"You certainly have a beautiful home, Ms. Elizabeth," he said, both out of courtesy and in sardonic reference to the very Western décor. He thought of the city they came from, and compared the architecture, but said nothing else.
"Yes, it certainly is, isn't it?" she said, playing the gracious host, "My mother-in-law had it built using the Château de Chenonceau as a model. Of course, it's much smaller than the original, but, still, beautiful."
"You could do quite worse, though, than having a château for a home. Or a replica of one, anyway," he added, looking at everything from the marble trim to the wrought-iron chandelier.
"I probably could," she said, a sarcastic glint in her eyes. Allen remembered the onslaught of lower-class students that brought his business to success, and didn't comment further on the subject.
"So," he began, wary of her mood but frightened of her silences, "why have you brought me here?"
"It was merely a convenient meeting place," she said, gesturing to one of the waiting servants. The servant crossed the room, opened the coat closet, removed one leather jacket, and crossed back towards her, helping her into it. Allen watched her, and knew that this was merely a show, an extravagant act to emphasize the change in her position, but it didn't make it any less impressive. Someone he knew, had known for years, was now being waited on hand and foot.
How long would it be before that was him who was being helped into his coat?
"Allen?"
His thoughts snapped back to reality — her home, her servants, her coat, her. A thought crossed his mind.
"Do you know what château means in the original French?" he asked.
"Castle," she promptly replied, her eyes searching his face for the next question, the next riddle, the next challenge. But what he had to say next was so simple her brilliant mind skipped over it.
"Then, shall we away, my Queen?" He held out his arm gallantly, and, with a raised eyebrow, she slipped her arm through his. They walked like that, arm-in-arm, to the waiting limousine. He held the limousine door for her to slide into, and shut it behind him.
"Well, then, Highness," he placed faint stress on that last word, "Where to?"
"Cromley," she said, addressing the driver. As the car pulled out of the drive, she put her hand to her face and murmured into her palm, "Queen. Of all things...Queen."
"How's Cromley going, by the way?" Allen asked, knowing his face was inanely cheerful.
"Excellent, of course; did you expect anything less?" She snapped, rolling her eyes in irritation, a surprisingly immature gesture.
He smirked, and didn't say anything else for the rest of the ride.