by Rose, Aubrey
“Saint Stephen was a good one as far as they go,” Eliot said, his voice turning quiet. “’Be strong lest prosperity lift you up too much or adversity cast you down.’ He preached a good doctrine, even if he didn’t always follow it.”
A knock sounded from the front door.
“That must be Marta,” Eliot said. He got up from his chair. “Early as always.”
“Can Lucky stay here with you while I’m gone?” I asked.
Eliot eyed the kitten warily. “As long as he promises not to claw my leg when he wants cream.” He left to go open the door for Marta.
“You’ll be good, won’t you, Lucky?” He purred convincingly as I scratched behind his ears.
A woman came through the door, and I thought for a moment that she must be a giantess, so tall were her heels. Her blond hair piled atop her head in a bun that extended her height even farther, and a crisply tailored suit fitted her lean body perfectly in a robin’s egg blue. She crossed the kitchen in a handful of strides and pulled me close to her in a familiar hug, her bosom pressing against my chest. I smelled a delicate violet scent of perfume, and her diamond earrings tickled my cheek.
“So this is Brynn!” she cried, exclamation punctuating every word she said. She spoke nearly perfect English, her accent slightly British but otherwise unnoticeable. She pulled back and took me by both arms, examining me. I tried on my most convincing smile. “How darling. Eliot’s told me so much about you! And of course Otto is dying to meet you, as well.”
I wondered what Eliot had told her that promised so much of me, but I decided she must just be overly friendly. My jaw hurt from smiling broadly, and when she turned to Eliot for a hug I was glad for the chance to relax my face.
“Eliot, dear, why haven’t you come to visit us again? We’d love to have you for dinner. This time less of a party, yes? I’ll make sure Otto doesn’t go overboard.”
“I’ve been working,” Eliot said. “And if you can find a way to stop Otto from going overboard, you’re a more valiant person than me.”
“Oh, stop!” she cried, her tittering laughter filling the kitchen. The peace of the morning’s quiet had been shattered by her presence, but curiosity filled me up as I watched her move. This was Eliot’s sister-in-law? I wondered about the rest of his family. I wondered about the brother. Who would marry such an unstoppable force as this lady?
“Shall we go, then?” Marta was looking at me, her bright blue eyes framed by long lashes. “We have so much to do, I don’t want to stand around waiting.”
“Um, sure,” I said.
Eliot caught Marta by the arm as we went to leave. He spoke a few quick words in Hungarian. Marta’s eyes darted over to me, but quickly turned away. She spoke back in their native tongue, a kind tone to her words, and patted Eliot on the shoulder, kissing him twice alternately on the cheeks. She turned to me expectantly.
I had only read a little bit about Hungarian customs, and the two-pronged kiss hello and goodbye was completely unfamiliar to me. Not knowing what to do, I was startled when Eliot leaned forward and kissed me on the cheeks. His lips barely brushed my skin, his face pressing lightly against mine, but I felt the contact as piercingly as when he had touched my hand before. My body leaned forward of its own account, aching to be held.
“Goodbye, Brynn,” Eliot said softly. “I will see you later.”
“She’s in good hands,” Marta said, taking me by the arm and spinning me away toward the door. “I will show you all of Budapest!”
I had longed to see Budapest for ages, but now all I wanted was to stay with Eliot, to walk the grounds with him and work on math with him. I might be in good hands with Marta, but the only arms I wanted around me were not hers.
Marta drove a sleek sports car, bright orange and convertible, but when I asked her what kind it was, she just shrugged.
“Lamborghini,” she said. “I don’t know what kind. I think it is too slow on curves. Otto gave it to me last month to try.”
We took off with a roar, and despite her misgivings, I thought the car sped nicely along the roads. I couldn’t imagine having a husband who would buy me flashy, expensive cars just to try out for size, but Marta took it all in stride.
“We shall have to go to the opera sometime when you are here. I adore the opera, don’t you?”
“I’ve never been,” I said.
“Oh, you will love it!” Marta went on, gushing about all of the things in Budapest that I would admire. I believed her, but our mission today was only to find clothes, and I was disappointed that we would have to shop instead of seeing all of the magnificent culture that Marta went on and on about. Marta’s face lit up, though, when we pulled up directly in front of a crowded street of shopgoers. She parked the car on the side of the street in front of a chic boutique and jumped out.
“Are we…uh…should we park here?” I asked. The curb was painted red, and nobody else had parked anywhere near.
“Government plates, darling,” Marta said. “Don’t worry, I’ve never gotten a ticket.”
I felt strange leaving the car parked in an obviously illegal spot, but Marta didn’t care so I tried to ignore it. I hated breaking rules, but I was just a guest here, after all. A cold guest. The chill pierced me as soon as I got out of the car, so I hurried inside the door of the shop behind Marta.
Marta strode into the boutique and immediately began picking out clothes. One of the shopgirls seemed to recognize her and trotted eagerly behind, letting Marta pile her arms up with pretty things. I walked around the edge of the store, looking carefully at the winter coats they had hanging up. The prices seemed outrageous, and I did some mental calculations in my head just to make sure I wasn’t going crazy with the currency conversion. Some of the coats cost four figures in American dollars! I didn’t even want to touch the fabric, for fear of damaging it.
Marta waved me over to the back, where the shopgirl had a mountain of clothes heaped over her arms. At first I thought they were meant for Marta, but she ushered me into a dressing room and hooked all of the hangers on the rod inside.
“I…I just need a coat,” I stammered to Marta. She had picked out dress after dress, blouses and skirts that seemed lovely but not at all meant for cold weather.
“First we need to dress you properly,” Marta said. “Then we can worry about coats to match.”
Her tone was so commanding that I couldn’t disobey. I began trying on clothes, one by one. After I came out to model the first dress that fit, Marta conversed with the shopgirl in Hungarian. The girl listened, nodded, and sped out the door as quick as could be. Marta asked the other girl to find me dresses in different sizes if they didn’t fit, and together they admired me in the mirror, pinching the fabric up one way or the other and chattering in Hungarian rapidly. I felt like a zoo exhibit. A pampered, classy zoo exhibit.
The first shopgirl came back with a bag that turned out to be filled with bras and panties. Marta laughed at my red face when the shopgirl brought out the underwear.
“Don’t worry, I will come with you to try these on privately,” Marta said. I thought her definition of private was a little off, but I tried to refuse and she just clucked at me. “To be beautiful outside, you must be beautiful inside,” she said. “And that includes underwear.”
I had to admit, once we found a bra that fit me comfortably, every dress I put on looked better. Marta gushed over some outfits and pooh-poohed others, without any rhyme or reason that I could tell. All of the clothes seemed beautiful and well-made. We tried on shoes, dresses, skirts, and every time Marta wanted something that the store did not have, the shopgirl ran out to the street and came back with it.
One dress in particular stuck out to me as lovely, a light violet satin that flowed over my curves, accentuating my hips. I thought it was a little low-cut, but when I came out with it on, Marta’s eyes shone in delight.
“You are beautiful,” she said. “Magnificent! Don’t you think so?”
The shopgirls nodded in brisk
agreement as I turned in the mirror. I smiled as the delicate fabric swished around my ankles.
The pile of clothes Marta had approved was quickly rung up, folded, and placed into golden paper shopping bags. Marta insisted that I buy six sets of the underwear that had fit me, “in different colors, just in case,” as well as two beautiful wool coats in red and black. I began to protest the cost, but Marta pulled out a card from her small purse and charged it without a second thought. I thanked her profusely, but she waved it away with her hand.
“Of course,” she said. “Anything for Eliot. A few clothes is far less than his proper due.”
“Due?”
“Otto and I owe him a great debt. But that’s another story for another day.”
Anxious though I was to hear any scrap of information about Eliot, I let the subject go and happily suited up in wool stockings and a dress under the demure black coat. The wool stockings kept my legs surprisingly warm, and the black leather heeled boots made every step comfortable, despite the heels being higher than what I normally wore. Marta looked me over once, her fingers brushing my hair down, before hooking her arm through mine to leave the shop.
“Perfect,” she said. “And just in time for lunch!”
If the clothes cost more than I had spent in my lifetime, the lunch was just as extravagant. Marta took me to a charming bistro at the heart of the city, again leaving her car double parked on the road. Marta saw my embarrassed look back at the car, and laughed at me as we entered the cafe and sat at one of the front tables.
“You are just as proper about cars as Eliot,” she said.
I struck upon the opportunity. I wanted to know more about Eliot, and his brother’s sister seemed to know everything.
“Why is he proper about cars?” I asked.
“Well, you know…” she said, the smile fading from her face into a look of pity. “His wife.”
My heart sank in my chest, and I tried to hide my expression of disbelief. The world around me seemed to dim and blur, and I could hear my blood pounding in my veins. Sweat beaded under the collar of my coat. I couldn’t breathe.
“He— he has a wife?”
“Oh, he didn’t tell you about her?” Marta sipped a lemon water, her focus drifting over to the waiter. A shock of tears rose up behind my eyes and I looked away, out toward the street, where dozens of people passed by, completely unaware that my heart was breaking. I berated myself for wanting, for hoping. Of course everyone would have thought I was his mistress. And I might have become one, unwittingly. My being went numb with terror at the thought.
“No,” I managed to choke out. Marta turned back to me and leaned forward.
“Terribly sad. Do you want to know something?” Her voice was a conspiratorial hush. I didn’t want to know anything more, in fact, only wanted to jump out of my seat and run, but Marta kept talking like nothing had happened. “When he lost her, he blamed himself for it.”
“L—lost her?”
“In the car accident. He was driving, but of course it was a bad road, icy. They never do maintain those back roads too well. Not enough salt to keep the ice away, even if the paparazzi hadn’t been chasing them around it would have ended the way it did. Just a bad patch of ice, anyone would have hit it.” Marta didn’t notice my exhale, my fingers wiping away the unshed tears from my eyes.
A rush of conflicting feelings jostled for place in my heart. Relief, that Eliot didn’t have a wife—guilt, for feeling relief. A newfound hope that I crushed down inside myself with caution, for I knew I couldn’t get too close to him. And an overwhelming sense of sorrow, not just for Eliot’s loss, but for the burden on himself that such a loss must have created.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I managed to stammer out words, even if I didn’t know what I was saying.
“Of course you didn’t, poor thing, he doesn’t talk about it with anyone. Too proud, too distant. Otto is the same, in many ways. Keeps to himself.” Marta sipped at her water and snapped her fingers above her head. “Waiters aren’t worth a damn here. Are you alright?” She had just now noticed the expression of shock on my face.
“I’m fine.” I wasn’t, but that wasn’t Marta’s fault. I couldn’t help but think of how guilty Eliot must feel. Marta reached across the table and took my hand in hers,pressing her palm down sympathetically.
“Well, I’m so glad he’s found himself someone to keep company with.”
I extricated my fingers from her grasp and took a sip of the water in front of me. It tasted faintly bitter and I swallowed, my eyes downcast.
“I’m just here for the internship,” I said. In my heart, though, I hoped against hope that I could be more to Eliot than a student.
CHAPTER TEN
Eliot passed the time in his study, working on his projective algorithm problem. He knew that he was on the cusp of something, but he couldn’t figure out exactly how to make it work. Each avenue he tried got cut off at the crucial pass, and then he would have to start over again with a new guess.
Brynn came back from the lunch later in the afternoon. He opened the door to her knock, only to see her carrying a half dozen shopping bags in each hand. He waved to Marta in her car as she sped off down the driveway. A tension inside of him released when he saw Brynn again, safe and whole. He leaned forward to take her bags from her and was surprised when she kissed him on one cheek, then the other. His heart stirred at the pressure of her soft lips against his skin, and he wished he had taken the opportunity to shave while she was gone.
“I’m sorry,” he said, hefting her shopping bags in one arm and looking at her new outfit. “I’m hosting an ill-dressed American girl here in my home. Do you know where she might have gone?”
“I was not ill-dressed, only ill-dressed for Budapest,” Brynn said, a frown crinkling her nose in mock anger. She strode past him and knelt down to pet the kitten who already seemed to know her step and who had come out of the recesses of the castle’s rooms to greet her.
“So glad to see you’ve adjusted to the climate.”
“It’s adjusting to me…the sun is so nice outside, I’d swear I was in California if there wasn’t so much snow on the ground.”
“You bring the sunshine with you,” Eliot said, the words escaping his lips before he could stop them. He knew he shouldn’t be saying sweet things, shouldn’t be leading her toward anything unprofessional, but he could not help the swelling in his heart when he looked at her bright face.
“Can we go exploring?” Brynn looked up from petting the kitten, and her eyes sparkled.
“Yes, of course,” Eliot said. “Just let me put on some boots. I was working on the projection proof.”
“Oh, well, I don’t want to keep you from your work. I can go by myself.”
“No, let’s go together!” Eliot felt a rise of enthusiasm in him, and he did not know from where it came. “I could use some time to clear my head. And I don’t want you out there alone.”
“Right, right. Can Lucky come?”
Eliot looked at the small kitten and tilted his head in consideration.
“I wouldn’t chance it. There are owls out there.”
“Ah, you wouldn’t like the snow anyway, Lucky.” She placed the small kitten on the couch, but he promptly jumped off and skittered away into the corridor.
“He’s been doing a lot of exploring inside,” Eliot said.
“He hasn’t been bothering you, has he?” Brynn said.
Eliot shook his head, thinking of the kitten clawing his ankles while he tried to work on his math, then meowing for more food as soon as he had finished eating the leftover bits of turkey Eliot had given him.
“Not at all,” he said.
They walked out through the gardens in the back of the estate. Eliot had been through the paths so many times before that he could have walked through them blindly, but Brynn stopped every few feet to examine the different plants that had frosted over in the winter. She found a spider’s web sagging with the weight of froze
n dewdrops, the spider nowhere to be found. With every turn of the path came a new treasure for Brynn to muse over, and Eliot soon found himself engrossed in the minutiae of the walk, seeing the trail in a way he hadn’t seen it in a long, long time. With someone else to see Budapest for him, he was beginning again to fall in love with his homeland.
“Come,” he told Brynn, once they reached a fork in the path where the snowdrifts rose before them. “I want to show you something.” He clambered up the side of one snowdrift, feeling utterly awkward and ill-equipped for such exertions. But when he got over the snowbank and squeezed through the rock passage, he found the spot just as he had left it. A bed of rocks overlooked the pool of a small stream, now frozen over. The pine branches overhead drooped with a thousand tiny icicles off of its needles. Moss partially covered the rocks, creeping green and alive even under the frost, and he brushed the snow aside to sit down.
“This is beautiful,” Brynn said. She stood beside him, looking down into the frozen pool. Under the glassy surface, dark waters still roiled, fed by an underground river. Eliot felt his heart swell with the love of a place that can only come about through a long and intimate familiarity. He knew this bank better than he knew his bedroom.
“I used to come here all the time when I was a child.”
“You grew up here? In a castle?”
Eliot paused. He didn’t know how much to tell.
“It’s my family’s.”
“Did you ever have to defend the castle from marauding hordes?” Brynn grinned, and Eliot breathed a sigh of relief that she had not not pushed further back.
“Of course,” he said. “We just poured boiling hot oil on their heads, though.”
“No archers from the roof? Or a moat?”
“This is the only moat on the property,” Eliot said, nodding to the small stream.
“Aw,” Brynn said. “What about a torture chamber in the basement?”
