The Deception Dance (13 page)

“I did, I let it go.” I try to sound earnest. For
emphasis, I add, “‘it’s gone.”

Linnie rolls her eyes, “Yeah, sure. Well, if you two are fine,
then you won’t mind if I...” She yells, “Chauncey!”

I mouth ‘no’ but she ignores me.

When Chauncey sticks her golden locks through our door, I inhale
sharply: she’s dazzling. Her skin positively glows; a minute
passes before I notice the frown crossing her painted, pink lips.

I wave my hand and hasten to say, “Don’t worry about it.”

Linnie speaks over me: “Raven doesn’t have anything to
wear.”

Chauncey examines me and giggles. Thanks Linnie, a little humiliation
in front of “Chauncey-the-Evil” is just what I needed.

Chauncey gives a wink, that I assume is supposed to be cute. “I’ll
see what I can do.”

I glower at my sister.

“What?” Linnie jumps off the bed. “She’s
really nice; you’ll see that, if you give her a chance.”

I doubt it, but I let Linnie lecture me on all the benefits of
forgiveness and open-mindedness, until Chauncey returns with two
dresses.

“You may have these.” She lays a black and a yellow dress
on my bed. “They’re too big for me.” Chauncey wears
a magnificent dress, blue with silver beads; the colors complement
her blonde waves of hair and her bronze skin.

“Are you sure?”

She swats her hand through the air as she exits.

I take off my tank top and slide on the black dress.

Linnie helps me zip up the back. “I don’t see how this
could be too big for Chauncey,” she mumbles, “Since this
dress is tight on you.”

No way is this dress too large for Chauncey, as she’s about two
sizes bigger, but if she wants me to think she’s smaller, fine.
The cut, empire waist and ruffles give the dress an almost childlike
appearance. The black matches my hair and contrasts with my porcelain
skin, making me look paler and younger.

“Are you two ready?” Chauncey calls from the hall.

After Linnie dries her hair and dresses, I lead the girls the way
Nicholas instructed. We exit the guesthouse through the rear door and
walk to where a tall hedge separates the main house and the gardens.
Hanging lanterns stretch out of the garden wall and light the little
stone pathway. We ascend a stair to a large patio, in the center of
which a statue of a woman pours water and light into a glistening
pool. The stone patio extends out, large and circular, with three
massive benches and a view of an expansive garden, lit by the
disappearing sun and quarter moon.

“Wow!” Linnie whispers under her breath, “This is
so cool. We’re actually at a castle.”

“It’s not what I expected,” Chauncey scoffs to her
painted nails.

An elderly man in black livery holds open the back door: “If
you will follow me please, ladies.”

We follow him through what must be the game room, evident by the pool
and card tables. The same light wood and cream combination make up
all the furniture and walls, contrasted only by the dark blue
carpets. “This is the game room,” the elderly servant
confirms, in a dispassionate tone. He leads us up a polished
staircase to a gallery passageway, overlooking the game room on one
side and the gardens, through large windows, on the other. The hall
ends at a pair of open French doors with a view of a splendidly set
table.

The wood walls and giant windows remind me of a ship’s
interior, a very opulent ship’s interior. Crystal glistens
everywhere; crystal chandeliers, bowls and candleholders adorn the
long oval table, sending fractured light dancing throughout the
space. Silver, crystal and porcelain place settings decorate half the
table. We walk toward the chairs, as laughter booms in from another
set of French doors and I turn.

While the servant helps Linnie and Chauncey into their seats, I cross
over to peek outside. Albert, dressed in a gigantic black suit,
gesticulates, speaking in furious Swedish to a chuckling Nicholas and
Stephen. They all hold wineglasses and Stephen smokes a cigarette.

I step onto the half-circle balcony, which extends over a hedge maze
garden, and inhale the twilight air. “Beautiful.”
Extensive gardens wind out below: paths and archways break and
connect many shadowy hedge enclosures. Beyond the gardens, moonlight
illuminates an extensive pasture, all the way to an orchard.

The men turn.

“Raven,” Stephen calls. “You are the one that is
beautiful!”

Nicholas cuts in front of Stephen and offers me
his arm.

Taking Nicholas’s arm feels a little funny: the only person who
ever offered me his arm before was my grandfather when I was little.
I wrap my arm through his, then glance up and catch Nicholas’s
expression. I snap my gaze to the table, hoping my cheeks aren’t
reddening.

He leads me to the table and the servant
hastens to pull out my chair. I could never get use to this, all the
pampering and the old fashioned manners; it’s way too awkward.
I sit and thank the old man, earning me a nod. Nicholas and Stephen
sit next to me, while Albert sits on Linnie’s far side. The
seats on both sides of Chauncey are unoccupied.

The table is set with three of everything, except for knives, of
which there are two. I glance at Linnie with a nervous grin.

She shrugs back, as another man, dressed identically to the first
servant, places a bowl of soup on top of my plate tower.

Soup spoon, I got that. I pluck the utensil out of the silver
assortment and start. The soup is some sort of seafood bisque,
seasoned to perfection; I close my eyes and let the liquid roll over
my tongue.

“Please excuse my lateness,” a formal voice sniffles,
interrupting my appreciation. Tobias seats himself in the chair
between Linnie and Chauncey, leaving the chair at the head of the
table empty. He straightens his silverware, one by one, until they
are aligned. He nods at his work, then looks up. “And excuse my
grandfather’s absence; he is...” He clears his throat,
“…under the weather.”

Nicholas cocks his head and furrows his brow, “Grandfather,
sick?”

I concentrate on my soup.

“I’m surprised you’re not dining at his bedside,”
Stephen says.

Tobias sounds lofty, “He told me he would rather I...” He
does not finish his sentence, on account of Albert and Stephen’s
hooting laughter.

“Does your soup taste strange, as if something’s sour?”
Chauncey says to Linnie, her voice carrying over the laughter.

Stephan stands, leans over the table and scoops up a spoonful of
Chauncey’s soup.

Tobias and Chauncey wear identical expressions of indignation.

I hide the smile that’s threatening to emerge.

“Taste’s fine to me,” Stephan remarks as he plops
back in his seat, “But perhaps you could make some suggestions
to the cook. I hear you have a knack for
adding ingredients
.”

Chauncey replaces her angry expression with a
wide-eyed stare. Her gaze flits my way.

I have no temptation to smile anymore.

Chauncey stands, she sounds disheartened, “Whatever your
grandfather has must be contagious, I also feel ‘under the
weather’.”

Linnie scoots back from the table, “Do you want me to...”

“No.” Chauncey gives one sharp shake of her head.

All four men rise from their seats, as Chauncey hurries out of the
room with the elderly servant in tow.

I’m happy, that’s all it takes: for her to leave. The
food tastes as luxurious as the room looks. Nicholas tells me they
rarely eat in it.

Tobias announces, “Grandfather asked that I give you ladies a
tour of our castle in the morning. I was thinking seven thirty; would
that work?”

I pause with my spoon hovering, “Um…” I set the
spoon back in the bowl. “We’re still a little
jet-lagged.”

“Don’t worry about it Toby,” Steven cuts in. “We’ll
give the girls a tour.”

Tobias straightens up in his chair and clears his throat, “No,
I think not
Stephen
.” He emphasizes the name.
“Grandfather requested
I
give the tour, rather than the
assignment I had planned upon.” He turns back, “So, how
about seven forty-five?”

I paste on a smile, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“For me, too,” Linnie adds, with a poorly concealed
smile, slipped my way.

The food delights everyone and, besides a few
somber comments from Tobias, the company outdoes our dinner. Linnie
and I leave the house, escorted by Nicholas, giddy, and I didn’t
even drink wine! We promise Nicholas, with mock seriousness, that we
will go straight to bed, so we can be ready for our ‘grand
tour.’

Nicholas backs away from the house; my gaze lingers on him, as he
disappears behind the hedge.

“Coming?” Linnie sticks her head back out of the door.

I follow her in. We head toward the indoor hot tub. Before we step
through the open door, the sounds emanating from within cause us to
spin and dash for our room. We collapse onto our beds in fit of
laughter.

“Who was that?” Linnie asks between breaths and giggles.

“I think it was Chauncey and the chauffeur!”

“Wow! I’m never using that hot tub.”

I nod furiously. “Me neither.”

After we dress for bed, we lie with spurts of laughter still
escaping. I turn to Linnie, and ask, “So which brother would
you pick, if you had to choose?”

“Hmm, I’d take the hairy one, Albert. But I’m
turning over a new leaf, no more men.”

“Really? You’re gay, now?”

“Shut up!” She says, throwing her pillow at me. “I’m
taking a lifelong vow of celibacy.”

“Sure… I give you a month.” I say, throwing the
pillow back.

We giggle a little more. Soon, Linnie’s laughter turns into
heavy, even breathing and, in no time, I drift into sleep.

I’m staring up at bright green eyes. A finger traces down the
bare skin of my stomach, causing eruptions inside.

“This is wrong; I know that this is wrong,” I breathe.
“We cannot do this.” My voice is lower, raspier than it
is in my wakeful hours. I’m pretty sure we’re speaking
Swedish, and as only in dreams, I can understand.

His lips fasten on mine and, though my words say, ‘this is
wrong,’ my body screams, ‘this is oh, so right!’

He traces my lips with his tongue, then catches my lower lip with
both of his. His hand wraps around my waist, as he whispers in my
ear, “wrong and right are just opinions; you choose: either
take what you want or be too frightened.”

“No...” I beg, as he kisses down my throat. My hand
squeezes his arm. “This
is
wrong, I know it.”

My eyes snap open. I glance around; I’m alone in my bed. Linnie
is lightly snoring in the bed across the room. The “Chauncey
and chauffeur” ruckus outside has quieted down, also. I’m
only wearing shorts and a T-shirt and the night chill nips, but, I’m
sweating.

I touch my lips and inhale. I need fresh air. I find a crocheted
quilt in the small corner cabinet; I’m too warm, so I just
carry the blanket, while tiptoeing out of the room.

The night air bites as much as I expected, so I cocoon myself in the
blanket. Even though I walk to the rose garden, I’m too
restless to stop. Following my route from earlier this evening, I
walk along the house to the back patio. The lanterns still shine
along the hedge wall and, on the patio, the fountain sprays droplets
of lighted water. I sit on a bench facing the water-bearing stone
woman.

The water performs a hypnotic dance, spraying and splashing from the
sculpture’s vase into the luminous pool. I hold up my hand: the
moonlight dances across my fingers. Curling into a ball, I swaddle my
legs with the blanket. I should go inside; I’m cold. But the
night, moon and water are so peaceful; I can empty my mind and
repress all those things I don’t want to think about.

I suck on my lower lip and my breathing speeds up. Just focus on the
water; think about the water and the moon, nothing else.

Something shifts in my peripheral vision. I peer around.

Someone's there, a man, staring down from the third floor window.

I jump, draw back and manage to focus on him, before he steps into
shadow. Even after the dark swallows him, I continue to stare at the
place where Nicholas’s grandfather’s icy gaze watched me.

Day Eight

My palm hides a yawn; I don’t think Tobias sees.

He tells Linnie, Chauncey and me about yet another portrait of an
ancestor. I see why he wanted us to start so early: we’ve been
touring for nearly three hours.

He pauses; I raise my hand. When he gives a stiff nod, I ask, “Is
this painting famous?” I point to the central piece in the
lavish living room. The giant canvas fills the wall lengthwise,
looming above an enormous fireplace. “This castle looks so
familiar.”

“Perhaps,” he cuts through the room to stand between me
and the painting, “if you’ve studied Swedish history. We
are still on this castle’s, the former Leijonskjöld
Slot’s, foundations, which extend much larger than our current
home.” He continues his explanation, while marching out of the
room: “The former Leijonskjöld Slot spanned from the small
wall encircling the front of the guesthouses, all the way to the
furthest gardens on this estate. Unfortunately, the castle burned and
collapsed two centuries ago.” His exit from the room muffles
the rest of his explanation.

I don’t follow. Maybe lack of sleep muddles my mind, but I
swear I’ve seen this castle before. I envisioned living in a
palace just like this when I was little, with the tall crenellated
walls, topped with turrets.

That must be it; this painting is of the mythical castle every young
girl dreams about. Too bad those walls collapsed (not that this house
isn’t plenty lavish, as our extensive tour more than
demonstrated).

Alone in the room, I pivot and glance around the only room showing a
little variety from this light wood and cream décor theme, and
follow out the door.