I run a bath and pour sweet smelling salts into it. Then I lock the bedroom door, and step into the steaming water.
It feels wonderfully sensuous to slip into the silky, scented water. The sensation of decadence is magnified by the candlelight. I luxuriate in the warm water for a long time, thinking of Rocco. I replay everything that happened tonight in my head. He is a mystery. A beautiful mystery. I’d have stayed longer, if my phone had not started to ring. Knowing it can only be Sam, I run to it, leaving wet patches on the floor.
“Hey Sam,” I say, as I put her on speaker, and wrap myself inside a fluffy towel.
“OMG, you won’t believe what has just happened,” she screams excitedly.
“What?” I ask, immediately getting caught up in her exhilaration.
“Remember that app contest I entered?”
“Vaguely,” I murmur.
“I’ve won it. I got the first prize. They sent me an email this morning, but I never saw it until now.”
“Oh, wow! Congratulations, Sam. That’s amazing.”
“I can hardly believe it.”
“There were three thousand entries and I beat all of them.”
I feel almost choked with happiness for her. “Oh, Sam. I am so proud of you,” I whisper.
“Ask me what I won then?”
I grin. “What did you win?”
“I won a scholarship for the rest of my studies.”
“Oh, WOW!” I scream. “That is truly amazing.”
“That’s not all. I also won ten thousand dollars and I’ve won the chance to meet Leon Joseph Chernyshevsky.”
“Sorry, that name doesn’t ring a bell for me.”
“What? I’ve told you about him before.”
“Uh, you know, whenever you start talking about computers I switch off, right?”
“Leon Joseph Chernyshevsky is almost like God,” she says in an awed voice. “He’s a mathematical genius.”
I giggle softly. “A computer God. Right, okay.”
“You better not have that attitude when you meet him.”
I stop laughing. “What?”
“Well, the meeting is going to be at a black-tie dinner party in New York, and I’m allowed to bring a guest. You’re that guest.”
“Back up, back up a second. New York?”
“Yes, New York, but don’t worry. It’s all paid for. Here’s the plan. I’m coming down to you and we’ll travel together to New York.” She stops to take a breath. “We’ll be travelling first class, Autumn. We’ll be picked up at the airport, drop our bags off in our suite at the Four Seasons Hotel. Afterwards we can spend the whole day in the Big Apple just sightseeing and shopping. And, and, get this: we’re allowed to order anything we like from room service. Even champagne!”
“Hang on, hang on. When is all this supposed to happen?”
“I’m coming the day after tomorrow and we’ll be flying out on Friday. The dinner is on Saturday.”
“Sam, I have to work on Saturday.”
“Oh, come on. Larry can give you one day off. You haven’t had a day off since you started work there. It’s just one damn day. You’ll be back on Sunday night.”
I sit on the bed. “You sure you want me to come with you?”
“Are you kidding me? Who else would I ask? You’re the only one who would be truly happy for me. Everyone else I know would be jealous as hell and try to ruin it for me.”
“How do you know I’m not jealous as hell?”
“Because you’d rather die than get a scholarship in my field, and I’m gonna stick my neck out and say you’ll almost certainly find Leon Joseph Chernyshevsky the most boring person you’ve ever met in your life.”
I laugh. “I have to say, I think you’re right.” Then I take off the towel and quickly pull the Victorian nightgown over my head. Snapping a selfie of myself, I send it to her.
“What on earth are you wearing?” she asks with a laugh.
I laugh too. “This is the nightgown I’ve been given for the night. Sexy, huh?”
“Where the hell are you?”
“I am in Rocco’s house.”
“Whoa! What?”
“It’s not what you’re thinking, I came here to paint his portrait and I was supposed to go back after that, but there was a big storm. Actually, it’s still raining outside. Apparently, the roads are too dangerous to use so I’m staying the night. I have my own room, and the door is locked.”
“What’s the house like?” she asks curiously.
“Like something out of a period movie. Very beautiful, but somehow cold and dead,” I whisper, as I slip between the covers. The sheets are silky and cold and I move around to warm them up before huddling onto my side.
“Like the owner?”
“Yes, like the owner,” I echo quietly.
“But you really like him, don’t you?”
Somewhere in my mind, thoughts uncoil like wool on a spool. I think of Rocco’s blue eyes, how calm and meditative they can get, even though I’ve seen them blaze dangerously when provoked. “Like is too mild a term,” I tell her softly. “This man makes my blood race. He frightens me, Sam. No, strike that. He doesn’t scare me. I scare me. When I am near him, I feel almost like a feral animal, without the veneer of civilization. I want him. Even that is not right. I crave him. Every cell in my body wakes up and cries out for him, and my skin tingles as if it knows him.”
“Jesus, Autumn. That’s so freaking crazy,” she mutters, shocked.
“I know it’s fucked up, but that’s how I feel.”
“Wow! I haven’t heard you swear in a very long time.”
“I know, but it’s like I’m changing inside. When I am with him, I feel different. There are no limits. There are no rights or wrongs.”
“I hate to say this, but I don’t have a good feeling about this,” she admits reluctantly.
“Yeah, I don’t have a good feeling about it either, but the force pulling me towards him is beyond my control. I’ve tried to resist it, but it’s like an event or thing from which all else must follow. It sounds so crazy, and I can’t even believe I’m saying it, but it is as if our mating is pre-ordained.”
There is stunned silence while she digests what I said. Finally, she speaks. “Maybe I can meet him when I come down to see you?”
“Maybe,” I whisper.
After that we stop talking about him and make our plans, our voices hushed with excitement. It’s been a long time since I last saw Sam, and the thought of travelling with her to New York is thrilling, an adventure. Neither of us has been to the Big Apple. We speak in hushed tones for more than an hour.
Outside the wind howls like a banshee.
Chapter 24
Autumn
It is another hour before Sam and I finally manage to say goodbye. There is something about the unknowable about the house that makes me feel wary so I leave the candles to burn down as I drift off to sleep. William said they would last at least eight hours, so I reckon, by the time they burn out dawn will already be in the sky.
I am awakened suddenly by a strange scratching sound at the window. The room is in total darkness. The storm is still raging outside and in the flashes of light from the lightning I can see the candles are all only half burnt, but someone has extinguished them.
My heart is thudding in my chest. The room is like the inside of a fridge. My breath mists in the icy air. I hear someone call my name. The sound is coming from the window. Full of fear, I turn my head and see a young woman. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Her hair is long and black, and her skin is deathly pale. Her lips are blue from the cold, her pale blue eyes are enormous with distress, and her white dress is soaked and sticking to her thin, child-like body. She is scratching desperately on the window pane.
“Open the window, please,” she begs pitifully in a hoarse whisper. “I have something very important to tell you.”
I know I shouldn’t. I don’t even want to, but I can’t stop myself. I get out of be
d and walk to the window. My God, she is standing on the ledge of the first-floor window. Shivering, I open the window, and the waif quickly pushes it open. Her head snakes forward, and it is only then I notice her pale eyes have black slits, like cats or reptilians. They glare murderously at me as if she is demon possessed. Without warning, she reaches a skinny hand out and clamps it on my wrist. Her hand is icy and my skin crawls with terror.
I freeze.
I’m too shocked to do anything even when she yanks my hand towards her. The strength in that tiny body is so extraordinary she hauls me right out of the room, and through the open window. Too late, I try to grab the edges of the window, but they slip away from me, like moving rope. For a split-second I am suspended out of the window. In sheer terror, I see nothing but darkness all around me.
Good God, Rocco’s house is floating in a black abyss!
The waif lets go of my wrist, and cries out, “Now fly away. Quick. Before it’s too late.”
But of course, I can’t fly. My arms flail helplessly in the empty air before I begin to fall, the cold wind rushes into my face. I open my mouth and begin to scream. I scream and scream and scream in the blackness. Something velvety, like a bat’s wing, brushes against my cheek, and I lose it. With a howl of fury and horror I begin to fight and struggle with the evil in the darkness.
“Autumn, wake up. Wake up,” a voice calls urgently.
My eyes snap open and I see Rocco bending over me. I throw my hands around his neck with sheer relief. Taking great gasping breaths, I sob, “I was falling. I was falling into a dark abyss.”
“It was just a nightmare,” he soothes.
In those few seconds I’m buried in his chest, time slows down to frames. Frame one, I hear his heart. A beat so steady it is hypnotic. Frame two, I breathe in his scent. He smells of rain and pine trees. Frame three, I feel his body. It is hard, lean, and filled with a wild animal’s power. I feel it throbbing in his veins. Frame four, it makes my brain do cartwheels and my body come alive with pure lust.
I let go of his neck and move away from his body.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I reply, but the dream was so astonishingly real, my eyes rush towards the window. It is closed. The candles are all still lit and the room is not freezing cold. I hug myself.
“It was just a nightmare,” he repeats, as he straightens.
I meet his eyes. They are as calm as an ocean on a bright day. I swallow. Up this close, his skin appears radiant, his cheeks rosy. As if he has been drinking or running. He can’t have been drinking because there is no scent of alcohol on his breath. His hair is damp. Maybe he just got out of the shower. The heat from the water has warmed his skin.
Another thought occurs to me. “How did you get in here? I locked the door.”
“I kicked it open. You were screaming.”
“I see.” I cover my mouth and try to think. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”
“You didn’t.”
I search his face. “I’m sorry about the door. I can pay for it if you give me the bill.”
“Thank you for the offer, but that won’t be necessary,” he says stiffly.
I paste a smile on my face. “Thanks for coming to my rescue.”
“It was nothing. Would you like a glass of hot milk or something?”
“Uh, no. I’m fine.”
He stands, as if to leave.
I frown. “Is this house haunted?”
Amusement flickers in his eyes. “Not to my knowledge.”
“I dreamed of a waif with blazing eyes who pushed me out of the window and told me to fly away before it was too late. It was a very, very vivid dream.”
His expression doesn’t change and yet I feel as if my dream means something to him. “Have you never had such a dream then?”
“No, never.”
He nods and takes another step away from the bed. “Hmm… I was just going to have a drink. Would you like to join me?”
I don’t hesitate. It will be impossible for me to go back to sleep. Not with the dream still so fresh and horrible in my mind. I push the covers back and put my bare feet onto the carpet. “Yes, I’d love to.”
Chapter 25
Autumn
We walk down the corridor together. Me, barefoot, my virginal, voluminous nightgown fluttering around my shins, and him silent and brooding. I steal a glance sideways when we walk past the grand staircase. “Where are we going?”
“To the tower.”
“You don’t behead people up there or something, do you?” I ask, as we turn a corner and arrive at a narrow winding staircase.
“Go up and see for yourself,” he invites smoothly.
I put a foot on the cold granite step. Then up on another and another. My feet are silent. Five steps up and I hear his shoes behind me. Soon I arrive at the top of the stairs and a small sigh of wonder escapes me. The room is massive and round with a platform in the middle. The entire ceiling is made of domed glass. The rain has stopped and there are stars in the clear sky.
“Wow, an observatory. How neat,” I exclaim, walking towards a big telescope pointed upwards.
I hear a sound behind me, a flick of a switch, a whirling sound, and then the ceiling begins to part silently. The storm has washed away all the clouds and the night is full of bright stars shining like diamonds. It is truly beautiful.
“Oh, my God!” I gasp.
“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” he whispers close to me.
My heart starts fluttering. I turn to look at him. In the moonlight his flawless skin looks like it is made of the finest white marble. My hands itch to touch his face and I feel in my heart a burning, wicked craving to taste his sensuous lips. Confused by the intensity of my desire for him, I turn away from him and lift my eyes towards the gorgeous night sky. But I see nothing. My heart is hammering in my chest. It is pure agony.
“You’re really lucky, you know?” I mumble awkwardly.
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he asks, “What would you like to drink?”
I don’t take my eyes away from the spectacular night sky. “Whatever you’re having will be fine.”
It must have only been seconds, and my skin starts tingling again. He is close by. I turn to look at him. He is holding two tall glasses with rounded sides, and a bottle of champagne, but the bottle has barnacles stuck to it.
“What is that?” I ask curiously.
“Shipwreck champagne,” he says simply.
My eyes widen. “You mean this is a bottle from an actual shipwreck.”
“Veuve Clicquot from 1841.”
My mouth opens with amazement. “Did you just say 1841?”
He nods.
I stare at the bottle. “No way! I didn’t even know champagne could last that long.”
“This is one of the world’s oldest bottles.”
“How much is it?” I whisper.
“No idea. I don’t usually buy my own wines.”
I shake my head in wonder. How utterly different his life is from anyone I know. “You have an agent who buys your wines for you?”
“I have several.”
“And you’re going to open this rare champagne now?”
He shrugs. “There is no one else in the world I know who would appreciate this more than you.”
“Are you sure you’re not confusing me with someone else? I’m a total philistine. I’ve been known to drink cheap Vodka straight from the bottle.”
“You drink cheap Vodka because you cannot afford better, but it doesn’t mean you do not have a very keen sense of smell and taste.”
I grin at him. “I’m not what you think I am, but if you want to open a bottle that I’m assuming costs thousands of dollars, then go for it.”
He pops the cork with a quiet hiss. “Come,” he says, and leads me to the platform. He presses a button and a circular seat rises from its base. It is almost like a bed. You could lie there and watch the stars for hours.
“Oh, how decadent,” I murmur as I climb onto it and arrange my nightdress around my legs.
“Would you like some blankets?”
“No, I’m not one of those hothouse flowers that wither away in the cold. Even in the winter I’ll sleep without heating and with the bathroom window open.”
He sits next to me. Not too close. There is at least six inches between us. Then he fills a glass and hands it to me before filling his. I watch his hands. Hairless, the skin pale, but the sinews underneath make them appear powerful and muscular. He lifts his glass.
“To the stars.”
“To the stars,” I echo softly.
The champagne fizzles on my tongue. There is something magic about drinking it under the night stars with Rocco. I close my eyes. 1841. Wow! And then a strange thing happens. I smell the warm grapes. I realize I have never tasted anything so rich and wonderful. I open my eyes and stare at him. “This is astonishing.”
He looks at me eagerly. “What does it taste of?”
I close my eyes. “It tastes of sunshine, earth, wooden barrels, and the skin of women who have pressed the grapes.” I open my eyes suddenly, embarrassed. What’s wrong with me? Of course, I can’t taste the skin of the women who have touched the grapes.
His eyes are full of secrets, as his lips curve into a mysterious smile. “See. You are not a philistine.”
“How would you describe it?”
“It has a rare complexity. Perfectly balanced accents of game, mushrooms, and dried fruit.”
His description makes me feel unsophisticated. Why didn’t I say that? “Yes that is what I was trying to say without much success… there is an authenticity, richness, and purity about it.”
“What you are trying to describe is the fact it is grown without chemical fertilizers.”
I nod and take another sip of the delicious champagne. He is right. It has no chemical aftertaste. I have noticed that he is very particular that the food and drinks he consumes are of the highest quality, and also grown and stored in the most natural way possible. “Purity is important to you, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he admits softly.
The Other Side Of Midnight Page 9