It's the 3rd. Two days after I posted Chapter 3. Seems like so far I've managed to stay on schedule. Yay.
We learn a little bit more about Edgar from a different perspective this chapter. I find I quite like it too.
I shall reply to everyone's reviews this weekend. Promise.
Hope you all enjoy the chapter :)
Review?
Chapter III - White
Edgar Beauregard was currently sitting in her Grandmother's Greenhouse, perched on the white bench, legs tucked comfortably underneath her and intently reading a large text of Gardner's Art through the Ages. It was one of her favourite books, for every time she read it, she learned something new, something she hadn't noticed previously. She especially loved the Renaissance and Baroque Periods, because to her, that's when Painting truly became an art, especially in comparison to the common, but extremely poorly done Christian Middle Age Paintings of Holy Mother Mary and Baby Jesus, the latter who in most cases, ended up looking like a terrified Baguette with a face.
But that was just Edgar's humble opinion.
Her Grandmother, Cecilia Beauregard (nee Vandeviere, wife to -now deceased- Alistair Beauregard, mother to William, Catherine and Charles Beauregard), was sharing the glass building with her, pruning her Red Roses with a smile, and enjoying the quiet company of her favourite grandchild who had come to spend the week with her.
Wealthy as she may be, Cecilia frequently found herself quite lonely in her large Seattle home ever since her loving husband had passed on four years previous. Of course, her children came to visit her whenever they got the chance -Charles the most as he lived the closest- but it just wasn't the same without her darling Alistair. And so, to try and fill the gap in her old heart, she often invited her Grandchildren over to fill her home with life and laughter. But since they too had now grown up (with the exception of little Sigrid, seven years old and the youngest daughter of Catherine, but as they lived in New York, they were rarely seen), she didn't see them as much. The only one of her ten Grandchildren she still saw on a regular basis was Edgar.
Now, Edgar wasn't her favourite Grandchild because of this, contrary to what most would believe. No, it was because Edgar was the most down to earth. Yes, even Cecilia acknowledged how odd that sounded, considering Edgar always seemed to be lost in her own little world -head in the clouds and voice as breezy as the wind, and grey eyes wide with wonder at what only she could see, but in comparison to her snobbish and spoiled (but well-meaning) cousins, she really was the most genuine.
Some might call Edgar Beauregard mad, others would perhaps choose strange (and Cecilia could agree on that account), but at least she never pretended to be something she was not, and to Cecilia, that's what counted the most.
Not to mention her jaw-droppingly stunning talent at art. Cecilia herself had been painted many times by her Granddaughter, her husband as well, framed and hung around various places throughout her house. Whenever she was feeling particularly saddened by her loss, all she had to do was take a look at an extremely life-like painting of Alistair smiling down at her, and she would be content.
Edgar herself reminded Cecilia of Alistair in a way, both with the same light and dreamy countenance, and Alistair always did have a great appreciation of Art, so it was if a large part of him had been transferred into Edgar, much to Cecilia's joy.
Yes, she very much did love her Granddaughter.
She had been sceptical at first about Charles' choice in wife, she could admit. Elizabeth White was her name, and she was a young thing when she was married, only seventeen to Charles' twenty years. He'd been very much in love with her too, still was to this day, despite her passing on (and what a tragic accident that had been). Elizabeth had been pretty enough yes, ginger hair and brown eyes with thick lashes, very quick to laugh too. And she had been kind and polite as well, so it wasn't anything that had to do with her personally that was the reason Cecilia was sceptical. No, it was age. Now, Cecilia didn't have much room to talk herself, as she had married Alistair at only fifteen, however, those were very different times and it had been expected that a young lady of high-class be married before the age of twenty, and plus it had been an arranged marriage at that, so the circumstances could not be compared.
Times however, had changed since then, and youths were given much more freedom to make their own choices and live as freely as they wanted, and mentalities were altered. She had been afraid that kind as Elizabeth may have been, she would eventually break Charles' heart after a few years, perhaps coming to realise that she had made the choice of commitment far too hastily and had come to regret it as her passing fancy of him -what she had at first thought of as love -had flown off.
And so Cecilia had not been very approving of the binding, despite Alistair's reassurances and Elizabeth's ability to get on quite well with her other children. She was ashamed to admit that she had made Elizabeth's life quite hard during the first few years of the marriage, but not once had Elizabeth resented her for it. No, perhaps she had gotten frustrated quite a few times, and maybe stubborn, but never angry, and it was through such sheer determination to prove herself to her husband's mother that Cecilia had found herself amazed at the woman, and later very much approving.
Charles had been smug of course, saying that she should have trusted his judgement from beginning because "hadn't she raised him to be a good judge of character?" but Cecilia had merely smiled and embraced her youngest son tightly.
Edgar had been a surprise, being born only six months after the marriage to an unknowingly pregnant Elizabeth. Cecilia had frowned and scolded Charles heavily for not waiting until after marriage much to his blushing embarrassment, whilst Alistair had just laughed pleasantly and congratulated his son.
And so Edgar had been born, wide eyes already open and marvelling at the world. Charles had chosen her name, and Cecilia had not approved of giving the little baby girl a male's name, but as he had also chosen 'Cecilia' as her second name, she agreed without (too) much of a fuss.
Cecilia had basically lived with them in Forks for the first three years of Edgar's life, since Charles was a very busy man (as much as he wanted to stay at home, he had to finish University at the time and follow his father around so he was very busy) and she couldn't well expect a seventeen year old to cope with a new born baby on her own.
Elizabeth had been a good mother, especially for her young age and she'd been very much willing and eager to listen to Cecilia's instructions about the finer points of baby care, and Edgar made it very easy as well, as she was never all that problematic. Extremely curious yes, but never much more. Elizabeth's mother was always there as well, or as much as she could be when she had Elizabeth's younger siblings to take care of as well. She was a pleasant enough woman, Cecilia had found her agreeable but as she never spent much time with her, she wasn't the best judge.
All in all really, in the end she had gotten along well with Elizabeth, and she, just like the rest of the family, had been quite shaken when the lovely girl had passed on. Charles and Edgar had been hit the hardest of course, and for months had barely made contact with anyone except each other. And even then relations had been strained as Edgar had gone through a long period of depression, completely immersing herself in her art and barely eating, sleeping or speaking to anyone, ceasing to attend school altogether. The girl had only been fifteen, and still very much attached to her mother, so it was understandable. She had retreated into herself, and the once dreamy girl had become lost in her own world. Poor Charles had felt so helpless during that time, still in mourning himself and unable to do anything for his daughter aside from buying her more art supplies in a vain attempt to keep her happy, and so Cecilia had moved in with them once more to try and help out as much as she could.
It had taken a long time for them to recover from the incident, and even after they were never exactly the same, but the two of them had grown closer as a consequence, so she supposed at least one good thing came out of it.
And Edgar seemed better now, if a little more distracted and faraway, but Cecilia could accept that because the road to recovery was a long and hard one, but the important thing was that her Granddaughter was healing, slowly but surely.
"I don't see why you insisted on having her over during a week." Charles Beauregard grumbled as he loaded his daughter's bag (ignoring the insistence of Thomas, his mother's butler) into his black Audi waiting in front of the entrance to his mother's large home. Cecilia let out a tinkling laugh and simply waved her hand as if it wasn't important.
"I missed the company of my Grandchild and I'm sure she can afford to miss one week Son, Edgar is a very bright young girl." She insisted and Charles' mind drifted to his daughter's dismal grades. Yes, Edgar was very clever indeed, and the work currently being done at school was easy for her, so catching up wouldn't be a problem (if she bothered -which she wouldn't) however she didn't very much apply herself to her school work, and it showed quite clearly on her report card.
"No mother, she really couldn't. She's already treading on thin ice for trying to paint her school's cafeteria ceiling to look like the Sistine Chapel. " He drawled wryly and his mother laughed again and lovingly pulled their subject in question –who had been sketching the running fountain in front of the house and causing her to draw a long line through it by accident, much to her annoyance- into a bone crushing hug.
"And you do have the talent to pull that off, don't you Edgar?" Her Grandmother asked with amusement. Edgar shrugged and gave a small smile, but didn't say anything. Cecilia shook her head fondly, "Do come visit your old Grandmother again soon, dear. It gets very lonely down here."
Edgar nodded. "Father and I shall be spending Christmas here as always Grandmother. Along with the whole family. But I'll try and pass by when I drop Mrs Brighton's portrait in two weeks." She added and Cecilia smiled.
"I will look forward to it then." She turned to her son who was watching them with an exasperated expression. "Charles." She said in acknowledgement.
"Mother." He answered and with one last hug, he and Edgar had climbed into the car and were off back Forks.
The car ride was largely silent except a brief exchange between father and daughter about how Edgar's stay had been. The ride back two Forks was about three hours driving slowly, but as her father was used to it (having to drive to Seattle every morning for work), he managed to cut it down to one hour, fourty-five minutes.
The town was much the same as it had been when she had left, not that she had expected it to change much during her brief absence, but her father made a stop at the Petrol Station to fill up his tank.
"Do you want something from the shop?" He asked as he parked by a free pump and unbuckled his seatbelt. Edgar thought for a moment, and nodded. If he was offering, she could really go for Blueberry and Raspberry Slush Puppy. He handed her a ten dollar bill and she gave a soft thank you.
"Get me an iced-coffee please." Charles asked just before she closed the car door behind her. She walked quickly inside the quick store, passing a shiny Volvo (which she briefly considered drawing but decided against as she was feeling quite tired from the drive).
The bell tingled once, and she was hit with the feeling of the warm, heated shop –it was autumn but already quite chilly. Edgar paid no attention to anything else except her objective of Slushies and Cold Coffee and didn't take more than seven minutes completing said goal.
Someone had already reached the till before she did and they looked vaguely familiar (she was sure she had seen that fiery hair somewhere) but she couldn't exactly remember them, so she let it be. It did seem to be on the tip of her tongue however, and she was sure that the slightest thing would make her recall. The cashier saw Edgar first and gave a bright smile.
"Elisa Beauregard!" He exclaimed, causing the male with the blazing hair to look at her immediately. Edgar then remembered from where she had seen him. It was Adonis, the one who had been sitting at the same table as Aphrodite the previous week. He was still as breath-taking as ever, looking more like he belonged in the pages of Greek or maybe Roman mythology than having any business being a real person, or at least that's what she thought. She saw him crack a small smile but didn't pay him much more attention, instead of focusing on the old cashier.
She didn't bother correcting his incorrect use of her name. "Hello. I don't remember who you are." Edgar told him. She'd met many people in her admittedly short life, and tended to forget all of them within a few hours of the encounter, having found something more interesting to occupy her mind. The old man simply laughed.
"You stopped my wife and I at the beach to do a drawing of her a few months ago –and what an excellent drawing it was!" He exclaimed jovially. Edgar found that it didn't help jog her memory at all no matter how hard she tried.
"Oh." Was all she said. "Well, I'm glad you liked it." She said with a small smile. The old man –Smith, his name tag read- grinned.
"We ended up framing it. Actually, she was wondering if you could do a formal portrait of her? We'd pay you for it of course." He proposed. Edgar shrugged. She didn't like being paid for her work, despite her father's insistence. She preferred to do it for pleasure rather than a reward.
"I can do it for free." She told him but he shook his head.
"No, such talent should be rewarded. Especially in one so young. We'll pay. Just hold on a second a second while I go and jot down our address." Smith declared, not giving her any more time to protest and hurrying into the back room.
Edgar took a long sip of her Blueberry and Raspberry slushie before it melted, and wondered idly how long the coffee in her hand would stay cold in her warm hands. She looked at the can and debated just going to fetch a cooler one for her father. It probably wouldn't take very long.
"You don't strike me as an 'Elisa'." A soft, harmonious voice stated humorously and she looked up, having forgotten the other presence in the shop who had been patiently silent during her whole exchange with the old man. She had even forgotten about him actually.
He was looking at her with a curious smile and she shrugged nonchalantly. Edgar didn't think 'Elisa' suited her much either. It sounded too much like 'Elizabeth' for her tastes.
"What do I strike you as?" She asked half-heartedly, watching the small drops of water drip from the Nescafe can. It was creating a small spot on the floor.
Adonis was silent a moment.
"Perhaps Lilian." Adonis finally concluded, smile growing. Edgar thought it over but found she didn't like that as well. It's too soft, she thought to herself.
"I don't think so." She told him, just as Smith returned waving a piece of paper with a sheepish smile on his wrinkled face, interrupting their brief exchange. She saw Adonis frown at her but ignored him, giving her attention to the shopkeeper.
"Sorry for keeping you waiting so long, I ended up getting a call from the suppliers." He apologised, handing it to her. "Stop by any time next week. You're very welcome." The old man said with a genuine smile. Edgar nodded and pocketed it in her apron.
"Alright." She lifted the two drinks in her hands pointedly. "May I pay now? I fear I've kept my father waiting too long in the car."
Smith laughed again. "It's fine. You can have them free of charge." Edgar thought of protesting but his expression said he wouldn't take no for an answer. She smiled.
"Thank you very much Mr Smith." She said, before giving him a small wave and exiting the shop, shivering slightly when the cold breeze hit her. She hurried faster to the car.
"Please wait!" Adonis called, making her pause just as her hand touched the handle and turn around. He was standing by the entrance, brows furrowed and giving her a frustrated look. She took a sip of her drink and looked at him expectantly.
"What is your real name?" He asked her and she blinked once in surprise. Why in the world would he want to know? For the life of her, she couldn't come up with a plausible reason, as she doubted they would ever see each other again.
"Edgar." She answered with a shrug, before entering the vehicle.
He was very strange, she thought.
