A Different Reflection (3 page)

“I would like that very much George, if you have no reservations about me continuing with your story?” I replied, as we started to walk back toward the day room.

“Maybe Friday?” he then enquired.

“Yes, I can fit an appointment in on Friday; I would like that!” I nodded, knowing that my schedule for the rest of the week was pretty free. I had planned on being in the office.

“Maybe rather than just an appointment, you could stay for dinner? I still have some skills – cooking being one of them!” he suggested. I smiled.

“Alright, it's a date!” I happily replied. “Friday at what time?” I enquired.

“Let's say four, then you can ask me any more questions before dinner,” he answered.

I packed my belongings into my bag and George held my coat for me whilst I placed my arms into the sleeves, and then headed out of the door and down the stairs to my car. “Oh darn, I've left my keys on the table,” I called to George, as I sat my bag on the bonnet. He held up his hand.

“No problem, I will get them,” he replied as he turned to walk back indoors. I started to walk back toward the main door, and as I got nearer I could hear George talking. “You need to stop being so sceptical. How do you know she's only been here once!” I moved nearer to the day room and listened closely. “Anyway, your company is getting a little tiresome at times. Just remember it's not only you – I am stuck like this too!” he then said.

I started to question his sanity again; schizophrenia sprang to mind. I coughed loud enough for him to hear and walked in. “Everything alright, George? I thought that I heard you talking!” I asked him. He turned quickly toward me.

“Katharina! Yes, sorry, I'm just mad at myself. Forgot for a second what I came for – think it's an age thing! Ah! Here we are!” he then said as he grabbed the keys and came and placed them in my hand.

“Thank you. I just came to give you a business card. Should you need to change our appointment, my number is on there,” I informed him.

“Lovely!” He nodded as he accepted it from me.

“So Friday at four then!” I confirmed as I skipped back down the stairs.

“Indeed!” he replied. “Lovely to meet you!” he called.

“Likewise!” I shouted back as I hopped into the car and started the engine.

I could see him waving in my rear view mirror, so I wound my window down and extended a waving arm out of it. “Well that was interesting!” I commented to myself. I drove back to the office thinking about what he had told me. It certainly sounded like the truth and I had to confess that I was looking forward to seeing him again on Friday. I found him quite charming – not difficult, as Justin Temperley had suggested. On my arrival back at the office, I wanted to type up my notes whilst they were fresh in my head. Besides, most of the office worked on until seven on a Wednesday. Claire was inquisitive and wanted to know how the interview had gone. She jokingly said that I had a new admirer in the form of an old gentleman. I knew, though, that if she met George, she would see that he seemed to be a very charming, kind and endearing man, who unfortunately, I suspected, was a little bit lonely.

It was a long day at work on Thursday, and a frustrating one again with regards to research. Everything that George had told me about the previous owners of Northfield led to very little reference from the library, or online. By the time I arrived home, I was somewhat deflated. My enthusiasm for the story was there, but I couldn't get my teeth into it any further without other documented history to follow up.

I dropped my bag by the island in the kitchen and immediately went to the fridge. A glass of rosé had the ability to give an immediate ‘pick me up' at times like these. John arrived home about thirty minutes after me; his day, by all accounts, had not been much better. We both had a glass of wine, and then John moved into the office whilst he continued working on an important business deal. I proceeded to buy Chinese food; I was not in the frame of mind for cooking!

I slept well, woke early and showered, changed and had breakfast. I took it upon myself to take a bottle of wine for the dinner tonight, so I placed one in my bag whilst I was thinking about it. When John walked into the kitchen, looking like he hadn't slept very much, I poured him a coffee and then reminded him of my dinner date.

“So I could be a little late back tonight. Don't forget I have a business dinner!” I reminded him.

“Ah yes. With the mad, lonely old man, at the big creepy old house!” he sarcastically replied. He took a sip from his coffee and then looked at me. “I can't say that I'm happy about this, but I trust your judgement on the situation. Let me know when you're on your way back. I also have to stay on at work tonight for a meeting, so I may not get back until late either,” he confirmed.

“Alright, I will. Please don't worry; he is honestly harmless!” I tried to reassure him. He simply nodded in agreement with my statement, grabbed his things, quickly kissed me on the cheek and then made his exit to work.

My tube ride into work was, as usual, hot, busy and crowded and resulted in me getting a slight headache, but I was nevertheless slightly distracted by the theatre posters, which always made me think of a colourful, magical and alternative life to my own. I made sure that during the day I gathered together all the pictures, drawings and research I had accumulated to date. I wanted to check that what I had was correct in reference, and I knew that George would have knowledge on this. By the time it got to two o'clock, I had a brief meeting with Angela, my editor, on what I was working on, and to let her know where I was going.

“Well there's one thing, Kat, if this George does turn out to be slightly mad and he locks you up in the house with him for eternity, we will still have a story to write about!” she laughed.

“Very funny, you're starting to sound like John!” I remarked.

“No, seriously just be careful, you never know. I'm sure he will be a wealth of knowledge and I agree it does sound like there is a story there. I know had it been my story Kat, I'd be doing exactly the same thing!” she replied. I smiled.

“Well, I will let you know how it has gone after the weekend!” I then told her.

“Yep, Monday morning's meeting should be interesting!” she smiled. “Off you go then!” she then stated as she flicked her hand toward the door in a gesture for me to leave.

As there were no spare cars available at work today, and it was the weekend approaching, Angela had authorised the use of a cab there and back, which was easier than trying to get public transport out there. As the cab arrived at Northfield and I reached forward to pay, I was happy to see that George had appeared and was walking down the stairs toward me. He opened my door.

“Katharina, I am so very pleased to see you again!” he happily exclaimed. He reached out a hand for me as I stepped from the cab.

“Thank you George. It's not always the easiest getting out of one of these cabs!” I laughed, trying to juggle my bags.

“Indeed. I was expecting you to be in the car. I could have come and picked you up!” he kindly replied.

“Oh that's not necessary George,” I quickly said. “You do not want to be driving in London traffic on a Friday afternoon! Besides, I would have driven myself had there been a car available from work. It really is no trouble,” I replied. He gestured for me to walk up the stairs with him. “Before I forget, I brought a bottle of wine for dinner. I wasn't sure if you liked wine, it might need to breathe a little while though!” I remarked at the expensive bottle of red wine that I had taken.

“How very kind. I do like wine, and red is my favourite. Maybe we should go to the kitchen first before we continue, then I can take out the cork?” he suggested. I nodded and let George lead the way down the corridor and into the biggest kitchen that I had ever seen. It was old-fashioned in its looks, but it was easy to imagine this being a busy working kitchen in years past.

“Wow, what an amazing space for cooking!” I remarked. George stopped and then looked at me.

“Yes, well back in the days it was a kitchen that produced the finest food. I find it a little too big for me, so I tend to use the small back kitchen attached to my apartment,” he smiled as he then continued through another door and into a humble dwelling off the back of the main house that was well lived in, but very cosy. I smiled.

“This looks very homely, George!” I told him.

“Yes, I love it here. As you can imagine, it is a little more manageable than the rest of the house!” he laughed. He reached for the bottle opener and then, with the cork out, suggested that we continue where we had left off. He checked the oven and then gestured for me to walk back to the main house with him.

“It must have been amazing in its day. I mean, it is amazing now, but when it was full of people bustling around working here, and a family here, and it was thriving… I would really have liked to see it like that!” I commented. George smiled.

“Houses like this love to be full of life and love and laughter, so it is a little sad that only I live here at the moment. It is one of the reasons that I wanted to try and sell the space to someone whom would enjoy it as it is. Unfortunately people these days seem to love this new modern way of living and this is far too old and outdated for them!” he sadly replied.

“Well if it's any consolation, George, I love it as it is. I think it's an amazing house and I think it should be left as it is. I would love to see the rest of it!” I replied with excitement. George smiled.

“Well, let me show you then! Maybe I am wrong in my assumption that everyone has moved on from places like this. I mean, you are a beautiful young woman and you like it; there is possibly hope for me yet?” he then stated as I blushed at his comment.

He proceeded to show me the other reception rooms and the bedrooms. Oh, my goodness, I had never seen such intricate four-poster beds, with luxurious fabrics and paintings and furniture; the floorboards throughout were polished and had that lovely woody, waxy polished smell. I loved everything about it: its splendour, its age and detail, and, most of all, its warm feeling that drew you in and made you wish you lived there. Or, at least, that is how I felt. George, I then realised, was watching me.

“I would love to know what you were thinking just now!” he then said. I smiled.

“I love it, everything about it, and how it makes me feel when I am here. If I had the money, George, I would buy it myself, it's just perfect. Well, perfect for me!” I happily stated. He gave me the warmest smile and then gestured for us to continue.

After looking at every other room, we arrived at the library. It was magnificent and had a character of its own; it was not huge in size, but was well stocked with books from years past. The colourful spines all neatly side by side were a sight to see, and as with all libraries I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, to inhale the smell. I asked George if he should mind if I looked at a book or two and he was more than happy that I was so interested.

“You know, I am going to go and get us both a glass of the wine that you so kindly brought,” he suddenly stated. “You help yourself and look at any books you so wish, I will be back promptly!” he then finished as he left the room. I was in my element; I loved books – particularly old books – and that smell of the old printed pages and the leather spines was blissful. I looked at the many books on the shelves and then saw a whole section that were Scott's Waverley novels and the works of Lord Byron, and then it continued with books of poetry, tales, and then fairy tales. I stopped immediately. The works of Charles Perrault;
Little Red Riding Hood
,
Puss in Boots
,
Cinderella
,
Sleeping Beauty
, and then The Grimm Brothers, Hans Christian Handersen, Carlo Lorenzini, and Charles Ludwidge Dodgson (Lewis Carroll). I smiled the biggest grin; here were all of my most loved and favourite fairy tales, and it looked like they were first editions too. I carefully pulled
Sleeping Beauty
off the shelf and took a deep breath before opening the front cover. It was an exquisite, old, beautiful leather-bound book, with a small but pretty font. I started to read the first pages and walked back and forth in front of the huge mirror that covered a large part of the only spare wall. I carefully turned the pages and continued reading and walking and fell into the spell of make-believe and memories of my mother reading it to me. As I smiled at the pages and continued to pace, I turned and stopped to face the mirror whilst still reading. I do not know what caught my eye, but I looked up from the book at my reflection and found that it was not me staring back but a young, dishevelled man, with his hands clasped firmly on his hips, as if slightly annoyed with me!

I dropped the book as George suddenly appeared and took me by surprise. “Here we are!” he said in a spritely tone. As the book hit the floor, I turned with a sharp jolt and George looked at me with worry. He placed the glasses on the round table nearby. “Are you alright, Katharina?” he asked. I turned back to the mirror; the only thing I saw was my reflection. I turned back to George, who was now beside me.

“I looked in the mirror, but I did not see me!” I replied.

“What did you see?” he asked. I paused for a minute and then replied.

“I know that I saw a young man, with dark, slightly dishevelled hair. I must have had too long a day!” I replied, feeling slightly foolish. George put his arm around me and moved me toward the table, looking over his shoulder at the mirror. He replied:

“Sometimes we see things that are necessary, but not completely logical!” he said as he placed a glass in my hand. “Maybe this will help?” he then said, as he pointed to the wine. I looked at it and then took a long hard gulp. I looked at him.

“That is much better!” I replied as I turned to the mirror. “I think I have been brought up with too much belief in fairy tales and happy endings, and now I am seeing things!” I said as I walked over and picked up the book I had so carelessly dropped. “This was always one of my favourites,” I then said as I showed it to George.

“Ah, and a good choice it is!” he replied, looking at the book. “There is much to be said about so-called fairy tales and magic!” he then said. As I looked at him, slightly vexed, he then looked at his watch. “Dinner will only be ten minutes. Let us head back to the kitchen; you can ask me more questions there,” he finished as he walked toward the door, but not before putting the book back on the shelf.

The small kitchen in George's apartment was filled with the aroma of chicken and tarragon and I immediately felt hungry. He asked that I take a seat and enjoy the wine that he had refilled my glass with upon entering the kitchen. He put on a dark blue apron and then proceeded to start busying around the kitchen.

“Anything that I can do to help?” I asked as I watched.

“No, that will not be necessary Katharina, but please go ahead and ask me any questions that you should wish to ask whilst I finish dinner,” he happily replied. I excused myself and got up to retrieve my bag from the reception hallway. As I turned to walk back, I caught my reflection in the large mirror and stopped for a second.
Have I been working too hard? Am I going crazy?
I asked myself these questions whilst looking at my reflection and then shook my head and returned to George.

He was happy in his kitchen and decided to carry on from where he had left off. “So, we finished at the mischievous Master James, I recall from last time?” George prompted.

“Yes, ‘quite a handful' were your words, I believe!” I joked.

“He was that! For a number of years he would disappear for hours on end and cause his parents no end of worry!” George shook his head. “He would be happily tucked away in one of his corners or hiding places, usually with a book of some description, about exploration, pirates, building and architecture or animals; unfortunately, usually the dissection of them and how they work!” He laughed like a proud grandparent.

“Boys, eh?” I asked as I took a sip of my wine. “He was an only child?” I then queried.

“Yes indeed; not wanting to ask too much, Howard did not want to put his wife at risk after a successful pregnancy. They chose to stop at one child. Howard loved James so much, they were inseparable!” George replied as we moved to the table.

George cooked the most amazing meal. We laughed and talked about Northfield and the building itself, including the gardens, and as we ate and drank wine, I found myself having the most relaxing and enjoyable time. As we finished the last drop of wine from the bottle, George suggested we return to the portrait gallery and carry on, which was what I wanted to do as I was fascinated by the whole history and ambience of this place.

We moved along to the next two portraits. “Wow, that's a very sorrowful looking boy!” I said as we stopped and looked at the sad young boy on one of the paintings in front of us, all in black and with heartache in his eyes.