Arrival of the Traveler

by A.L. Tyler

  As forewarned, the knock on her door came at precisely 10:00 a.m. Lena had set her alarm for eight so that she would have time to unpack her suitcase into the closet, shower (Lena was fond of showering; when traveling, you never knew when your next one would be), dry her hair, and dress. She wasn’t sure what to wear at first, so she decided to wear her black corduroys and a white blouse—nice, but not formal. She hurried to the bathroom and quickly checked her appearance; she ran a hand through her straight dark hair, which always seemed to hang limp, and then hurried back out to answer the knock.

  She opened her door to find a woman, perhaps in her late fifties, short and thin with sandy white hair, wearing a dark blue conservative dress. Her pale green eyes widened a little at the sight of Lena, already awake and ready for the day.

  “Well, it’s clear you get that from your mother’s side.”

  “What?” Lena looked down, examining her clothing for anything out of place.

  “Howard Collins couldn’t get himself out of bed to flee a burning house. Dear Lord, when Masters Aaron and Howard were your age, they’d be in their bed clothes morning to night if I let them.”

  Lena smiled nervously. “My dad and I traveled a lot. Planes don’t wait for late risers.”

  “I see.” The woman smiled politely, her thin lips pursing into a crease reminiscent of the crow's feet around her eyes.

  “I’m sorry…who are you?”

  The small woman straightened up. “I am Mrs. Ralston. I’ve been taking care of your father’s side for thirty-five years. I believe I’m to guide you down to breakfast this morning? If you’re ready?”

  “Oh, yeah. Of course. Let’s go.”

  Lena stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her. She followed Mrs. Ralston back to the library, down the stairs, through the living room and kitchen, and into the dining room. Howard was already seated at the far end of a table meant for twenty. To his right, there was a place set for Lena.

  “Well, there you are. I’ve got to get to the housework.” Mrs. Ralston excused herself from the room as Lena wandered toward her place at the table.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Lena.”

  She lifted the cover from her plate to reveal eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, and orange slices. They ate quietly for fifteen minutes.

  “Uncle Howard?”

  “Hmm.”

  “I’m sorry about last night. I was really rude, and I’m sorry.” Lena let her eyes slide up to look at Howard from beneath her brow, but he was entirely engrossed in his food. He didn’t seem too concerned with her prior impoliteness.

  “Well, yes. You’re grieving, and it’s to be expected. By the way, this is for you. My number’s in it, if you need to contact me while I’m working.” He slid a rather modern looking cell phone across the table at her, which she caught and picked up for inspection. Howard rose and began making his way to a door different from the one Lena had entered through. She reflected, yet again, on how hotel-like the house was; it was too big to be a dwelling for so few people.

  “Uncle Howard?” Lena chimed in, sensing that the air had been cleared between them.

  “Yes?” He stopped and looked over his shoulder.

  “What do you do for a living?” Lena picked up the cell phone and flipped it open, examining it. She had never had one before, but presumed it was a newer design. It was shiny, small, and had a color screen. The buttons were tiny compared to the ones on hotel room phones.

  “I told you already. I work here.” Howard glanced back at her, but then diverted his gaze toward the floor.

  “Yeah…but doing what?” Lena tried to keep her tone innocently curious.

  Howard paused for a moment. “I manage the family inheritance.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Howard started for the door again.

  “Uncle Howard? What did your dad do for a living?” Lena slipped the cell phone into her pocket.

  This time Howard didn’t turn around. He paused at the door only long enough to answer her question. “The same thing I do.”

  Left alone in the dining room, Lena finished her breakfast pondering how the Collins must have come to be so rich. Investing, maybe? Property development? Black market drug smuggling? She remembered a man in South America who had explained the drug trade to her once, and it was supposed to be very profitable, if somewhat illegal. Once finished with her meal, Lena sat for a moment, unsure of what to do.

  “Well, I guess he did tell me that I’m welcome to look around.” She murmured to herself. She stood and went back to the kitchen.

  It was eerie how quiet the house was; there weren’t even any old-fashioned ticking clocks to disturb the silence. The main floor of the house was composed of the kitchen, living room, dining room, entrance hall, some sort of large room that looked like it had been designed for guest entertainment, and the small side entrance she’d come through the night before.

  Up the stairs and into the library, she inspected the room as she hadn’t had the chance the night before. Most of the books were old, which didn’t surprise her; Howard didn’t seem the type who read a lot. The shelves seemed somewhat sparsely populated, and most of the volumes kept there were dusty. There were a few objects that she recognized as being from other countries, and others she didn’t, but also suspected of being of foreign origin. There was a delicately painted boomerang, a blue glass evil eye, a hand carved totem pole, an onyx Egyptian cat, and several other items that she did or did not recognize, but seemed to be small souvenirs of worldly travel.

  Lena sighed and moved out into the hall, looking at the many identical doors which lined the corridor. Deciding she needed a method, she walked to the far left of the hall, where her room was located, and determined to discover each new room successively while moving back the other way. But when she reached her own bedroom door, she noticed something that she hadn’t the night before. There was a patch of slightly darker paint, just there, to the left of the door. It was rectangular. Lena blinked her eyes a few times to be sure it wasn’t a trick of the light, but no, it was still there…

  She turned around and looked at the wall across the way. It had two rectangular patches, and something else—nail holes, positioned at the exact top and middle of each patch. Walking down the hall, she found several more dark spots on the walls. She laid her hand against the cold, oddly bi-colored plaster of the wall as her brow furrowed.

  Lena finally realized what was happening. Someone had recently removed a great deal of framed art from this hall. For cleaning, or some other reason? She distantly noted that she would have to ask Uncle Howard at lunch.

  Going back to her starting point, she opened the door across from hers. Another bedroom, done in blue. The next door: bedroom, red. And the next: bedroom, white. She passed two more bedrooms (purple and yellow), and found herself back at the library door. She stared down at the two remaining doors and thought to herself: Let me guess, more bedrooms?

  She was wrong.

  The first door on the other half of the hall opened into yet another hallway. The walls were painted a black or very dark blue, and the only other door lay at the other end.

  Now what could this be…

  She started walking toward the other door, pausing halfway down the hall as a sudden fit of vertigo caught her. She leaned against the wall, staring down at the darkness, where she was sure the floor existed even if she couldn’t see it; momentarily she fancied herself about to fall down a rabbit hole as Alice had done, but then dismissed the thought as childish. Grabbing the handle of the far door, she took a deep breath and opened it.

  The space beyond was astounding. It appeared to be some sort of greenhouse, built off the back of the house. It was two stories tall, and made entirely of glass, and round—it only touched the main house at the door Lena entered through. There were plants of all sorts, but most of them were dead. Leaves of all shapes and sizes littered both the first and second story paths. Dead vines climbed the glass w
alls, as if they’d been seeking escape. A raised, wrought-iron path curved along the walls of the greenhouse, meeting at the far side of the circular space, where a spiral staircase led down to the ground level. Leaning over the rail, Lena could see statues of various forms poised throughout the dead garden; rabbits of quartz, frogs in jade, a dog in some sort of speckled black and white stone…

  And in the very middle, there was a large, round pond. Bright orange fish swam about in it, watched over by a strikingly realistic carving of a young man. He had on workman’s jeans, a tired old blue shirt, and had rather ruffled looking hair. Lena began to walk the suspended second story path toward the stairs to get a better look, wondering how a statue could be so perfectly carved to match life. She looked back and suddenly saw the statue was watching her. She inhaled sharply and stopped, wide-eyed.

  “I’m sorry,” said the stranger, smiling, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Lena gathered herself quickly as she felt his eyes on her. “Well, you did.”

  His demeanor seemed to change, and the amusement in his eyes went icy at her tone. “Maybe you shouldn’t go wandering where you’re not supposed to, then.” He smirked and picked up a pond net that was lying behind some bushes.

  “I live here. I can go anywhere I want to. You, on the other hand, appear to be hired help.” Challenged by his reprimand, Lena crossed her arms; still stationed on the second level, she tried to look condescending. She immediately regretted this choice.  

  He stopped and turned to face her, letting the net clatter onto the stone paving around the pond. His face contorted into rage; although she couldn’t tell when he was well collected, it was clear to Lena now that he was no more than a few years older than she was.

  “What did you say?” If his eyes had glowed red, Lena couldn’t have been more afraid.

  “I…I…” She started to back away.

  “No. Say it again,” He said, sneering. He started for the stairs.

  Lena turned and ran; back through the narrow passage, down the hall, and standing before her bedroom door, she paused and looked back.

  Everything was quiet; for a moment, she wondered if it had been her imagination. Then, to her great horror, she saw the greenhouse door creep open as a face topped with brown, ruffled hair peered out.

  Yelping, she ran into her room and locked the door behind her. She backed away, still scared witless, as she heard footsteps coming down the hall. She saw a shadow stop in front of her door, and thought she heard soft chuckling as the shadow moved away and the footsteps retreated. Lena swallowed hard.

  She looked over at the clock and decided it might be a better choice to stay in her room until it was time for lunch. She got the book out of her carryon bag and started to read it, even though she had already read it four times before and there was a perfectly charming library less than fifty feet away. Two hours rolled by before a loud knock came at her door. Still scared, Lena was afraid to answer it.

  “Who is it?” She called.

  “It’s Mrs. Ralston, dear, who did you think it would be!” Mrs. Ralston sounded very annoyed.

  Opening the door, Lena saw Mrs. Ralston’s face, puckered as though there were a sour taste in her mouth. “May I ask what you’ve been doing up here? Master Collins has been waiting for you to join him at lunch for nearly thirty minutes!”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ralston!” Lena wanted to hug the woman for coming to find her, but thought this would be viewed as highly inappropriate, and settled for a good apology.

  As they started down the hall together, Lena tried to explain herself.

  “It was that boy—the one who does the yard work!”

  “Yes, and what’s he to do with your absence?”

  “He scared the crap out of me!” Mrs. Ralston shot Lena a look of shear poison. “I—sorry. He really got me going though. We had a little fight in the greenhouse, and he chased me up to my room, and I swear I thought he was going to hurt me!”

  “Well, David’s no threat to anybody. I understand he can be a little intense at times, but really, that’s all.” They started down the library stairs. “He’s a strange boy. He keeps to himself more than any other child I’ve ever known, and doesn’t like to be interfered with.”

  “Mrs. Ralston…”

  Mrs. Ralston stopped at the bottom of the stairs and faced the girl very frankly. Seeing that Lena was genuinely upset, she made the decision to intervene.

  “David comes to this house from a troubled past, Lena. He won’t discuss what his circumstances were before he arrived here, but suffice it to say that he has no decent family and something has happened to make him distrust the world. Leave him be and you’ll both be the better for it.” Seeing that this explanation did little to mollify Lena’s concerns, Mrs. Ralston sighed, and then added, “I’ll have a word with him, if it will make you feel better.”

  “Thank you.” Lena said quietly.

  Mrs. Ralston walked her to the dining room, where Uncle Howard sat impatiently crutching his head on one hand.

  “Well?” He said, looking at Lena.

  Blushing, Lena opened her mouth to speak, but Mrs. Ralston got to it first.

  “Children at play, I’m afraid. We’ve already had our little chat, so you can go right to lunch.”

  Lena sat down.

  “You know, you didn’t have to wait for me.” She said with a wry smile.

  “In this house, Lena, disrespect is not tolerated. Even in response to another’s disrespect.” Howard responded flatly.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, try not to do it again. I’m happy to hear you’ve met our David; what did you think of him?” Howard smiled and started into his lunch.

  “Uh…He’s great.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh yeah. We got along just great…” Despite their earlier confrontation, Lena saw no reason to get him in trouble with both Ralston and Uncle Howard; she had been, after all, the one who had picked the fight. Really. “He’s your adopted son, or something?”

  Howard stopped with his knife and fork poised over his plate, like a musician awaiting the instruction of a conductor. “No…he’s more like a foster child.”

  “One that works for you?” Lena asked curiously. She hadn’t meant to do anything but make conversation, but the look on Howard’s face seemed to make her think she had accused him of something.

  Howard looked stumped, but then his eyes lit up. “He’s not exactly a foster child either, no. We—Rosaleen and I—met him through some friends of friends, and found that he needed a home and some money to start out on his own when he was old enough. We took him in out of charity. It isn’t a formal situation at all…he only pitches in like the rest of us. David keeps the grounds, Rosaleen keeps the house, and I—“

  “Manage the family inheritance.” Lena’s voice echoed Howard’s as he spoke.

  “—exactly.” Howard smiled good-naturedly. “I suspect that we’ll need to find some ways for you to pitch in now, too.”

  Lena tried not to let the sarcasm she felt sneak into her voice. “Great.”

  Howard bowed over his food again. Lena watched him stare directly down at his plate, purposefully avoiding her gaze, and wondered if he was just as put off by his sudden circumstances as she was by hers. He had lived almost alone until she came along; he had eaten alone until today. It couldn’t be an easy adjustment for him, either.

  “Uncle Howard?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I wanted to ask you something about the upstairs hall…”

  “Mmmhmm. Which one?”

  “Oh—the second floor hall.” Lena had almost forgotten the expanse of the house.

  “Okay.”

  “Well, I noticed that there used to be some pictures or something hanging on the walls, and now—“

  “They’ve been taken down to repaint. That’s all. Redecorating. I didn’t much like them there, anyway. They probably won’t be returning.” Howard cleared his throat, and clutched h
is silverware aggressively.

  “Oh. Okay. What color is it going to be next?”

  “Sorry?”

  “You said you were repainting the hall…” Lena’s voice trailed off.

  “Oh…uh, same color. Same color as now.” Howard was beyond annoyed with her; he was afraid.

  “Okay…” Lena eyed him suspiciously. Howard was beginning to sweat, and she was starting to question if all of his odd behavior could be explained by an upset in his routine.

  “Well, that was a good lunch, now wasn’t it?” His food was barely touched. He patted his napkin gingerly to his mouth, scratched his ear, and rose, almost bolting from the room. Once the kitchen door closed behind him, Lena rose, intending to silently follow him, but stopped when she heard voices in the kitchen.

  “Rosaleen, send David out for paint. I need the second floor hall redone.” Lena’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t like being lied to.

  “And when did we decide this?” Rosaleen’s voice was softly interrogative, like a mother questioning the poor decision of a child.

  “Just now. If you could have him on it by tonight it’d be much appreciated.” Howard sighed heavily; Lena pressed her ear hard against the door as Howard’s voice lowered. “…avoid further questions.”

  “Well, certainly Master Collins…”

  “Thank you.” And she heard footsteps leaving toward the living room.

  “Is something wrong? Howard?” Rosaleen still had the quiet lilt of superiority tingeing her voice.

  The footsteps stopped. “No, not wrong. Not as expected, perhaps.” And he walked away.

  What was that supposed to mean? And why was he so upset about the pictures in the upstairs hall? Having lived a life of constant change, Lena was not familiar with the feeling of intrigue that was boiling up inside of her. It made her mind race and her hands shake to think that there was something in this house that her uncle didn’t want her to know; he had a secret worth keeping, even from a nobody like his niece. A complex interpersonal relationship—one very much unlike the open and honest relationship she'd had with her father.

  It was the kind of thing that Lena had only read about in novels.

  She waited a moment before entering the kitchen, intent on finding out before the curiosity killed her. She feigned surprise. “Mrs. Ralston, I didn’t know you were in here.”

  Mrs. Ralston didn’t seem impressed by Lena’s acting as she glanced up from the small pile of burlap brown potatoes that she was peeling. “Well, yes, the kitchen is one of the busiest rooms in the home, dear.”

  “Not with you around, ma’am.”  Lena said with a charming smile.  "Everything just seems to fall in line."

  Ralston raised her eyebrows at the attempted brown nosing. She’d seen the trick before.

  Lena went on. “So, Uncle Howard and I were just talking about how he’s been planning for a while to repaint the upstairs hall.”

  “The second floor?” Mrs. Ralston replied ordinarily. “Well, yes, I suppose he’s been talking about that for a few days now…”

  Lena waited until Mrs. Ralston seemed to have her attention back on the potatoes before she struck. “Yeah, and…Well, let me just ask you, what do you think of his color selection? I mean, honestly, I was a little surprised.”

  Mrs. Ralston’s mouth fell slightly open, and she looked up at Lena, seeming to realize what had just happened. She turned away and didn’t speak for a minute. When she turned back, she looked completely calm. “Well, I think the Master has fine taste in decoration.”

  Sidling up next to her, Lena whispered, “Mrs. Ralston, what color is Uncle Howard painting the second floor hall?”

  Ralston turned away again, pretending to wipe up a spot on the counter. The slight blush that had graced her face before had left, leaving her cheeks very pale.

  “I’m sure it’s not my place to say.” They locked eyes for a moment, and then Mrs. Ralston swept out of the room. Lena stood, shocked. Mrs. Ralston had just admitted, in her own prim way, that she was lying for Howard. Lena turned and tried to follow her, but she was already halfway up the stairs and moving at a fast pace.

  “Mrs. Ralston!”

  Up into the library, into the hall, to the right…

  “Mrs. Ralston, wait! Please!”

  Lena turned the corner into the second story hall just in time to see the hem of Mrs. Ralston’s dress disappear beyond the last door at the right end of the hall.

  She dashed after her, following Mrs. Ralston right into a room that seemed to be some sort of study. The odd thing was that upon entering the room, Lena saw a desk, a sitting area, some small bookcases, a mini bar…but no Mrs. Ralston. And no stairs, and no other doors. This room, which Lena had just distinctly watched Mrs. Ralston enter, held no Mrs. Ralston. She walked the perimeter of the room several times, attempting to ascertain where the aged woman had disappeared to, but found no suspicious seams in the walls or secret doors. There was a light buzzing in her head, like she had very suddenly come down with altitude sickness; it probably had to do with the fact that she hadn’t eaten much at lunch.

  Determined not to be outwitted, Lena grabbed one of the books from a nearby bookcase, sat at the desk, and waited. Mrs. Ralston had to come back at some point…

  Five hours and two hundred and fifty-three pages later, there was a knock at the door. Lena looked over the top of her book, Moby Dick, at Mrs. Ralston as she entered the room.

  “I thought I’d find you in here.” Mrs. Ralston said high-handedly.

  Lena sat up straighter in her seat. “How did you—“

  “It’s a big house, dear. And trust me, as far as houses go, those who clean them know them best.” She smiled coyly.

  Lena sighed and threw her book onto the desk, where it landed with a noisy clap. “Well, what is it?”

  “Dinner is at seven. The Master asked me to remind you after the mishap earlier.” Mrs. Ralston smiled again, this time wider.

  “Thank you.” Lena said in a defeated tone, her eyes wandering the room once more, searching for the secret escape hatch.

  “It’s been my pleasure.” Mrs. Ralston started to leave, but then poked her head back into the room. “And dear, dinner at Waldgrave is a formal affair. I trust you have something to wear?” Mrs. Ralston raised her eyebrows.

  “Yes, I’ll find something.” Lena had only one formal dress; because she had moved around so much, and no one but her father had ever seen her more than once in a formal situation, it had been all that she had required. It was a black dress that was supposed to be ankle-length, but she had outgrown it by three inches since she had bought it; she vaguely reflected that she had worn it to two funerals in the last month. It would have to do for tonight.

  “Remember dear, seven o’clock.” Mrs. Ralston turned and exited the room.

  Lena made a face once the old woman had turned away. Seeing no reason to stay, she picked up Moby Dick, put it back on the self, and went out into the hall. It was half blue, half white now, and Lena crinkled her nose as she caught a whiff of the heavy paint fumes.

  And standing halfway down the hall was the last person she wanted to see.

  “Hey, princess!”

  Lena turned and went back into the study. She closed the door, but to her dismay, found there was no lock. She sat with her back to the door, hoping to brace herself if David tried to come in. But he didn’t. Standing outside the door, he started talking in an unexpectedly civilized manner.

  “Look princess, Mrs. Ralston told me I gave you quite a scare earlier. You said some things you shouldn’t have, and I forgive you.”

  In all her life, Lena had never met a hotel worker as impertinent as this one. He was talking to her as though she was in the wrong, and not him. His livelihood came right out of Uncle Howard’s pocket, and Lena was now financially tied to Howard, so really he was her servant, too. She had never actually yelled at a maid or concierge in her life, but figured that now was as good a time as any to start. She mustered her anger,
stood, and opened the door. “What do you mean, you forgive me?! Right now, I should be forgiving you! You ass!” She slammed the door shut and sat down to brace herself again.

  “Well. You are a fiery one.” David paused, but didn’t seem upset. He chose his words carefully, like scouts sent to figure out the best path to an amicable relationship. “If it makes you feel better, I’m sorry you’re upset about me. You’ve got a pretty face, and you shouldn’t waste good looks acting like that.”

  Lena stood and opened the door again, intending to tell him off for his insolence, but quickly found she had nothing to say. So she just stood there, mouth wide open, feeling stupid. He was taller than she remembered. Taller than she was, anyway. With brown eyes.

  “Girls are easy. Give out a compliment, and they shut up.” He headed back to where he was painting, shaking his head and smirking slightly.

  “Excuse me!” Lena called, hoping she would think of an insult at some point in the next few milliseconds. David turned and looked at her, still slightly bemused. “I…need to get dressed for dinner.” Deep down, she was kicking herself.

  “Yes. You do.” He smiled and turned back to his work, dipping his paint roller back into the well of the tray and then squeezing out the excess. It made a sticky noise, like the smacking of gum on teeth, with every pass over the traction bumps on the tilted tray ramp; it disgusted David on a much deeper level than it should have.

  Lena walked down the hall, quickening her pace after she passed him—David’s temper had momentarily cooled towards her, but her mind had painted an unsettling image of him as a coiled snake. Charming, tranquil, and sleek one moment; fangs, rattling, and venomous pain the next.

  Once she had her door open, she took a deep breath to steady herself before turning to look back at him, refusing to live in fear. She shouted, “Hired help!” and watched David turn beet red before closing the door and locking it.

  It was an hour and thirty minutes until dinner started, and she wished she would have brought Moby Dick with her. Instead, she walked into the closet and shuffled through the clothes in the closet.

  She sighed as she thought about her stunted collection of attire. In all, she had only five day outfits, and that wouldn’t be enough now that she would be seeing the same people over and over again. She would have to ask Howard about money for shopping, a thing she truly hated to do, as she was already here on his charity.

  But then, he is my legal guardian now, and is responsible for keeping me… Besides, it’s not like he’s a poor man…

  It helped, but Lena still didn’t want to have to ask.

  As she searched for the black dress, she became puzzled.

  I know I hung it up here this morning…right at the end of the line, just like always…

  But it wasn’t there.

  How strange.

  She went to her suitcase, which she had pushed up next to her father’s, and opened it. There was the dress, the lone article left at the bottom, in a heap.

  I know I didn’t leave it like that...

  But as she lifted it out, she saw that it wasn’t alone in the suitcase—there, underneath her old black dress, was a brightly colored something she had never seen before.

  It was a red dress, with glass beads done into the elaborate embroidery around the waistline. Entranced, Lena took it from her suitcase and out into the last of the daylight streaming through the gossamer drapes of the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed either side of her bed. The beads, no larger than pecks of birdseed, twinkled like stars and dispersed tiny bits of sunset light onto the walls and high onto the ceiling. The effect of the little pinpoints of red and orange on the dimming green walls was spectacular—like thousands of fireflies zooming around the room. It was dazzling.

  They don’t make dresses like this anymore… Lena thought, examining the hand-sewn details that traced delicate swirls around the fabric. I wonder who left it here? But for the moment she didn’t care about anything except trying on her exquisite find.

  She ran to the full length mirror in the bathroom to see how she looked, and at once felt ashamed that she didn’t wear makeup. The dress was made for someone with a body and face to match, someone who wasn’t her, someone who must have been much, much prettier than she was. Her hair had no volume, and her skin was too pale. It was embarrassing, to say the least—she was being outshined by a piece of cloth. She’d never owned anything as nice or as expensive as this dress, and she was beginning to see why.

  People like me don’t wear things like this.

  It was too elegant and affluent and…good…for her. She liked the old dress, the one she traveled with, that her father had bought for her.

  Lena was almost brought to tears. It hadn’t been Mrs. Ralston, because she had questioned whether Lena had anything to wear at all, so it must have been Uncle Howard. And now she would have to wear it, looking like a boar in a ball gown, or risk insulting the only relative she had left.

  She put her hair up as fancy as she knew how, but it didn’t help. As she was washing her face with cold water, trying to ebb the tears that were drawing closer, a knock came at the door.

  To her horror, it wasn’t Mrs. Ralston.

  “Whoa…princess…” David smelled of having showered, and had put on a clean shirt and worn-looking slacks.

  “What do you want?” Now she really was crying.

  “Howard wanted me to escort you to dinner, and may I say, you look…wow.”

  “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” Her lip trembled. “I’m not hungry, so just go and tell Howard he’ll have to eat without me tonight.”

  “Why are you crying? Are you sick?” There was a real concern in his voice as she turned and started to walk back into her room, not even caring enough to close the door in his face again.

  “I’d like to continue this conversation, but I’m pretty sure it would be improper of me to follow you in there, princess…”

  Lena sighed in exasperation. “You’re such a jerk, you know that?”

  He took two steps into the room, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her out into the hall, closing the door behind her.

  “I’m not going to dinner.” She said flatly.

  “You are, and we’re going to have a talk first.” He pulled her down the hall and into the library. Forcing her into a chair, he stood across from her and took a deep breath, shaking his head.

  “You’re the only girl I know who couldn’t enjoy living in a place like this.”

  “Really, and I suppose you consider yourself a field expert on women?”

  He looked up at her, mock surprise on his face. “Of course I am.”

  She couldn’t help herself, and smiled.

  “See, now that’s better.” He grabbed the box of tissues sitting on the table next to him and thrust them at her. “Now, clean yourself up and tell me what this is about.”

  She mopped her face. “It’s the dress.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing. That’s the problem. Someone like me shouldn’t wear something like this.”

  “But you look stunning.”

  “No, David,” she stood up in frustration and started pacing the room, “This dress looks stunning. I look horrible.”

  “Well, you do now, but like I said, that’s more about your behavior than anything else.”

  Lena glared at him. There were footsteps on the stairs, and Mrs. Ralston’s head bobbed into view.

  “My goodness, what’s going on in here…” her eyes were as large as the dinner plates she had just laid out. “Lena? David, what’s going on here?”

  *****