Draw Me A Picture (19 page)

“You don’t say?” he returned, flipping out his napkin.

“I’m curious what yours is,” Michelle said, keeping her eyes locked on William’s face. Her companion grinned, a little sheepishly.

“My clothes,” William admitted. “I like them neatly pressed and stored properly.” Michelle giggled.

“I suspect you have more clothes than I do, William,” she remarked. “But then again you’re a professional... and English.” The last part of the sentence she said under her breath. William glanced up at her, his eyes narrowing.

“Don’t make me come over there and tickle you,” he warned; his eyes held a mischievous twinkle. Michelle’s teasing smile pulled at him, irresistibly.

“Now, now... there’s no need for tha’, sir,” Michelle said, utilizing what she hoped was an English accent.

To her surprise, William pushed his chair back and stood, his hands resting firmly on the table.

“Oh, I think there is,” he said, his voice low and ominous; to Michelle’s chagrin he began to slowly circle the table towards her.

“Tea?” came Alfred’s voice. William turned to find his valet standing behind him, holding a large tray with correctly-polished tea paraphernalia upon it.

“Ahem... yes,” William intoned, casting a narrow look at Michelle; she let out an audible sigh of relief. William chuckled at her expression. “The tea looks splendid, Alfred,” he praised, sitting down again in his chair. Alfred nodded sagely.

“The staff got a free lesson in tea etiquette,” he said, pouring a cup. “Michelle, can I interest you in a cup of Darjeeling?”

“Yes, thank you,” Michelle said, finally standing to take off her hat and coat. Laying them beside her on the seat, she sat back down.

A bit disappointed by Alfred’s interruption, William nonetheless enjoyed watching Michelle remove her coat. It amazed him how she had no idea of her attractiveness to the general male populace; everywhere they were, when Michelle took off her coat it seemed appreciative stares were directed their way. The young woman never seemed to notice. William found himself admiring her choice of clothing himself, never mind anyone else; today she wore dark-red, fitted jeans and a cream-colored sweater that looked like it would be very soft to touch. Michelle looked flushed with warmth and her eyes were bright from their banter earlier; she met his eyes, blushed and then looked quickly away. William resolved to continue his hunt later. Being so close to her and being unable to hold her felt almost painful. To make things worse, he caught just a hint of her apple blossom perfume in the air. William picked up a local newspaper and opened it, attempting to concentrate elsewhere.

Michelle accepted a cup of tea from Alfred with a smile. The flavor if the hot liquid surprised her; it was spicy and fragrant, with just the right strength. The taste of it made one want to nibble the teacup as well.

“Alfred, this is delicious!” she praised, holding her tea with both hands. Alfred smiled on her benevolently.

“Yes, it is amazing what method can do,” he said, plaintively.

“Method nothing,” Michelle remarked, inhaling the fragrance slowly. “This is art…”

“My dear, you flatter me… but, thank you.” Alfred poured his own cup and one for William.

The food arrived son after and conversation halted for awhile. The meal was well-cooked and hearty in typical country fashion; after eating, they sat enjoying some more tea and talking about the surrounding area.

“This looks like a pleasant, little township,” Alfred said. “Charming locals.” William smiled.

“Charming in the way that the café cook didn’t chuck you out of the kitchen?” he asked. Alfred lifted an eyebrow at his employer.

“Not everyone is averse to learning something, sir,” he returned.

“Certainly not,” Michelle agreed. “I hope you’ll teach me your secret to tea perfection someday.”

“Gladly, my dear,” Alfred said. “About how much longer will we be traveling sir?” His voice seemed a little tired to Michelle.

“Another four hours, or so,” William said, leaning back against his chair. “The roads are more scenic than efficient, I’m afraid. But, we should be there in plenty of time for dinner, perhaps even detour to pick up some of those eclairs that you and Mother are so fond of.” At this, Alfred smiled.

“They would be excellent for dessert, sir,” he said, a trifle eagerly.

“Anything would be better than the inevitable Crème Brule that Jean-Claude keeps tossing at us.”

At this William laughed; he looked over to see a consumed expression on Michelle’s face.

“Jean-Claude is my mother’s chef,” he explained. “He and Alfred have a kind of friendly cooking rivalry going, but the Frenchman takes it a bit far.”

“A bit far is correct,” Alfred said, wryly. “I like a good Crème Brule the same anyone, but he’s served it the last six times, out of spite; each time the flavor is more bland. He thinks the English have no imagination when it comes to food.”

“Then, William’s idea of picking up dessert certainly has merit,” Michelle said, quietly. “Give him motivation to impress us.” Alfred lifted his teacup toward Michelle.

“I will drink to that,” he said. William chuckled and stood to go pay the check.

Watching Alfred sip his tea from across the small table, Michelle suddenly felt curious about the man.

“Have you always been a valet, Alfred?” she asked, setting her teacup down. The white-haired man looked over at her with a small smile.

“No my dear,” he said. “I started in the profession not long after I lost my wife. Influenza, you know. It was still a very bad thing to contract, back then.”

“I’m so sorry...” Michelle said, biting her lip. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Nonsense,” Alfred assured her, patting her hand briefly. “It’s obvious William already considers you part of the family, so please do not worry yourself about asking questions. It is quite refreshing, actually, that you wish you know about my life.”

“Thank you,” Michelle said, blushing a little at his comment William’s consideration of her; she felt extremely flattered by the inference and hoped it was true.

“If I may, what was her name?” she asked, feeling a bit more comfortable.

“Helene,” Alfred said, a soft look coming into his eyes.

Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he produced a watch; opening it, he carefully held it out enabling Michelle to view the inside of its lid. Leaning forward, Michelle found herself looking at a faded black and white photograph. In it a slender woman sat on a small, striped divan, her back very straight; a little boy of about three in a dark suit stood next to her and tiny little girl in a frilly, white dress sat on her lap. In spite of the woman’s rather severe posture, her face was soft, kind and very pretty. Michelle found herself smiling back at the photograph.

“She’s lovely,” Michelle said, looking at Alfred. He looked at it as well, his eyes growing slightly misty.

“Yes, she was,” he said, quietly.

“Did your children survive the... influenza?” Michelle asked, praying that they had.

“Oh, yes. We sent them off to live with my brother and his wife in the country, when the first outbreak started. My wife was a nurse, you see; caught a particularly virulent strain at the hospital. The children were almost out of school when she died.” He pointed to the boy. “That is Peter; he’s forty-four now, with a wife of his own; a very nice girl, too. They have two children; the eldest would be about your age, I think. My daughter Patricia is also married, to a fairly decent chap. She’s a very good mother; she and Charles have four children now. Little Abigail is the youngest, and quite my favorite.”

“Wow. Six grandchildren,” Michelle said, impressed. “What a wonderful family. Do you see them often?”

“Yes, well not as much as I’d like,” Alfred admitted. “Ever since we moved to the United States, I only see them once a year. It’s difficult to fly so far at my age.”

“I guess so,” Michelle said, sympathetically. “I guess being a valet is a fairly good living, though.” Alfred nodded, putting away his watch.

“Yes, and you get room and board with it, though I still own my old house; it has good tenants in it now... but, someday I’ll retire there. Master William matches my retirement contributions, but that is fairly standard in Great Britain.”

Michelle wondered when Alfred would retire; he seemed about the age most people thought about it. Would William hire a new valet? Alfred watched Michelle’s face with a smile.

“I don’t plan on retiring until Master William gets married,” he said, forestalling her question. “Only then could I be certain he’s well taken care of.” Michelle kept herself from blushing, barely.

“I suppose you get pretty attached to the family, then,” she said, fiddling with a table napkin.

“Yes, my dear. Especially when they get attached to you,” Alfred commented. The elderly gentleman saw William making his way back to the table. “It appears we are about to embark.”

“Will you be alright?” Michelle inquired, picking up her coat. Alfred chuckled.

“Don’t worry about me, Miss Michelle. I’ll be fine,” he assured her, moving to stand up. “As Master William stated some days ago, I was once in the army. The mind remembers these things even if the body has long forgotten. I’d be more worried about you, packed into the rumble seat like so much baggage.”

Michelle giggled softly at his words.

“It’s very comfy back there,” she protested. “I get to stretch my legs out on the seat.”

“What, a whole two feet? I’m jealous...” Alfred sniffed.

“Shall we be off then?” William inquired, gaining the table. Michelle nodded at him and stood to go, sliding quickly into her coat. She stopped when William put a ten-dollar bill on the table, looking at her closely.

“I know you’ll do it anyway, so you may as well get it over with,” he said, grinning. Smiling, Michelle bent down and folded her origami bird; Alfred chuckled over it and stated that it was a clever way to leave a tip. Michelle smiled at the man and then turned to address William.

“Thank you,” she told him. “Although, you could have let me pay the tip; you rushed off to get lunch and I wasn’t able to...”

“Hush,” William said, touching the tip of her nose with his fingertip. “I’m driving; therefore you get absolutely no say in the ‘who-gets-to-pay-for-the-food’ issue.” Michelle gave him a sweet smile. Her eyes had no fear in meeting his anymore, William noticed; the fact pleased him. He found himself wanting to reach their destination quickly. There were so many things he wanted to know about Michelle, to discuss with her; he really wanted time alone with her but it was not going to happen today, at least. William’s smile reflected his inward thoughts. Michelle seemed to find his grin unnerving and kept giving him uncertain glances in the rear view mirror, much to William’s amusement; he dropped a roguish wink at the young woman. In response, Michelle looked down and smiled. William’s grin did not fade for the entire remainder of the journey.

As dusk fell, the roadster pulled into a small little, touristy village of sorts which, according to the driver, was fairly close to Margret’s home. William parked in front of a brightly painted bakery and ducked inside for a few minutes. While he was gone, Alfred pointed out the window, showing the direction of the town square. It was a little too dark to see anything, though.

“Quite a show, they put on here,” he said. “Almost any time of the day there is something fancy and artistic going on. Weekends are especially busy, but the town profits nicely from the tourism.”

“I guess they would,” Michelle said, looking out the window into the gathering dark. “Why else would they allow common visitors into their backyard?” Alfred chuckled.

“Their backyard? Hardly,” he said, smiling. “They only show that to those in their set, normally. Affluent, wealthy, famous, etc.”

“I see,” Michelle said, seriously. “So, does that mean I’ll be sleeping in the chicken coop?”

At her words, Alfred laughed hard and continued until he started coughing; Michelle had to smack him lightly on the back.

“My dear, you really are amusing,” he wheezed. “Margaret is hardly arrogant; she fairly sang your praises to me over the telephone. She has a true appreciation of the arts and couldn’t care less that you make your living selling drawings on a street corner.”

“Oh. So you knew about that,” Michelle said, softly, sitting back in her seat. Alfred turned to look back at her.

“Yes,” he said. “In my opinion, you have made the very best of a bad situation. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, young lady.” Feeling enormously flattered, Michelle patted his shoulder and said no more. Alfred continued to chuckle to himself, even as William got in the car; the driver held a large, pink bakery box, tied with white ribbon.

“Making jokes about me, eh?” he said, grinning at Michelle. “Would you be so kind, my lady, as to hold this?” Smiling back at him, Michelle took the box and held it securely on her lap.

They drove another five minutes before turning down a wide, landscaped street; it was a gated community. Stopping his car, William showed the two guards his ID and wrote his name in their ledger. The gate moved to let the roadster pass. Michelle squinted in the dark as they drove past long, winding drives that led deep into wooded acres, and vast, sprawling lawns that looked more like personal golf courses. Little lights twinkled from far away, revealed that people indeed lived somewhere out there.

Looking out her window, Michelle leaned back and let out small sigh; her parents and grandparents had been well-off but hardly affluent. Above all she hoped the kind lady she’d had lunch with existed in the same frame of mind as the owner of one of these mansions. Soon, William turned the car under a stone arch onto a subtly lit drive; it looked impossibly straight over the hilly landscaping. Michelle wondered how large an army of gardeners it took to mow the place.

Ahead in the distance, light streamed through the trees, from no less than four stories; it almost looked like William’s mother was having the party of the year. Dread filled Michelle as she stared forward through the windshield.

“Are there... uh... a bunch of people there, too?” she asked, feeling a bit childish; she heard William chuckle.