Roxy's Story

by V. C. Andrews

  “I’m on my own,” I said. It wasn’t really an answer, but it was true.

  “Okay.”

  We drove through the opened gate and into a wide courtyard.

  “Dad says there was a moat here, but he’s just kidding, of course.”

  I got out, now very curious. “Are your parents home?”

  “No, they’re on a trip with some friends. They’re on the yacht. But they’ll be back this week, and I can take you for a short trip, maybe a day or so, if you like.”

  “Maybe,” I said. I thought I would absolutely have to check with Mrs. Brittany first, and perhaps then I would know if this had all been prearranged or if it was just happening. Even if it was just happening, I wasn’t sure how she would react. Maybe she would think I had already gone too far.

  “My father wanted to preserve the stone exterior. The house has a history. It was a nobleman’s castle in the seventeenth century,” Paul explained as we stood looking up at the walls around the front entrance. “Of course, such structures were cold and dreary inside, so part of the renovation involved widening windows to get more sunlight. There are twelve bedrooms. He kept the structure so that all of them are perfectly round. If you want to go around in circles, this is the place,” he joked, and opened the large, tall oak front door to reveal another, smaller courtyard. The more modern entrance with large glass windows was at the other side of that.

  “Voilà,” he said. There were wooden benches, small ponds and fountains, beautiful flowers, and some statuary in the inner courtyard. “I’m on the third floor,” he said. “You’ve got to see the view.”

  “Isn’t that what the fox told the hen?”

  “Not quite, but close.”

  I followed him over the stone walkway to the actual entrance. A woman in a light blue uniform appeared as soon as we stepped into the long, wide entryway. She looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties.

  “Ah, Mrs. Luden. We’re just here to pick up a bathing suit. No need to interrupt whatever you’re doing.”

  “Very good, Mr. Lamont.”

  She looked hard at me but turned quickly and returned to whatever she was doing.

  “Been with the family for years,” Paul muttered, and led me to the circular stairway.

  “She didn’t look like she approved of my being here,” I said.

  He looked after her. “Maybe not. She’s always been a bit of a prude, but good servants are always also deaf and dumb.” He paused and nodded at the grand tapestries draping the walls, the paintings and large furnishings. A skylight had been cut in one ceiling, and sunlight rained down, spotlighting the statuary in niches and the artifacts on tables and shelves. “Think you could live in this place?”

  “So far, yes,” I said. “There’s nothing cold or dreary about it now.”

  “Yes, home sweet home,” he said, and reached for my hand so we could continue up the stairway together.

  A round bedroom was unique. There were no corners. His television was hanging from the ceiling. He showed me that it could be raised or lowered by pressing a button on the wall by his bed’s headboard. All of the furniture had been constructed with rich mahogany and had been custom-made to fit into a round room. There were oval dressers and a curved desk. The flooring consisted of marble and a white area rug.

  The en suite bathroom had the same marble floors and a slightly darker shade of marble tiling for walls. There was a large round Jacuzzi and a circular, very large shower that had five different showerheads, including the rain head. Paul explained that the shower converted into a steam room, again by pressing buttons on the wall. The only noncircular area was his walk-in closet, which was a wide rectangular shape, everything very neatly organized, from dozens of shoes on shelves to a row of sports jackets and suits with a half dozen different tuxedos at the end.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “Make you dizzy?”

  “A little. I’m surprised you don’t have a circular bed. Isn’t Hugh Hefner famous for having that?”

  “I thought about it, but the truth is, it’s rare that I have anyone up here to share my bed.”

  “What about your soon-to-be possible fiancée? Not here?”

  He lowered his head and raised his eyes.

  “We have some other properties, a farmhouse in Mougins and a chalet in Switzerland, to name two.”

  “Norbert will be upset. I am impressed,” I said. “He warned me about you.”

  He laughed, opened a drawer to find a bathing suit, and then opened the curtains, which were motorized.

  “I think you have more switches and buttons in here than an air-traffic controller in the JFK tower.”

  “I have a better view than they do. Come.” He beckoned, and I joined him at the window to look down at the seaport of Monte Carlo. Because of the clarity of the day, we could see far toward the horizon. He had a telescope and pulled it over for me to gaze out at some of the vessels and sailboats in the distance and also down at the port.

  “Feels like we’re on the top of the world.”

  “Just like the slave who stood next to the Roman generals and whispered in their ears, I have to tell myself constantly that I’m only a man,” he joked.

  He stood very close to me. Our eyes seemed to lock, and then, as if we had magnets in our lips, we drew closer and kissed. It was a soft kiss, but he paused only to take in a breath and kiss me again, harder, more demanding, his hands sliding up the sides of my body and pausing at my breasts. He kissed me on the neck.

  “I regret that I don’t have a round bed, but this one is no slouch,” he whispered, edging me toward it.

  I stopped firmly. “Fox and the hen,” I said.

  “Neither complained.”

  “I think it’s best if we walk before we run,” I told him, inching away.

  The look of disappointment and surprise shifted quickly to amusement. “How about we swim before we run?”

  “That was the plan,” I told him. There was no doubt or hesitation in my voice.

  He laughed, scooped up his suit, and held the door open for me.

  On the way out, I thought Mrs. Brittany would be proud of me. I had hit all the marks.

  One way or another, I was sure it wouldn’t be long before I would find out.

  15

  “Not that I don’t appreciate you taking me places and spending time with me, but don’t you ever have to work?” I asked him on our way back to the villa.

  “A good CEO creates his own schedule. I have some very good assistants, too.”

  We heard his mobile phone vibrate. He looked at me.

  “Maybe I spoke too soon. Paul Lamont,” he said into it, and listened. Then he looked at me and smiled. “Yes, we went to lunch at Café de Paris. Now we’re returning to the villa for a swim. Well, why don’t you ask her?” He handed me the phone.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Bonjour, Roxy. It’s Norbert. Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, everything is fine. I was introduced to the playland of the rich and famous,” I said, smiling at Paul.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been too busy to call. There was a little crisis here. I will call you again later, and you have my mobile number if you need anything until then.”

  “Yes, merci, Norbert. Don’t worry,” I said. “I never completely let go of the handlebars.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine. Merci.”

  “Let me have Paul again, s’il vous plaît.”

  I handed him the phone.

  “Yes, Dad?” he joked, and listened. “I understand. I’m on my best behavior. D’accord. À bientôt,” he said, and closed his mobile.

  “I guess you really do have a reputation,” I said.

  “It’s hard to say what worries Norbert more, you being upset with me or Mrs. Brittany being upset with him.”

  “Probably one and the same,” I told him.

  He looked at me strangely, the impish smile gone. “If she were Italian, I would think she
was the head of some Mafia family or something.”

  “She’s not Italian.”

  “Yes, I know. How long have you known her?”

  “Not long,” I said.

  He nodded.

  “How long have you known Norbert?” I asked him.

  “Oh, well over fifteen years. I think you might have picked up that we don’t exactly travel in the same circles, however.”

  “Some of my best friends are Chinese.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing, it’s a joke my father used to use,” I said, and immediately regretted it because it nudged open one of those doors that I wanted to keep tightly shut.

  “Oh? What does he do? I assume he still works?”

  “I don’t like talking about my father,” I said, so sharply I could feel the air freeze between us.

  “Oh, sorry, but you just brought him up, and I thought . . .”

  “I was trying to make a point about you and Norbert still being friends even though he’s apparently gay.”

  “Ah, yes, yes. I see. He’s actually my best friend,” Paul said. “There’s a lot more in life to share besides sex.”

  “You might get kicked out of your gender for making such an outrageous remark,” I told him, and he roared.

  Moments later, we turned into the villa’s driveway and parked.

  “Before we go in, I’d like to settle something between us,” he said.

  “What?” I asked, anticipating something about my being so elusive when it came to answering questions about myself, my family, or Mrs. Brittany. I was prepared to tell him to stay in the car and not bother anymore. But he surprised me.

  “Dinner,” he said. “Margery will be hovering over us, and I’d like to get that in cement.”

  I laughed, but then I wondered if I should call Mrs. Brittany first and tell her what was happening. Would she think me cautious and wise to check with her before going too much further, or would she think I was too insecure?

  “We’ll go close by. I have a favorite restaurant in Beaulieu, Les Agaves. You’ll love the food, the ambience.”

  My hesitation was confusing him.

  “All I want to do is walk a little more before we run,” he added with a smile.

  I had to smile, too. “Okay,” I said.

  We got out and went in to change into our bathing suits. I had a new bikini Mrs. Brittany had bought me on one of our shopping sprees. He took the guest room and was waiting for me below as I descended. I saw the smile on his face blossom even more as he drank me in with his thirsty eyes.

  “You’re a very beautiful woman, Roxy. I mean that.”

  “I hope so,” I said, as unimpressed as I could sound. “I hate insincerity, especially when it involves something concerning me.”

  He lost his smile. “You don’t accept compliments too easily. Why so cautious?”

  “Compliments was the way Lucifer got to Eve in the Garden of Eden.”

  “I’m not Lucifer.”

  “We’ll see,” I said. “Let’s go swimming. We both have to cool off.”

  He took my hand as we walked out. Either Margery or Ian had set up the chaise longues with towels and placed a bottle of white wine to chill in a bucket beside them. I looked around but didn’t see either of them. My paranoia began to seep in again. This felt like some sort of setup. Everything was so convenient, so easy and encouraging.

  I went right to the pool and dived in to start my laps. When I had completed four, I saw that Paul was still standing at the edge of the pool watching me.

  “What?”

  “You’re the first woman I’ve been with who really meant swimming when we went swimming.”

  “Try it,” I said, with a challenge in my voice, and continued my laps.

  He got in and swam beside me, but after ten more, he stopped to catch his breath and hold on to the side of the pool. I did another five before pausing.

  “How old are you, really, Roxy?” he asked.

  “Why?”

  “I want to find an excuse for myself.”

  “You’re not that old, Paul. Have you ever read The Great Gatsby?”

  “Oh, no, another book I missed. Why?”

  “There’s this famous quote from it you should know. ‘Let me tell you about the very rich. They are different from you and me. They possess and enjoy early, and it does something to them, makes them soft where we are hard,’ ” I recited, recalling how Sheena and I had discussed the novel.

  “Well, I’m not becoming poor just to keep up with you in the pool.”

  “I don’t want you to be poor.”

  “So you want me to be hard. No problem,” he joked.

  I started to get out, and he reached for my hand and pulled me to him. He held me, dripping wet in his arms. We kissed again.

  “I’m glad you agreed to go to dinner with me,” he said softly. “I don’t want this day to end.”

  “Don’t you believe in tomorrow?”

  “Not unless you’re in it,” he said.

  I smiled, kissed him on the tip of his nose, and went to a chaise to get a towel.

  “Some wine?” he asked.

  “Sure?”

  He poured me a glass. I sipped it and watched him pour his own. Then I sprawled on the chaise and closed my eyes.

  Was this what it was always going to be like from now on, I wondered, escorting one wealthy man after another, enjoying the best food, going to the most luxurious places, never having to think or worry about anything but my makeup and my hair?

  “Excuse me. I have to make a call,” Paul told me.

  “It’s okay. I’m going to drift off on a cloud,” I said.

  He leaned over to kiss me softly on the lips and then went to the rear of the patio to make his call. Before he returned, I was fast asleep. When I woke up, I heard voices and looked back into the villa to see Paul talking to a young man who was delivering some fresh clothing for him to wear to dinner. I checked the time, subtracted the difference between here and New York, and rose to call Mrs. Brittany. I had decided she wouldn’t be critical of my checking in with her. This was, after all, the first time I was on my own since I had been with her. Surely she would see it as intelligent and even loyal.

  “It’s getting late,” I told Paul as I passed him. “I want to take a shower, wash my hair. Can you amuse yourself?”

  “No problem. I’ll shower and dress, too, and spend the rest of the time waiting and thinking of you.”

  “Such a romantic. Who are you, Maurice Chevalier?” I kidded, comparing him to the famous French actor who was so well known for his charm. Again, I knew about something thanks to my mother.

  He laughed and watched me walk up the stairs. I hurried to my suite and closed the door. I went right to the phone and called. Mrs. Pratt answered.

  “Everything all right?” she asked when I asked to speak with Mrs. Brittany.

  “Yes. Everything all right with you?”

  I heard her blow into the receiver and smiled to myself. Moments later, Mrs. Brittany was there.

  “I have nothing new to report yet, Roxy. It’s far too soon. Besides, I would have called you if there was something.”

  “I’m not calling to find out about that. I know it’s too soon.”

  “Why are you calling?”

  “Norbert brought a man with him to dinner last night. I went to lunch with him at the Café de Paris, and he came here to swim with me and asked me to dinner tonight. His name is Paul Lamont. He’s of the Lamont cosmetics family.”

  “I know all about the Lamont cosmetics family. So?”

  “I don’t think it’s brain surgery to figure out that he wants to get more involved with me.”

  “I’d be pretty stupid to be surprised about that,” she said dryly. “And very disappointed to hear otherwise.”

  “I wanted to be sure that you thought it was all right.”

  “What was all right?”

  “For me to be seeing him like this while I’m he
re,” I said.

  “It’s all right if it’s all right with you, if you handle everything correctly and carefully. Perhaps he’ll fall in love with you, and you won’t have to come back,” she added. “Would you like that?”

  “We’ve only known each other for twenty-four hours, but he probably is in love with me,” I told her.

  She laughed. “One of you is,” she said.

  “Yes, but you have no worries. He won’t ask me to marry him. He’s in one of those arranged relationships.”

  “He doesn’t have to offer marriage,” she said.

  There was something about the indifference in her voice that sparked suspicion in my mind.

  “This is a test, isn’t it?” I asked. “It’s all prearranged.”

  “Everything you will do from now on is a test, Roxy, whether I arrange it or not. Get used to it. I’ve got to go. Make your own decisions now. We’ll see you in about ten days. Unless something makes that unnecessary,” she added. “Au revoir, ma chère,” she said, and hung up.

  I sat there with the dead receiver in my hand, thinking. Was everything pure coincidence, or wasn’t it, and if it wasn’t, did that mean Paul was part of it? Would I be disappointed if that was so? Would I feel manipulated, my emotions tapped and prodded, with everyone waiting to see what I would do?

  “Make your own decisions,” Mrs. Brittany had said. All right, I will. Right now, I’ll just shower and wash my hair, and then I’ll make my first decision since we spoke. I’ll decide what to wear. None of this will intimidate me, I told myself. I really should have told her that, made it clear. Right from the beginning, I should have done what she said, assumed everything was a test in one way or another. I didn’t need her to confirm it. I’d never need her to confirm it.

  I wasn’t sure what made me more enthusiastic and excited, my defiance, my growing affection for Paul, or my desire to learn the truth. What would I do with that truth if and when I learned it, anyway? Would I pout and then quit, demand my kill fee, and go off on my own? Would I just swallow it and keep it to myself? Would I laugh in their faces and claim that I always knew?