“Yours too,” I replied, happy that I had practiced for this very insult since my first humiliating day at Kingussie. “Better to hide the bee stings, yeah?”
I hardly got to enjoy her shock at my Scottish comeback highlighting her own lack of “bits,” because her friend jumped in.
“Let’s go get some britneys,” she said, steering a speechless Elsie away from us.
“That was pure dead brilliant!” Jo exclaimed.
“It was, wasn’t it?” I said. “Thanks for teaching me the bee stings slang, but what’s a britney?”
“A beer,” she replied. I stared at her, not comprehending at all. She expounded: “Britney Spears . . . beers . . .?”
“Because it rhymes?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Jo confirmed. “Like ‘baked bean’ refers to the queen, and ‘brown bread’ means ‘dead.’”
“I don’t even want to know how those last two are related,” I said, biting down on what turned out to be a surprisingly good cookie.
Jo and I soon figured out that there was more on tap than just britneys. A full bar in the corner of the room was staffed by three very busy bartenders, all handing out free liquor as fast as kids could grab it.
Jo handed me a crystal tumbler with clear liquid and a lime hanging on the rim for dear life.
“Vodka?” I guessed.
“No, club soda,” she answered. “My mum has a portable breathalyzer at home. She’d literally kill me if we drank.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s kind of harsh.”
“My dad was an alcoholic.” She shrugged. “I guess she’s just afraid it runs in the genes.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I assured her. “You’re nothing like your dad.” I realized how lame that must sound, since I didn’t know her dad at all.
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to make things more difficult for my mum. She has enough to worry about. But once I go to university, all bets are off! Cheers!” She clinked her glass against mine. I smiled and took a drink. I was surprised to see a sparkly lip print on my glass. I wasn’t used to wearing anything on my lips, and the remnant grossed me out. I smudged it away with my thumb.
Judging by the number of people chugging beers and cradling their own champagne bottles, Jo and I were the only ones attempting to stay sober. We learned that aside from the staff, there wasn’t an adult anywhere in the building. Anders’ parents were in Tenerife, an island off the coast of Spain, at their vacation villa. Jo said they were hardly ever home. I wondered if that was why he was such a jerk.
By the time a cake the size of a small car was rolled into the middle of the room, and a half-naked woman jumped out and started making out with the birthday boy, I was ready for a break. Jo and I found double doors that led outside to a stone balcony, and we happily snuck away.
The balcony was bigger than the first floor of my grandparents’ house. Topiary trees twinkled under tiny, perfectly spaced lights, and industrial patio heaters hummed softly.
Jo and I walked to the stone railing.
“Wow,” I exhaled.
While the front of the building had seemed massive enough, I now saw that it was only a third of the entire structure. Two more wings, each covered with double French doors and smaller, private balconies, stood impressively on either side. The giant courtyard below seemed to spread for acres—from a manicured landscape out into the forest.
Rows and rows of tall, precisely trimmed hedges lined the garden. Hundreds of rose bushes hugged the hedge bottoms. I marveled at the luscious fruit trees, their branches heavy with the weight of snowball-sized blossoms, and the carved marble benches, their seats held high by miniature gargoyles. In the middle, a fountain corralled life-sized granite horses swimming among arcs of shooting water. A flagstone path wound around the entire garden, set at precise 90-degree angles. Glowing lanterns hung from the trees and small footlights hidden along the base of the stones bathed it all in a soft, shadowy light.
“Why are the bushes all cut with square edges?” I wondered.
“It’s a labyrinth,” Jo replied. “A hedge maze.”
“No way!”
“Yeah, you can’t tell from up here, but I’m guessing those bushes are taller than both of us.”
“Actually,” a new voice added, “they’re exactly ten feet high.” It was Graham. “The yew trees took fifty years to grow that tall, and the gardeners are required to keep them trimmed within a half inch.”
I smiled at Graham. He was wearing a turtleneck and blazer, and I couldn’t help thinking how nice he looked. Not handsome like Gavin, but he was the kind of guy you could take home to meet your family—polite, soft-spoken, and well-mannered. I thought about Anders licking icing off the cake girl’s cheek, and wondered how he managed to miss all the good breeding of his cousin. Graham would never do something so gross in front of a room full of people.
“Are you enjoying the party?” Graham asked.
“It’s fantastic,” Jo offered. “You have a beautiful house.”
“You live here too?” I asked.
“Guilty.” He seemed a little embarrassed about it. “My parents’ estate is in Edinburgh, but I’ve been living with my aunt and uncle since primary school.”
“Why?” I blurted out.
“My parents work for the embassy, and are overseas most of the year. They didn’t want me raised by nannies. Apparently, nannies hired by my aunt and uncle were a more palatable idea.” He smiled, but something sad flickered in his eyes.
Jo’s phone started buzzing. She excused herself, and stepped away to read the incoming text.
“Aren’t you lonely?” I asked Graham.
“Who could be lonely in one hundred twenty-six rooms?” he said, sarcastically.
“Are there really that many?”
“At last count. Ten ballrooms, thirteen dining rooms, four kitchens, seven libraries . . .” He stopped. “I sound more like a tour guide than a tenant, don’t I?”
“No, it’s interesting,” I said. I ran my palms along the cool, concrete banister. “Tell me more about the maze. I’ve never seen one before. Unless you count ones cut into cornfields at Halloween.”
“Well, let’s see, there are more than sixteen thousand trees. The theme is—”
“Theme? It has a theme?”
“Yes, labyrinths have a history of twisted entertainment, if you will,” he explained. “They represent how the path of life is hard to navigate, but that you mustn’t give up until you reach salvation.”
“You mean, ‘get out,’” I said.
“Precisely. But walking through bushes can get boring after a while, so most labyrinths have a theme, usually a humorous one, with little secrets and surprises along the way.”
“What’s the theme of this one?”
He pointed to the start of the maze, where two large statues loomed on opposite sides of the path: a beautiful woman and a man with wings. “Cupid and Psyche,” he said. “The angel of love, and the beautiful human girl he fell in love with.”