Chapter Sixteen #3
After the meal, sated by the delicious spread and relaxed by my flute of champagne, I feel as if I could curl up on one of Mr. Pierce’s plush sofas and slip into a lovely nap.
But my host has another idea. “Now, Dinah and Dolly are my old friends; they’ve been here loads of times.
But since this is your first visit, Miss Talbot, would you like to see the rest of my home?
I have something I think you’d get a kick out of. ”
I look to my friends, inquiring with my eyes: wouldn’t they like to come along, too?
Dinah offers a vague shrug in reply, Dolly just looks away, but neither of them makes a move.
Mr. Pierce does, however, extending his arm toward me.
“We won’t be gone long. I’m sure they can find plenty of ways to entertain themselves.
Right, girls?” Then he offers a wink and guides me toward the doorway.
I follow my host out of the room, and together we climb another flight of stairs.
Mr. Pierce has me lead the way as he walks behind me.
I hold tight to the carved banister and wonder where we are going.
I don’t see or hear another soul even though I know there’s a team of servants tucked away somewhere.
Once we’ve reached the fourth-story landing, my host guides me to yet another doorway and opens it, and we enter another large room.
I look around. There’s a massive bed of rich wood draped with similar dark red velvet curtains occupying pride of place in the center of the space.
“Oh,” I say, looking to my host with an expression that must show my confusion. I’ve never been inside a bedroom with a man, other than Daddy or Kit.
“This was what I wanted to show you,” Mr. Pierce says, flashing a relaxed, good-natured smile as he guides me to the far side of the room.
“Is that a swing?” I ask, following his steps. “Indoors?” Now my delight overtakes my confusion. Like so much of Mr. Pierce’s décor, the swing is covered in red velvet. I walk toward it and brush my fingers against it, caressing the fabric, its texture as soft as a kitten.
“How about a ride?” Mr. Pierce suggests, again with that boyish grin that makes me feel as though he behaves so much younger than his age.
“A ride?” I repeat.
“Why not?” he asks. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten so sophisticated as a star of the stage, Miss Talbot, that you can’t still enjoy the simple pleasures in life, like a swing?”
The honest truth is I can’t remember the last time I took a ride on a swing. I suspect it was before Daddy died. I swallow. Finding no reason to object, I shrug. “All right.” I settle into the seat and clutch the velvet ropes on either side.
“May I?”
I nod, and Mr. Pierce begins to push me.
As I glide through the air, I can’t help but let out a small giggle.
I forgot how much fun this was. I so rarely do girlish things nowadays.
I look around the room again, and I notice a colorful parasol hanging from the ceiling overhead.
Just another piece of Mr. Pierce’s elegant and eclectic décor.
Above that, I notice for the first time, the ceiling is all mirrors.
What a space! It feels like something I could find in a theater, only this is the man’s home.
“Evelyn…May I call you Evelyn?” Mr. Pierce continues to push me, and my reflection is smiling back from a dozen different angles thanks to the mirrored ceiling. “We’re friends now, aren’t we?”
“Yes, all right,” I reply.
He gives me another strong push. “Do you think you can reach that parasol?” he asks, as though we are playing a schoolyard game together.
I laugh at this. As he sends me flying once more through the air, my toes just miss tapping the parasol.
We try again, and I miss again. “Almost,” he says, cheering me on.
The next time he pushes me even harder, and I stretch my legs a bit farther, and my feet do tap the parasol.
We both let out a triumphant laugh. “Brava, my dear,” Mr. Pierce says, and with that he slows the swing down, putting his hands around my waist to bring it to stillness.
I’m slightly short of breath, and my heart is galloping as Mr. Pierce helps me down from the swing.
He’s wearing that cheery smile again, and our eyes meet. We are silent for a moment, as I try to steady my breath. It is Mr. Pierce who breaks the silence, saying: “Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for having me,” I answer.
“It’s been lovely, but I must be off. Duty calls,” he says, and he pulls his eyes from mine, glancing back toward the door. I nod, and then Mr. Pierce offers his arm to escort me out.
It has been an enjoyable visit. The food, the décor, the playfulness of our world-famous host. I’m sad that it’s over, but I do not wish to be rude; of course Mr. Pierce has many things to do. So I follow him gamely as we walk back down the stairs.
Back in the grand drawing room where we ate, Dinah and Dolly are slumped on one of the dark red settees, and they barely look up as we enter.
I don’t know why, exactly, but I feel a pang of guilt.
Surely their time wasn’t as enjoyable as mine, for Mr. Pierce has scarcely spoken to either of them.
Dolly looks like a wilted purple flower.
They seem to guess that the visit is over.
Mr. Pierce walks straight toward Dinah and helps her to rise, then ushers her toward the door as Dolly and I follow.
As we walk, Mr. Pierce says, “Take my auto. But before you drop her home, bring her here.” Mr. Pierce slips Dinah a small piece of paper, and she looks down at it as he goes on.
“The girl is perfection, but her teeth need a good cleaning. You just tell the fellow at the front that Mr. Pierce sent you and that she’s a special friend of mine. You’ll have no trouble.”