Draw Me A Picture (16 page)

“I’m certain you are able to hang up your coat,” he said, gathering his thoughts back from the sultry, inappropriate corners they had immediately flown to. “You’re a perfectly capable person, so relax.” He turned and hung her coat on one of the curved hooks on the wall. “Come with me.”

Taking Michelle’s hand, William led her around his domicile. The entry, office and living room (or ‘den’ as William called it) all flowed into each other, cleverly utilizing the space with built-in shelving and hidden closets. The ceiling looked about sixteen feet high, Michelle reckoned. She noted a few pieces of framed artwork. Her host stopped in front of one of them.

“I thought you would like this one,” he said, softly. “It isn’t Monet, or anything, it’s...”

“Sisley,” Michelle said, her eyes wide.

“That’s right,” William said, admiringly. “You know your impressionists.” Michelle pointed at the painting. “Um... that’s, uh... not a print.” William smiled.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Oh my stars,” Michelle said, weakly. “I’ll try not to breathe on it.” William laughed at her awed expression.

“It’s alright,” he assured her. “Look all you like.”

Though not one of Michelle’s favorites, the painting pictures a pleasant scene peeking out a grove of trees a sun-drenched, hillside village.

“Beautiful,” she whispered. “Makes you want to go to that spot, bring a picnic lunch and never leave.” William looked at it as well, standing close beside her.

“That sounds quite nice, actually,” he agreed. Closing his eyes, he could almost see them doing just that, picnicking in the French countryside; maybe she’d wear her pink dress. Leaning towards Michelle ever-so-slightly, William could smell the sweet perfume of her hair, as well as her signature scent.

Reluctantly, William opened his eyes.

“Shall we sit down?” he suggested; he suddenly felt the need to put a little space between them. Michelle kept her soft hand in his.

“I’d love to,” she said. William looked at her; the smile on her face was pure and simple. Inwardly cursing his excitable anatomy William led the way back to his den.

Michelle felt drawn to the living room the most. The couches therein looked utterly inviting. Stuffed with feathers they seemed to silently beg one to sit. One couch was long and wide, with a shorter loveseat adjacent, arranged in an ‘L’ shape facing the huge windows.

“Please sit,” William offered, indicating the long couch.

“I see where you spend a good deal of your time,” Michelle said, smiling up at William.

“Guilty,” he confessed, deliberately sitting away on the love seat. Michelle sat on the end of the other couch closest to William, sinking down with a contented sigh.

“Oh... nice,” she breathed. “This is what my dad used to call a 'nap trap'.” Chuckling, William sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“That is an accurate description,” he said, smiling at the floor. He did favor stretching out on that couch; his geust had pegged that right off. However, William really wanted was to sit over there with her, maybe even cuddle. Definitely cuddle. Looking over at her, reality stayed him. It was imperative that nothing make Michelle uncomfortable, even though he was; very much so. He studied the floor in a vain attempt to think of something other than his naively luscious guest.

“You have a pleasant home, William,” Michelle said, softly.

William’s sudden discomfort did not escape her. She did not know whether she was the cause, or something else. After their mild fight earlier, Michelle figured he would speak up if she did anything improper.

“Thank you,” William answered, looking at the wall. Clinking sounds emanated from a solid, double French door on the other side of the room. Michelle lifted an eyebrow at the sounds.

“Alfred,” William said, by way of explanation. He glanced up at the clock. “He should be nearly finished.”

“You mean Alfred actually exists?” Michelle teased. “I was beginning to suspect you had your very own invisible six-foot rabbit.” William snorted but a grin soon followed.

“You must like old movies,” he teased. “You’re lucky I’ve seen 'Harvey'.”

“When insomnia hits at 2AM, it’s either watch old movies or start a drinking habit,” Michelle defended.

“Touché,” William said flatly. He could tell their normally robust conversation was waning; he knew it was his fault. This self-imposed contact deprivation of his was darkening his mood. William was also aware that Michelle sensed something amiss, but there was nothing he could really do about it.

“If I go over there I would not ever want to leave her side,”
William thought, looking over at Michelle. Bad idea. She was rubbing the back of her neck, gazing out the windows; the sunset colors illuminated her face and neck. Feeling his heart speed up a little, William leaned back and closed his eyes.
“Relax,”
he told himself. He longed just to take off his shoes; his right toes felt a little pinched.
 

“You need a dog to bring your slippers and the paper.” Michelle's gentle voice lightly interrupted his thoughts.

“What a darling,”
William thought, smiling a little.
“She’s trying to cheer me up.”
He was being a terrible host and reprimanded himself accordingly.“N ot pets allowed, I’m afraid,” he said at last, opening his eyes and regarding Michelle. She sighed, a little sadly, William thought.
 

“A pity,” said Michelle, looking at her slender boot. “When I moved to the hotel I had to give away my cat. He was the finest feline to ever walk the planet.”

Not much one for pets, William was nonetheless interested; another aspect of Michelle.

“Why the ‘finest’?” he inquired.

“He was such fun... but severely austere and devoted. He cleaned himself incessantly. He was prone to fits of rage, which he took out on one of my lamps.” William smiled at these outlandish descriptions; Michelle’s expression, however, was completely earnest.

“Let me guess his name... Monet?”

“Napoleon,” Michelle answered. William laughed.

“How appropriate,” he said, smiling. “Moody, loyal, raging... perfect.”

“Though... my Napoleon did have a weakness,” Michelle went on. “Easily distracted by string.”

The fondness in her voice drew William’s eyes to her, in spite of his better judgment; the red shirt she wore put a nice glow on her face; she was lost in pleasant memories, a small smile on her lips. William looked away.

Michelle was jolted from her reverie when William abruptly stood up. Puzzled, she watched he moodily rearranged magazines on the low coffee table.

“Would you like to meet Alfred?” he asked; his voice sounded a little strained.

“I would,” Michelle replied, reluctantly standing up from the couch.

“This way.” William walked ahead of her towards the white French doors. As Michelle followed him, she wondered about this change in attitude. Maybe he hated cats... perhaps one had scratched him badly as a child. Maybe she talked too much. Since William wasn’t explaining himself Michelle was left to guess, something she absolutely loathed.

The pleasant aroma of herbs and roasted lamb greeted her as she walked into the kitchen. A piano concerto filled the air. The kitchen looked immense to Michelle, with its white tile surfaces, stainless steel fixtures and deep-cherry wood floors. Fresh herbs hung in bunches from the ceiling among spotless copper pans. A white-haired man--in immaculately pressed clothes--stood at the far end, stirring a large copper pot on a huge stove; a white bistro apron was tied around the man’s waist in a precise fashion.

“Alfred,” William called, over the music. The man turned, wiping his hands on a dish-towel. Immediately Michelle liked him; his face indeed looked grandfatherly but seemed to have “propriety” written all over it. He took in Michelle with warm brown eyes. As he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkled. He glanced over at William.

“I am glad you are home, sir,” he said. His voice sounded unusually crisp for his age. “Dinner is nearly complete.”

“Excellent. May I present Miss Michelle Gregory. Michelle, this is my valet, Alfred Walters II.” He introduced the valet with a comical flourish of his hand. Michelle had to bite her lip to keep from giggling. She looked at Alfred.

“I am pleased to meet you, sir,” she said softly. Alfred smiled at her again; his eyes twinkled with something Michelle couldn’t quite make out, but it seemed favorable.

“Charmed, my dear,” he said, amiably. “I trust Master William is playing the host well?”

“He is, thank you,” Michelle replied. “It smells delicious in here.”

“Yes… you have a novice tonight, Alfred,” William said. “Michelle has never tasted lamb stew.”

Alfred beamed.

“My dear girl,” he said. “I am truly sorry that you have been deprived of such a pleasure for so long.” His gallant tone made Michelle smile.

“I know,” she acquiesced. “Being a Gregory, too.”

“A fine, Scottish name,” Alfred said, still smiling. “For shame... no lamb stew. Well, off with you both; as charming the company you are impeding my progress.” He turned back to the copper cot with a smile. Michelle let William lead her out of the kitchen.

They stood in the living room by the wall of windows, looking out on the buildings below.

“He likes you,” William said, after a minute. Alfred’s warm manner made him realize how brusque he was being with his guest. “Enough,” he said under his breath. Michelle heard it, however; she wondered what he was talking about.

“Work on your mind?” she guessed, sitting back down on the couch. “Or, do you just hate cats?” William looked over his shoulder at her, looking puzzled.

“Hate cats? Why would you ask that?”

“Well, ever since we talked about mine you’ve been brooding,” Michelle explained, quietly. “I wondered if you had bad cat memories, or something. They can be pretty mean sometimes.” William stared at his guest for a moment and then chuckled. Sighing, he moved over to the smaller couch once more.

“I do not dislike cats,” he stated, sitting down. “I dislike... formality.”

Michelle sat silent for a moment. She smiled.

“Well, there’s no need for formality in your own home,” she said, in her soft way. “Here… I’ll start.” She quickly unzipped her boots and stowed them discreetly under the coffee table. She sat up and gave William an expectant smile. Blinking, William did not know what to say at first.

“It doesn't matter,”
he thought, smiling.
“It’s my bloody house.”
Slipping off his loafers William got up and sat by Michelle, draping his arm across her shoulder.
 

“Much better,” he said, looking down at with a fond expression in his eyes. Michelle smiled at him briefly. She decided to let his arm remain. Anyone else she would have shaken off but William was just…different. She knew he could be trusted.

The view from their perch on the couch proved spectacular. Shifting colors bent by the setting sun glanced off the gray buildings, painting a slowly evolving picture. Michelle leaned her head on William’s shoulder, feeling very content. William felt her relax and smiled to himself.

“This is good,”
he thought, leaning his head to rest on Michelle’s. He allowed a quiet sigh to escape his lips.
 

Some minutes later Alfred emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. Looking around, he spied the top of William’s head, just visible over the top of the ridiculously overstuffed couch. Approaching with a cautious step Alfred came up behind the couch and leaned over it a little. The sight below made him smile. His employer was fast asleep, cozily snuggled up against his guest; Michelle was peacefully sleeping as well, her head on William’s shoulder. Alfred chuckled at their stocking feet.

“Ahem,” he coughed, politely.
“Ahem.”
 

William’s eyes flew open; he looked up at Alfred, blinking. His valet stood tall behind the couch, smiling in a fatherly way. “Dinner, sir,” Alfred said. “Unless you want it cold.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” William said, bringing up his arms in a deep stretch. Beside him, Michelle stirred at the movement; her eyes were still closed. Leaning down, William kissed her gently on the forehead. The young woman’s eyes fluttered open, slowly focusing on William’s face. She smiled at first, but grew instantly bashful; she sat up quickly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry...” she apologized biting her lip. “How long was I asleep?” William smiled at her apparent dismay.

“Not long,” he said. “Don’t be sorry; I fell asleep as well. It felt rather good to get a short nap, actually.”

“I see,” Michelle said, relaxing. “So, it’s OK if the host does it too.” Still smiling, William drew his fingers lightly over her hair.

“That’s the general rule,” he said, looking at her. His voice dropped lower as he spoke. Michelle liked his more sonorous tone so much; he sound of it stirred something in her and she longed to draw a little closer to him. William likewise allowed himself a perusal of Michelle’s eyes. He wanted very much to be alone with her.

Alfred’s discreet cough broke their mutual gaze.

“Dinner is served,” he announced, cheerfully. “Lamb Stew a’ la Walters.” Blushing, Michelle stood and got directions for the ladies room; she escaped towards it, fanning her warm face with her hand. In her absence, William pushed the dinner cart from the kitchen to the small dining room beyond and transferred the large soup tureen to the table.

“I’m not senile yet, you know,” Alfred objected, arranging the spoons.

“I know that,” William returned. “I just don’t want Michelle knowing how truly useless I am around here.” Alfred smiled and spent a moment polishing the silver ladle with a cloth.

“You are remarkably comfortable with her, sir,” he commented. William nodded.

“I like her,” he said, simply.

“That is quite clear,” Alfred stated, glancing at William from under his brows. “Honestly, I have never seen you remove your shoes while company is present.” William looked at him. “Don’t 'get me wrong', as the Americans say. It’s about time you met a nice girl. I hope you keep her.” Smiling, Alfred swept back into the kitchen, leaving a stunned William staring after him.