place to meet someone special.”

  “That’s OK; it’s more intimate here at the café.” She adjusted her chair closer to Harry and smiled. “Did an old lady come and speak to you in the foyer, by any chance?”

  “Yes, she did, how did you know?”

  “That was my aunty—I sent her there to stop you worrying. She also wanted to see you and kept insisting.”

  They both looked at each other and laughed. Harry had received a lesson on proper etiquette from her aunty.

  “Let’s quickly grab something to eat and leave … the bus is leaving in forty-five minutes—it’s a two-hour trip to my mother’s house.”

  “Does she know I’m coming with you?”

  “She knows of you …” Clarisse paused for a moment. “It won’t be a problem. You can meet the rest of my relatives at the same time.”

  Harry gulped and nearly choked on his glass of water because of meeting all her family. It was going to be an exciting day—he decided to go with the flow. He was sure Clarisse had everything in hand, and it would be an eventful day.

  They finished breakfast and dashed to the bus terminal about 500 metres away, walking at a steady pace. Clarisse had booked first-class tickets. This service was in high demand—she did not want to lose her seat. When they arrived at the terminal, they barely had time to buy refreshments for the trip before boarding the bus. The two-hour journey was going to be the perfect time to explore a variety of conversational topics—and once they got going, you had no chance of stopping either of them.

  “So where exactly is your hometown from here?” Harry said.

  “It’s south of the city—you won’t see too much countryside until we are about one hour’s drive from here.”

  “We have lots of time to talk then.”

  “And what do you want to talk about first?” Clarisse adjusted her backpack in front of her seat to make room for her slender legs.

  Harry could not help noticing her perfectly aligned body and knee-high dress. “We can talk about your family so that I know what to expect when we arrive.”

  “OK, that’s a good idea. Let me give you a brief explanation of who you are likely to meet—there is my mother, Marlita, and she can be testing on men; she will ask you a lot of questions. Then there is my aunty and Uncle Pablo from across the road, and they are a lovely couple. My uncle Pablo is the one that takes us everywhere with his motorbike and sidecar. There is my other aunty whom you have already met at the hotel—she is the outgoing one, always entertaining to have around, the life of any party. You have met Marjorie already so no need to comment about her.”

  “I’m not sure if I asked you this before—is Marjorie related?”

  “Marjorie’s mum and dad are my godparents—so in our culture we automatically become related.”

  “Your mother worries me …”

  Clarisse put her hand on Harry’s shoulder to comfort him. “Don’t worry about my mother … and what is that saying? ‘Her bark is worse than her bite’.” Clarisse looked at him with a piercing smile.

  Harry tilted his head down, trying to imitate a puppy face. It was his dry sense of humour and Clarisse liked it. “I’m sure I can manage your mum somehow …”

  “Oh, I forgot to mention. I have three younger cousins—all girls. I think my uncle Pablo gave up trying to have a boy and stopped at three.”

  “What about your grandparents?”

  “They have passed away—we will visit their graves this afternoon as part of the Day of the Dead celebration.” Clarisse reached for her bag and pulled out her wallet with an old family picture in black and white. “This was me when I was only five years old with my mother when she was younger.”

  “I can see where you got your beauty from—your mother was also a good-looking woman,” Harry said.

  “Yes, men would do anything to court her in the town—my grandfather had a hard time managing it.”

  “I can understand why.” Harry was trying to pull his seat into an upright position but was struggling to get the release button working.

  “You are the only child in your family?”

  “Yes, I grew up an only child, but I never felt alone.”

  She paused for a moment to think about her next words. “My father left us when I was born—I have never met him.”

  “Oh, that’s a sad story,” Harry said. He felt he had carelessly brought up a touchy subject and did not want to take it further. He tried to change the subject, but Clarisse stayed with it.

  “We can talk about this, Harry; I have had a whole life to adjust to it, so it’s OK.”

  “I appreciate that, but we can talk about something else. So, what else do I need to know about?”

  “My younger cousins may rest their forehead on your hand to show respect.”

  “Something you would do with royalty.”

  “Maybe in your country but here it is a sign of respect for older people … it means they are asking for your blessing.”

  “Oh. Well, at least I’ll know what it’s about,” Harry said with a grin.

  The conversation continued for well over an hour until Clarisse felt tired and rested her head on his shoulder. Within a couple of minutes, her eyes started to droop and then close completely. Harry turned to have a look—she was well asleep. He had been longing to be close to her and had another hour to enjoy the warmth of her touch. Sitting on a bus next to each other for two hours had brought them closer. And more importantly for Harry, he was starting to have feelings for her.

  The bus drove by the crowded cemetery on the way to the bus terminal at a walking pace to avoid the large number of families crossing the road haphazardly. There was a procession of people streaming in from everywhere bearing flowers, religious artefacts and token gifts for relatives that had passed away. The congregation of people was so large that traffic had to be coordinated by the law enforcement officers so the bus could get through.

  Around the corner from the cemetery was the entrance of the Catholic church of Saint Ignacio, a historic church influenced by Spanish architecture and built during the period of colonisation. Clarisse explained that church sermons were held every hour to accommodate the stream of people making their way to the cemetery. It was customary to pray for the dead before visiting the cemetery to pay homage. She talked about her mother frequently and how very re
ligious and superstitious she was—growing up with traditional and credulous beliefs as a child.

  He asked about the scarlet chair and whether that formed part of the superstition when she was growing up. Clarisse acknowledged the scarlet chair was a problem and it mystified her mother, like an enigma. Harry could sense it was not her preferred conversation topic and decided to leave it for the time being.

  The bus arrived at the terminal, and it was only a short five-minute walk to the house she had grown up in. They did not see many foreigners in the town, which meant Harry bore the brunt of the curious stares. Although it was harmless, it made him feel important because nobody bothered paying any attention to him back home. Harry relished it and considered it unusual to be the centre of attraction.

  Her mother and relatives greeted them upon arriving at the house; they had been congregating there all morning preparing food and waiting for Clarisse. There were several homes all lined up close together off the main street. They were simple structures built in the traditional stone manner and with tin roofs. No fences separated the homes, and it was unclear where the boundaries were, or perhaps it did not matter as they were all related anyway. Many dogs walked around casually and unimpeded, living off the scraps and generosity of the locals.

  Behind one house was a chicken pen with a bounty of eggs collected and left in a basket for the families to take. It was an honour system, and families only took what they needed. In the house further down the stone driveway was a piggery that had an atrocious smell when the wind blew in their direction. Clarisse mentioned the smell got worse during feeding time when the pigs rolled in the mud. Next to Clarisse’s home was a small plot of land where they grew all types of vegetables and it was being tended to by older people. The herbs were picked and put into cane baskets. A variety of local vegetables were available for families along this pebbled driveway to choose. Everyone supported each other with whatever produce they had to share.

  Harry was unsure whether they knew he was coming—but it did not seem to matter as they took an instant liking to him. The younger children were shy and poked their heads through the door, momentarily trying to catch a glimpse of him.