For the better part of a year their relationship proceeded without a hitch. Although she had had several boyfriends in college, he was the first man to bring her regularly to orgasm. He was also the first man she had ever met who was sensitive to every one of her foibles, and they quickly developed such a rapport they both started remarking that it seemed almost as if they could read each other’s minds.
That Christmas they were married, and two months later she found out she was pregnant. It was, however, the beginning of the end. Despite Miklos’s initial excitement at the prospect of having a child, as her pregnancy advanced he became increasingly irritable. Although they had both agreed on having a baby, he fought bitterly when she tried to convert a portion of their loft to a nursery, and by the time the baby was born he had become totally convinced that being a successful father and a successful painter were two mutually incompatible things.
They toughed it out for another few months before Lauren took their son, Garrett, and moved into an apartment of her own. Although it wasn’t until another year had passed that she filed for divorce, she never really saw Miklos again.
Throughout Garrett’s childhood, her bad luck with men continued. After Miklos she met Peter. Peter worked for a rival magazine, and her relationship with him ran smoothly until he stole a story idea from her that she thought she had discussed with him in confidence. After Peter she met Julian, who turned out to be one of the worst hypochondriacs she had ever met. And after Julian, Stan, a stockbroker who seemed perfect in every way, until he was indicted on an insider-trading charge.
And after that things continued pretty much the same. Sometimes she would go for months without dating at all. And whenever she did meet someone she was interested in she knew that at some point, before the relationship became too serious, she would discover some fatal flaw. Sometimes she would find out the man was married. Sometimes she was forced to end the relationship out of sheer boredom. But whatever the reason, she seemed destined to meet nothing but jerks and losers.
Until she met Stephen.
Her first several weeks with him she was as nervous as a cat, fearful that at any moment she might discover some terrible crack in his seemingly perfect personality. But there was none. She even speckled her conversations with him with subtle and carefully worded questions designed to draw him out, but always he gave the right answers. More than that, every day with him, every hour and second, was an experience too wonderful to be true. During the day he would take her shopping at Bendel’s or to the designer boutiques at Saks and allow her to buy anything she wanted. At night they would go to parties at the Palladium, or at the home of some famous writer or movie star, and the next day they would have front-row seats for a private performance of a Broadway play. Indeed, just when she thought she had had the most nearly ultimate experience possible, Stephen would top himself again. He would fly them both to Paris on the Concord for lunch. Or fill her apartment with ten dozen red roses. Or leave a pair of diamond earrings from Cartier’s on her pillow. Or tell her he loved her at precisely the moment she needed to hear it the most.
In the brilliant afternoon sunlight that filtered in through the window she looked at him, at his sculpted profile and curly black hair. It was an added plus that he was as good-looking as he was. He was tall and muscular and had the intensity of a young Marlon Brando, with a Roman nose, square chiseled chin, and limpid and arresting green-gray eyes. He was also one of the most alive people she had ever met. Constantly on the move and never tiring at the prospect of exploring something new, he always had a sparkle about him. He could be soft and tender when the moment demanded. He could be intellectual and discuss everything from Proust to a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta. But he could also just as easily drop the polite and boyish façade and exude a brute masculinity, a raw, take-charge sensuality that, although it embarrassed her to admit it, nearly took her breath away.
She gave his hand another squeeze. Had someone told her a few months back that she would be quitting her job at People Beat and getting married again, she would have laughed in his face. She would miss working at the magazine, and she recognized what a profound change marrying Stephen had made in her life, but she was glad she had made the decision. She loved him more than any man she had ever met, and the fact that he loved her made her feel like the luckiest woman alive.
From the backseat came the sound of a page turning, and she turned around to glance at her son, Garrett, his nose as usual buried in a book. Her only concern was how the eleven-year-old was going to adjust to all the changes that had taken place in their life. It had taken her days of talking just to get him used to the idea that she had married Stephen. When she told him they would also be leaving New York and spending the summer in the mountains, he had just about died. It was an understandable reaction. After all, she was all the family he had, and now he was going to have to get used to having a stranger for a father and to adjust to an entirely new environment as well. In the end he had begrudgingly consented to the move, but she knew that he was still far from happy about it.
“What are you reading?” she asked, caring less about the subject matter of his book than about how he was feeling.
“It’s about UFOs,” he returned.
“UFOs?” Stephen said, puzzled.
“It’s space,” she explained. “Ever since he saw E.T. he’s been obsessed with anything that has to do with outer space.”
Stephen looked back at Garrett. “So what do you think about the Adirondacks so far?”
Garrett leaned forward with a scowl. “There haven’t been any houses for hours.”
“But that’s just the point,” Stephen countered. “I rented a place for us up here for the summer so we could get away from everyone else, be someplace where there’s lots of peace and quiet.”
“But will we even be able to get television up here?”
“Sure we’ll be able to get television. We’ll have all the comforts of home. Marty’s seen to everything. You’re going to love it up here. Just wait and see.”
“Yeah, I know,” Garrett huffed as he slumped back into his seat.
Lauren looked quickly at Stephen. She hoped that he had not taken Garrett’s peevishness too personally, that he realized Garrett was reacting not to him but to the upheaval in his life in general. It worried her slightly that Stephen had never had any children of his own—had never even been married before—and she hoped he understood that contending with such displays of mood was all part of being a father. In addition, Stephen’s schedule was so hectic and demanding and he was on the road so much that he and Garrett had not really spent much time together yet. That was one of the reasons she had been so excited about their moving to the mountains for the summer. She hoped it would give them all the opportunity to spend some time together and become a true family.
She was just about to try to initiate some further conversation among the three of them when suddenly the Porsche hit a bump and they turned off the road. She looked ahead and saw that they had pulled into a narrow driveway pitted and gullied by endless rains and so enclosed by trees that it seemed as if they had entered a dusky green tunnel. Difficult as it was for her to believe, the drive was even steeper than the mountain highway they had just turned off, and even the powerful Porsche strained to make the climb.
They continued on for several minutes until at last the leafy tunnel opened onto a vast and breathtakingly beautiful mountain lake. On the far shore, standing majestically on a prominence of rock, was a house. Even at a distance it was clear that it was immense, a stone fortress encrusted with turrets and gables and studded with countless dark and gleaming windows. Surrounded by towering balsams and pines it seemed more like an alpine hotel than a house for a single family.
“It’s called Lake House,” Stephen said. “What do you think? I flew up here on the sly to check it out after Marty told me about it.”
“It’s incredible!” she gasped. “When you said you had rented a lodge in the Adirondacks I th
ought you meant a cabin or something.”
“No, no,” he laughed. “Lodges in the Adirondacks are like cottages in Newport. They’re also known as ‘great camps.’ You see, in the latter half of the nineteenth century the Adirondacks became a Mecca of sorts for wealthy East Coast families. It became an issue of status to see who could build the largest and most palatial summer retreat. The Rockefellers, the Vanderbilts—they all built homes up here. Lake House was built in the 1890s by Sarah Balfram, the daughter of the railroad magnate Josiah Balfram.
I think Marty said the agent told him her fiancé jilted her and she decided to isolate herself up here in magnificent splendor. Wait until you see the inside. You’re going to love it.”
She looked at the house worriedly. “But how will I ever be able to keep it clean?”
He laughed again. “Well, first of all, Marty had a cleaning crew give the place a once-over last week so everything would be shipshape when we moved in. Then in a week or so, after we’ve had some time to ourselves, we’ll hire some permanent help. You keep forgetting you’re a lady of leisure now.” A devilish sparkle came into his dark eyes. “Besides, I didn’t marry you for your cleaning skills.”
“Oh, Stephen,” she chided playfully. But she realized he was right. It was going to take some time getting used to having people like Stephen’s manager Marty to take care of most of the busywork of everyday life.
“What’s the lake called?” Garrett asked.
“Lake Ketcimanitowa. It’s an Indian name and it’s all ours.”
Lauren looked at him with astonishment. “You mean this entire lake is also part of the rental?”
“The lake and two hundred acres of land surrounding it. I told you I had gotten us a place with lots of privacy.” She looked back at the expanse of wilderness before them and marveled that anyone might have the financial resources to rent such an immense tract of land. Yes, she thought, it was going to take her some time to get used to Stephen’s life-style, but what a marvelous challenge!
As they continued on the narrow drive she watched eagerly as still more details of the house became visible, and with every passing moment she became impressed anew with its colossal size and beauty. It would have been inaccurate to say that the house was sprawling, for like the mountains behind it it was citadel-like, with most of its mass concentrated around a central core. But out of this central core sprouted so many interconnecting peaks and gables, so many battlements and towers and tangled undergirdings of Gothic tracery, that it was impossible for her to even imagine how many rooms the house might contain.
She also noticed several other things. Although it had not been clear from a distance, surrounding the house was a great pillared veranda, and in addition to the main structure there appeared to a complex of service buildings set off to one side and artfully concealed behind a grove of trees. As they approached she saw also that the huge shelf of land on which the house sat was not just barren rock but was lushly carpeted with grass and dotted here and there with hedges.
Finally they reached the house, and Stephen pulled the Porsche to a stop beneath a colonnade of majestic black spruce. “End of the line. Everybody out.”
They all piled out, and as soon as Lauren stepped out of the air-conditioned enclosure of the Porsche the deep resinous smell of the pines flooded her nostrils. Combined with the peaceful grandeur of the mountains it nearly took her breath away.
“You still haven’t told me what you think of the place,” Stephen prodded.
She looked at the house towering above them. Under other circumstances she might have found its imposing size a bit intimidating. But this was what her new life would be like, and she’d just have to get used to it.
“Oh, Stephen, it’s fantastic! In my wildest dreams I never thought I would ever live in a house like this. I love it.”
He grinned. “I knew you would.”
She looked down at Garrett. “Isn’t it great, Garrett!” From his expression it was clear that he was also impressed, but as soon as she looked at him he quickly resumed an air of indifference. “Yeah, it’s okay.”
She smiled, realizing that at least they were making some headway.
Stephen went around to the back of the car and opened the trunk. “Come on,” he said, handing them a suitcase each. “I want to show you the inside.” As he had explained to her earlier, Marty had already arranged for the heavier baggage to be waiting for them in the house.
He took out a suitcase for himself and a case containing his guitar, and as they started up the drive a mischievousness came over him. “There is something else that you should know about the house.” There was a touch of Dracula in his voice.
“What?”
“Well, Lake House isn’t just a normal house. You see, Sarah Balfram was something of an eccentric. Apparently she had all sorts of strange things built into the house— stairways that go nowhere, hallways that end at blank walls. The house is actually quite famous. The rental agent said that it’s even been written about in books.”
“Wow, that sounds neat!” Garrett suddenly perked up again.
The revelation took Lauren by surprise, however. “What do you mean, stairways that go nowhere? How can we live in a place like that?”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry,” Stephen comforted. “The house is huge, and most of it is quite normal. It’s only around the edges that some of the rooms are a little wild.” Stephen’s eyes positively sparkled as he said the last words.
“I should have known.” Lauren rolled her eyes and laughed as they reached the house and started up the steps of the pillared veranda.
“The place is gonna be great. Just wait,” he said, setting his suitcase down and fumbling for his keys. He stuck one into the lock, but it refused to turn.
Lauren admired the oak entrance door surrounded on all sides by narrow stained-glass windows, which depicted grape arbors and lush foliage.
“What does that say?” Garrett asked, looking up.
For a moment Lauren was so mesmerized by the delicate tangle of leaves and vines in the windows that she did not see what he was talking about.
“What does what say?”
“That,” Garrett repeated.
She followed his pointing finger until she saw what he was looking at. Chiseled into the granite keystone above the uppermost window was an inscription written in Latin, and although dark and discolored with age she could still make out the words: In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni.
“I don’t know,” she returned. “Do you know what that says, Stephen?”
He shrugged. “No. Probably just some sort of greeting or something.”
The lock clicked, and Stephen smiled as he pushed the door open and gestured for them to follow.
They were greeted by an entrance hall of impossibly grand proportions. The walls were richly paneled in walnut, and at the back an elaborately carved staircase extended to a balustraded floor above. High overhead an amber pendant chandelier tinkled in the breeze that rustled past them, and on all sides elaborate spindlework archways led to cavernous and equally resplendent rooms beyond. To the left of the door was a coachmen’s waiting room, a relic from a time when carriages had been the main mode of transportation for inhabitants of the house. The entire hall was pervaded by a magical emerald light. It was several seconds before Lauren realized that the green glow was caused by the late-afternoon sun streaming through the stained-glass windows behind them.
Stephen was now so excited he seemed like a little kid on Christmas morning. “Let’s put our bags down here for the time being. I want to show you some more of the house before we take them up to our rooms.”
He motioned for them to follow him through the spindlework archway to the right, and after passing through a small sitting room they entered an enormous drawing room some twenty feet wide and sixty feet long. The ceiling of the vast chamber was of vaulted oak, and on the floor was one of the largest oriental carpets that Lauren had ever seen. At the far end of
the room two eighteenth-century griffins stood guard on either side of a massive granite fireplace, and on the walls an octet of reindeer heads gazed dumbly at the various arrangements of sofas and wing chairs that filled the expanse. But the most striking feature of the room was the solid bank of leaded windows that lined its southern side, affording a spectacular view of the lake and mountains.
She turned around dizzily. “Oh, Stephen, it’s beautiful. It’s one of the most extraordinary houses I’ve ever seen.” She ran over and hugged him tightly as Garrett contrived to examine a stuffed pheasant.
“Check this out.” Stephen pulled her over to what looked like a door leading off the drawing room and swung it back to reveal that it opened onto a solid brick wall. “This is the real door,” he said, closing the first and opening another several feet away.
Lauren shook her head and closed her eyes as if the craziness and wondrousness of it all was simply too much for her.
“The kitchen’s this way,” Stephen said, walking through the real door.
He continued to lead them on a tour of the outer rooms of the first floor, through the kitchen, pantry, and larder, through a ruby-red dining room with velvet walls, through a library with walls of green Spanish leather, a Moorish-styled billiard room, and numerous other sitting rooms and parlors and two long completely enclosed sun porches running parallel to each other on opposite sides of the house and appointed with identical but oppositely arranged wicker furnishings.
Through all of it Lauren became increasingly enchanted by the house as well as the many magnificent possessions it contained, windows bedecked in diaphanous curtains with cobweb edging, tables draped with seventeenth-century French lace with minute, perfect men and animals embroidered among their gossamer threads, globes of Favrile glass, lamps in the form of brass mermaids holding nautilus shells, Tiffany inkstands, and bright-green Russian malachite boxes.
Night Things: A Novel of Supernatural Terror Page 2
