Otium is Latin for, "leisure, ease, peace, repose".
Chapter Four: Otium
How did one respond to something like that? From one such as he, besides?
"But I'm… not so sure…," she still hesitates, torn between elation and apprehension.
"Let's hurry up and finish eating. Then we can be off," he urges her, picking up his fork to continue eating before offering her a gentle smile. He looks so nonchalant about it that she feels like a fool for making such a spectacle of it and why would it even be something of a spectacle to him anyway?
"I, really… I'm not hungry anymore," she states, which is partly true. She is so nervous about being in his company for an outing for a few hours. The two of them alone, on a beautiful drive. Her with the Prince. The thought was absolutely thrilling and terrifying. It might have even been considered romantic were it not so far fetched.
"Of course you are," he says, tapping at her fork so that it is closer to her hand. "Don't be silly. Now, eat up like a good little girl."
She is sure she had the goofiest expression on her face as she readily obeys him by slowly scooping up a forkful of eggs and putting it into her mouth. All the while her eyes never seem able to leave him, even when he continues as if they dined together every day.
It surprises her how easy it is to speak to him between bite fulls of their breakfast. Her tongue, who usually had such a hard time expressing things the way she really wanted to say them, was working without much effort. With him, she found herself saying things that she never even thought to share with anyone else. As graceful and learned as a man of his position was, he looks at her with such keen interest in his eyes that she finds herself speaking for the sole purpose of holding onto it. Men, did not pay attention to her. Most especially men like him. Men that were handsome, intelligent, powerful and wealthy. A man of position and privilege. Their differences in social standing was so apparent at first glance.
Their garments, for example. His were expertly tailored and made of the most costly of materials. Her, well, hers were plain and mostly formless. Most of them were not even in her right size. Prudence had driven her to buy her clothes a tad larger than she was in order to allow any growth as she got older. She did not plan to buy a new wardrobe for quite some time. All that she had cared about was that they were decent and acceptable. It was hardly expected that someone like her be fashionable. She doubts Mrs. Harper would have hired her if she had been.
Breakfast is soon over after so friendly a conversation as they had, had that it saddens her for it to be over so quickly. He leads her steadily to a flashy convertible, already waiting for him as they step out of the lobby and onto the valet. His car would have been considered more extravagant had they not been staying in such an illustrious resort, but still, it is quite impressive. There were many prestigious cars parked in the valet that reeked of money and his is surprisingly mild in comparison. The Prince's convertible was quite fine, black and sleek, not overbearing but simply tasteful. It looked more suited to his personality than his station. Which was more impressive than the car itself.
The Prince brushed aside the valet to open the passenger door for her, himself and she found herself blushing furiously at the courtesy. With a small bow of thanks, she slides into the plush leather upholstery and is soon surrounded with the exotic scents of the car. It was a man's car through and through and represented the man who drove it absolutely. There were no showy ornaments nor any lingering personal items but the design, fit and color all suited him. She scrambles a little to get her legs inside the vehicle as he shuts the door gently and casually walks to the driver's side. Her eyes cannot help but to watch him as he walks so leisurely and confidently. His posture straight and his movements fluid. She had never seen a man walk so self assuredly. To think that he wanted to spend time with her?
"First time in an Aston?" he asks, looking at her carefully as she struggles to put on her seat belt.
"First time in any sports car," she answers, squirming in her form fitting seat.
"You are sure?" he asks curiously.
"I think I would remember," she manages to mumble lightly, smiling despite the oddness of the question.
He watches her closely as her hands fumble with the buckle before getting herself in order properly and smoothing out her flowy skirt.
"Would you prefer the top up or down?" he asks. His tone is polite but his look strangely intent.
"Could we put it down?" she asks eagerly. "I have always wanted to know what it was like to feel the wind in my hair while going at fast speeds."
He inclines his head thoughtfully at her enthusiasm. "Not worried about your hair?"
Should she be? Did proper ladies not drive that way?
"There is always a brush," she stammers uncertainly. "If you wish…"
"I like the top down just fine," he replies, turning the ignition and lowering the roof all in the same motion. "My hair can't get anymore wild than it already is."
She manages a light chuckle at his little joke while he reeves up the engine and speeds them off to destinations unknown. This was completely out of character for her. She has never been an impulsive sort to accept rides from relative strangers. She has never been alone with a man either. This adventurous side of her is exhilarating in it's nervous anxiety. She did not know the Prince at all, and she takes comfort that she it was anyone important. Being an orphan, who would care about her going out with him like this? Mrs. Harper, the epitome of decorum, had even volunteered her to be his valet and unpack his bags for him afterall. In any case, she had no reason to believe the Prince had any ill intentions towards her anyway. He was kind and charitable to be taking her out for this drive. She is sure that he only wishes to apologize for his brisk behavior beside the pool that day. In fact, not in any way did he seem the least bit interested in her as a woman. How could he be? Certainly there were women far more beautiful and more polished than she available to him, that he did not need to bother with someone like her that way. His stare, whenever he did stare at her, was not suggestive of that either. There was always a quiet intensity in his eyes, but she never got the sense that he had nefarious plans of seduction in mind. He just seemed, curious, for lack of a better term.
The spot he takes her to is breathe taking in it's natural beauty. It reminds her of mystical tales of old. Of haunted castles perched on shadowy cliffs. Angry waves smashing against the hillside, ready to be devour any would be swimmer into it's dark murky depths. The difference is that there is no mist here to give that mystique and the sun is too hot to give one those delightful shivers. Instead it was very charming. A perfect setting for one who simply wanted to be away from the crowds and enjoy what nature has created. She finds a comfortable bench to sit upon under an ivy covered gazebo. The Prince stands in front of her, staring distantly into the violent waters. He looks so lost in thought and miles away from her while she sketches away. They do not speak and it's not awkward, but comfortable and serene. Conversation was not needed. There was no need for words when the moment was perfect in its silence.
Here, it seems as if time did not exist. It did not seem important enough to exist. So she is not aware of how much time passes besides the lines of her drawing. Through it all, she watches him unabashedly as his mind is far off to places she would never know. His face forms many indecipherable emotions, wherever he is in his mind, making him out of place in so cheerful a setting. He belonged to the cliffs of mystery. The jewel toned vibrancy of his eyes vary with each passing thought and she knew that she could watch him for the rest of her life and never cease to be fascinated by him. Even more so, he reminded her of a tragic knight of long ago. The one who had lost the love of his life to tragedy and exists in the memory what they had, had.
"With the amount of time you've spent on that one sketch, I am expecting a great piece of work," he comments, breaking the her imaginings and turning to offer her a warm smile.
"No! Nothing near that at all," she cries, suddenly very embarrassed that he should think such a thing.
"May I see it now?" he asks, pushing away from the railing to stand over her.
"Oh no! You musn't!" she squeaks, trying to cover her work by pressing the page against her chest protectively. Nobody ever looked at her work. "It's the perspective. I never can get it right."
"Don't smudge it out," he chides with a chuckle. When he persists in trying to get a look, she has no choice but to relent. She could not risk angering him after his kindness in bringing her.
He is to be disappointed. She knows this and feelings a blush of mortification as he looks over it quietly. She is not a good hand at sketching. Not at all. This is not false modesty either. This is absolute truth. She was not talented at all. Her work is not even mediocre. It is little better than a child's stick figure. That and she had not been drawing the scenery at all, but him. She has also, inadvertently, drawn his nose crooked without even realizing it until now too. Sketching was her therapy, but it did not mean that she was any good at it.
"Oh my," he says, managing not to crack a smile but it is obvious that he wants to. "Does my nose really have that twist in the middle?"
He says this so uncritically. His tone so amused and so intrigued, that it does not sound like an insult to her lack of skills. It compels her to try and reassure him that his nose is really perfect.
"You're a very difficult subject to sketch," she explains in a rush. "Your expression is changing all the time."
He smiles so warmly at her that she can feel the warmth of it blossom in her chest.
"Well, I wouldn't waste paper on something like me," he says. The small uplift of his lips does not leave his face as he lightly suggests this. There is not even a hint of offense at her appalling attempt at trying to capture him with her untalented hand. Then he walks back to the railing and gestures with a nod of his head. "I would stick to the view. It is much more worth your while to capture."
He gives her another one of those little quirk of his lips that is almost a full smile before he gains his position of leaning against the railing once more.
"Have you seen the coast line back home?" he asks, gazing back at her again.
Eagerly, she sets down her things and moves to stand by him.
"Oh yes!" she replies excitedly. "I was at a little seaside village with my father on holiday once. There was a small souvenir shop there that had postcards and I saw this one with a beautiful estate on the beach. I asked who's house it was and the lady said, 'That's Manderley'. I felt ashamed for not knowing."
She should have known. Manderley was the personal estate of the royal family and where the Prince took up residence when he was not in town.
"Manderley is beautiful," he says quietly. "But it's just a house. A place where I grew up." His expression darkens with each word he says and turns to stare absently at the water again. "Now I do not think I shall ever see it again."
He has such a stormy expression on his face that she finds herself rambling in order to try and lighten the mood again.
"We are fortunate to be missing the cold weather back home, aren't we?"
Which is silly to say. The chilly winter was the reason Mrs. Harper had chosen this place of endless summer. Where it was always warm and sunny. No doubt the Prince had been of the same mind when he had come here as well.
He nods at her question distractedly, his mind still in that gloomy place.
"The water here is so warm compared to back home, I could swim in it all day," she continues on. "But there is a dangerous undertow. They say a man drowned here last year. I've never had a fear of drowning, have you?"
He looks as if he is just about to burst with his agitation and shoves away from the railing, stalking off a few steps away. Keeping his back to her, she watches how much tension stiffens his broad shoulders and bites her lip nervously.
"Come. I'll take you back to the hotel," he says in a gentle voice, though is body is anything but gentle looking.
His shoulders are so rigid with anger and sadness while her own lose all strength and sag. She has no idea what had angered him so and she should apologize. Only, she does not have the nerve when his face remains in such a tight scowl all the way back to the hotel. When he opens the passenger door for her to exit, he sees her to the lobby doors before offering her an absently uttered farewell and he is off on his own way. The brisk manner in which he strolls away causes people to instinctively move out of his path.
She feels guilty for putting him in such a state. It must be her fault for making him so troubled when he had been so polite and warm. So with hunched shoulders, burdened with anxious guilt, she takes the lifts up to Mrs. Harper's room to see how the lady was fairing with her cold. When she opens the door, she is just in time to hear the tail end of Mrs. Harper's conversation with the hotel nurse.
"Oh I know the Princess Caelum very well. I knew his wife too. She was the beautiful Rebecca Hildreth, you know." Mrs. Harper exclaims. "She drowned last year, poor dear, off the coast of Manderley. He never talks about it, but he's a broken man! Oh there you are!" Mrs. Harper cries almost accusingly. "Hurry up, I want to play a few games of cards."
Drowned.
How absolutely awful.
Her guilt for saying such a senseless thing when she should have known better, magnifies. That night she has nightmares of foggy seashores and violent waves with Mrs. Harper's words providing the narration.
She was the beautiful Rebecca Hildreth, you know.
They say he simply adored her.
He's probably not over his wife's death.
She was the beautiful Rebecca Hildreth, you know.
But he's a broken man!
End Note: I've kept the original maiden name of Rebecca in the fic and also the name of the estate for which Rebecca (the book) takes place later on in the story.