I allow my gaze to quickly skim over the group. There are about fifteen to twenty people assembled in the room. The men are in dark suits and the women in party dresses. I try not to look at their faces.
A stunningly beautiful lady dressed in an elegant wraparound black dress comes forward. She has creamy skin and long black hair. “Merry Christmas,” she greets, kissing Guy and Lena.
“Is this Sofia, then?” she asks with a warm smile.
“Merry Christmas to you too, Lana,” my sister replies. “Yes, this is my sister Sofia. Sofia, this is Lana Barrington.”
“Merry Christmas,’ I echo, holding my clammy hand out.
Instead of shaking my hand, Lana grasps my shoulders and kisses me on both cheeks. ‘How lovely to finally meet you. Your sister talks about you all the time and I’ve been dying to meet you ever since I heard that you walk barefoot on frozen ground,” she gushes.
“Oh. I … er … it’s … lovely to meet you too,” I stammer, and mentally kick myself for being so lame.
Her smile doesn’t falter. “Well, come in and try a glass of mulled wine. It’s made from a very special old Roman recipe. It has saffron, mastic, and roasted date stones.”
As if on cue, a waitress stops by carrying a tray full of thick glasses three-quarters filled with a murky liquid the color of ox blood.
A tall, handsome man with cold, dismissive eyes comes up to us. His body language tells me immediately that he must be our host, the reserved husband, Blake Law Barrington. Lena says he used to be a banker to the bankers and that his wealth is quite literally astounding. One look at him and I believe it.
He shakes Guy’s hand and exchanges greetings with him before turning to smile at Lena and me. As our gazes touch I have a strange sensation: this is a dangerous man. Underneath his beautifully cut, civilized clothes he has no limits. He could kill with a smile if he had to. I have met men like him before only once or twice. Their coldness reaches into their souls. He extends his hand and I slip mine into it. His handshake is firm, but impersonal.
He breaks our handshake, slips his arm around his wife’s waist, and looks down at her. Instantly, I see that he adores her. She is the real love of his life. Without her he would be a heartless monster.
Something tugs at my heart, a longing to be part of a great love, but I know I’ll never let anyone get that close to me. My firm intention is to live and die alone.
Four
Sofia
My sister gently places her hand on my back and steers me towards the fireplace. I realize I am shivering. She positions me with the tree on my left and the fireplace on my right. I take a sip of my wine. It tastes sweet and smoky. I take another sip. And another.
Slowly the heat from the fireplace warms my back while I stand there silently, and listen to my sister talking to Lana. I notice that Lana has taken the cue from my sister and does not try to draw me into their conversation. The mulled wine seeps into my veins, warming and relaxing me.
No one approaches us and I begin to feel protected and hidden away amongst the greenery and tight circle made by my sister and Lana. My body loosens. My skin feels warm and glowing. This is not so bad. I can do this.
For the first time I notice the music playing discreetly in the background. I listen to the snatches of conversation floating around me. The waitresses circulate with platters of finger food. I can’t eat a thing so I shake my head politely.
From across the room I catch Guy’s glance and smile back. A look of relief crosses his face. Someone comes up to whisper something in Lana’s ear. She excuses herself and follows the woman. My sister turns to me and beams. I can see that she is pleased with me.
I smile back mistily. I am more than a little tipsy.
“You’re doing very well,” she whispers, bestowing me with a truly radiant smile. “I’m so proud of you.”
Another woman comes to join us. Lena introduces us. I smile and nod politely, then tune out of their conversation. I turn my gaze to the window. There is a thick layer of snow on the ground and the Barrington’s garden looks like a winter wonderland.
From my vantage point I can see the edge of what looks like a massive conservatory. It is softly lit with round yellow lamps and seems to have a mature orange tree in it! The tree is at least seven or eight feet tall with a thick trunk and branches groaning with fruit. Instantly, I am seized by the need to go and have a closer look.
“I’m just going to find the toilet,” I tell Lena. I don’t want to drag her with me or ruin her party. I just want to look at the tree.
“I’ll come with you,” she says immediately.
I touch her hand in a stopping gesture. “No, I’ll be fine.”
She stares at me. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
I nod and leave the room. The alcohol makes me feel as if I am floating. I drift down the thankfully empty hallway towards the conservatory. I open the door and gasp.
It is not a conservatory at all, but a breathtakingly beautiful orangery. Whoever the Barrington’s gardener is, he is a genius of color and texture. He has created a magical garden where everything is in season. Oranges, lemons, limes, bananas, strawberries, chilies. Even the flowering plants are all in bloom.
There are roses, lilies, japonica berries, scarlet willow, and a whole load of other flowers I don’t recognize. The rich smell of the earth mixes with the sweet scent of jasmine and fills my nostrils. I move deeper into the garden, my high heels sinking into the soil. Impulsively, I take my shoes off and let my feet feel the cold soil.
Baby steps.
I let my fingers trail over the velvety petals of a white trumpet flower and smile to myself. For the first time since we left the
castle I feel glad that I came out. I feel brave and oddly happy.
As I stand there congratulating myself, the door at the opposite end of the entrance I came in from is suddenly opened. I whirl around in a panic and almost laugh with relief. An adorable little boy in blue pajamas and bare feet comes in and closes the door behind him.
For an instant he looks almost ghostly pale standing against the dark of the night. Then he takes another couple of steps closer and comes into the circle of light cast by one of the lamps. I know instantly that he must be Lana and Blake’s son, Sorab. He has his mother’s beautiful eyes, the lashes long and sweeping down his cheeks, but the rest of his face is all his father’s. Lena was right, he is indeed adorable.
“Hello,’ I say, pleased by his appearance. I thought we had arrived too late and I had missed the opportunity of meeting him or his sister.
“Hello,” he replies, staring up at me with huge eyes.
“What are you doing up at this time of the night?”
“I had a bad dream and I couldn’t sleep. I was looking out of my window.’ He turns and points to a first floor window across the garden. Next to it is a balcony with a wrought iron spiral staircase coming down from it. “And I saw you here. I thought you were a Christmas angel.”
I laugh, all the stress and dread of tonight momentarily gone. “A Christmas angel? That is certainly not me.”
“Why are you here on your own then?” he demands.
“I was at your parents’ party, but I came in here to look at the orange tree.”
He rubs his eyes and yawns. “Oh.”
“So you had a bad dream, huh?”
“Yeah,” he confirms, nodding solemnly.
“Want to come over here and tell me what it was about?” I ask, pointing to a bench behind me.
He walks over and we sit next to each other. His feet do not touch the ground and there is about a foot between us. He looks up at me and I raise my eyebrows encouragingly.
He slouches. “I dreamed of a dragon.”
“You did?” I can’t help exclaiming.