“A pity,” said Michelle, looking at her slender boot. “When I moved to the hotel I had to give away my cat. He was the finest feline to ever walk the planet.”
Not much one for pets, William was nonetheless interested; another aspect of Michelle.
“Why the ‘finest’?” he inquired.
“He was such fun... but severely austere and devoted. He cleaned himself incessantly. He was prone to fits of rage, which he took out on one of my lamps.” William smiled at these outlandish descriptions; Michelle’s expression, however, was completely earnest.
“Let me guess his name... Monet?”
“Napoleon,” Michelle answered. William laughed.
“How appropriate,” he said, smiling. “Moody, loyal, raging... perfect.”
“Though... my Napoleon did have a weakness,” Michelle went on. “Easily distracted by string.”
The fondness in her voice drew William’s eyes to her, in spite of his better judgment; the red shirt she wore put a nice glow on her face; she was lost in pleasant memories, a small smile on her lips. William looked away.
Michelle was jolted from her reverie when William abruptly stood up. Puzzled, she watched he moodily rearranged magazines on the low coffee table.
“Would you like to meet Alfred?” he asked; his voice sounded a little strained.
“I would,” Michelle replied, reluctantly standing up from the couch.
“This way.” William walked ahead of her towards the white French doors. As Michelle followed him, she wondered about this change in attitude. Maybe he hated cats... perhaps one had scratched him badly as a child. Maybe she talked too much. Since William wasn’t explaining himself Michelle was left to guess, something she absolutely loathed.
The pleasant aroma of herbs and roasted lamb greeted her as she walked into the kitchen. A piano concerto filled the air. The kitchen looked immense to Michelle, with its white tile surfaces, stainless steel fixtures and deep-cherry wood floors. Fresh herbs hung in bunches from the ceiling among spotless copper pans. A white-haired man--in immaculately pressed clothes--stood at the far end, stirring a large copper pot on a huge stove; a white bistro apron was tied around the man’s waist in a precise fashion.
“Alfred,” William called, over the music. The man turned, wiping his hands on a dish-towel. Immediately Michelle liked him; his face indeed looked grandfatherly but seemed to have “propriety” written all over it. He took in Michelle with warm brown eyes. As he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkled. He glanced over at William.
“I am glad you are home, sir,” he said. His voice sounded unusually crisp for his age. “Dinner is nearly complete.”
“Excellent. May I present Miss Michelle Gregory. Michelle, this is my valet, Alfred Walters II.” He introduced the valet with a comical flourish of his hand. Michelle had to bite her lip to keep from giggling. She looked at Alfred.
“I am pleased to meet you, sir,” she said softly. Alfred smiled at her again; his eyes twinkled with something Michelle couldn’t quite make out, but it seemed favorable.
“Charmed, my dear,” he said, amiably. “I trust Master William is playing the host well?”
“He is, thank you,” Michelle replied. “It smells delicious in here.”
“Yes… you have a novice tonight, Alfred,” William said. “Michelle has never tasted lamb stew.”
Alfred beamed.
“My dear girl,” he said. “I am truly sorry that you have been deprived of such a pleasure for so long.” His gallant tone made Michelle smile.
“I know,” she acquiesced. “Being a Gregory, too.”
“A fine, Scottish name,” Alfred said, still smiling. “For shame... no lamb stew. Well, off with you both; as charming the company you are impeding my progress.” He turned back to the copper cot with a smile. Michelle let William lead her out of the kitchen.
They stood in the living room by the wall of windows, looking out on the buildings below.
“He likes you,” William said, after a minute. Alfred’s warm manner made him realize how brusque he was being with his guest. “Enough,” he said under his breath. Michelle heard it, however; she wondered what he was talking about.
“Work on your mind?” she guessed, sitting back down on the couch. “Or, do you just hate cats?” William looked over his shoulder at her, looking puzzled.
“Hate cats? Why would you ask that?”
“Well, ever since we talked about mine you’ve been brooding,” Michelle explained, quietly. “I wondered if you had bad cat memories, or something. They can be pretty mean sometimes.” William stared at his guest for a moment and then chuckled. Sighing, he moved over to the smaller couch once more.
“I do not dislike cats,” he stated, sitting down. “I dislike... formality.”
Michelle sat silent for a moment. She smiled.
“Well, there’s no need for formality in your own home,” she said, in her soft way. “Here… I’ll start.” She quickly unzipped her boots and stowed them discreetly under the coffee table. She sat up and gave William an expectant smile. Blinking, William did not know what to say at first.
“It doesn't matter,” he thought, smiling. “It’s my bloody house.” Slipping off his loafers William got up and sat by Michelle, draping his arm across her shoulder.
“Much better,” he said, looking down at with a fond expression in his eyes. Michelle smiled at him briefly. She decided to let his arm remain. Anyone else she would have shaken off but William was just…different. She knew he could be trusted.
The view from their perch on the couch proved spectacular. Shifting colors bent by the setting sun glanced off the gray buildings, painting a slowly evolving picture. Michelle leaned her head on William’s shoulder, feeling very content. William felt her relax and smiled to himself.
“This is good,” he thought, leaning his head to rest on Michelle’s. He allowed a quiet sigh to escape his lips.
Some minutes later Alfred emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. Looking around, he spied the top of William’s head, just visible over the top of the ridiculously overstuffed couch. Approaching with a cautious step Alfred came up behind the couch and leaned over it a little. The sight below made him smile. His employer was fast asleep, cozily snuggled up against his guest; Michelle was peacefully sleeping as well, her head on William’s shoulder. Alfred chuckled at their stocking feet.
“Ahem,” he coughed, politely. “Ahem.”
William’s eyes flew open; he looked up at Alfred, blinking. His valet stood tall behind the couch, smiling in a fatherly way. “Dinner, sir,” Alfred said. “Unless you want it cold.”
“Thank you, Alfred,” William said, bringing up his arms in a deep stretch. Beside him, Michelle stirred at the movement; her eyes were still closed. Leaning down, William kissed her gently on the forehead. The young woman’s eyes fluttered open, slowly focusing on William’s face. She smiled at first, but grew instantly bashful; she sat up quickly.
“Oh, I’m so sorry...” she apologized biting her lip. “How long was I asleep?” William smiled at her apparent dismay.
“Not long,” he said. “Don’t be sorry; I fell asleep as well. It felt rather good to get a short nap, actually.”
“I see,” Michelle said, relaxing. “So, it’s OK if the host does it too.” Still smiling, William drew his fingers lightly over her hair.
“That’s the general rule,” he said, looking at her. His voice dropped lower as he spoke. Michelle liked his more sonorous tone so much; he sound of it stirred something in her and she longed to draw a little closer to him. William likewise allowed himself a perusal of Michelle’s eyes. He wanted very much to be alone with her.
Alfred’s discreet cough broke their mutual gaze.
“Dinner is served,” he announced, cheerfully. “Lamb Stew a’ la Walters.” Blushing, Michelle stood and got directions for the ladies room; she escaped towards it, fanning her warm face with her hand. In her absence, William pushed the dinner cart fr
om the kitchen to the small dining room beyond and transferred the large soup tureen to the table.
“I’m not senile yet, you know,” Alfred objected, arranging the spoons.
“I know that,” William returned. “I just don’t want Michelle knowing how truly useless I am around here.” Alfred smiled and spent a moment polishing the silver ladle with a cloth.
“You are remarkably comfortable with her, sir,” he commented. William nodded.
“I like her,” he said, simply.
“That is quite clear,” Alfred stated, glancing at William from under his brows. “Honestly, I have never seen you remove your shoes while company is present.” William looked at him. “Don’t 'get me wrong', as the Americans say. It’s about time you met a nice girl. I hope you keep her.” Smiling, Alfred swept back into the kitchen, leaving a stunned William staring after him.
“At least he didn’t say anything about grandchildren...” he muttered.
“Alfred has grandchildren?” came a voice behind him. Turning, William beheld Michelle entering the dining area.
“Ah... er... yes... well...” William stuttered. Hopefully she didn’t hear anything else. “Did... you find everything alright?”
“Yes.” Michelle grew serious. “My whole apartment could fit in your restroom.” William laughed.
“Yes, well... my lavatory is rather small,” he said, teasingly. Narrowing her eyes at him, Michelle crossed her arms.
“You’re lucky there’s nothing to throw at you easily at hand,” she said.
“Now, now... you know I’d just chase you and toss you onto the couch,” William countered. “I bet you’re ticklish.” Michelle’s eyes widened a little.
“Horribly,” she said, warily. “Don’t even joke about it; it’s a terrible affliction.” William laughed at her and pulled out a chair.
“Sit. I’ll behave,” he promised. Smiling, Michelle complied; she draped a napkin across her lap as Alfred appeared with a basket of fresh bread; he sat down on one side of Michelle and William sat on the other. Michelle felt glad that Alfred was eating with them; the apparent importance of class distinction proved to be another baseless stereotype.
The dining room looked elegant despite the simple décor. A gorgeous, solid wood table of square design dominated the space; its size seemed just right for four people to eat comfortably. Running her hand over its smooth, red-hued top, Michelle caught William’s eye.
“One of yours?” she asked, smiling. At her words, William’s eyes grew bright.
“Yes,” he said, giving her an affectionate smile. The fact that Michelle recognized a custom-built table impressed him. “One of my favorite pieces, actually. I couldn’t find a table the right size for this room.”
“So, you made one,” Michelle returned. She felt the wood with appreciative fingers. “It is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” William replied. “I am flattered you noticed it.”
Michelle looked up at Alfred. The man handed her a hot bowl of stew in a heavy soup-plate. Taking it with both hands, she smiled at him, setting the plate down in front of her. The rich, meaty scent of her mouth water. Michelle savored the first bite. A slight spiciness of fresh ground pepper made itself known, mingli ng well with the bits of braised lamb and soft pearl barley. The early winter vegetables--turnips and leeks--seemed to bring every thing together. Alfred noted her expression with satisfaction and passed her a basket of bread. Michelle swallowed her mouthful and licked her lips.
“You are a magnificent cook, Alfred,” she said, meaning every word. Looking up, William grinned at the pleasure on his valet’s face. “You cook almost as well as my grandmother did.” Michelle went on, reverently dipping another spoonful.
“Ah... a high compliment,” Alfred said, smiling. “No one could hold a candle to mine, either.”
“A triumph, Alfred,” William commented with a nod. “Perfect for this weather.”
“Yes, the air felt like stew this morning.” Alfred stirred his food thoughtfully and ate a little, nodding approvingly. “You’re mother rang, earlier,” he said, to William. “Just after one.”
“Don’t tell me. She wants me to pick up some god-forsaken cheese trinket from Switzerland before I drive up.” By William’s annoyed tone, Michelle guessed that he disliked being used as an ‘errand-boy’.
Alfred gave his boss a look, though it appeared tempered.
“Not quite,” the older man began. “I do not happen to be a cheese trinket from Switzerland and God hasn’t yet forsaken me.” William looked a little sheepish.
“Be glad to have you along, old boy,” he said, smiling. “I didn't think you wished to make the long journey in my little roadster.”
“Nonsense,” Alfred stated. “I used to cram into tiny phone booths and such with my fellow Carpathians back in college, you know. I’ll be fine.”
William snorted a little and glanced at Michelle; she appeared to be chuckling behind her napkin.
“Will there be any room for me,” she asked, smiling at her host. “Or will you have to strap me to the hood?”
“Pfft... my car’s not that small, sweetheart,” William announced, pointing his spoon at her. “You’ll fit in snugly with us. Phone booth, indeed.” Still grinning, Michelle took a bit of bread.
After a few minutes, she mustered up her courage enough to speak with Alfred.
“Margaret told me you’ve been with William’s family a long time,” she ventured.
His mouth full, William chewed a little faster.
“Please... no more bloody stories of me as a darling baby,” he thought.
“I have, Miss Gregory,” Alfred said, leaning back in his chair. “I was his father’s valet until he passed, nearly eight years ago.” Michelle glanced at William; she said nothing but he saw a look of mutual sympathy in her eyes.
“You’re not going to regale me with William’s repressed childhood memories, are you?” she asked, turning back to Alfred. Chuckling, the older man shook his head.
“My dear, grown men dislike very much to be reminded that they were once adorable toddlers dressed in cute outfits,” Alfred stated, laying his napkin on the table. “Judging by his rather pained expression, I’ll just eat and let his memories be.”
Michelle laughed softly and clapped her hands together.
“I am so glad,” she said, merrily, “When we were eating lunch with Margaret I thought he was going to have an aneurysm.”
“I’m right here, you know,” William said, giving Alfred a grateful look. “My mother does far too much tripping down memory lane… with anyone. When I took her to lunch at the Oriental, she actually showed baby photographs to the server.” He gave Michelle a narrow look; she hadn’t stopped giggling. “It isn’t funny,” he stated, returning to his food.
The conversation turned to the proper time to leave for Vermont that Thursday.
“We should get an early start,” William remarked. “Really early. I strongly dislike sitting in traffic.”
“Not too early, sir, if you please,” Alfred countered. “Bear in mind that I am sixty-four.”
“Weren’t you in the army?” William asked, smiling. “Where’s your pre-dawn spirit?” Alfred shuddered.
“Buried deep in my youth, thank Heavens,” he said, grimacing. “No need to bring it back.”
Having finished her food Michelle stood up, plate in hand. Taking the opportunity while the men were engaged in conversation, she disappeared into the kitchen before anyone could object.
“Where’s your dish soap?” her voice floated in from the other room. Alfred rose from his chair and motioned towards the door; with William’s help he brought the other dishes in and waylaid the ‘helpful’ guest at the sink.
“I’m used to cleaning up after myself,” Michelle objected as William led her from Alfred’s domain.
“Yes, and I’m used to eating alone in my office buried under paperwork.” William told her. “You are going to relax ... don’t look so innocent.” Michelle
gave him a secretive smile; she obediently sat down on the couch again and looked up at William.
“You’re not going to suggest ‘Boggle’, are you?” she asked. Her voice was light and full of fun. William liked this ‘comfortable’ side of Michelle very much. She was still sweet and a little shy but she looked more relaxed, like she was enjoying herself very much; he marveled at how easy it was to enjoy himself around her.
“I actually enjoy playing Boggle,” he grinned, sitting down beside her. Carefully, he laid his arm on her shoulders. She did not seem to mind him doing that.
“I do was well,” Michelle admitted. “But, you have to have more than two people to play it properly, kind of like Scrabble.” William nodded.
“I bet your family played board games every night,” he said, looking down at her. Michelle smiled.
“Not every night, but we did play them quite often.” She sighed; with William nearby it did not seem quite as difficult to access her memories. “My father adored Scrabble, especially. He could make up the most convincing words, and could relate the supposed meanings so well that it felt like one was risking a lot to challenge him.”
Chuckling, William rubbed his forehead a little with one hand.
“In my elementary school, we were instructed to occupy ourselves in a civil manner,” he informed his guest. “Board games were actually part of the curricula. With Scrabble—for instance--I prided myself on knowing all the ‘X’ and ‘Z’ words.”
“All forty-three of them?” Michelle inquired; her eyes looked bright with mirth.
“Well, it was forty-three more than the other lads knew,” William defended.
There was a long pause. As she gazed out the windows Michelle considered asking William more about his family, but she felt hesitant in doing so; she really did not want to pry, nor make him uncomfortable… but the fact that she knew so little about him seemed glaringly obvious. More than anything, Michelle wanted to know him better, and on a far deeper level than finding out his favorite color or preferred food.
Draw Me A Picture Page 13