Draw Me A Picture (20 page)

“Don’t worry, love,” he said, warmly. “Mother likes to keep all the lights on at night.”

“Terrible waste of the electrics,” Alfred remarked.

“Indeed,” William agreed, with a nod.

“It looks like she has a hundred people over,” Michelle explained, sheepishly. “I bet she could fit many more in there.”

“It sleeps thirty-five, I know that,” William said, absently.

“Ah... sleep,” Alfred said, stifling a yawn. “Yes... I’m old and tired.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” William said, grinning. He winked at Michelle in the rear view mirror; she covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.

“It’s true,” Alfred said, with a sigh. “Here we are, at last.”

The car pulled into a roundabout drive; it circled a large fountain, which itself was surrounded by thick, groomed hedges.

“Hedges? Around a fountain?” Michelle queried.

“It keeps the guests from midnight bathing,” William said, a boyish grin on his face. Michelle smiled.

“It’s a little cold for that,” she said. “It’s lovely... the fountain I mean.”

“Come on, minx,” William said, getting out of the car. He turned to help Michelle out, holding onto her hand.

The feel of her skin pleased him; a keen longing to hold her entered his thoughts. As Michelle exited the car, she looked up into William’s face; shadow hid most of it from her view, as his back faced to the house. A cold, night breeze whirled around them; the light from dozens of windows illuminated Michelle’s face, and the pink box she carried. William’s gaze dropped to her lips; he wanted to taste them, just for a moment.

“A moment? Who am I kidding?” he thought ruefully.

“Are you alright?” Michelle asked, looking uncertain. William appeared to be just staring at her, but she could not make out a single feature of his face. William grinned to himself. Normally, when being stared at a woman would touch her face and ask if she had something on it, yet Michelle just wanted to know if he was all right.

“I’m good, love,” he said, gently. “'Tis cold out here. Let’s get you inside.”  The young woman smiled; her face appeared serene again.

Michelle followed William to the door, knowing there was something he wished to say, but held it inside for some reason. She’d known this since the dinner at his flat. Unable to really read this man yet, Michelle had been over it and over it in her mind as females are wont to do. Hope sprung up again in her, melting into a sort of calm. Michelle knew he would speak his mind to her eventually; he was the sort of individual that did not leave one in doubt for long. The man was just complicated enough to be interesting, yet open enough to ward off suspicion.

William rang the doorbell, waiting with Alfred and his lovely companion by the door; he reached down and took the bakery box from Michelle, all the while regarding her with a heated gaze.

Michelle felt his scrutiny and stared down at her boots; she’d never known a look to incite so many simultaneous feelings in her as William did with his azure eyes; exhilaration, uncertainty, excitement, diversion, bliss and the soft sighs of contentment, not to mention feeling uniquely vulnerable and feminine. Michelle decided she very much liked the enigma that was William and hoped fervently she’d get the chance to figure him out. His silence, now, was especially intriguing; it was as if he was harboring sneaky, romantic plans.

Margaret answered the door herself, holding a slender cup of coffee; her welcoming smile lit up the doorway. To Michelle, the lady embodied the gracious hostess in her cream-colored dress and jacket; she cheerfully greeted them all and motioned them all in, out of the cold.

“I am so glad you came, Michelle!” Margaret said, clasping her guest’s hand. “I hope the trip wasn’t too tiresome.” William smiled down at his mother and handed her the box of baked goods. “Oh, of course I am glad to see you, too, dear,” she smiled up at her son and gave him a fond peck on the cheek. “Ah, I love these pastries; you know that, don’t you? There goes my diet…”

The home appeared to be everything Michelle thought it would be, minus the hundred guests. It was decorated surprisingly simply, in a quaint, English style but still, Michelle could ascertain that everything was enormously expensive. The long, wide staircase to the upper levels took up most of the entryway. Margaret ushered them all into a large sitting room to the right. A smart butler in a gray suit nodded at them and informed them that dinner would be ready in twenty minutes.

“Thomas will take your things up to your rooms,” Margaret was saying, indicating with a gesture of her hand for everyone to sit down.

The ‘parlor’ was delicately furnished with lovely wooden pieces and tasteful rugs. The best thing about the large room, in Michelle’s opinion, was the large, shiny black concert piano up on a slight dais. Her fingers itched to play it; the last time she played the piano after her parent’s funeral, on their old wall-piano; it was the last things she’d done before the house was sold. Her mother had truly loved to play; most evenings in their home had after-dinner music and singing. Especially near the holidays. A lump rose in her throat; Michelle turned to the conversation of the others, blinking the oncoming tears away.

“You cannot be thinking of decorating for Christmas already,” William was saying. Nearby, Margaret held up a garland of some kind; it was a woven garnet-red rope with little crystals dangling from it.

“Apparently I can,” she said, smiling. “The girls informed me that there is an unwritten law where one can begin ‘holiday’ decorating as early as next week; I’ll put up the fall ones for Thanksgiving… and these ones here are for Christmas.”

“...and live animals for new years,” William put in, rubbing his forehead. “Festoon your house with dollar bills for all I care; it’s your house. This is why I never decorate for holidays.”

At his words, Michelle smiled.

“Not everyone decorates,” she said, quietly. “I have not either, since moving to New York.” William looked up at the young woman as she spoke. Her tone was amiable, but he realized the meaning of her words; it occurred to him that she had not had a Christmas, or any kind of holiday in three years. With her parents gone and no family or friends, he supposed the very idea was daunting for her.

Margaret put the garland down in a box at her feet.

“Well, come on… let me show Michelle the rest of the ground floor,” she said, happily. “You probably want to stretch your legs a bit anyway.”

“Indeed madam,” Alfred said, with conviction. William grinned at Michelle and offered her a hand up.

With an easy stroll, Margaret took great pride in showing her guests around her home.

“I have actually made a little money on the side living here,” she said, showing them into an echoing all room. “Two of my friend’s daughters had their wedding receptions here... dancing, dinner, the whole works. They took care of all the preparation and cleaned up when they were finished.”

“Well done, Mother,” William said, rubbing his chin.

“It is a lovely room for a party,” Michelle agreed, looking around. Light sage-colored walls looked well with the burnished red-brown wood floors; several glowing chandeliers hung overhead from a vaulted cathedral-style ceiling. The room itself was mostly empty, save for a couch and an easy chair set up by a large fireplace on the far left side of the room. One wall was almost comprised of glass windows, with glass doors that could be opened outward. A few pieces of exercising equipment stood near the glass wall.

“My physical therapist comes twice a week now,” Margaret informed them, waving at the equipment.

“Did you have an accident, or surgery?” Michelle asked, concerned. Margaret chuckled.

“No, my dear, I merely wish to keep in good shape,” she said, smiling. She guided Michelle gently over to the far right wall, which bore many pieces of art, all framed beautifully and lit with gallery-quality spotlights.

A picture in the middle caught Michelle’s eye. It was her portrait of William, looking a hundred times better in a simple, polished, burgundy-colored wood frame and light gray matting. The beauty of it touched her; her eyes grew a little misty to see her work treated so well.

“I told you it was well situated,” Margaret said; she spoke much like a mother would. The look on Michelle’s face moved the lady greatly.

“It looks so well,” Michelle managed to say. “As if it is cherished; I thank you for that... and for having me here. Your home is simply breathtaking.”

Margaret patted her arm.

“I am honored you came to visit me, dear,” she said, smiling.

“Thank you,” Michelle repeated, giving the lady an earnest smile. “And thank you for not filling every corner of your home with nick-knacks.” Margaret laughed; she had a clear, real laugh… much like William’s. “No, my dear,” she said, smiling. “I’ve not descended into that madness, yet.”

William drifted over to them. He looked from the portrait to Michelle.

“It does look well there,” he agreed. Leaning closer to Michelle, he whispered in her ear. “But it also looked well on the cardboard display, right next to the pretty girl.” Michelle blushed and looked at the floor, managing to draw Margret’s attention by commenting on her lovely flooring.

“Oh, yes...” Margaret said, brightly. “It’s Egyptian wormwood, or so William tells me. Isn’t it nice?” William took Michelle’s arm as they followed her through the hall, studies, the large dining room and
finally
into the kitchen.
 

The kitchen was not as big as Michelle feared, but still massive compared to an average middle-class family’s kitchen. It resembled a place an Italian villa may have to cook meals in: wide open spaces and muted earth tones, stone flagged floors with plenty of granite counter space for food preparation. Michelle longed to cook something in this gorgeous place. The chef eyed them from behind a counter; he was about a foot shorter than William, stocky with dark black hair and a white, button-up jacket. No chef-hat sat on his brow, however; instead he wore a dark green bandanna over his hair.

Alfred, in his English-accented French, began arguing with the chef about the tea; at least Michelle assumed it was about tea. William's valet gestured at a small counter across the kitchen with a formal service set up and a long line of tea canisters. After a moment of heated banter the chef picked up a knife, his expression dark.

“Jean-Claude, really...” Margaret said, laughing. “Let him prepare the tea... you know how he is.” In answer the chef began chopping vegetables; he hurled them with force into a nearby stockpot, muttering to himself.

Fairly close to the final counter sat a small, simple table, just big enough to seat six people. Michelle was relieved to see it was all set up for dinner; she was grateful they weren’t using the huge, formal dining room. This seemed much more comfortable.

“Michelle, let me show you your room so that you can go freshen up for dinner,” Margaret said, beckoning to her guest.

“You have her in the pink room, I imagine,” William spoke up. Margaret smiled.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said, wagging her finger at him. “Jean-Claude?” The chef looked up at Margaret, his expression softening, a little. “How long?” The man held up ten fingers then went back to chopping. “Excellent; we’ve just enough time. This way, please.” Michelle went with her, following through the hall and up the grand staircase.

As they ascended the young woman admired the smooth wooden banister; she touched it lightly with her hand and let it guide her upwards. Margaret walked in front of her, all the while smiling.

“Again, let me convey how very glad I am that you came, Michelle,” the woman said as they gained the top of the stairs. “It’s been too long since I had such good company.” Hearing this, Michelle was tempted to point out that she was pretty much just a stranger, but refrained. Margaret seemed to glow with an inner happiness and Michelle did not wish to dampen it; this was her house, and the lady could invite whomever she wanted.

The pink room was thankfully not swathed in some frilly, garish pink decor; it was tastefully and simply done with muted, rose-colored walls, wood floors, a light brown rug, taupe bed linens and graceful drapes. The low lighting lent a cozy look to the entire room. A small vanity stood on one wall with unopened hygienic essentials on a tray; a fine wooden armoire stood tall by it. Michelle could see her bag was already on the queen-size bed. Through an open door, Michelle could see a sizable bathroom, decorated with white, gray and faded blue tones.

“Wow,” Michelle said, wishing she could come up with a better exclamation. “It’s huge.” Margaret chuckled.

“I’m glad you like it,” said she. “I trust you’ll be comfortable here.”

“Yes,” Michelle said, nodding. She touched the bed cover briefly. “It’s very serene in here.”

“Good,” Margaret said. “Dinner will be in a few minutes; we’ll eat in the kitchen. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I prefer it,” Michelle said, earnestly. Smiling, Margaret nodded.

“I do as well,” she said, moving towards the door. “No need to dress up that way. We shall expect your presence downstairs shortly.”

“Thank you,” Michelle said, as Margaret exited; the lady smiled and closed the door after her.

Shaking out her coat, Michelle hung it on a hook located on the wall, by the door. Scratching her head a little, she walked over to her pack and undid the zipper on an outside pocket. Taking out her brush and the bottle of apple blossom spray, Michelle sat down at the vanity. It was an adorable piece of furniture, very feminine in shape and style. The mirror alone must have cost a pretty penny. At this thought, Michelle shook her head.

“If I start scrutinizing the value of everything, I’ll be awake all night,” she thought, smiling. She brushed her hair and smoothed it a little; after using the bathroom she washed her hands and put on a tiny bit of perfume. After applying a little lip gloss she felt amply ‘freshened’. Smiling, she made her way out of the room and back down the wide staircase. William was waiting for her at the bottom; he greeted her with a kiss on her forehead, wrapping his arms around her waist.