CHAPTER TWO

The House that was like a Mask

Flying to Scotland by myself was more stressful than I imagined. Christian had taken me all over the world, but never to Scotland, and he never allowed me to fly on my own. He considered taking flights with me as part of the service of being my guardian, but since I had been assertive enough to go off on my own once, he was letting me go off on my own again.

As the plane took off, I started to worry I might get bored at his house by myself. He did say he wouldn’t be around much, but I could count on having the seven days he usually spent with me during summer vacation. Even if he wasn’t around, Christian undoubtedly decorated his house with things that would tell me more about him than his mouth ever had.

Aside from that, I thought of all the things I never got the chance to do at school. I could go to the market and prepare my own food. Granted, I had never taken a cooking class in my life. My school offered culinary courses, but no one with an ounce of academic potential attended. “Planning to be a housewife, are we?” I could hear Trinity's goading voice in my head. All that was behind me. Once I was on my own, I could do whatever I wanted. All with the delicious flavor of Christian in the air. I'd be using his dishes, reading his books, borrowing his razor, and maybe even sleeping in his bed.

On top of everything else, I would be in Scotland.

When the plane landed, I stopped under the arrival sign to find a man holding a sign that read 'Beth Coldwell'. He was a chauffeur. Other than the flight, Christian wasn’t going to let me do things by myself.

I sighed and glanced at the driver expectantly, while he scouted over my shoulder for someone flashier. I really didn’t want to go with him. It cut down on the adventure, but if I didn’t go with him and got lost… which was clearly what Christian had on his mind when he arranged for him.

“Hi,” I said suddenly. “I’m Beth.”

The guy jumped, unable to hide his shock. “Of course you are. Let’s get your luggage.”

I wasn't like his usual clientele.

Half an hour later, I was sitting in the back of an extremely glossy black car, with my purse on one side and a picnic basket on the other side. “Compliments of Mr. Henderson.”

I waited a full minute before I started interrogating Douglas, the driver. “Does Christian usually order picnic baskets?”

“This is the first time I have been hired by him. I had orders to pick it up right before I got you at the airport.”

It was obvious what the driver thought of me. I could see myself in the rearview mirror because I sat in the middle of the backseat. I had hazel eyes and a round face. There were freckles on my nose and a dimple in my left cheek. My hair was light brown, frizzy and untamable. The color barely contrasted with my honey shaded tan. It all sounds adorable, and it was. The problem was that I still looked like a child, and I wondered when I would stop.

Christian made me feel awkward about my body all the time. He didn’t mean to. At least, he didn’t offer me cosmetic surgery, but he was always trying to doll me up and turn me into someone… shiny. For instance, we might be on vacation together. He would buy me clothes that made me stylish and elegant, but he would also try to buy me impractical, fashionable clothes I didn’t know what to do with. I couldn’t wear them to school. They looked like red carpet ball gowns. What was I going to do with a sequined gown that didn't hide my surgery scars?

His behavior made more sense after our little adventure in Calgary where he dressed up like a sweaty Frenchmen and then like a redheaded teenager. I was starting to think that costume changes were more of an interest to him than I had imagined. Maybe he wasn’t trying to make me over because he was dissatisfied with who I was, but instead, because he liked seeing how a costume changed someone.

I opened the picnic basket and I fell in love with him all over again! He sent me cheese, sliced baguette, butternut squash soup, and ripe pears. How could a guy who was hardly ever around know so much about how to please me? I opened the thermos first and drank in the smell of spicy soup.

I settled back into my seat and watched the rain fall against the car windows. It was raining that day. He must have known, but that didn’t mean he was in Glasgow. We headed north and I thought about how going to his house was going to be like opening a present.

***

Truth be told, I fell asleep before we got there. Via alternative transportation, it would have taken hours to get to his house from the airport. With the car, I hoped it would be less. Christian’s home was north of Glasgow, into the wilds by Loch Lamond, in a place called Balfron.

When the car came to a stop in front of the house, I was a little baffled as Douglas woke me and helped me out of the car.

It was dark, but all the lights were on. The house looked like a castle though it was finished with pale stucco. It resembled a castle because parts of the house showed visible block-style formations. There were fine square pillars guarding the driveway, and the grounds were kept immaculately. The lights from the closest house were quite distant. Wasn’t there supposed to be a town?

Douglas got my luggage and walked with me to the front door. He rang the bell.

“Where’s my picnic basket?” I suddenly asked.

“I’ll take care of it for you,” Douglas replied. He sounded like he thought the basket was garbage.

“Get it, please. I want it.”

He grumbled that he would.

I could hear movement behind the door and a second later, it was answered by a woman. I blinked. It was supposed to be Christian.

“You must be Beth. Welcome to Cross Winds,” she said formally in her Scottish brogue.

I giggled as she let me in the house. “Did Christian seriously name his house like something out of a Gothic romance?”

The woman looked less than amused as her forehead furrowed. “Cross Winds has been the name of this house since the late nineteenth century. I assure you, Mr. Henderson did not name it, but it’s a tradition we like to keep. I am Mrs. MacGavin and I’m both the housekeeper and the maid.” She opened a wallet, gave Douglas appropriate payment and a tip.

“I’ll just be back with the young lady’s basket,” he said as he took the money.

“Basket?” Mrs. MacGavin asked curiously.

“It’s mine,” I said tonelessly. If she wanted to preserve the distinction in our ranks, I could be equally cold to her.

The truth was, I kept everything Christian gave me. I kept old theater tickets, odd bits of paper, receipts, and anything else. I even kept an old bagel in my trunk for six months before Trinity found it and threatened she would tip the administration that my room needed to be searched for drugs if I didn’t throw it away.

Douglas returned with my basket and ducked out.

Mrs. MacGavin shut the door behind him. “I know it’s late and you probably want to get to bed, but I’ve been instructed you must receive a tour of the house before I leave.”

“You’re leaving?” What I wanted to say was thank goodness, but I managed to keep it down.

“Yes. Normally, I come and give the house a thorough cleaning only before Mr. Henderson is set to arrive. Otherwise, the house remains empty. Would you like some tea?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

I shook my head. “Water will be fine.”

She led me into the kitchen which was an incredibly spiffy affair. I sat at the marble-topped bar, while she poured me a glass of water and continued her discourse.

“Cross Winds has a gardener who comes every day, dead of winter or heat of summer. His name is Henry Brandon. There are two conservatories in this house as well as a greenhouse in the yard. Mr. Henderson has hired a temporary cook for you. Mable will cook you breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Unless you cancel your meal. There will be a menu for you to approve for the next day at every dinner meal. Here is the menu for tomorrow.”

She handed me a piece of paper with the meals printed on fancy card stock with crinkled edges. Breakfast was scrambled eggs with fried tomatoes and toast. For lunch, I was eating smoked haddock and tomatoes and chives. Then for dinner, I was being fed a full venison meal with potatoes and gravy.

I ran a hand over my stomach. Christian didn’t know I was practically a vegetarian, because I ate like him when I was with him. I’d have to talk to Mable about the food when I met her.

“Looks good,” I said to Mrs. MacGavin, giving her back the menu.

“I should also tell you that I’ll be stopping by every morning to tidy up. I’ll show you your room.”

As we climbed the staircase, I suddenly realized that since Christian had hired a maid, I would not have the pleasure of cleaning his house (it wouldn't have been a pleasure for any other person). He had also hired a cook, so I wouldn't be going to the market or fixing my own meals. Part of what I wanted was ruined with these extra people around, because he didn't think I could take care of myself.

I lingered behind as Mrs. MacGavin hurried up the stairs. “You wouldn’t know to look at the place, but Mr. Henderson had quite a bit of renovating done to prepare for your stay.”

“Why would he do that?” I wondered.

“Well, your bedroom didn’t connect to the bathroom at first, but he made a door.”

Mrs. MacGavin led me into my bedroom with a flourish. Christian had been shopping I could see. It had probably been an ordinary room once, but now he’d made it into something extraordinary. I ought to have been grateful. He thought it was what I wanted, a place for myself, when I wanted to be in his place.

The room had originally been brown and cream to match the rest of the house, but was now white as white with college dorm room fashion. Meaning there were pillows in the shape of clouds with faces on them and beads hanging from the walls intertwined with fairy lights. The bed was brand new, comfortable-looking and puffy. There was a tiny pear tree by the window with a note for me on how to care for it while it was ‘visiting’ me from the conservatory. It was all kinds of adorable and yet sort of wretched at the same time. Christian really knew how to give gifts while withholding what I really wanted.

I read the note and turned to Mrs. MacGavin. “Is that all?”

For a moment, it looked like she couldn’t think of anything else to tell me, but then she remembered one last thing. “You need to tell me if you decide to go back to Toronto. Here’s my card.”

“You don’t think I’ll stay long?”

“No. Not unless you fall in love with Henry Brandon.”

I scoffed. “Why would I fall in love with Henry Brandon?”

“I’m just saying it will be lonely here if you don’t make a friend. Goodnight, Beth. I’ll lock the doors on my way out.”

It wasn’t soon enough. I couldn't snoop with her around. As soon as I heard the click of the front door, I charged around searching for Christian’s bedroom. Aside from my room, the bathroom and a linen closet, every other door on the top floor was locked. The knobs weren’t just sissy bathroom locks either, but fancy outdoor locks that required keys.

Furious, I went downstairs to explore.

Remarkably, yes, there were two conservatories. I almost didn’t get any further than the first one. It was round and had beautiful plants that circled the whole outside edge. An ornate fountain trickled water by a padded sofa. In the center of the room was a tiny round table with two chairs. I wanted to eat breakfast there with Christian.

The second conservatory had a pool in it. It was very long and narrow with crystal blue water, no stairs in and no diving board. Very obviously, it was for swimming laps. The edges were garnished with beautiful plants. I even figured out where my little pear tree had come from.

I found the library. It ran right through the center of the house. It had once been a ballroom, but Christian had it converted. I could have screamed when I saw it, but not because I was pleased. Most of the bookshelves had glass doors installed over them that could only be opened with keys. I was outraged. He had gone through a lot of trouble to lock me out of his life. I found one bookshelf that was left unlocked, but it looked bizarre next to the old hardbacks because the spines were a rainbow of color. It didn’t take me long to figure out Christian had bought out the entire young adult inventory of a bookstore and arranged the books here, without bothering to put them up differently than how they came off the shelf.

After that, I found a formal dining room, another bathroom, a door down to the cellar which was so tiny, it didn’t cover the whole base of the house.

I had almost lost hope that I would find a speck of Christian's personality when I saw a door that branched off the back entry. It was a little room that contained a battered couch (that had probably once been a dog’s favorite spot), an old bicycle, and a pile of dogeared fashion magazines. Christian was too classy to place his magazines next to his finely bound books. Did he ride the bicycle? The tires were flat. There was an old quilt on the back of the couch. I went upstairs, got my pear tree, and slept in that strange little room. It was easy. I was so tired I could have fallen asleep on the stairs on my way down.

***

In the morning, I didn’t wake up on time for breakfast. I waddled into the kitchen with the blanket wrapped around my shoulders. Mable was long gone. Instead, there was a plate with a little cover over it on the dining room table. It was stone cold and I had to warm it up in the microwave.

I took the plate into the room I slept in and cuddled up on the couch to eat the food. It was pretty good aside from the tomatoes. I should have been up on time if I wanted those to taste good.

I sat and ate, all the while composing a scathing email to Christian. Since I was alone in the house, I said my attempts out loud between bites.

“Dear Christian, your house in Balfron is lovely. It’s especially lovely that you locked up all the books…” My tone wasn’t right. I had to quit and try again. “Dear Christian, thanks for letting me come to stay at your home in Balfron. You didn’t need to go through all that trouble to renovate. I…” Stuck again. How could I complain that he’d renovated his house for me so I’d be more comfortable? Third time's the charm. “Dear Christian… When are you coming? I want to see you.”

Then suddenly, there was a tap at the door.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Who is it?” I asked timidly.

“It’s the gardener,” came a British accent.

I put down my plate and answered the door. Then I stood back, completely stunned. Red hair, freckles across the nose. “You CAME!” I shouted and threw myself into his arms. For maybe three glorious seconds, I thought my wildest dreams had come true. I thought that I wasn’t the only one who wanted our relationship to be romantic and he had concocted a fake identity so he could be the teenage boyfriend he insisted I needed.

Then it all came crashing down.

“Wait. Wait. Little girl, get off me!”

He essentially threw me off. I stared at him in bewilderment. Surely, this was Christian dressed up as Charles Lewis.

“Now I don’t know who you think I am,” he said, leading me back into the room and keeping me at arm's length. “But you’re making a mistake.”

I didn’t answer him. Instead, I looked at him very carefully. He was right. I was making a mistake. I had looked at color rather than shape. You can imitate someone’s look, but you can’t look exactly like someone else. This guy was not Christian. Christian’s shoulders were very square and so were the knuckles in his hands. Christian’s hands were bony. This guy’s hands were meaty and his shoulders sloped. The biggest difference of all was that he was at least ten centimeters shorter than Christian. How could I have thought he was the same person?

“My name is Charles Lewis,” the boy continued. “Who do you think I am?”

“Charles Lewis,” I answered in a dispirited monotone. “It’s just that Christian told me so much about you, I felt like I knew you.” I looked away and turned my back to him. “Sorry for coming on so strong. It won’t happen again.”

Charles’ expression was perplexed. He thought I was crazy. Except it didn’t matter in the face of my disappointment.

“All right,” he said in a slow voice.

“Where’s Henry Brandon? I thought he was the gardener,” I said, trying to move away from the fact that I had hugged a stranger in yesterday’s travel clothes.

“I’m helping him with his work this summer. You’ll probably see me a lot. I’m in charge of the plants in the house.”

“That’s good to hear. If I were doing it, all of them would be dead by September. I’m Beth. I won’t get in your way.”

I got up, wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and drooped out of the room, leaving my dirty dishes on the arm of the couch.

Charles followed me. “Did I do something wrong?”

I didn’t bother to look back at him. “No. You didn’t.” But suddenly an idea smacked into my head. I turned around and asked Charles. “I have a question though. Were you always going to come here for the summer? Did you come here last summer?”

“Yes.”

I drooped further. “Well, that explains it. Nice to have met you.”

“Wait a second. What did Christian tell you about me?”

I sighed. “I’m sorry. I can’t talk right now. I need to get changed. I’m very embarrassed that I met you in these clothes and that I jumped to hug you. See you later.”

I left Charles looking like a 3D puzzle gone to pieces, but I didn’t care. I got my things and went into the bathroom to have a shower.

What had Christian done? I couldn’t think. He had dressed up like a boy he knew on the fly and then invited me to spend the summer with the real boy instead of himself? This was worse than the servants, worse than the books, worse than the bedroom, and in fact, it was worse than anything. How far would he go to make sure I was never a part of his life?