 III. Mathon 5:00 PM After lunch, Reine had taken a walk next to the shoreline of the lake, picking up smooth pebbles in an attempt to skip them on the water. She had failed to master that particular trick. Later, she decided to go back to her room to unpack for the week and found that Ira had an eclectic taste for interior decorating. The room was large, probably as big as the entire first floor of her apartment back in New York. A king sized four poster bed occupied the center of the room. The frame was oak painted with a dark varnish. The bed curtains were filmy lace drifting down like cobwebs. A large wardrobe stood facing the bed and to the corner was a tiny door leading to an adequately sized bathroom with a shower. The floor and walls of the bathroom were lined with Mexican tiles in turquoise and canary yellow. The tall thin windows in the room also served as the doors to the balcony. She opened them, letting the cool late autumn air rush into the room. The balcony was a coarse stone walkway with a curling wrought iron railing. Another set of windowed doors at other end of the balcony remained closed. Reine stood at the railing and took off her cap and undid her ponytail. Eagerly, the wind mused her hairs, causing a chaotic black cloud to swirl behind her. She took the pouch of seeing stones that Ira had given her out of her pocket and randomly took a stone out. It was a dark blue one, one that made her think of cold lake water and lonely boat rides to the small forested island at the center of the lake. Rubbing the stone against her palm, it grew warmer. Was the stone changing color? After another minute of examining the stone, perhaps seeing if it really was scrying material, she dropped the stone back into the pouch and went back inside. Running her hand through her hair to untangle the wind’s endeavors, she went back downstairs only to hear a few new voices in the foyer. She peeked in and saw that Mary the housekeeper and a taller older man with bushy eyebrows (the transplanted British butler Palwick as Tabora had pointed out) were attempting to fend off the blustery insistence of a red-faced man in his fifties to see Ira. There was also an older man, probably about Ira’s age, and a beautiful young woman with curling auburn hair looking on in amusement. But it was the loud red-faced man who held Reine’s attention. He was someone she recognized. Quickly, she scurried into the living room where the rest of the guests were lounging, oblivious to the front door conversations. Xanthia was attempting to outstare the flames in the fireplace. Xanthia’s cousin, Diana was curled up in an armchair with Ira’s latest mystery. The Baron and Baronness were talking in quiet tones, commenting on the chess game in progress which was between Hadrian and Marcus. “Marcus is winning,” Hadrian said sullenly. “I’ve been playing chess longer than you have,” his opponent said absently as he checkmated another of Hadrian’s white pieces. “Don’t try to be modest. You enjoy clearing me out every chance you get.” Reine shook her head. “You can argue all you like later. Guess who has just arrived.” “More guests?” said Tabora. “Yes.” Reine crossed her arms and flopped onto the couch beside the Baronness. “But guess which ones.” “I hate guessing,” said Marcus. Hadrian looked thoughtful. “Must be someone bad judging from her expression. An ex-boyfriend?” “Worse. It’s Larrington.” “The bastard,” fumed Hadrian. “You don’t suppose Ira would mind if we drown him in the lake?” said Marcus hopefully. “That won’t work. He’s the only one who stands between having her published or not. Besides, Larrington has our salaries in his hands.” Confused, Stephan asked, “Who’s this Larrington?” “Ira’s nephew. He hates Ira’s work but allows her stuff to be published because it makes money,” explained Marcus. “He also holds the purse strings to our publishing company. He isn’t someone to cross.” From the foyer, they could hear Larrington finally bellowing, “I’m going to see her no matter what the hell she or anyone says, even if I have to break down the damn door!” The sound of glass shattering followed. Amanda who had been napping at Hadrian’s feet woke up and started barking. “The glass covering one of the paintings in the hallway needs to be replaced,” said Xanthia, who was the only one not looking up from the commotion. “He’s bringing much anger into the house.” “Understatement of the year,” replied Diana. The butler, Palwick, appeared at the entrance of the living room with the two other guests in tow. “Mr. And Mrs. Friesner,” he announced. “They’re married?” whispered Tabora to her husband, aghast. “She’s young enough to be his granddaughter, I bet.” “Some men feel insecure unless they have a trophy wife,” Stephan replied. “Or I could just be saying that because I’m jealous.” “Stephan!” The auburn-haired beauty who was introduced as Mrs. Friesner shrugged out of her mink coat with a toss of her head to reveal a dangerously low-necked black wool dress. Hadrian mouthed something to Marcus. Marcus only shook his head. “Mr. Friesner is too formal. Everyone can call me Vicker. Right dear?” His young wife draped her coat across her arm as her gaze landed on the two men who were even remotely her age. Her dark eyes turned thoughtful. “Of course, Vicker. Ira did say that this was an informal party.” Vicker placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “This is Esther. We just got married two months ago, but I’d like to think we’re still in the middle of our honeymoon.” Reine looked like she was about to be sick on Ira’s living room carpet. Amanda wandered over to the newly arrived guests. The bulldog briefly sniffed at Vicker, but showed more interest in Esther’s designer leather boots. Amanda began drooling over them in earnest. “Disgusting little beast,” Esther remarked. “Let me get him for you.” Vicker picked up Amanda and lugged the bulldog back into the foyer to put him outside. “You don’t look so well,” Tabora told Reine, concerned. She waved a hand. “I’m okay.” “Are you sure? You could be coming down with the flu. I have just the thing for it, an old German remedy I learned a while back. It’s fairly foul-tasting, but it works.” Esther sashayed over to the collection of couches and chairs in the living room and chose a covered footstool near the chessboard forcing Hadrian and Marcus to look down at her in order to acknowledge her. Marcus paled. Hadrian gulped. “So who’s winning?” Esther asked. “Um.” “Er.” “Darling,” boomed Vicker as he arrived back into the living room. “I didn’t know you played chess.” “I don’t.” © 2002, S. Y. Affolee |