Present days.
Igor snorted, leaning against the back of the chair and nervously scribbled something on a piece of paper, near to a long list of female names, some crossed, some with a question mark on the side.
If he was in that state of boredom, it was only due to the last of his master's bright ideas: finding someone to help Nanny.
Actually, Nanny's hard job was the last of the Count's interests: given that it was impossible to remove her totally, he would have at last delimited her operating range in the castle. Practically, a retaining manoeuvre disguised as an act of kindness.
Nanny reacted very reluctantly at the idea of a co-worker: dividing her job, her kitchen, her laundry and especially her Duckyboos with a stranger! She was too jealous to accept it. So, after two attempts, failed to the sound of hysterical weeping and actions of protest, the Count decided to adopt a new strategy:
«This time we won't tell Nanny that the girl is a new housekeeper at first: we'll introduce her as an old acquaintance or a guest or something» he told, fluttering about like a crazed marble. «For this reason, the girl will have to be obviously competent but, at first, affable and patient enough to spend some days with Nanny. They'll chat, they'll drink some coffee… things women do. They'll become friends. And only then… when the time is ripe, we'll mouth off a dramatic story: "This poor girl lost her job, she's alone! Poor! Poor unhappy little wretch! Just… accept her in the name of your good heart, Nanny! Please!"» he recited «a few tears, hugs and kisses and it's a done deal!» he concluded, this time slowly walking to the next room «It's a work of patience, Igor! A subtle psychological game! And also, think: less housework for Nanny, fewer damages! Less damages, fewer expenses! Less expenses and therefore more money… money that will largely cover the expenses for the second housekeeper! Double advantages without a single extra Ban*!»
And here he was, Igor, for the third useless time, at the end of a useless evening entirely sacrificed for some useless job interview.
He shook his head: "became friends… psychological game…". He stood there for a while staring at the void, ruminating on that pathetic puerile exaltation of ego, that attachment to the profit, that cold ungratefulness for his loyal servants: in certain moments the present Count looks to him even more deceitful than his predecessors!
Furthermore, he considered his idea completely inappropriate: a second housekeeper! A stranger, maybe meddling, maybe gossipy, going around in the castle setting eyes on past secrets and present dishonors!
He breathed deeply, straightening himself on the chair and with resignation resumed to examine the list of the potential martyrs-to-be.
There hadn't been many subscriptions, just as at the previous attempts: twelve candidates (eleven, to be precise, since one of them was no other than a blatant Goosewing dressed like a maid).
«Ah! And, if possible, a good looking one. Try to take out something good, for once, Igor!» had added the Count, before leaving the room. Well, he simply would have chosen the bothersome, ugliest and useless one, so that the Master himself would have fired her in less days' time. In this respect, the selection was very wide: the candidates were as far all incompetents and slackers who evidently weren't able to find a job anywhere else; in spite of everything people still used to distrust a job offer from a Duckula! He smirked. The thought relieved him a little bit.
Plus, the boring torture was almost finished: there was still one person. He cracked his spine and invited her to enter.
The girl must have been in her twenty-five, she wasn't very tall, her hair was light brown and her big brown eyes were partially hidden behind a pair of glasses. She was a common girl, pretty, but not extraordinarily attractive, however her calm and sunny behavior lent her an interesting radiance. She greeted, closed the door again, set down and looked straight into the butler's eyes with a well-disposed expression, waiting for the first question; she has not even held her hand to introduce herself.
Igor stared at her, silently, for some second; then he bowed his gaze at the desk and carefully examined the list of the names. He cleared his throat. «Well… you must be…»
«Carmen Florintele»
«Oh, yes… yes! Here it is! Florintele», he told slowly.
Actually, there was nothing to examine on that piece of paper, since she was the last candidate and the other names were all clearly erased. Igor just wanted - or better: needed - an excuse to look away from her face.
He couldn't explain what was happening to him: when his eyes met her ones, he suddenly felt his stomach wrenching, his heart beating faster and a fire growing up from his chest till his neck; it was like being… he refused to accept the word "infatuated".
Actually, something in that woman was attracting him, but not in a romantic way. In which way, he realized only when he looked at her for the second time, from a different perspective: he spent a moment to put himself together and regain awareness that she was nothing more than a weak girlie in a dreadful place, at the mercy of a merciless man. He looked up and stared at her: the nagging tension he felt in his wrists before, changed immediately into a sort of tickling new energy. He savored the sensation for a moment: it was pleasant!
Suddenly all became clear: just as a lamb in front of a wolf, that woman was whetting his appetite for evil actions.
He laid on the chair and studied some question, curious to know something more of his potential victim, just to pluck her, to discover her fears and to choose the funniest from a fan of opportunities: torment her body or her mind? Or both?
He felt younger than before.
It all began as the most ordinary of the job interviews: work experience, competences and so on. Carmen turned out to be loquacious but not boring; she liked to color her speech with a hint of irony, without, however, appearing superficial. Her curriculum included the most disparate occupations: she did a bit of this, a bit of that, just to make out the most of a not always easy life.
There were also a "butchery" and a "funeral business" among the enterprises (Igor entertained himself for a moment imagining her hands while doing her butcher job… maybe he could have obliged her to do a demonstration of her professional skills on someone else or with some part of her own body).
Carmen told about being born in Romania, grown in Italy and about leaving home when she was only sixteen.
«If I'm not wrong the legal age in Italy is eighteen» pointed out Igor, «that practically means you had escaped. Why? Something bad happened at home?». She suddenly turned very serious, then glanced down. Maybe he had found the right topic to undermine her.
«Somebody used to do bad things to you?», he pressed, giving a wicked accent to the word "things".
«…». She looked even more downward, on the light brown lock of hair she was curling around a finger. Her lower lip had a light nervous contraction. That silence was maybe a better victory than all the screams she could have let out if he'd had hurt her materially.
She opened her mouth with a breath, like if she was going to explain, but Igor stepped-in: «What drove you on coming back to Transylvania?». Another little victory for him: she'd had brought that unanswered question inside her for much time.
«Often I dreamed about escaping here. I've always felt a strong attraction for my place of origin, very strong», she answered with a delicate melancholic tone, always looking down on her own hands. «I came back with my family few times and for few days, but it was enough to make me fall in love with this place. We used to come back for the Orthodox Easter: I was enchanted by all that intense colors, the woman in costume, music, dances, the medieval sanctuaries, that majestic and sacred atmosphere, those repetitive melodies that made you fly away… And also nature: the horses in the wild, the hills covered of woods, unlimited and uncontaminated, the dark shape of the mountains in the night, lightened only by the stars and moon. And this castle! My parents and relatives never allowed me to visit it, not even to come close, to tell the truth»
While narrating, she directed her gaze, across the window, like if out there, beyond the glass, there were all the pictures of those long gone years. The intense rays of the not even set sun, ran through the glass, gathering the colors of the panels, and refract over her face.
«I can see conserved in these places many precious things that somewhere else are lost, completely forgotten. It seems like you can hear the sound of the history, smell the odor of the past. I know I sound anachronistic, but…». The man wasn't listening anymore. The Past, the History... that sense of "infatuation" overwhelming him, again.
For a moment everything disappeared but the girl and the fiery light of the sunset. According to Igor, that was the most powerful time of the day, because the darkness reigns fully during the night time, but there is nothing more glorious than watching its rise!
Violent horizontal rays of light and long shadows were flooding the whole room, the girl and Igor himself, like waves of a vermilion stormy sea crashing against the rocks and filling each cleft with amber foam.
Behind the thick and colored frames of her glasses, she suddenly appeared, to Igor's eyes, like one of those young peasants of the gone times.
Oh… yes… He was able to imagine her while lifting up the face from the field and straightening her spine, with the sweaty forehead, the dirty apron, and the prosperous beauty. Just like those ladies of the past: cheerful and genuine in their unpretentious living, beautiful while dreaming, mute and proud when he used to have them over a barrel.
He was able to see an energetic, appetizing Transylvanian female… born in the wrong century. An appetizing female in his office, ready to be offered to his Master! If only that'd had happened a century before! He fantasized that this was really going to happen.
Only in that moment, he realized how much perfect she appeared for the role: she wore a white blouse, simple but well refined in Sangallo lace, with a boat neckline that let half-view two fair rounded pulpy shoulders. She smelled fresh like a rose beaded with dew. Her skin seemed soft like velvet: it lied with elegance over the wave of the clavicles, to climb up than smooth and delicate, drawing the delicious curves of her throat. A well-proportioned neck, even more enhanced by the lack of ornaments: only some curly locks delicately leaned over it. Who knows how must it be to the touch… Igor swallowed: it must have been so soft and warm over the fingers... and over his Lord's fangs...
«Sorry?» Carmen's voice, a bit higher than before, woke him up. «I'm so sorry for all this speech! Really! But when I talk about these things… I'm so sorry, I…»
«Oh no! No! you don't need to apologize! I was only carried away by some… ehm… childhood memories», he swallowed «Miss, you perfectly seized on the essence of this land! Lightweight inflection apart, I would say that you are more Transylvanian than the Transylvanian women themselves!»
«Really? Probably I've got it in my blood!»
That was too much. Igor noisily got up from the chair.
«See you tomorrow evening, at ten: you are hired!»