Prologue
“I guess I just don’t get it”
She said
“There is nothing to get it’s just Spencer, now. That’s all”
Spencer said
“It’s silly”
I said
“It is not silly. It’s my name. ”
Spencer said
“. . . why not go by your middle name ?”
She said
“Do you even know my middle name ?”
Spencer said
Awkward silence
“Of course, you are my brother. . . It’s . . .well . . . it’s . . .”
She said
“Dauphin”
Spencer said
“Dauphin?”
I said
“It means heir apparent in French. How fitting.”
Father said.
“That is silly.”
I said
“Not as silly Cinderella.”
She said
“Her middle name is Cinderella
?”
Spencer said
“No. . . mine is.”
She said
“Oh”
Spencer said
Awkward silence
This was going to be a long year.
+++
Le Vésinet France. June 2018
The surface was cold and unfamiliar
underneath my cheek, I tightened my eyes wanting to get just a few more minutes
of sleep.
I turned my head flinching against the cold smooth surfaced and stretched my arms out on the smooth veneered wood. It felt . . . different. I slowly opened my eyes to nothing but darkness and sighed. The power went out again.
I yawned. It was odd I certainly didn’t remember falling asleep at my piano, but I had a lot to drink at brunch with Eleanor and Mrs. Caldwell. I also didn’t even remember the car service dropping me off at home. My head felt heavy and I tried to shake away the migraine. Not how I wanted to start a Monday.
I sat up, my eyes quickly adjusting to the dark and nearly fall off the piano bench
This wasn’t my piano.
I wasn't in my home studio. . .
Where the hell am I ?
In front of me lay a blacked out orchestra pit and beyond it thousands of empty velvet covered theater seats. I lifted my chin to the balcony seats and make out the glowing exit signs. I scan each empty seat in the mezzanine and orchestra. Even though there appears to be no audience I feel as if I’m being watched.
I have no idea where I am. . . or how I got here.
Jumping up from the piano I walk bewildered around the stage. Stopping when I realize I’m still in my pink pajama pants, tank top and pink silk slippers.Locating the stairs I decided to exit stage left,
My entire body was going stiff at the realization of the situation I was in. If I was caught lurking in a theater this would look bad. I could be arrested, humiliated or . . . deported. I could not be deported.
I followed the exit signs, hoping a theater as old as this didn’t have security cameras. I felt a sigh of relief when I see a back exit and the city lights outside. Locating the bottom locks I pull the doors free and slide into the fresh air.
The city was quiet and my slippers
clumsily navigated the cobblestone streets. I turned back around and take in
the majestic Huit Boulevard Theatre I had just escaped from. I’d maybe passed
the old theater a few times on my way to work.
Without warning the door I had come through slammed shut and I think. . . I swear I heard the click of a lock. . . and laughing.
“No”, I say to myself, “please . . .no.”
My eyes are darting around for my car or some sign of how I got here. I see nothing but tourist and locals enjoying a warm Parisian summer night.
“Get home”, I repeat like a mantra, “Get home, Clara”
I reach out to hail a cab, after several failed attempts an older driver slows and eyes me suspiciously. He asks me if I’m okay, I don’t answer and just give him my address in Le Vésinet. When he hears where I live he is more than happy to oblige, even opening the door for me.
I feel better the farther we drive out of the city.The driver graciously turns up the heat while I curl into the corner of the cab trying not to panic.
Sleep walking, I was just sleep walking. No big deal. No one had to know. This had nothing to do with that. It was a long time ago. It was nothing.
Once we reached Le Vésinet I focused on giving the driver directions, I get us lost a few times before we pull onto the familiar gravel pathway that leads to Château Mercier. The gate to the main drive isn’t locked and swinging wide open.
After 200 feet and a sharp curve our destination comes into view. Even at night the first thing I notice are the 18 mirror like windows set symmetrically across the gray slated roof and cream stonework of the château. The residence stood stoically as if Château Mercier had always been that beautiful.
"Very beautiful", the driver says in careful English. I was so shaken I hadn't realized I defaulted to English.
When we pull into the circular drive I jump out the car and run up the spiral staircase to the portico, feeling a sigh of relief when I see the front door is open. I feel my way through the foyer navigating the plastic wrapped furniture and artwork. I quietly stumble over a few boxes to where my purse is still lying on table in the sun room. I overpaid the cab driver then sneak back inside.
Peeling off my slippers I take the cool freshly polished staircase one stop at a time, trying not to slip on the slick new marble.
Why now? After all these years? After all that had happened I didn’t want to ruin this very fragile thing I was trying to build. I turned down the east corridor when I nearly run into Rose.
Rose’s complexion was so fair she practically glowed in the darkened hallway. Her pitch black hair was swallowed in the darkness. The same couldn’t be said for her large eyes that had become lighter and more mischievous with age. It was so rare that I saw them nowadays that I was taken a back.
Her bow shaped mouth was set into a harmless sneer against her rounded face. Just a summer shy of turning 12, She was more elegant than cute but more complicated than pretty. She was like Château Mercier , perfectly symmetrical on the outside and a complete disaster on the inside. She also, for various reasons, should probably never speak.
Rose opened her cupid bow shaped mouth and started to complain. Maybe it was about the house or the pipes, but I just gave my usual canned response in French. I watched her mouth move wondering when she would notice my red eyes, swollen feet and exhaustion. Did she even notice I was gone all night ?
“I’m tired, Rose.” I finally snapped cutting her off.
I turned to my bedroom, pausing at the mirror by the door, then the one in my sitting area. I run my hand over my almost smooth complexion. The four barley visible thin lines cross my face in a “t”, intersecting at my nose. A hint of imperfection across an other wise perfect face.
Not seconds after I collapsed into my bed do I hear Rose barge into my bedroom and start rummaging around in my bathroom. There were seven bathrooms (3 that currently worked) on this floor, the pipes were so old you had to be lucky find the one with hot water.
I put the pillow over my head just as my alarm starting blaring my least favorite Chopin arrangement. At the same time I hear water gushing out of the bathroom faucet. Suddenly all the lights in my room flickered on and off at the same time I bolted up and curse.
Wait.
I stopped as the lights flickered on again. I held out my right in front me, slowly massaging my bare ring finger.
My engagement ring was gone.
+++
I'd made a foolish mistake a long time ago, trying to save my daughter's life again. Now I was going to pay for it.