IV
Three weeks passed by casually. Ariadne kept the remote desert regions of Arizona out of her mind and let the Mediterranean sun court her supple skin. She was getting along really well with Lucien and had become best of friends. Cultural differences could not stop them from sharing their intimate secrets with one another. Never in her wildest dreams did Ariadne ever imagine it would be so simple to talk to a stranger about all those intimate details of her life that she managed to keep hidden from her acquaintances in Arizona all this time. She could open up to Lucien about everything. She could tell him of her love for dogs and cakes. She could tell him how much she enjoyed window shopping. She could disclose to Lucien about the exact slices of pizzas she could consume. She could tell Lucien of all things silly and all things intimate. Ariadne could tell Lucien of the pains and the disappointments that had haunted her since the very beginning. Perhaps it was the strange beauty of the place, the sunny boulevards and their unflinching poetic honesty that made Ariadne open to a stranger in a strange land. To her immense surprise, Lucien did not take offense to her stories in the least. He was not surprised when he heard about her prostitution days or when she narrated her experiences at the orphanage or the foster homes. Lucien comforted her with an acknowledging smile and reminded her that poverty and grime was universal. What Ariadne saw in Paris was a miasmic deception. Paris was not only about riches, splendor and the maudlin Mediterranean calm. Paris, perhaps most of France, was writhing in pain, suffering and poverty. Destitute poets and artists roamed about the streets of Paris with rejected manuscripts in their hands and hunger in their hearts. Life for the financially privileged was no cakewalk either. The privileged were like wage earners, doomed to a life of eternal slavery and servitude. They were playthings of corporate systems whose consciences had been drained out of their lives, rendering them hollow, sluggish and cruel. They lacked company and a hearty conversation, hence they made love. While the sunny side of Paris was indeed sunny and gay, there was another side to Paris which was littered with vomit and hangovers, characterized by loveless intimacy and hollow appreciation of the arts. Lucien convinced Ariadne that her existence was sheer poetry in itself. All her sufferings defined her and she did a fine job growing up. Needless to say, for the first time Ariadne was falling in love. She had never fallen in love before. Perhaps that was one of the setbacks of being an early age whore. One sets one’s standard of men very high. It becomes almost impossible to fall in love. Ariadne, for the first time felt tenderness for a man. Lucien was the first man to have made so much sense to her. She admired his devotion to the arts and his maudlin poetic ways, his lisping English and hasty retreat to native French. It was all very adorable. In Ariadne’s mind, Lucien was a mad man in a suit and a hat. Lucien had to be her Mad Hatter.
Chapter 3
I
Good times do not last and Wonderlands vanish when it is time to wake up. Alice was having a great time with her Hatter when she realized it was time to be Ariadne Silver again. She was the proud owner of a chain of spas and she had business obligations. Although her legal exchanges with Lucien were done and dealt with, Ariadne kept inventing reasons to convince herself that she was not wasting time in France. Back in business reality, Ariadne’s extended leave from work looked silly and unprofessional. She had to gather herself together and get back to Arizona. Ariadne did not want to go away so soon. The French sun tried arduously to convince her to stay back. The ripples of the Seine reminded her of the wonderful time she was having in France. The cafes tried to tell her that going back would only mean that she was leaving her childhood fantasy incomplete. The aroma tempted her to let the American obligations go and that she should let her soul enrich itself here, amidst the art and poetry of France. Somewhere in her mind little Alice kept coaxing Ariadne to find a reason to stay. It was true she had started developing strong feelings for Lucien but he was not substantial reason for her to stay back in France. She grew up in a world where her father remained blissfully absent and men paid money to have sex with her. For her men were either cowards or customers. Although Lucien was different from the other men Ariadne ‘Alice’ Silver had ever met in her life, she did not know him enough and therefore could not trust him entirely. She had to forget everything and go back to the mundane and unimaginative life. As Ariadne packed her newly purchased clothes for her journey back home, she kept revisiting the people she had met and the places she had been to in her mind. She saw the Eiffel Tower glisten and sparkle like brilliantly lit fairies on a Tuesday evening in Paris. She revisited the perfumery, the canvasses on green spaces and all the lanes and boulevards she remembered walking on. She remembered her stay at Biarritz and the ludicrous surfing session with Lu…
Lucien had to know about her decision to move on. Perhaps he would not care. He always seemed so frank and caring that it was alarming. Ariadne was very fond of Lucien because he represented every trait Ariadne admired. However, Lucien and Ariadne varied greatly on their moral grounds and had very different perspectives of looking at life. Ariadne knew she would miss Lucien very much but she could not be sure if Lucien would feel the same way about her. When he spoke to her about the grime and filth of Paris, he spoke with a disarming candor. It was as if he reveled in poetic detachment from reality. She did not want to fall in love with a man who would find it extremely poetic to forget her the moment she went out of sight. But she had to tell him that she was going away. She took Paris and Lucien for granted. It never occurred to her that she was there for a temporary work and would soon have to return. Lucien was supposed to come over that evening for supper. Ariadne could not hope to find a better opportunity of confessing her guiltless love to Lucien. She would tell him in simple and uncomplicated words that she was beginning to fall in love with him when she realized it was time for her to return to her business affairs. If all went well, Ariadne would go back to Arizona with a slice of the Mediterranean. If not, she would go back with a broken heart and a newly discovered dead grandmother’s property. She could not have hoped for better stakes.
II
That evening, Ariadne felt anxious and uncomfortable. She was aware of her body and very aware of Lucien’s gaze. They were halfway through with their pasta when Ariadne decided to add a dimension to their evening with music. She stared deep into Lucien’s moist black eyes and tried to drink in every detail of his facial contours. Her gaze traipsed along his supple skin, rested upon his cheekbones and followed the trajectory of a single bead of sweat. Her nimble fingers grabbed hold of a wine goblet and in a pool of wine captured that singular bead of sweat trickling down Lucien’s brow. Lucien had never been courted so boldly by a lady before. The French ladies were usually coy and coquettish. They loved to provoke their men to make the first move. They felt it kept their feminine graces intact. But Ariadne was a dominatrix. If she wanted someone, she would not hide it under feminine grace. She was Amazonian with her seductive abilities. The wilderness of her spirit reflected in her seduction and Lucien felt disarmed. The boldness amazed him and amused him equally. It was something different, something new, something that smelt of adventure. He felt her prima donna presence dominate his senses and for the first time, Lucien stared at Ariadne like no man had stared at her before. Ariadne did not realize what was happening and had no idea as to what would happen next. Lucien secured Ariadne in a tight embrace and gave her a resounding kiss. All of France exploded in bursts of colors and she could hear a thousand champagne bottles uncork in her head. The lady in Ariadne woke up to the beckoning of fresh love. Ariadne was far too conversant with a human body. She understood the naked nuances of defenseless lovemaking. For Ariadne, a man’s naked body was like a poem written in blank verse. There was an undeniable beauty and rhythm in masculine bodies that otherwise go unnoticed. When Ariadne felt a little surer about what was going to happen, she decided to take control of the situation and engage in an active dialogue of two burning souls. Lucien lost himself in the profundity of Ariadne’s womanhood. Her
depth and dignity turned Lucien on and he made love to Ariadne’s body like a sculptor takes to wet clay. The Frenchman’s inebriated fingers searched though the crevices and contours of the feminine body, hoping to extract an exquisite ounce of measureless love. An intoxicated Lucien acted the Hatter to Ariadne’s Alice and took her down the rabbit hole, through several tea parties and intimate physical conundrums. Their helpless desires kept them together in the tight bounds of intimacy till a mutual climax resolved their crises. Ariadne felt secure in the grasp of a strange man in a strange land. She was in a thrall through the course of their love making. It was too poignant for words, far too beautiful to be depicted in any possible way. They concluded their mutual profession of physical love with the ceremonial lighting of two cigarettes. Silence played peek-a-boo through the rings and whorls of colored French cigarettes. Lucien interrupted their game of silence and smoke with a proposal of a short trip. Lucien wanted to go to Strasbourg in Alsace and he wanted Ariadne to come with him.
“Are you serious? You really want me to come to Alsace with you?”
“Oui!”
Ariadne could not believe what she was hearing. Here she was, getting ready to bid farewell to Lucien. She was on the receiving end of a proposal for a short trip. Life could not possibly be more absurd. She could not possibly afford to spend another week of her life spending a holiday in France. Everything in Paris happened beyond an itinerary. She had not planned for any of this to happen, yet she was in the middle of it all at this moment. The more Ariadne strove to get back on track with her old life, the more she moved away from it. Paris was entwining her in an endless fantasy and she probably did not have any clue if it was for the best or for the worst. Her weeks in Paris were a sharp contrast to her friendless and working weeks in Arizona. She had love and fantasy in Paris, but the reality of Arizona beckoned her with urgency. She grew up facing a lot of needs and trials in her life. Most of her childhood was spent in unholy pursuit for financial stability. Ariadne would hate to live that life once again. That life had nothing but insecurities and unappreciated hard work. While the businesswoman in her reprimanded her for her ridiculous indulgences in unsparingly harsh words, there was another side of her that wanted her to live her life to the fullest. She owed her miserable childhood a happy life. All said and done, three weeks of lavish drudgery seemed like a reasonable price to pay for years of abuse and poverty. She was making up for her lost time; that was all. After some deliberation Alice agreed to go to the Hatter’s tea party. Thus, on a sunny Thursday morning, Lucien Valier and Ariadne Silver took a flight and arrived at Strasbourg, Alsace. Lucien seemed to know his way around Strasbourg and guided Ariadne through lanes and alleys till they halted in front of a small sleepy cottage. Ariadne could not help but admire the Provencal carvings on the cottage windows. There was a scattered attempt at making a garden in the backyard which resulted in arbitrary growth of a few acacia and oregano plants. Lucien knocked gently on the door and waited expectantly. Ariadne could not understand any of Lucien’s gestures. She had a hunch that Lucien had probably brought her over to his parents’ house. But that would be too radical, even by Lucien’s standards. Ariadne could hardly wait outside the locked door. Soon, as if as an answer to her unspoken queries, the door opened wide to reveal a matronly woman in her late fifties holding the wheelchair handles of an eight year old girl. Had Lucien not introduced the little girl in the wheelchair as his daughter, Ariadne would never have guessed. She stood still at the door, rethinking everything she had previously thought about Lucien. She felt like murdering that part of her heart that had encouraged her to come to Alsace in the first place. Ariadne did not understand why Lucien would make love to her and not tell her about his child. For a moment, she felt like the slut that catered to the fantasies of married men who did not have the decency to open their rings before indulging in adulterous sex with Alice. She felt used and the thoughts of the night of the love making repulsed her. She was disgusted and scared. She was more scared because she felt she had let herself be used. She felt that she had allowed her guard down and let the euphoria of her childhood fantasy guide into a bottomless pit of heartbreak. She was beginning to feel guilty and vindictive at the same time. They were excellent friends before they became excellent lovers. Ariadne confided most of her secrets in Lucien, even though she did not know him and had little to almost no chance of meeting once she went back to Arizona. Ariadne felt cheated. Alice felt she was betrayed by her Mad Hatter. Being the strong woman she was, Ariadne tightened her jaws and mustered all her courage to handle the situation well. She would have to play along with the rest of them, play the game of guest and host with her lover’s secret daughter and her caregiver. She tried her best to give a convincing smile and say ‘hello’ in the most courteous way. They were led inside a cozy living room decked in pink and red with an ornate fireplace sitting in summer disuse. There was a stern grandfather clock whose ticks were punctuated with a regular silence and other mismatched objects of everyday use that betrayed the inmates’ most private daily lives to the eyes of a foreign visitor. The house was not a spacious one but it was comfortable, warm and breezy. The lingering warmth in the afternoon breeze could easily sing lullabies for a siesta. Ariadne was beginning to wonder who this house belonged to when the matronly woman pushed the little girl’s wheelchair to the harpsichords. The girl took to her harpsichord like a silent angel and eked out unearthly tunes. The melody unhinged the Ariadne and the Alice in her broke free of Arizona concerns and danced like a tipsy Maenad. In short, Ariadne was mesmerized by the mellifluous charm of the harpsichord. Lucien was waiting beside the silent angel with reverential silence. The cottage paid homage to music that afternoon and Ariadne misplaced her insecurities in brackets of melodies.
Ariadne sat motionless, struck by the divinity of melodies as Lucien Valier praised the child in fluid and rapid French. From the little she could understand from their conversation, Ariadne found out that the daughter’s name was Eugenia. Little Eugenia sat serenely in her wheelchair, looking at her father with warmth in her sparkling blue eyes. Her hair shone black in the likeness of the Virgin Diana and her lips looked like a parted petal of a lily. She was a beautiful child. Ariadne could not possibly hold a grudge against her for her father’s slip in judgment and her divine gift of music. She felt guilty. It took them an hour to get to know each other and bond as peers. Language is hardly a barrier when it comes to the intimacy of souls. Ariadne and Eugenia were after all Alice and Diana. Alice would constantly get lost in the absurdity of relationships while Eugenia would shine like a fragrant evening star, illumining the roads that lead to Absurdity itself. Ariadne lived her unseen childhood in Eugenia’s stories. Eugenia breathed life into Ariadne’s missing soul. She was beginning to get attached. For the first time, she felt the pangs of true love and now, she had walked into a cottage to be welcomed by undefined maternity. Alice and Diana had a lot in common. Alice was born on the wrong side of Wonderland in a remote, eventless stretch of land called Arizona. Diana was born in a sleepy artsy French village where Ennui claimed her for His. Both ladies grew up without a mother with little to no contribution from the distant father. Lucien visited his daughter once every year. It was difficult for him to keep his job and maintain a pleasant, regular relationship with his daughter. He left no expense unpaid for the daughter’s education and survival. If observed from a distance, Eugenia’s life seems effulgently luxurious. A closer look revealed the gilded cages that defined the limits of her freedom. Eugenia inspired Ariadne to stay back in France for another couple of weeks. If she needed good excuse, she could easily build another spa in Paris. She had her grandmother’s inheritance. The money was unplanned anyway. Perhaps life wanted to teach her yet another lesson in spontaneity. Ariadne thought over her idea very carefully over dinner and finally settled for the idea of a spa in France. She would go international and Lucien could help her with the legal matters. She could at least go back to Arizona with further promise of interacti
on with this beautiful family. In her heart Ariadne felt wedded to the Valier family, in an idiosyncratically French way.
II
Despite playing the harpsichord with such preternatural dexterity, Eugenia had never been to a music school in her life. Lucien Valier was a suave gentleman of limited means and could only provide her with a harpsichord and a well trained nanny. The little protégé learnt on her own with a little help from her nanny every now and then. She was instructed by the sheer gift of sound and her ability to distinguish between melody and noise. Eugenia’s gift could have been whetted sharper with the help of specialized instructions. Ariadne felt strangely responsible for the little child’s future and immediately resolved to send her to a good music school. Then again, Lucien Valier was a man of noble descent and extremely proud of his heritage. He would not stoop so low as to accept charity from an American stranger. If it had to be for Eugenia, Ariadne had to come up with newer devices. She could make a gift of education to Eugenia. Little Alice inside her got excited and started planning the whole set up. She would invite the Valiers to Arizona where she would throw a surprise party for Eugenia. She would set up a treasure hunt and keep the money for the music school as the final treasure. It would work out well. Lucien would not deny Ariadne the right to love his daughter. It took Ariadne three weeks to fall in love in France when she spent years in isolated depravity in the remote arid terrain of Arizona. She had finally found her Oasis. Little Alice was finally waking up into the right wonderland.
The Love I Never Knew: Contemporary Romance Mystery (Ariadne Silver Romance Mystery #1) Page 4
