Chapter Six: A Meeting
As soon as Charlotte and Claire walked into the library Charlotte’s apprehension seemed to swell, then burst when Claire suddenly gasped, “Oh god!” and stared all around.
Heads!
Stuffed and mounted.
Deer. Antlers splayed. Eyes blank.
Wolves…grey…black…white…why just their heads?
And there! In the corner. A puma. Roar! Above it, a boar. Tusks…curly juts…and on the floor, a snake: A boa, constringed around a goat.
Trophies on display…their frozen expressions, their gaping toothy mouths caused Claire to stare at them with whizzing eyes…and created within her an overwhelming urge to flee. Instead she quit her stare and walked over to a large oblong table.
It was made of glass, and between the top two pieces a collection of butterflies had been pressed. After studying them she sat down in the nearest chair and looked everywhere but at the dead; at the crowded bookshelves…the healthy potted plants…
Charlotte sat down next to her and asked, “Are you all right?” but before Claire could answer Brett walked in.
Dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, he beamed at them and said, “Good morning, ladies.” He was carrying three large envelopes, which he placed on the table before he walked over to the one thing Claire hadn’t noticed.
It was a liquor cabinet and on top of it a tray had been placed. A tray arrayed with coffee, juice, and muffins. “Ahh,” Brett exclaimed. “Tuulah is way ahead of me.” He turned to them and asked “Would either of you care for anything?”
“A muffin” Charlotte replied and left the table to join him.
Claire, though, had spotted a fly (A fly of all things!) crawling over one of the muffins so she declined, with a brief shake of her head and just a hint of a smile.
Brett and Charlotte returned to the table with their chosen fare but before Brett took a sip of his coffee he smiled at Claire and asked, “Did you sleep well?”
Claire was wondering where the fly had gone. “In a well is more like it. I was cold.”
He lifted his cup, took a sip and smiled again. “Fortunately last night’s sleeping arrangements were only temporary. There are two other rooms on the first floor, which might be warmer, but they’re right next to Tuulah and Joseph’s quarters. There are also the cottages.”
“The cottages?” Charlotte exclaimed. “Oh, you mean the bungalows. But they’re such a mess.”
Brett and Claire spoke at the same time. Brett said, “Not anymore,” and Claire asked,” Are they warm?”
“Cozy-warm”, Brett assured, and then looked at Charlotte with an expression that matched his words. “I thought they might appeal so Tuulah cleaned them while Joseph and I installed a few things.”
‘Pompous ass…’ Claire thought and spotted the fly again, eating the butter on Charlotte’s knife. She shuddered and blurted, “Is there one on the east side of this dump?”
“One on the east and one on the west,” Brett affirmed, sounding almost proud. “And they’re both equipped with full baths and kitchenettes. They even have separate phone lines.”
“Sold!” Claire grinned and smacked the table hard enough to upset the fly.
“Sooo,” Brett mused, “your press is accurate. You are hermetic.”
Underneath the table Charlotte placed her foot on top of Claire’s just as she said, “She is but, actually, it’s the kitchenette.”
“Right,” Claire agreed, mimicking Charlotte’s deadpan expression.
“She loves to cook,” Charlotte gushed. “You’ll have to try one of her culinary treats. It’s an unforgettable experience.”
Brett sensed their bond…and something else . “An author and a chef. I’m impressed.”
“In truth,” Claire said modestly, “the results are very similar, although my books are much easier to digest.”
Brett realized then that he was being toyed with, but before he could react a well-endowed blonde burst into the room. “Mr. Sansone is…” the décor cut her off. Instantly appalled, her eyes bugged out of her head and in a weak voice she gasped, “Creepy.”
Brett laughed and said, “He certainly can be.”
Comprehending she gaped at the three of them and stammered, “Oh, oh-no, I meant that Mr. Sansone…”
“Bella”. The voice, soft and low, came from the doorway. “My name is Constantine Bella.”
He was wearing a white cashmere coat…and his pictures hadn’t quite done him justice. No, his true visage had been granted from a fantastical wish. He gave the room an agonized glance, stepped inside and walked over to the table. “Please” he beseeched. “Call me ‘Connie’.”
Charlotte immediately stood up and offered her hand. “Charlotte Hansen. It’s nice to meet you.”
“I’m honored,” he replied and clasped her hand.
With calm eyes she noted the sincerity on his face. “Likewise,” she said and they parted.
Claire also stood up. “‘Connie’” she acquiesced and held out her neat, tiny hand.
He took it but he didn’t speak and for a few seconds everything seemed to still: the air…the room’s occupants…even the fly…
“Claire Lynnfield”, he suddenly said. Then he raised her hand and kissed the
Splayed antlers seems that they were forced even further apart than when it was shot.
What are whizzing eyes? There is the vulgar, yet common, interpretation of whiz. The other definitions indicate that there is a buzzing or hissing sound when swiftly moving.
Names need to be changed: it was Charlotte who went to get a muffin.
‘Pompous ***…’ Claire thought and spotted the fly again, eating the butter on Charlotte’s knife. She shuddered and blurted, “Is there one on the east side of this dump?”
{{“A muffin” Charlotte replied and left the table to join him.
Claire, though, had spotted a fly (A fly of all things!) crawling over one of the muffins so she declined, with a brief shake of her head and just a hint of a smile.}}
The section where Mr. Sansone enters after Bella is confusing. Who wants to be called Connie? Bella or the man. t