by J Thompson
“£250 for both and that’s all I can afford…cash,” she breathed out in a rush. That was her purse emptied and would mean no visit to the tea room for cake today, not unless they had started to take card payments within a few hours.
Belinda waited, her heart rate had doubled and she was certain he would say no, his hand hadn’t left the box and he eyed her warily.
“You will protect this, Miss? It is no ordinary perfume bottle.”
“Of course,” Belinda fired back. “My collection is always locked away and taken care of.” She felt slightly insulted at his remark, but quickly remembered that he didn’t know her and was not aware of her obsessive tendencies that meant her collection was kept in a special room, a shelf for each piece and it was cleaned regular. The lighting was just right, so as not to fade the colours in the pieces and each item was catalogued. Yeah, she had issues, that she knew, but this was who she was.
“I understand, Sir. Does this mean you accept my offer for both bottles?”
“No, the £250 is for Cupid alone.”
Belinda went to argue, but a raised eyebrow from the gentleman stopped her before he continued, “The Blue bottle I will gift you for free, a little something for one so beautiful.”
Belinda blushed bright red and didn’t try to hide it. She spent most of her life hidden away from the world; in her study when she was a student and then in the library as an adult. She had only let others see her as she saw herself; always dressed in her severe uniform. Not as she was now; hair down past her shoulders, simple and light make-up and an outfit that, if she did admit, worked for her.
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Please Miss, call me Mr Fati.” He smiled as he said this, collected the money from the counter and then proceeded to package up Cupid’s essence. She watched as he carefully placed the box that housed the bottle within, in a large velvet bag and then, in turn, wrapped that in a large quantity of bubble wrap. Only then did he collect the other blue bottle from the cabinet and place that within protective packaging.
Belinda watched all this and still her heart rate had not calmed down. She felt she was waiting for that drop on a roller coaster, where they hang you over the edge and then, when you think they won’t drop you, they do. It was strange and exhilarating at the same time.
“I will be here next month should you wish to return the bottle, should you find what you need, I will be here.”
His words were cryptic but it didn’t bother her for long once she got her hands on the bag containing both bottles. All she could do was smile and repeatedly say thank you before she turned and left the Amor stall.
Still sat in the car thirty minutes later, Belinda couldn’t believe she had spent £250 on one bottle all because it said the name ‘Cupid’ on it. But, hadn’t she been hoping for some help in that department? Maybe, just maybe, this would be the turning of the tide for her regarding love. Maybe this small bottle will help her with Mike. What did she have to lose? She had already made a tit of herself. She may as well go the full hog.
Belinda grinned as she turned the engine on. She patted the bag that held her purchases before she pulled off and headed for home. Belinda, unaware of being watched, sang along to the music on the radio as an answering smile flashed across the gentleman’s features before he and his stall full of wares slowly vanished, un-noticed by all.
Belinda clutched the bag from the fair to her chest after she had parked the car against the curb, and then walked up the path to her front door. The weather had gone back to being dull and dreary and she couldn’t wait to get in and get warm.
She was starving as well. There was still a part of her that was gutted she had spent every bit of cash she had on the bottles and had nothing left for cake. So she had gone home via the supermarket and had picked up a pack of freshly made jam doughnuts. Not that she would eat them all, well, maybe she would but she had to have cake.
Cake was a lot like chocolate; it was the answer to everything.
Pushing the door shut, she walked straight upstairs and then up the second set of stairs to her converted loft. She had converted it not long after she had moved in, finding she didn’t have room for all of her books and other collections, and the empty space offered what she needed.
As she walked in she couldn’t help but smile, this was her favourite place when she wasn’t at work or doing house work. The attic was long and thin, with the stairs coming up half way along. Shelves ran the entire length, on both sides and were filled with her favourite fiction books, reference books and small baskets with her collections of keyrings, magnets, bookmarks and other small random things she thought were cute. One end had been turned into a cosy snug, with a small wood burner, comfy chair with pillows and blankets, small table and a lamp. The brick wall had been draped with thick material to help keep in the heat, along with the insulation that had been installed when the conversion had happened. Where the beams were too low, she had made sure small windows had been installed, not those sky facing windows but the ones that had a windowsill so wide she could place cushions on and watch the world go by.
Conveniently, one had been placed opposite her chair and next to the wood burner. The builder had said it would be a tight squeeze but she didn’t care, she could now escape to her room and curl up in her chair, yet still see the outside world and watch it go by. The view looked amazing at any time of the year, especially when the weather decided to create a show. Any time it snowed or a storm rolled in, showcasing its thunder and lightning, she had the best view and could watch with a cup of cocoa.
On the opposite end, built in solid oak with locks that could rival most safes, was her pride and joy. At seven foot high and five feet across, with black smoky shelves, handmade by a local glass worker and lights that had been placed with precision, Belinda owned a stunning piece of furniture that showed off her treasures to the max. Each bottle shimmered under the intense lighting; each one was different, but nothing detracted from their beauty.
It had taken her years to amass the collection, but each one had offered her a chance to meet people and get out of the house. It also taught her that she could use her OCD to her benefit and beat her anxiety. In essence, this was her therapy- well, this and reading.
Next to the elaborate case stood another small table, this in fact matched the one next to her chair. They had beautiful scroll work up the single stand and the tale itself was shiny with age and showed off every grain of the mahogany.
Belinda placed her bag on the top before she reached for her key to the cabinet, hidden in a small niche in one of the beams closest to the unit. She unlocked the glass door using all four keys before turning off the sensors that would trigger an alarm that would wake the whole street. Not that anyone would know about her collection or where it was housed.
She opened the doors and, as was her tradition, she looked at each piece one at a time, remembering the purchases and each story that had accompanied them. She remembered the excitement that had overtaken each and every time, just like it had today, only today felt different somehow. Like this was just the start of a new chapter in her life, which confused her as it was only a couple of bottles. Yes, she had spent more than what she would normally pay but a splurge every now and again wouldn’t kill her. Would it?
Carefully, she pulled the blue bottle first from its wrappings and looked it over. It didn’t take her long to notice the slight chip in the stopper or the markings across the bottom that would have belonged to a price sticker. As per her routine, she pulled some cleaning materials from the bottom drawer in the cabinet and cleaned off the markings, making it shine; the blues erupting into greens the more she put it in the light.
She placed it on the very top shelf, next to two other bottles that were similar colours and smiled. She loved how beautiful they looked, it was strange how she wasn’t a materialistic person, but owning these treasures made her feel complete.
Finally she reached for the box, her heart once again increased its bea
ts as she pulled the box free from the wrapping until she was left with just the velvet bag. It was, again, strange how she had only seen the box an hour ago, but she couldn’t remember what it looked like. It was as if it was a blank in her memory.
Slowly, she removed it from the velvet bag and set it on the table. Her eyes became entranced by the play of light on the glass as she carefully folded the velvet and placed it in the drawer. Now she had the time, she could explore the stunning rosewood box in more detail.
The box itself was around eight inches long, by four inches wide and six inches in depth. Every part was decorated in the small, intricate image of a rose twined with vines and leaves. There was no way to see where they started or ended, even the seal where the box opened could not be determined.
She gently lifted it into her palms and tilted it this way and that, loving the way the light reflected off the wood. It felt so light in her hands and, she leant forward and sniffed, it smelled of summer flowers, teamed with summer rain storms. Though it was only a hint, it made her want to stand and sniff the box harder just to get the smell again.
Belinda placed it down on the table and gently lifted the lid to reveal, once again, the velvet lined interior. The sight of the iridescent bottle caught her breath as she stared at the small glass vial. The liquid left inside swirled, almost like the inside of a lava lamp. She had been sure there had only been a small amount of liquid inside when she had seen it earlier, but now it looked full.
She took the bottle between her fingers and lifted, noting how clear the glasswork was and how this one, unlike the blue one, had zero markings or scratches. The stopper was fixed firmly, she was pleased to note, and the writing looked even clearer now she had it home. The wording of Cupid’s Essence was a form of scroll work. How the craftsman had got it into the glass she had no idea, but she would no doubt end up on bloody YouTube, trying to find a video.
The smell of summer rain and flowers hit her nose once again, but this time stronger, the fragrance now emanating from the small bottle. Unable to help herself, she brought it up to her nose and sniffed, this time harder than she had with the box.
As soon as the smell hit her senses, she felt a dizzying rush, her head spun and she had to place a hand against a beam to hold herself upright. Her head felt woozy, but in that pleasant way you get when you’ve take a painkiller and the pain finally subsides and you feel a tiny bit numb as well as on the edge of consciousness.
Belinda was unable to stop her knees from giving way as she slowly slid down the shelves at her back, until her arse hit the floor. Her fingers, instead of gripping the delicate bottle, relaxed even more and she watched as it slid out of her hand and rolled across the wooden floor. Belinda watched with her heart in her mouth and in slow motion as her body tipped to the side at the same time as the bottle fell. She was positive it would smash, but she felt so light, she almost didn’t care. As her head connected with the floor and blackness started to impede on her vision, the bottle also rolled across the floor and instead of smashing into hundreds of pieces, it bounced from the base of the cabinet before it settled near to her, the liquid inside still safe. From her near unconscious mind, the liquid pulsed as if it had a life of its own.
Belinda’s dreams swirled like a coloured mist. It looked, almost, as if someone had placed small drops of colour in water and then stirred. She felt disorientated and slightly dizzy. Her heart, she could feel, felt like it would pound its way through her chest wall, the thump as her blood pumped through her veins sounded loud and clear in her ears.
This couldn’t be a dream, she thought, unable to move or speak, this felt too real. She watched as the colours moved and flowed around her before they took shape.
A woman and a man formed within the colours, dressed in clothing Belinda didn’t recognise. The scene expanded, showcasing a large room that shone from thousands of candles that made the ornate furnishings glitter and sparkle. More people became visible, all dressed the same as they danced their way around the room. Music that sounded muffled could be heard and still Belinda couldn’t move, only observe.
The ball that took place was stunning to watch and Belinda became entranced watching the couples dance and court, secret glances and looks of lust were thrown. But it was the bent heads of two that held her attention the longest. For some unknown reason, their voices could be heard clearer than anything else in the room.
“Marcella?”
“No Ruben, I have given my answer: no. Please leave it at that.”
The lady named Marcella tried to move away from the gentleman but his hand shot out to grab her elbow.
“Marcella,” he said through clenched teeth as he stepped closer. “You will agree to this, your father has already given his consent, it will happen.”
“What about my consent Ruben, does my opinion on this matter not count at all?”
He laughed but no humour came from it.
“Your opinion has little meaning Marcella, surely you know this.”
“You would force me?” She looked into his cold, grey eyes. “Even though I do not love you and never will.”
That comment fired his temper and he increased the pressure of his grip on her arm. Belinda could already see the redness of her skin and was sure that once he released her, there would be bruises visible.
“Love means nothing. You have spent far too long gaining the attention of the men at every ball you have attended. That will stop Marcella.”
Belinda watched as the lady pulled her elbow from his grip and stood with her chin held high.
“I will not bow to your word Ruben. You may think you can force me, but you will learn I will be forced by no man, especially one as cruel as you.” She turned, but not before she glared at him. “You approach me again and I will have you removed. You forget that I may have attracted all the men here tonight, but every one of them would come to my aid if asked. You would do well to remember that a lady does not like to be manhandled. Goodnight.”
Belinda watched as the lady, Marcella, moved through the crowd as if nothing had happened. Her eyes bright, she spoke to all with respect and politeness. Her eyes connected with everyone else’s, even those that belonged to Ruben. All except for one man that stood off to the side.
He was tall and handsome, broad in the chest and arms. He held himself like a gentleman, but there was a slight wildness in his eyes that made Belinda pause. His own eyes were glued to Marcella and although she never returned his gaze, Belinda knew she was aware of him. The only time he had looked away from her was to shoot glares at the male known as Ruben.
As if pulled, Belinda followed Marcella as she moved to the other side of the room and through the doors to the garden. Once alone, she watched as Marcella found a stone bench surrounded by bushes and as she sank onto it, her shoulders dropped.
“Lord help me,” she called out. “I do not know what to do.”
Her hand reached into the beautifully beaded purse and pulled out the familiar bottle that Belinda had not long ago held. Marcella’s voice held a hint of sadness as she clutched the iridescent glass.
“Before, everything made sense but now, now I’m more confused than ever. I thought you were supposed to help me, not make things worse,” she said to the bottle.
“Marcella,” a low husky voice whispered through the bush. Belinda caught Marcella’s quick movement that hid the bottle in her purse.
“Hello,” she answered, her voice wavering slightly. “Who’s there?”
The male that had followed her every move stepped from the shadows and Marcella gasped in response. He seemed bigger and his presence made even Belinda grow nervous. But not scared. This man, she could tell, made Marcella nervous in a way that brought a blush to her cheeks. She stood and bowed her head in greeting. Small wisps of her hair fell forward and her dress rustled in the silence.
“Sir.”
“My lady,” he answered and stepped forward. He took her hand, the one Ruben had been so rough with, and kissed
her knuckles. He lingered with his lips on her skin as he waited for her to raise her eyes to meet his. Their eyes met and even Belinda could hear the catch in Marcella’s throat.
Belinda felt like an intruder on such a personal moment. But the dream carried on, regardless to her feelings. She felt her own heart continue to thump hard in her chest. She felt a part of her, deep down in her soul, call out for a man to look at her like Marcella was being looked at by this male.
“Can I help you, sir?” She heard Marcella ask, and Belinda felt the butterflies in her own stomach flip as the male smiled.
“I…” he began, his hand still held onto hers, “I have been eager to meet the infamous Lady Marcella, rumours of your beauty have circulated far and wide, but I find them untrue.”
Belinda watched as Marcella frowned and tugged her hand free.
“Untrue. Really?” She answered the male. Belinda could swear she could hear the inner workings of Marcella’s mind and how this man’s opinion of her mattered more than she would dare to admit.
“Yes, my lady, untrue.” He walked closer and in turn, Marcella backed up until her back was pressed against the bush she had hidden herself behind. No one knew where she was and they were far enough from the ballroom that if she called out no one would hear her.
“Untrue in the sense that they didn’t mention how your hair looks like it was spun from the finest gold. Your eyes are like gems that sparkle in the light and if wanted, they could entrance a man as to forget his own name.” He lifted his large, calloused palm and held her cheek.
Belinda watched as Marcella closed her eyes to the touch, entranced by this male’s words.
“Your skin is softer than the purest silk, you are a goddess.” His last words were a mere whisper, but easily heard.
“Who are you?” Marcella whispered back as her eyes fluttered open.
“Merely a man, smitten by your beauty.”
