The Hungry House (12 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

F
rank heard the door of the cottage close and got out of bed  to watch as Margaret and Vicky walked toward the side door of the house. For days, he had worked at planting the idea in Margaret's mind that he was worried about Vicky being alone and that perhaps she would be better off in the house with them, rather than in the cottage. Upon the death of her mother, he had been frantic for a while that she would make immediate plans to leave. He had spent sleepless nights pacing the floor and watching the cottage for signs of flight.              

Instead of making plans of any sort upon her mother's death,
Vicky had simply gone through the motions of being a living person and seemed not to care what happened to her. Frank realized that this was the time to act decisively to bring her closer to him, before she regained her former sense of independence and courage.

And, he knew that if she had any idea of his feelings for her she would run to one of her friends or to Paul
. He had to take on a protective, fatherly demeanor. Frank had often watched grooms on the family estate of his childhood, as they tamed young horses. It was not a task that was completed in a day, or even a week. They do not naturally want to have a saddle or bridle. But, if eased into the tasks gradually, they would become accustomed to having their wills bent to a human's will. After his disastrous groping session with Vicky in the library, Frank had begun to think of Vicky in much the same way. She would require huge amounts of patience and gentling, but in the end she would submit.

He got into bed and fell asleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Upon entering the kitchen of the house, I found that Margaret had whisked some eggs, chopped up chicken sausages, sautéed onions and had a cake of Brie at the ready for one of her signature omelets. Margaret quickly prepared the food, and we sat down to eat quietly savoring each bit of food.

Then, Margaret cleared her throat
. "You know, Frank and I have been wondering if you would like to stay here in the house for a while. There might be too many memories at the cottage. Of course, you could still go over to the cottage whenever you wanted."

At first I was taken by surprise. I stopped eating to think for a moment. Actually, the cottage had been freaking me out a little. And I wasn't sleeping wel
l. Maybe I needed a change.

"Yes, I
think that would be a good idea, even though this house reminds me of my mother in some ways. After all, she worked here. But, she never lived here." I said.

"
Also, John has moved into his new home and would like you to come and see him. He says you can just drop in any time."

"When did he move?"

"Oh, just a few days ago. There wasn't much for him to move. If you remember, they didn't bring very much. It was mostly a matter of having furniture delivered to the new house. It's a beautiful place, Vicky. You would really like it. It's an old Tudor mansion up on Council Crest. He's keeping his home in Bel Air, but he plans to live here in Portland for a while. He's even moved his chef out here."

Later, Margaret went
over to the cottage to help me pack some clothes and toiletry articles, as she remarked, "before I changed my mind."

I
moved into John's old room. On the one hand, it was a great relief not to be alone in the cottage with memories of Mom, but the change also added to the sense of unreality I had been feeling since her death. I wandered about the room reminiscing. Everything about the large, beautiful room reminded me of John and his visit. A sofa and chair were arranged before the fireplace at one end of the room.

It was one of those Portland day
s when daylight never seemed to materialize, and now, even at noon, darkness enveloped the city. Fog had hovered over the ground and the trees all day for three days in a row. I turned on a lamp to fight off the gloom of the day, stretched out on the chaise lounge in the corner, and soon fell into a deep sleep.

I was star
tled out of a nightmare by Frank nudging my shoulder. I couldn't remember what the dream was about; it quickly slipped away from my consciousness.

"What do you say to some dinner downstairs?"

"I'll have dinner with you on one condition:  I serve the dinner and Margaret sits at the table with us."

Frank's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth as if to say something. Then, he smiled. "Of course, of course. Come on down now."

Margaret had prepared a sim
ple dinner of salad and creamed potatoes and peas, along with lamb chops. After I had set a place for Margaret and brought the food to the dining room table, she sat down to eat.

"Margaret, how did you make these chops so tender?"

"Oh, I marinated them overnight in cooking sherry and seasonings. I always put in dill and pepper. Then I lightly dredge them with Italian-style breadcrumbs. Just a tiny bit, so they won't be heavy."

It seemed so right to
me for the three of us to be sitting at the dining table together, with Margaret directly across from me. Suddenly, I felt a stab of pain. Mom should have been here, too. I thought about how people say that they cannot remember the face of their dead loved ones and knew that would never happen to me. I would be always be able to conjure up her lovely, kind face. I looked up to find both Margaret and Frank watching me with concerned expressions on their faces.

"Oh, you two!  Yes, I was thinking about
Mom. She was so beautiful in every way."

"Yes," Margaret said
. "That's the first thing I noticed about her. Lovely inside and out."

Frank broached a new topic
. "Vicky, John is coming over to visit tomorrow afternoon, about 1 o'clock. I think, although he didn't say so, that he wants to check up on how you are doing. You don't mind if he comes to visit do you?"

"No
. I think it would be nice to see him. How is he doing anyway?"

"He and Matt are really enjoying Portland and getting settled in the new house
. They continue to wrestle both with the movie although they're happy to see the back of the interior decorator. The movie seems to have one setback after the other, but John seems to think that the budget overrides will be recouped when it comes out. I don't know if that's true or not. John's films always have great critical reviews, but they're not blockbusters or anything like that. At least, so far they haven't been."

I
rose to John's defense. "He seems to be doing all right, just the same."

Frank chuckled
. "That's because all of his films could lose millions, and he'd still be doing all right. He inherited a third of the shares in one of the largest insurance companies in the country."

"Oh
--I see. Well, I still like his movies, and I think he will leave behind a significant body of work."

"You'r
e probably correct. I don't know as much about films as you do. By the way, is there anything you would like to go out to do tonight?"

"No
. I think I'd like to stay in and read and listen to music in my room."

"Why don't you join me in the library?  I could stand to have some company
. What are you reading?"

"I'm not sure yet
. I'm going to find something to reread, from my small collection. They're all classics, and every once in a while I like to enjoy them again, so they won't think I've forgotten them."

Margaret asked, "What is your favorite book?"

"My favorite?  That would be really hard to say. I like some of the popular titles. And, I also like a lot of the literature classics that can be read over and over again.
The Grapes of Wrath, Moby Dick, A Tale of Two Cities--
"

"
--you make me feel like taking up reading in the evenings," Margaret said.

When we
had finished dinner, I wanted to help remove the plates from the table and help with the dishes, but Margaret absolutely insisted on doing those things. "I'm getting paid to do this, you know. Go find whatever book you're going to read and settle down in the library."

I
went over to the cottage to choose a book. As soon as the door closed behind me, I was assaulted with memories of Mom--sitting in her favorite chair, her smile, her voice. How could I go on, when the only meaning of my life had been removed? Then, I recalled that I had promised her I would be happy. I didn't believe I could ever really be happy, but I could act as if I were happy. Resolutely, I went to the bookcase to choose a book, finally choosing
Heart of Darkness
and returned to the library in the house, settling in with my legs tucked underneath me. Frank lit a fire in the grate and then turned on the Bose to one of my favorite pieces, Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

A
s the sound of the glorious music filled the room, it calmed me. I closed my eyes and let the healing waves wash over my entire being. The rhythmic notes always called to mind an image of the rays of the moon reflecting on a woodland lake in the still of the night. After a few minutes, the first few movements ended, and the music changed to a less hypnotic tempo. I opened my eyes.

"Would you li
ke me to replay that part?" Frank asked.

"Oh, no
. That's okay. It's already worked its magic. Thank you for playing that. I'm surprised that you remembered I liked it."

"I often heard your music playing when you were working in the office
--a mix of popular and classical"

"I hope it wasn't too loud."

Frank laughed, "Can music ever really be too loud?"

"No, I don't think so
, but others would disagree."

I began to read my book, and
Frank sat opposite me, on the other sofa, working on his laptop. The fire crackled away. Margaret brought in a tray with a pot of chamomile tea and cups and saucers. She poured tea for Frank and me.

"Will you sit and have tea with us?
" I begged. "Please?"

"Do you mind, Mr.
Armstrong?"

"No, of course not
. Anything to make our Vicky happy."

"Oh, all right
. Just for a few minutes." Margaret returned with a cup and saucer and a book. She poured herself a cup of tea.

"What are you reading, Margaret?"
I asked.

"Oh, now, you're going to laugh, if I tell you."

"No, I won't. I promise I won't. I like to read all sorts of books."

Margaret held up the front cover of her book for
Vicky's inspection. It was
Once is Not Enough,
by Jacqueline Susann. "I loved
Valley of the Dolls.
This one came right after it. I've never gotten around to reading it, and it looks like it's more of the same type of thing, so, here goes."

"I thought
Valley of the Dolls
was kind of interesting, because it was about how fame and money corrupts people. I read it too. Who could resist that title?" I said.

We
read, while Frank busied himself with keeping the fire going and watching it as it burned. Within an hour, I was so relaxed I could hardly keep my eyes open.

Mar
garet leaned toward me and said, "Why don't you take your book up to bed. I bet you'll be asleep in no time. I'll come up with you. If you need anything I'll be right down the hall."

The next day, Frank emerged from his room
at 1:00 p.m. and went downstairs to find Margaret and me in the kitchen chatting over drinks--hers tea, mine Rock Star.

"John is coming over to see how you are this afternoon
." Frank said.

"You know, I think I'll surprise him and go over to his place instead
. That way, I can see the new house--Margaret, could you squeeze in the time to come with me?"

M
argaret looked doubtful. "Well--can you give me time to clean out the refrigerator first?"

"Of course!
I'll help you and then it will go twice as fast." With that, I immediately got up from the table and began removing items from the refrigerator. As soon as a shelf was emptied, Margaret cleaned it. After the shelves and bins were cleaned, I insisted on wiping down the refrigerator walls. Within a very short time, we were refilling the refrigerator.

Then we
headed over to John's house in the Volvo with directions in hand. It did not take long to arrive at the home. It was very picturesque. On the outside, the Tudor-styled, dark beams covered white stone. The front garden was full of bushes and flowers, with several stone pathways curving through it. Each pathway led to a wooden bench. In front, a waist-level wooden fence sat on each side of a welcoming archway over the front gate. The archway was covered and intertwined with rambling rose plants. We got out of the car and stood to admire the scene.

After a moment, Margaret broke the silence
. "It's like a magic garden."

John came out of the house and interrupted our
reverie. "Hey, you two, don't just stand their gawking. Come on in."

John walked down the
front walk and opened the gate under the trellis, laughing. "I didn't think you'd ever make it. Frank called to tell me you were on your way. It's about time. Come in, come in."

He led us
into a sunroom at the back of the house. The day was cloudy, but the room, mostly covered with glass, was filled with light. A variety of plants, including many large ferns, basked in the glow. Through the back could be seen more inviting outdoor garden space.

"Please, please sit down.
" We sat in the comfortable chairs facing the garden.

John's housekeeper peeked through the door
. "Will you be needing anything?"

"This is my housekeeper and
Jill-of-all-trades, Edna. Edna, meet Vicky and Margaret."

"Well
?" John asked, looking questioningly at us.

"I'd like a glass of water."
I said.

"With
ice and lemon?" Edna asked.

"Yes, please."

"Well--I'd like one of those too, please," Margaret, decided.

"I'd offer you the grand
tour, except that there are workers upstairs. The previous owners opened up the downstairs windows so there is lighter than in the original 1920's version of the house, but the upstairs is gloomy and dark. Today, they're painting a room they've just renovated, so it's relatively quiet for once. I
will
show you the downstairs before you leave. So--more importantly--Vicky how have you been doing?"