Draw Me A Picture (23 page)

The drive proved rather short; the ‘village’ that William, Alfred and Michelle had driven through the evening before was really an affluent little township, filled with specialty shops, galleries, expensive boutiques, restaurants and a large farmer’s market, right in the town square. As promised, the square hosted an apple festival in full swing; bright rose-red ribbons flowed in the chilly breeze from poles where bushel baskets—harboring every kind of apple imaginable--sat stacked and available for sale. In one area, boxes of freshly-pressed cider stood around a large kettle; out of it a fresh-faced girl ladled mugs of the steaming-hot golden liquid. Groups of warmly-dressed people  laughed and talked around fancy outdoor fire-pits, eating steaming apple pie and fritters off china plates and sipping espresso. Craft booths and old-fashioned selling wagons seemed to fill every other available space, but thankfully Margaret wasn’t interested in dragging her guests through all of that.

The car stopped in front of a handsome brick building. Looking out the window, Michelle’s face lit up. Two, wide turret-style short towers stuck impressively out the building’s front, two stories high. She stared at the towers, hoping they did not exist merely for show. The whole idea of a castle and its ubiquitous towers brought on a slew of accompanying thoughts: long gowns, peasants, dancing, singing and troubadours.

“And plague,”
she thought sobering.
“And outdoor toilets... and violent revolts.”
 

“Here we are!” Margaret said happily, letting William help her out of the car. “Marcel Gallery of the Arts. My very good friend Sophie D’Angelo is one of the artists and teachers here. She’s quite anxious to meet you, Michelle.” She finished her speech by taking Michelle’s arm and leading her towards the large, wooden door between the towers.

Wondering why this Sophie character wanted to meet her, Michelle felt a surge of emotional insecurity flood her. This hang-out of rich artists was sure to hold more cultured, well-traveled people. Biting her lip, Michelle resolved to say as little as possible. Despite her lack of confidence she felt encouraged by the inside of the gallery. The layout itself was most unusual, a far cry from some weird, echoing room with framed art and spotlights. It was more like a classroom, library, living room, coffee shop and art show... all in one. The very air felt comforting. Somewhere, fresh pastries baked alongside brewing tea.

Margaret released Michelle’s arm as they entered the building and greeted some people that she recognized. While his mother chatted William excused himself to find the restroom; he nudged Michelle a little as he left, winking at her when she looked after him. Michelle smiled after his retreating form. Seeing  that Margaret was busy she wandered around the free-standing bookshelves, feeling out of place.

Looking up, Michelle saw--to her delight--that the towers were not merely for show. Someone had cleverly made them into cozy, hidden reading lofts; these sat high above the gallery floor, accessible via two circular wood-and-metal staircases. One was occupied--evidenced by two pairs of feet of sticking through the railing--but the other appeared empty. Michelle couldn’t resist; she pulled off her coat and walked towards the empty loft staircase, her eyes alight with anticipation.

Stepping carefully on the stair, Michelle climbed up to the small loft. A large, circular window sat in the brick wall right above a comfy, wide reading bench, complete with a thick mat and plenty of sumptuous pillows. Michelle sighed and sat down on the long window seat, sinking back in the pillows. A content smile graced her face; she felt like curling up here with the biggest book in the place and never leaving.

Exiting the restroom William spied his mother. She appeared engaged in an animated conversation with a slightly-balding man William recognized as the gallery owner; he couldn’t remember the man’s name, so he nodded at him from afar. Michelle was not anywhere to be seen. His brow gathered a little, William searched for her around the bookshelves and the seating areas. He was about to go wait outside the ladies room when he heard youthful giggling from above. One of the tower lofts above him held two teenagers, apparently ‘reading’ a large book together; William grinned. In school he’d used that ruse as well. Glancing over at the other loft, William fancied he saw a bit of blue... a familiar shade of blue.

“Of course she’d be up there,”
he thought, smiling.
“It’s the perfect hideaway for her.”
 

Up in the loft Michelle knelt on the window-seat, absorbed in looking out the window at the festival below. William crept up silently, suddenly flopping down next to her on the seat. Michelle gave a little yelp and spun around, only to see her grinning beau lying back on the pillows, his hands behind his head.

“You meant to startle me,” she accused, trying not to smile. In response, William pulled her snug up against him, his arm around her waist.

“Guilty,” he said. He didn’t sound the least bit sorry, Michelle noted. “I’ve been wandering around looking for my pretty girlfriend, only to find she’s up here avoiding everyone.” Michelle gave him a half-smile.

“Not avoiding,” she said, gently. “I don’t know any of those people.” She rested next to William on the window seat, laying her head down on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head.

“I know. Mother can get preoccupied with conversation, sometimes,” he explained. “In a moment she’ll be apologizing for neglecting us.” Michelle smiled.

“I like it better up here, with you,” she said. Her voice was very quiet but William heard every word.

“Is that so?” he said, sitting up a little. He looked down at Michelle; she looked so cute among the pillows in her smart gray dress. William noticed her top button had accidentally come undone; he could see just the top of a pale pink camisole and diverted his eyes to the window. “Even though I am just a humorless Englishman with vague rhetoric and empty...” He stopped speaking as Michelle’s soft lips touched his.

Michelle didn’t know what had came over her. One moment she was smiling at William’s handsome face and the next she was leaning towards him. As if guided by some natural magnetism, her hands slid onto his shoulders and she just leaned over and kissed him. It was a small, soft kiss but it took all her boldness to do it. Drawing back, she beheld William’s surprised expression. Her heart sank.

“What have I done?”
she thought, feeling dread well up within her.
“I just threw myself at him... now he thinks I’m forward or...”
Her thoughts rapidly changed direction; William was kissing her so hard she didn’t have time to think of anything more. All she felt was him; he tasted wonderful. The kisses he’d given her before were very gentle compared to this; the fiery passion he exhibited was thrilled Michelle down to her toes.
She didn’t resist at all; she kissed him back with her pent-up emotions, sliding her hands behind his head. The feel of his cropped hair slipping through her fingers was wonderful.
 

On the other hand William knew exactly what he was doing. He was falling for this little slip of an American sweetheart. It was clear she felt strongly about him, and all he wanted was her; he wanted to take her home with him forever. He wanted to give her babies; children with her eyes and smile. He wanted her for his wife. He knew absolutely that this girl was the one for him; they were meant for one another. William knew all these things as he kissed Michelle. He could feel her slender hands caressing the back of his head and it was driving him mad. Forcing himself to stop, William drew away from Michelle’s face; she was flushed and breathing rather rapidly, he noted; so was he. Smiling, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and sat up, still holding Michelle in his arms.

Unable to look William in the eye, Michelle rested her head on his shoulder, fighting to control her emotions. She wanted to laugh and cry all at once. Being so vulnerable to another person felt terrifying one hand, but on the other hand she had never felt this alive in her life… nor so sultry. William made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Shall we go downstairs, love?” her companion asked. His voice was so gentle Michelle felt her heart might just slip out of her chest and join with his. There was no way she was going to avoid falling for William Montgomery. She nodded, not really able to make her voice work. “Are you all right, Michelle?” the man asked her, sounding a little concerned. William suddenly felt bad; maybe he’d kissed her too hard. Maybe he scared her.

“Yes,” Michelle’s response came. Her voice sounded small. William turned so he could see her face. She did not look scared or sad, merely thoughtful.

“What it is, love?” he asked; his voice was almost a whisper. Michelle was very tempted not to tell him; what if he didn’t return her feeling as strongly? Certainly that was one passionate kiss, but it was difficult for Michelle to really believe this gorgeous, successful man wanted her. Looking up into his eyes, she saw concern and emotion in his eyes, much more than ever before. Summoning all her courage, Michelle took a deep breath.

“I think... I think that I love you, William,” she said, stumbling over the words a little. At her words, William smiled; it was not a mocking smile or a confident smirk, nor a whimsical halfhearted grin… but a full-on, glowing smile of a man having an once-in-a-lifetime breakthrough. Seeing it, Michelle felt compelled to go on. “I have never felt this way,” she finished, finally able to draw breath again.

William responded to this by tightly embracing Michelle; he held her and kissed her face and forehead gently, not really caring who saw them.

“Oh, Michelle,” he said quietly, kissing her face. “Sweetheart... I feel the same, despite the relative shortness of our relationship.” His words flew right into Michelle’s soul; a few tears slipped out from under her eyelashes, trickling down her face; in lieu of sadness, Michelle felt pure relief. She wrapped her arms securely around William, never wanting to let go.

After a minute, William realized the main matter he wished to discuss with Michelle could not be done here; they needed a private, beautiful setting in which to talk. Besides, his mother would be wondering where they were.

“Michelle, love,” he began. “We should go downstairs. I would rather stay right here with you, let everyone leave and then have...”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Michelle interrupted quickly, tucking her hair behind her ear and blushing. “Margaret will be wondering where we are. It just seemed so cozy up here… I had to see it.” William smiled at her and kissed her hand.

“Yes, you are the type to like this lofty little mouse-hole aren’t you?” he teased, standing up.

“You seem to like it just fine,” Michelle answered, looking up at him with her soft eyes. The look he gave her sent warm shivers up her spine. He picked up his coat, laying it over his arm.

“Yes, well... I could get used to a little nest like this,” he said, in a low tone. “Especially with you here, looking so lovely and entirely unable to escape.” Michelle swallowed and picked up her coat, following William down the staircase.

Margaret found them about twenty seconds later.

“Oh, there you are!” she said, smiling. “I am so sorry I have neglected you both, really I am such a simpleton sometimes...” William gave Michelle a look that said ‘I told you so’.

“It’s OK, Margaret,” the young woman told her. “William was just showing me the reading loft up there.” She pointed up to where they recently had been. Margaret smiled.

“Oh yes, it is a cozy little spot. The young people like to go up there and ‘make-out’, or so I’m told.” She missed Michelle’s red blush and William’s smirk. She took one hand from each of them and tugged them towards the far corner where an elegant lady stood, painting at an easel.

The area had been set up purposefully for artists, with near-perfect lighting and large windows looking out on a sprawling back garden. Though it now harbored winter plants, Michelle could see the garden would be a gorgeous in spring and summer.

“Sophie,” Margaret called, causing the painter to look round. The woman appeared to be near Margret’s age but was aging very well; she possessed exotic features, green eyes, olive skin and lovely iron-gray hair. The woman wore a tailored white smock with a few splashed of paint upon it. She greeted Margaret with a small kiss on each cheek after the fashion of Europeans, and did the same with William. Her eyes rested on their young companion. Michelle hung back shyly. Between this lady and Margaret, she inwardly hoped she would look as good when she reached her fifties.

“Sophie, this is Michelle Gregory,” Margaret said, tugging a little on Michelle’s hand. “You know… the Manhattan artist who drew William’s portrait.” Michelle was instantly glad Margaret hadn’t put ‘homeless’ in here. ‘Sophie’ smiled warmly at Margret’s words, a smile that reached her eyes.

“And what a lovely picture it is!” the lady said, with enthusiasm; her heavy accent spoke definitively of Italy being her country of origin. “I am so glad to meet you at last... you put his soul into that drawing.”

A little surprised by the warm reception, Michelle managed a smile.

“I am very glad you liked it, ma’am,” she said, timidly. Sophie smiled wider, her eyes crinkling.

“A shy, pretty little thing you are,” she said, affectionately. Her eyes darted to William then back at Michelle. “How perfect.” The last part she said quietly but they all heard it. William cleared his throat.

“I see you’re working on another masterpiece, Sophie,” he said, firmly. The Italian lady saw through his diversion and narrowed her eyes at him, still smiling.

“Yes, William, I am,” she acquiesced. “I must paint; for me it is a compulsion. But, a good one, no?”

While Sophie and William conversed, Michelle drifted over to the lady’s canvass. The scene embodied a charming town of clustered villas nestled among olive-tree studded hills. The town overlooked a small, cerulean bay. Smiling, Michelle took in every inch of it; her artistic eye missed nothing. The sure strokes spoke of familiarity, the muted colors of fondness.