“Oh my God, I’ve terrified you,” he said, taking his first good look at me. He stepped backward. “I’ve done this all wrong. I’m such an idiot.” Be careful, I told myself, he might just be acting. But he’s sure doing a believable job with the remorse.
“Okay, let me explain”—he hesitated—“as much as I can. I’m not going to hurt you. I swear, Kate. And I promise Vincent will be fine. It’s not what it seems. But I just need to talk to the others—the other people who live here—before I can let you leave.”
I nodded. Jules was acting a lot saner than he had a few minutes before. And he was looking so apologetic that I almost (but not quite) felt sorry for him. Even if I want to run, I thought, I can’t get past the security gate outside.
He reached his hand toward me, this time in a peaceful way, as if he wanted to place it comfortingly on my forearm, but I recoiled.
“Okay. It’s okay,” he soothed, raising his hands in the air in an I surrender gesture. “I won’t touch you again.”
He looked really upset now. “I know,” he said, speaking to the air, “I’m a total moron,” and began walking down the hallway toward the foyer. “Please follow me, Kate,” he said in a downcast voice.
I followed him. What other choice did I have?
He led me up the winding double staircase to the second floor and down a hallway. Opening a door to a darkened room, he flicked on the lights and stayed in the hallway as I walked in. “Make yourself comfortable. I might be a while,” he said, avoiding my eyes. He pulled the door closed behind me. The lock clicked.
“Hey!” I yelled, grabbing the handle and twisting it. It was definitely locked.
“I had to lock it. We can’t just have her wandering around the house.” Jules was talking to himself again, as his footsteps grew faint.
There was nothing more that I could do, besides leaping out the second-floor window and scaling the front gate. That’s just not going to happen, I thought, and resigned myself to the fact that I was powerless to do anything else until someone unlocked the door.
You could have done worse for a prison, I thought, looking around. The walls were lined with a patterned rose-colored silk, and heavy mint green drapes were tied back on either side of the windows, which had upper panes in the shape of hearts. Delicate painted bedroom furniture was arranged around the edges of the room. I sat down on a silk-upholstered daybed.
My shaking calmed, and after a long while I let myself stretch out and put my head on a cushion, drawing my legs up off the floor. I shut my eyes, just for a second, and the effects of the stress and fear had their way with my brain. I was out like a light.
It must have been hours later when I awoke. I could see a night sky approaching dawn through the window, and for one delirious moment I thought I was back in my Brooklyn bedroom.
Then my eyes flicked upward to a large chandelier with arms ending in impossibly delicate glass flowers. The ceiling was painted to look like a cloudy sky edged with fat baby angels carrying armloads of ribbons and flowers.
For a second, I didn’t know where I was. Then, remembering, I sat up.
“You’re awake,” said a voice from across the room. I looked over to find its source. It was the girl from the café with the cropped blond hair, the one who had saved me from being crushed by the falling stone. What is she doing here? I thought.
She sat curled up in an armchair next to an ornate stone fireplace. Slowly and hesitantly she unfolded herself and walked carefully toward me.
The light from the chandelier shone through her hair, making it glow like burnished bronze. Her cheeks and lips were the color of the velvety pink roses in Mamie’s country garden. High cheekbones set off her beautiful eyes, their irises a bewitching green.
The girl stood next to me now, and timidly held out a hand to take my own. “Kate,” she said with a shy voice, squeezing my hand and letting it go. “I’m Charlotte.” I sat on the edge of the daybed, looking up at her in awe.
“You’re the one who saved my life,” I murmured.
Laughing, she pulled up a chair to sit in front of me. “That wasn’t really me.” She smiled. “I mean, it was me, but I’m not responsible for saving your life. It’s kind of complicated,” she said, crossing her legs impishly. Around her neck hung a leather cord with a silver teardrop-shaped pendant.
So this is the girl Vincent was so close to, I thought with dismay, my eyes traveling from the necklace back to her elegant face. She was around my age, but a bit younger. Vincent had said she was just a friend. I couldn’t help wondering how close they had been.
“Welcome to my room,” she said.
My heart fell. She lives in his house?
“It’s stunning,” I managed to eke out.
“I like to surround myself with beauty,” she said, flashing me an embarrassed smile.