The urge to modernize the house with bright-colored patterns had found resistance here. The walls were covered in an old-fashioned, teal-colored wallpaper with flowery details. The furniture was all late-nineteenth– and early-twentieth–century antiques: a four-poster bed, a wall-to-wall armoire, a large vanity table with crystal light fixtures, and a mirror.
“It’s beautiful,” exclaimed Josie.
“You think so?” Richard asked, standing in the middle of the room with a sad face. “It cost me a fortune. The wallpaper came from a palazzo in Italy. The bed belonged to a prince. I told the decorator to go crazy with Lina’s room, but he went gaga. You can tell I spared no expense on making her happy. She repaid me by getting murdered. I didn’t want to move a thing.” He glanced around the room gloomily. “This is all of her stuff. Her clothes, her books—she liked to read,” he rolled his eyes heavenward. “Reading was yet another one of her extravagances. I have never read an entire book in my life… Her wedding dress is inside that closet. Do you want to see it?” He scuttled to the closet and pulled out the gown. “I think you may be the same size,” he added with a big grin. “Do you think it would fit you? Anyway,” his expression darkened again, seeing Josie’s shocked reaction, “this is all too painful to me. I need to stop talking about my ruined wedding. I thought I would leave her room untouched, preserve it as it was on the day she left us, an homage to her memory, if you will, but it would be a waste to leave the second best room in this house unoccupied—the best one is mine, of course. You will stay here. Make yourself at ease.”
“I don’t need to stay here, Richard,” Josie replied. “I can sleep anywhere else…”
“Like in the kitchen? Don’t be stupid, stay here. Lina hardly spent any time in this room. She kept complaining that it was too bright in the mornings. Can you believe that? After all the money I spent. She kept her old place in Hollywood. We fought over that continuously.” He walked to the windows that led to the balcony and drew the curtains close. “Blue curtains. She wanted them black. We had such a big fight that day; I could have cut her… You’re going to be okay.” He rubbed his hair as if to dismiss a pessimistic thought with the gesture. “You’re not scared of ghosts, are you?”
“No.”
“Perfect. And don’t worry, we put clean sheets on the bed. You won’t be sleeping on some dead person’s linens. Feel free to try on some of her clothes tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Richard responded. “I’ll leave you now. That door is to the bathroom—there are fresh towels inside. Give this old man a kiss goodnight.” He pecked Josie thrice on her cheeks and walked to the door.
His hand was already on the doorknob when he turned to ask, “Did you notice the double doors at the end of the hall on the first floor?”
“I did,” Josie responded.
“That’s the forbidden room. You may not enter that room. Not without my permission. No matter what strange noises you may hear, you can never open those doors. I’ll throw you out in the street if you try. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” Josie responded, after a moment of hesitation.
“I’ll make sure I keep the doors locked, in any case. Even better,” he pulled a key from his pocket. “I’ll lock this door as well. This house is too big and if you go wandering around, you may get lost. Sleep tight.”
He closed the door and locked it from outside.
Had she just become Richard’s prisoner? Josie looked at the walls around her. It was a beautiful cage, if that’s what the room was. The walls must have been at least fifteen feet tall. Someone had removed that wallpaper from an Italian palace? How could they do that without ripping it? She opened the closet. So many clothes. All new!
She entered the bathroom. It was the size of her old room. The bathtub was large enough to accommodate two people.
The towels smelled so freshly of lavender, it was like holding a flower bouquet against your face. What did it matter if Richard had locked the door, she laughed. A cell this nice and comfortable was a thousand times better than the freedom of the Venice pavement. The soap smelled of green apples. What would it be like if she had accepted Richard’s advances before? Maybe this would have been her bathroom, that would have been her bed, and the clothes inside the closet would have been hers. She would have been the mistress of this house, and… Was that people laughing?
She reentered the bedroom and pressed her ear against the door. The sound came from downstairs. She opened the doors to the balcony. The bittersweet strains of a violin filled the room. The treetops in the garden gave the impression that the house had been built in the middle of a tropical forest. There was a pool, she could see. And a rose garden. And light coming from one of the rooms downstairs, from where the music seemed to come. The forbidden room, Josie guessed, leaning against the railing.
She heard the laughter again. Richard had company.
The next morning, Josie awoke to the sharp scrape of the curtains being pulled open.
“Did you have a good night?” a female voice sang from the window.
Josie lifted her eye mask to see who was speaking. The same old lady that had served dinner the night before stood next to window.
“Uh-huh,” Josie responded with a moan.
“We weren’t properly introduced last night, Miss García,” the woman said. “My name is Mrs. Coenegrachts, at your service. I am Mr. Wehr’s housekeeper. How was the bed?”
“Marvelous,” Josie stretched her arms.
The woman smiled in a friendly manner. “Do you want to have breakfast here, downstairs, or in the garden?”
“Here?” Josie asked, excited. She had never had breakfast in bed before.
“Or in the garden,” Mrs. Coenegrachts tilted her head towards the window. “It’s such a lovely day. It would be a waste to eat indoors.”
“I can eat here.”
“Very well. How do you like your coffee?” Mrs. Coenegrachts asked.
“Strong. Lots of sugar.”
“Extra strong and extra sweet it will be. And your eggs?”
“Over easy.”
Mrs. Coenegrachts smile grew even bigger. “Jam and toast?”
Josie nodded.
“Lovely,” the woman responded with a suggestive giggle and, as inconspicuously as she had come in, she stepped out of the room.
Was she British? Josie wondered, trying to recognize her accent. No. The words that Mrs. Coenegrachts had exchanged with Richard the night before sounded nothing like English.
She put on the robe that Mrs. Coenegrachts had left for her on the foot of the bed. The room seemed bigger in the daylight. She stepped out onto the balcony. She hadn’t seen the irises the previous night! It was a beautiful day indeed. Not a single cloud.
By the time Mrs. Coenegrachts returned with her breakfast, Josie had already taken a few garments out of the closet.
“Do you think I should wear black?” she asked, taking a big gulp of coffee.
“Well, that yellow dress sure is lovely,” Mrs. Coenegrachts said, looking at the many dresses that Josie had dropped on top of the bed, “But black would be most appropriate, I’m afraid.”
“But it’s so warm outside,” Josie replied with a pouty face. “It’ll be terribly hot by noon. What if I wear white instead?” she held up another sundress. “With a black belt?”
“That might work.”
Josie scrunched her nose at some wrinkles on the dress.
“Would you get this ironed for me?”
“Absolutely,” Mrs. Coenegrachts responded.
“Thanks, uh—” Josie took a bite of her toast. “What did you say was your name?”
“My name is Mrs. Coenegrachts, Miss García.”
“Coonehacks?”
“Coenegrachts,” the housekeeper responded with a big grin.
“Cooneharts,” Josie tried again. The woman assented politely.
“What a difficult name.” Josie took another bite. “Where are you from?”
“I’m from Belgium.”
“Belgium?” Josie repeated, excited. “Is that in Brussels?”
“Not exactly,” the woman hesitated. “But close enough. It’s in Europe.”
“Swell!” Josie responded with a feigned voice. “I love Europe. I’ve always dreamed of going there. To live in a castle and wear long dresses to the prince’s ball.”
“My goodness,” Mrs. Coenegrachts laughed. “That’s not the Europe I come from. I grew up in an arbeider slum, far from any palace. The only princes I met were the coal miners getting drunk in the public houses.”
Josie felt a sudden flush of embarrassment. She is going to think I have never traveled abroad, she thought, which was true, she had never left California, but the help didn’t need to know that.
“Now, you do look like someone worthy of being invited to a ball, Miss García,” Mrs. Coenegrachts continued. “This dress is going to look very good on you. You have a beautiful skin tone, and you are so young. How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Josie’s embarrassment was replaced with a feeling of anger. The intonation that Mrs. Coenegrachts had given to the word young had been on purpose. Who did she think she was, this nosy woman, trying to find out the age difference between her and Richard? And who was she taking her for? The compliments, she reckoned, had been a tad too sweet and suggestive to be honest.
“What you really wonder is what kind of girl spends the night at the house of a man old enough to be her father, don’t you?” Josie glowered at the maid. “Is that what you’re thinking?”
“Oh, no, miss. That’s not what I meant at all. I would never dare to think that. I only wanted to say that you look young…and beautiful, if you let me say so.”
“What a crummy flatterer you are,” Josie muttered. She cleaned her fingers on her robe, letting some crumbs fall to the floor, as if saying, You’ll have to clean this. “I turned nineteen two months ago,” she said aloud. “Richard is, perhaps, old enough to be my father. But he and I are only friends. He’s letting me stay here for a few days. As a favor. That’s all.”
“Mr. Wehr explained that to me, Miss García,” the woman responded with a contrite voice. “And if I may say so, I think it is awfully kind of you to stay here. Mr. Wehr needs to be surrounded by his friends during such a difficult time. He holds you in very high esteem. He loved Miss Barnett so much, and we were worried that—”
Richard, who had just entered the room, interrupted her: “Are you giving Mrs. Coenegrachts a hard time, Josie?” He wore a silk robe and slippers.
“Richard!” Josie exclaimed, afraid that she had gotten herself in trouble. “We were just chatting. How are you?”
Mrs. Coenegrachts greeted her boss with a courteous bow. Richard responded with a nod.
“Chatting you say?” Richard covered his eyes with his hands and Mrs. Coenegrachts rushed to close the curtains. “It sounded to me as if you two were fighting. Please know that Mrs. Coenegrachts is the boss of this house. You better behave in front of her. I do.”
Mrs. Coenegrachts responded with a simper. She took the dress that Josie had chosen for the day. “I’ll be back in ten minutes,” she said. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss García?”
Josie shook her head. Mrs. Coenegrachts bobbed hers and left the room.
“You’re wearing white today?” Richard asked. “You do know we’re in mourning, don’t you, honeysuckle?” He stole a fast look to the door. “She is absolutely horrible, isn’t she?” He added, now with a secretive tone. “I am so afraid of that tiny woman. She could poison me, you know? She despises me. But it is so difficult to find decent help these days, especially in this city. She and Carol don’t get along. They get into such big fights, and for the most stupid things—I never know what to do. I love Carol but I don’t want to have a dirty house. Please don’t talk back to Mrs. Coenegrachts. She’s impossible to replace. I pay her squat,” he confessed, with a giggle. “I can afford to pay her more, but keeping her poor is my way to get even for all the hurtful innuendos. Just do what she says and let her do her work—entendu?” he added, with a mellower tone, “Now, what do you feel like doing today, my Mexican river flower?”
“You said you weren’t a morning person.”
“I am definitely not. I am so tired, my doll. I slept only two hours last night. I was…” he made a short pause as if trying to devise a believable activity “…working on some…bloody documents. But I couldn’t stay in bed any longer,” he smiled suggestively. “I got too excited because of you being here. What do you want to do? Do you want to see the house? It’s humongous.”
“I’d like to see the garden.”
“The garden?” Richard replied with disenchantment. “Why? The garden is awful this time of the morning. Let’s see the house first. Finish up. Chop-chop,” he clapped, urging the girl to finish her breakfast. “Actually, you’ve eaten enough. I’ll take this down with me,” he picked up the tray from the vanity table, “and I’ll go hurry up Mrs. Coenegrachts with your dress.”
“But I’m hungry…”
“A lady should eat like a hummingbird. Leave half the food on the plate, that’s the rule. Do you need to call Russell? Let him know that you’ll spend the day here?”
“I decided to stay the whole weekend,” Josie responded.
“An entire year if you want.”
“And no,” Josie continued, “I don’t need to call Russell. I’d rather let him wonder where I am.”
“Bad girl! But that’s the only way to treat men, isn’t it? I should know better. Being nice is a waste of time. Do your thing. Get beautiful. Put on some makeup, you look a bit gaunt. I’ll be waiting for you downstairs, my precious.”
He left the room. A minute later, Mrs. Coenegrachts walked in with the dress.
“You look stunning,” Richard said, looking at his guest from the foot of the stairs.
Mrs. Coenegrachts had arranged Josie’s hair in a tall chignon and convinced her to wear a brooch from Lina’s jewelry box.
There were three dining rooms in the house: the one where Richard had received Josie the previous night, for intimate guests, that seated eight; one for big celebrations, which could seat up to eighteen; and one for the servants, next to the kitchen, which sat up to twelve. There was a family room, with wall-to-wall lime carpeting and atomic star ornaments on the walls; a waiting room, with empire-style furniture; a library, where the books were organized by color rather than by subject; a study with the walls covered with mirrors in which the most prominent object was a reproduction of Flandrin’s Young Man Sitting by the Seashore; a projection room upholstered in burgundy velvet with seating for up twenty people; a television room full of mounted heads, etcetera.
“Beautiful!” Josie found herself repeating every time they entered a different room. To these exclamations of awe followed a lengthy explanation from Richard of how absurdly expensive, unique, or rare each piece of furniture or decorative item was: the bear in the library was a real polar bear; the door handles were made of ivory; the formal dining room chairs were gold leafed; the pantry cupboards contained a hundred-year-old Bavarian china set of seventy-two pieces; the kitchen draperies were of Brussels lace; the tiles of the bathroom were of Carrara marble—all of which led to more and more expressions of wonderment from the girl.
So much did Richard enjoy impressing his young friend that a few times he lied. “The glass in the windows comes from Elsinore Castle in Scandinavia.”
There was even a sewing room, which Richard used for storing samples of colorful fabric and boxes and boxes of wrapping paper. “Every Christmas I say to myself,” he said, while Josie went through the shelves, “Richard Pieterfrans, you are not buying any more wrapp
ing paper. And every Christmas it is the same ridiculous thing: I end up buying more wrapping paper, much more than I need. I’m like a little pussycat that can’t resist playing with shiny things. It’s embarrassing!”
There were but two rooms that they didn’t enter: the basement, which, the millionaire warned, was full of spiders and vermin (not to mention his coffin), and the one with the red mahogany doors below the stairs, the one to which Richard had forbidden Josie to enter. Uninterested in seeing mice or arachnids, Josie didn’t object to not going down to the basement, but every time they passed in front of what she still suspected was a ballroom, without Richard so much as turning his head to acknowledge its existence, her curiosity grew.
And what a wonderful, fanciful, elegant ballroom it must be, she thought, judging by everything else. Worthy of a prince and his princess!
She called Richard’s attention to it as they climbed the stairs back to the second floor.
“You don’t want to go there right now,” he said. “It’s messy.”
And, as if to illustrate the fact that the room needed to be cleaned, one of the doors opened and Mrs. Coenegrachts came out holding a hamper full of stained linens. The stains looked like blood.
Josie turned an alarmed face to Richard.
“Something wrong, honey?” the millionaire asked.
The girl opened her mouth to speak, but the carefree attitude of the housekeeper, humming the first movement of Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons,” prevented her from telling the millionaire what had scared her. The housekeeper wouldn’t hum her way to the laundry room if those were blood-stained linens, would she? Josie shook her head and smiled back mannerly. “Nothing,” she responded to Richard. Blood stains? It made no sense.
Love, or the Witches of Windward Circle Page 37