She placed the tray on the bed table and rolled it over. Then, without my asking, she placed a second pillow behind me so I could be more comfortable sitting up. I certainly didn’t mind being pampered, not after what I had been through.
“There now. Comfy, are you?”
“Yes, thank you, Margery.”
“I can make you eggs and ham, if you’d like.”
“This will do fine for now. Thank you, Margery.”
“My pleasure. Just call if you need anything else,” she said, then hesitated a moment as if she was deciding on another question to ask, thought wiser of it, and left.
I sighed and looked around at my cozy, bright, and warm room. I hadn’t noticed the pastel painting of two little girls building a sand castle on the beach and the embossed pewter candleholders on the walls. When I finished my petit déjeuner, I pushed the table aside and sprawled out again, letting myself sink into the soft mattress and oversize pillows. After months of training and education at Mrs. Brittany’s estate, this sort of lazy day was wonderful. There was no phone ringing to wake me up, no one pouncing on me to move quickly and not keep someone waiting.
I deliberately took a lot more time doing everything. By the time I started downstairs, it was nearly one-thirty in the afternoon. Ian was working on the grounds, cutting grass and trimming bushes. Margery, after bringing me some of her homemade lemonade out on the patio and asking me if I wanted anything else, went up to do my room.
It wasn’t as warm as yesterday, I thought, but the sky didn’t have a cloud in it. Brittany girls were forbidden to get too much sun. Our tans, if we were to have any, were to come from creams. Claudine Laffette had told me that Mrs. Brittany expected her girls to look young and beautiful well through their early forties. Early wrinkles were as deadly for us as they were for vampires who realized they were reaching the end of their so-called immortality. Mrs. Brittany’s skin was still youthful-looking, although she had surely had some plastic surgery, and she did use certain skin creams and treatments. I had some of her latest newly developed miracle creams in my makeup bag with instructions.
“You’re never too young to worry about that sort of thing,” she had told me. “Get into the right habits now, and you’ll be happy about it later.”
By now, I was feeling like all the others under her command. I would probably walk over hot coals if she told me it was necessary.
I sprawled on a chaise in the shade and sipped a glass of Margery’s cool natural lemonade. She left the radio on for me. After all the tension during the last thirty-six hours, it felt wonderful to continue just drifting and relaxing. I had nearly fallen asleep again when I heard the doorbell. Margery hurried to see who it was, and I sat up, listening.
Moments later, Paul Lamont appeared on the patio. He wore a light blue short-sleeved shirt and light blue pants and was sockless in blue boat shoes. His hair was as perfect as it had been last night. Everyone always looked different in the daytime, I thought. Imperfections were always more visible, but if anything, he looked even more handsome today.
“I
hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said.
“Oh, no. Please,” I said, nodding at a chair. “Would you like some fresh lemonade?”
“Looks good.” He poured himself a glass, sipped some, and smiled. “Perfect.” He stared at me a moment. “I woke up this morning thinking about you, how delightful and attractive you are.”
“Oh?”
One of the things Mrs. Brittany had taught me was that most people feel obligated to return a compliment with a compliment even though they don’t feel or believe it. “If someone lavishes a compliment on you, accept it gracefully,” she told me, “but don’t do or say anything that isn’t authentic. Really discerning men and women will know you were just being polite, but it also makes you look as if you don’t believe you deserved the compliment they gave you. Be tight and firm with your emotions. Never lose control, and the easiest way for that to happen is to permit someone to stroke your ego.”
“I didn’t wake up this morning. I slept until nearly noon, so I had no time to think of anything or anyone,” I said, hardly acknowledging his lavish flattery.
“Well, that’s understandable, the time change and all, especially how long we kept you up talking.”
“I’m not complaining about myself,” I said. “I wanted to be lazy. I intend to be as lazy as I can.”
He laughed.
“Beautiful, bright, and honest. You are indeed unique, especially for the social world you’ll find here. You might feel out of place.”
“I am what I am,” I said with cold conviction. “I’m not going to change to fit any setting, anyone.”
“And full of self-confidence, too. I’d love to know how you were brought up.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” I muttered.
He laughed nervously. There was a short moment of uncomfortable silence.
“My life isn’t that interesting yet,” I added to soften the pause.
“I like that you added ‘yet.’?” He looked around. Ian was clipping hedges but occasionally sneaking a glance at us. Paul nodded at him before turning back to me. “So you had breakfast late, I take it?”