by Juniper Hart
The more Nora thought about it, the less she was able to remember a time before their escape to the alps. Though the fact depressed her greatly, there was no one she could speak to about it; no one but the white canvasses around her, which turned black with her innermost thoughts.
Sighing, she turned away from the endless falling snow and gazed at her supplies, wondering if she would get any work done soon.
It is not as if anyone is waiting on me, Nora thought with some bitterness.
It had been quite a long time since a deadline had created a light of excitement in her soul. Gone were the days of agents and accounts. Then again, there had never truly been any people waiting to purchase one of her pieces.
Now, instead of the promise of business, all that remained was the icy, but beautiful, Swiss days and the long, starlit nights where she pined for a different time.
I can’t stay here, she thought mournfully. I will lose my mind.
Slowly, Nora rose from the cushioned window seat and reluctantly headed toward the door, her silk nightgown swirling around about her slender ankles as she moved. Tentatively, she opened the door and peered into the corridor before slipping out into the brightly lit house.
“Ah, mademoiselle!”
Nora froze in her tracks, slowly turning to address the woman who had called out to her: Collette, the housekeeper.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, smiling kindly. “I will fix you some breakfast, if you’d like.”
“No, thank you,” Nora said, immediately shaking her head.
Collette’s green eyes narrowed, and Nora could tell she was about to be lectured.
“Mademoiselle Nora,” she began, “you have not eaten properly in days. I realize that artistes are a different breed of person, but you are still a person, are you not? You must eat something! Monsieur Charpentier will be displeased when he calls for your update and I tell him you have not touched a morsel of food.”
Nora bit back a scathing remark and lowered her dark eyes toward the Calamander wood of the floor beneath her bare feet.
If Jerome has such concerns, he can deal with me himself, she thought to herself, but of course, she said nothing to Collette. It was not the housekeeper’s fault that she had been named babysitter to Nora while Jerome was gone. Why did she even require a babysitter in his absence? Was there something wrong with her? Did Jerome not trust her to be alone?
“I will fix you whatever you please, chérie,” Collette continued, eyeing her pleadingly, and Nora stifled a sigh. It wouldn’t do either of them any good, and she didn’t want to get Collette in trouble.
“Whatever you want, Collette,” she replied dully. “I just want to shower and change first.”
The older woman’s face exploded into a look of relief so great that Nora felt guilty for having been locked up in her room.
I am not the only one who is trapped under the thumb of that unbending brute, she thought, but she was again consumed with shame. Jerome loved her, and he only wanted what was best for her. How dare you think of him so rudely? You are lucky no one can hear your thoughts.
“What shall I have waiting for you, mademoiselle?” Collette pressed as Nora turned to leave.
Nora sighed to herself. “I… I will decide as I bathe.”
There was never enough quietness for her to get some peace of mind—not unless she sat inside her studio and lost herself in the snow globe of her life, disconnected from the rest of the household.
She ascended the floating staircase to the second floor of the chalet, vaguely aware of the skylights emanating weak, gray rays onto the pristine interior of the place she had called home.
Living in the alps had been Jerome’s idea all those years ago, and Nora tried to recall the excitement she experienced when he had first suggested it.
“Just imagine, chérie,” he had said, his blue eye glimmering with the prospect. “You and me in our own paradise, separated from the scandal of the rest of the world. No judgements, no distractions. Only each other and our art. We can finally live the life we have always dreamed about.”
It had been appealing, and it had been truly wonderful at first, but then his work had abruptly consumed his life, and suddenly, it was only Nora and her art rather than the two of them and their art.
Why does he leave me for such long periods? It was not a fair question to ask herself. Although Nora knew that Jerome didn’t have any other choice, she couldn’t help feeling resentful of him, despite being fully aware that, if she were in his shoes, she would do the exact same thing. If she were given a chance to leave this glass prison and meet with the outside world again, of course she would take it.
A pang of sadness filled her heart as she entered the master bedroom, slipping her nightgown over her head. Tossing the delicate item aside, she made her way into the spacious dressing room, another skylight illuminating the otherwise dim room.
Nora wanted to know what time it was, and she glanced around for a clock before remembering that, for being such a splendid home, there were so few clocks in the house.
Jerome preferred it that way.
“It is so much better without the constraints of time hanging over our heads, don’t you agree, chérie?” he often said, and Nora agreed with him, just like she always did.
Day and night were only marked by darkness and light, the hours losing their purpose as she grew more and more reclusive.
I still have my art, she told herself as she gazed at her naked frame in the mirror. If nothing else, I must remember I still have my art.
Jerome had once described her as ageless, a timeless beauty of classical proportions with the porcelain skin of a doll and the even features of a Madonna. A tangled mop of ebony hair spilled indifferently along her shoulders, almost touching her slender waist in a mass of unkempt waves.
Nora put her hands up to examine her reflection, fingertips tracing the lines of her full lips and high cheekbones. She leaned forward, studying the deep brown of her irises as though she could stare into her own soul.
Are you still in there? she asked herself. Am I still in there?
A noise in the bedroom caused her to whirl, and she gazed out into the master bedroom to see Alex tidying the chambers, oblivious to her naked employer watching.
Alex used the feather duster to work along the expensive furnishings, humming softly to herself as music apparently piped into her ears through her earbuds.
Nora stepped back into the shadows of the dressing room, but she continued to watch the girl do her work. For a moment, Nora envied her. What she wouldn’t give to be a chambermaid again, emptying chamber pots and living her life as a free woman without the pain she had now.
Nora shook her head to herself. Where had that thought come from? She had never in her life been a chambermaid.
I was born into a rich family like a princess who found her handsome prince, she laughed to herself. A prince who swept me away to live in an ice palace.
“Mademoiselle Nora!”
She jumped at the startled cry from Alex when she finally noticed she had been watching her work. Nora forced a smile onto her face and showed herself before the young girl, who gaped at her in horror.
“I did not know you were here! Forgive me!” Alex continued, backing away, but Nora shook her head, her hair bobbing around her.
“I am glad you are here,” she said. “You can brush my hair before I bathe.”
Alex popped her earbuds out, her face stained with an embarrassed pink flush.
“Of course, mademoiselle,” the maid replied, darting her eyes downward. “I’ll find you a robe.”
Nora waved her hand dismissively.
“There is no need,” she told Alex. “I will shower directly after.”
Alex swallowed visibly, but she did not argue as Nora moved toward her before plopping down in the chair facing the vanity. Alex reached for a hair brush so that she could begin.
“How are you liking it here, Alex?” Nora asked as the girl gently tr
ied to make sense of the mess that was her hair.
As Nora looked at her reflection, she wondered when was the last time she had brushed her hair? Had she truly wasted away so much time? So many days?
“Very much, mademoiselle,” Alex quickly answered. “Everyone is so nice here.”
A small smile formed on Nora’s lips. “Yes,” she agreed. “The staff is well screened. Jerome and I have little patience for drama, you see.”
Alex did not respond, but Nora thought she saw a glint of worry in the girl’s face. What did Alex know about her and Jerome? Well, whatever it was, it didn’t matter, not really.
If Alex did her job and kept her mouth shut, she had little to worry about. If she did not, she would be replaced as the ones before her had been.
At least that was Jerome’s mentality.
Nora was more apprehensive about what the staff learned about her, as little information as it could be.
“I don’t know why you care so much,” Jerome had sighed once. “What can they possibly do?”
He does not have as much to lose as I do, Nora reminded herself. What if my parents come to look for me, even after all these years?
“And are you finding your accommodations comfortable?” she asked Alex instead. “Have you enough room? Everything you need?”
“Yes, mademoiselle,” Alex replied, and although her voice wasn’t all that convincing, Nora could not tell whether she was being sincere.
I have been out of touch with people too long, she thought. Do I really not know how to tell when someone is lying to me?
She turned to eye the blonde maid over her shoulder.
“You do not find it too isolated here?” Nora asked.
Alex’s mouth parted slightly, as if she were searching for the right words to answer her question.
“It is much farther away from Lucerne than my previous employer,” Alex agreed. “But Collette has a car arranged to take us to the city on our off days.”
Nora nodded. “As it should be. You will find that Monsieur Charpentier and I can be quite flexible. We only expect that you show us loyalty, and we will do the same.”
“Yes, Mademoiselle Nora.”
“You may call me Nora,” Nora explained, stifling a sigh at the girl’s words. She winced slightly as Alex tugged slightly too hard against her head.
“Oui, mademoiselle,” Alex replied, and Nora tried not to roll her dark eyes skyward.
It was a losing battle when Jerome ran the show. The staff would never call her by her first name. It ‘bred familiarity,’ according to the all-knowing Jerome.
“And we all know that familiarity breeds contempt,” he had added.
“Yet you continue to stay with me,” Nora had reminded him, earning a chuckle from him.
“We are bound together,” he had told her, “whether or not we like it.”
Something about his words had filled Nora with sadness. What kind of life was this for either of them? Why should they hide themselves from the rest of the world?
“Have I said something wrong, Mademoiselle Nora?” Alex questioned as she noticed the sudden look on her face. She had finished brushing Nora’s head, so Nora shook her head in response.
“No, Alex,” she replied. “I am going to shower. Please tell Collette that I will have toast and grapefruit with coffee afterwards.”
“Yes, mademoiselle. Right away,” Alex breathed. She seemed immensely relieved to be dismissed, and she hurried toward the doorway as if she was worried Nora would change her mind.
Nora watched her leave, her heart sinking slightly. She couldn’t even pay the young girl to sit there with her, though she didn’t know why she was surprised. It didn’t matter how much she and Jerome tried to keep their secrets under wraps—someone would always learn the truth.
As if we are freaks who do not deserve to live in society, Nora thought angrily. That is why Jerome moved us out this way. To remove us from public scrutiny.
Despite the fact that this was not a new understanding—despite the fact that she already knew this—it still filled her with longing.
Times were changing. There was no reason for them to hide who they were from everyone else.
Of course, Nora was not so naïve. She knew that no matter how much the world had progressed, there were certain aspects that would always remain the same.
Stop your wallowing, she chided herself crossly. Have a shower and have something to eat. Then you can return to the studio and do some work.
With new resolve, Nora rose from the vanity and wandered back through the dressing room and into the bathroom. Looking around at the steam shower and clawfoot bathtub, she reminded herself that she had everything she could ever want. She sighed, leaning forward to run the water, annoyed at her own dark mood.
You have an artist’s temperament, she thought wryly. If you are going to feel sorry for yourself, at least put it into your artwork.
But it was easier said than done.
Nora dipped herself into the rose-scented water and allowed the warmth to sweep over her body. As much as she had hoped it would be, this was no instants solution to her mood. How could there be when she had never gotten what she wanted out of life?
She groaned aloud.
“What is wrong with me today?” she growled to herself, and she wondered if maybe she was getting cabin fever.
Nora tried to remember the last time she had left the sprawling cottage for any reason. It had been months, she was sure, and the realization made her sit up in the tub, her eyes widening in disbelief.
I have completely lost touch with reality, she thought, rising from the bath even though she had not bothered to soap or wash her hair.
“Alex!” she yelled. “Collette!”
A moment later, both women appeared in the doorframe of the bathroom, their faces etched in worry.
“Yes, mademoiselle?” they chorused. “Are you all right?”
Nora nodded.
“Have Marc warm up the car,” she said. “We’re going to Lucerne.”
Collette stared at her as if she had sprouted another head.
“Mademoiselle?” she choked. “You are going to town alone?”
Nora chuckled. “No, we’re all going to town. Get dressed.”
Collette and Alex exchanged a long look.
“Is something wrong?” Collette asked again. “Should I call for Monsieur Charpentier? Shall I have Marc go and get you something you need?”
Nora snorted as Alex quickly handed her a towel, casting her eyes aside.
“Not everything needs to go through Jerome,” she sighed. “This is my house, too. If I wish to visit town, I do not see the need for it to be a production.”
“Bien sûr,” Collette replied quickly, her face blushing crimson. “I only meant—”
“I know what you meant,” Nora interjected. She couldn’t blame Collette; after all, her job included reporting back to Jerome and keeping him updated. “And Jerome doesn’t have a say in a girls’ afternoon.”
Once again, Collette and Alex looked at each other. “Girl’s afternoon?”
“Yes,” Nora told them. “Get your things. We’re going for lunch and shopping.”
Their mouths fell open in unison, but to Nora’s relief, they did not argue any further. Instead, they turned to leave the bathroom, almost tripping over one another.
Nora wrapped the thick towel around her svelte frame and gazed at herself in the steamy mirror.
Lunch, shopping, and gossiping should cure my mood, she thought, wiping the haze from the glass. I will find something sexy to wear for Jerome when he finally comes home. That will surely cure my melancholy.
2
The roar of the crowd was all but lost on Ansel as he locked gazes with his opponent. It was their third fight, and the odds were in Ansel’s favor, though that didn’t stop his partner from giving a good effort.
After all, Ansel had never lost a fight in his career. How could he?
It’s almost be
coming tedious, Ansel thought as the announcer introduced the fighters. Unless they wrangle one of my brothers into the ring, I will continue to win these fights.
“And now, for the part of the show you have come to observe!” the master of ceremonies chortled into his hanging microphone. The man was barely five feet tall, but his booming voice more than made up for his lack of size. “Our feature fight of the night, here at the glorious MGM Grand, Las Vegas!”
Screaming ensued, and the small man’s smile widened as he waited for effect. When he was certain he had everyone’s attention, he continued his spiel.
“In the blue trunks, at five-feet-eleven, weighing one hundred ninety-four pounds from Dayton, Ohio, Harley “The Torch” Calverson!”
The crowd booed and cheered, but the emcee’s voice droned on as his trainer, Louis, quickly rubbed Ansel’s shoulders.
“You’ve got this,” Louis whispered in his ear. “He’s going down!”
“And in the red trunks, from London, England, our returning champion: six-feet-two and weighing in at two hundred four pounds, Ansel “The Dragon” Williams!”
If the mob was excited before, the mere sound of Ansel’s name sent them into a frenzy.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the emcee, “let’s hear it for the fight of the year!”
The din was unbearable, but Ansel had long since learned to block out the noise.
Once upon a time, the women and businessmen sitting mere feet away would have made him dizzy with confusion. Those days had now long since passed.
Tedious, Ansel thought again, but he refocussed his attention on Calverson.
“You know what to do,” Louis called after him, and Ansel had to hold himself back from rolling his gray eyes as he bounced toward the other boxer. Of course, he knew what to do.
They touched gloves and waited for the bell.
When the round commenced, Harley did his traditional opening jab, but Ansel was used to it, stepping back to counter with a bolo punch, followed by an uppercut. The lumbering giant slipped to the side, trying to regain his stance. Ansel didn’t give him the chance—he was relentless, plowing Calverson with a spray of blows to his kidneys and head.
