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Authors: Kate Hewitt
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against the bedpost, her mind replaying the images she’d envisioned last night—Larenz and Amelie in that bed, before the fire…
Firmly she pushed such thoughts away—along with the accompanying absurd jealousy—and stripped the sheets from the bed. An expensively cloying perfume she recognized as Amelie’s drifted up from the sheets. Ellery grimaced.
She bundled them into a pile to take downstairs to the rather ancient washing machine, another appliance on the brink of collapse, stopping only when she saw the door to the room next to Amelie’s was ajar. She kept the doors to all the bedrooms firmly closed in a somewhat futile effort to maintain some warmth in the main sections of the house.
Now she stepped inside, gazing around in surprise at the neatly made bed; a pair of shoes—men’s dress shoes—were lined up at its foot. The bag Larenz had carried in last night was on the divan by the window and she could see his woollen trench coat hanging in the wardrobe.
Had Larenz slept here? Had he and Amelie had a fight? Or had he actually been telling the truth ?
Ellery took a step closer to the bed and reached down to smooth the faded counterpane. Then, on impish impulse, she bent and sniffed the pillow. It smelled of a citrusy aftershave. It smelled of Larenz.
Ellery straightened. She felt strangely unsettled, relief and uncertainty mixing uncomfortably within her. She also knew she did not want to be caught snooping in Larenz’s room. Quickly she backed out of the bedroom and hurried to pile the sheets in the washer.
Yet all afternoon vague unsettled thoughts drifted through her mind like wispy clouds, insubstantial and yet still greying her day. Had she misjudged Larenz? What kind of man was he, really? She wondered just how much of her assumptions had been based on her own experience and how much on what she saw and heard from the man himself.
‘So he had a fight with Amelie,’ she muttered as she went to the kitchen to see about dinner. ‘He slept in another room, and she flounced off in a huff. It doesn’t change anything.’ It shouldn’t change her.
Kissing a man like that— wanting a man like that—still felt like a betrayal of who she was and every hard lesson she’d learned from another betrayal—her father’s.
The sun had started its descent and the gardens were already cloaked in dusky shadows. Larenz had left earlier that afternoon, speeding off in his Lexus, and he still hadn’t returned. Ellery had no idea if she should make a proper dinner or settle for her usual tinned soup or beans on toast. Yet if Larenz did return, he would undoubtedly expect a meal. The thought of waiting on Larenz alone in the huge, shadowy dining room made nerves leap low in her belly.
She pushed the feelings aside and made herself a cheese sandwich, eating it alone at the kitchen table as darkness claimed the grounds. Although she lived alone for most of the year, tonight she was especially conscious of the empty house all around her, still and silent, room after cavernous room yawning into infinity.
Ellery snorted in disgust at her own fanciful thoughts. She was getting maudlin again. She could go down into the village, visit a fellow teacher from the secondary school where she taught part-time. Get out of the Manor, and out of her own head. Yet she knew she wouldn’t. She was too restless, too wary. And, she acknowledged ruefully, she was waiting for Larenz to return.
She stood up abruptly and put her dishes in the sink. A gust of wind rattled the windowpanes and the boiler started clanking again.
She thought of Larenz’s knowing questions that afternoon: Why are you here, Ellery? Why do you stay? I wonder if you even like this Manor of yours very much.
The questions pointed to a grim truth: sometimes she hated this house. She hated the memories made here that caused her to doubt who she was; she hated that she stayed because this house felt as if it was all that was left of who she was. She hated
Firmly she pushed such thoughts away—along with the accompanying absurd jealousy—and stripped the sheets from the bed. An expensively cloying perfume she recognized as Amelie’s drifted up from the sheets. Ellery grimaced.
She bundled them into a pile to take downstairs to the rather ancient washing machine, another appliance on the brink of collapse, stopping only when she saw the door to the room next to Amelie’s was ajar. She kept the doors to all the bedrooms firmly closed in a somewhat futile effort to maintain some warmth in the main sections of the house.
Now she stepped inside, gazing around in surprise at the neatly made bed; a pair of shoes—men’s dress shoes—were lined up at its foot. The bag Larenz had carried in last night was on the divan by the window and she could see his woollen trench coat hanging in the wardrobe.
Had Larenz slept here? Had he and Amelie had a fight? Or had he actually been telling the truth ?
Ellery took a step closer to the bed and reached down to smooth the faded counterpane. Then, on impish impulse, she bent and sniffed the pillow. It smelled of a citrusy aftershave. It smelled of Larenz.
Ellery straightened. She felt strangely unsettled, relief and uncertainty mixing uncomfortably within her. She also knew she did not want to be caught snooping in Larenz’s room. Quickly she backed out of the bedroom and hurried to pile the sheets in the washer.
Yet all afternoon vague unsettled thoughts drifted through her mind like wispy clouds, insubstantial and yet still greying her day. Had she misjudged Larenz? What kind of man was he, really? She wondered just how much of her assumptions had been based on her own experience and how much on what she saw and heard from the man himself.
‘So he had a fight with Amelie,’ she muttered as she went to the kitchen to see about dinner. ‘He slept in another room, and she flounced off in a huff. It doesn’t change anything.’ It shouldn’t change her.
Kissing a man like that— wanting a man like that—still felt like a betrayal of who she was and every hard lesson she’d learned from another betrayal—her father’s.
The sun had started its descent and the gardens were already cloaked in dusky shadows. Larenz had left earlier that afternoon, speeding off in his Lexus, and he still hadn’t returned. Ellery had no idea if she should make a proper dinner or settle for her usual tinned soup or beans on toast. Yet if Larenz did return, he would undoubtedly expect a meal. The thought of waiting on Larenz alone in the huge, shadowy dining room made nerves leap low in her belly.
She pushed the feelings aside and made herself a cheese sandwich, eating it alone at the kitchen table as darkness claimed the grounds. Although she lived alone for most of the year, tonight she was especially conscious of the empty house all around her, still and silent, room after cavernous room yawning into infinity.
Ellery snorted in disgust at her own fanciful thoughts. She was getting maudlin again. She could go down into the village, visit a fellow teacher from the secondary school where she taught part-time. Get out of the Manor, and out of her own head. Yet she knew she wouldn’t. She was too restless, too wary. And, she acknowledged ruefully, she was waiting for Larenz to return.
She stood up abruptly and put her dishes in the sink. A gust of wind rattled the windowpanes and the boiler started clanking again.
She thought of Larenz’s knowing questions that afternoon: Why are you here, Ellery? Why do you stay? I wonder if you even like this Manor of yours very much.
The questions pointed to a grim truth: sometimes she hated this house. She hated the memories made here that caused her to doubt who she was; she hated that she stayed because this house felt as if it was all that was left of who she was. She hated
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