Taptaptap.
The rustle of skirts stopped when Emily opened the door to hotel room 112. She gave the Laurent family a warm smile.
"Welcome! Please, do come in," she said.
David followed his parents into the room, which he noticed was just a little smaller then their own suite. There were three doors along the wall, which led to the bathroom and the two bedrooms. The main room had a sectioned off area with a delicate table and chairs, with a sitting space nearby. A tea set was on the table.
Emily had her hands clasped in front of her. David couldn't help but milk in her appearance. Her evening gown was olive green, the curving neck revealing thin blue veins, a popular look. Gold lace created an almost veil-like appearance over the front of her chest. Her red hair, he noted, was piled on her head.
He smirked to himself, knowing what that meant.
She looked at him, moving only her eyes. A small smile made her look all the more pleasant.
Mr. Willows had his sketchbook and pencils laid on the table, and looked up when the family came in. "Ah, you're here," he said. Straightening, he adjusted his jacket's collars. "I just called down for dinner. Should be up in an hour. Would you like to sit down? I can begin the sketch while we chat."
"Thank you." Mrs. Laurent said. She sat herself down on one end of the couch, and took up a cup of tea. She loved tea; it was her favourite drink. This cup was lovely, too.
David sat on the other end of the couch, with Emily next to him. He followed his mother's lead and picked up two cups and saucers, handing one to her. She accepted it with a small nod of her head.
Mrs. Laurent gave her host a rare smile and asked, "May I ask where Mrs. Willows might be? I don't think we've met her since we arrived."
Emily looked at the woman with a slightly mournful expression. "My mother died when I was born."
"My sincerest apologies," She responded, looking not-too sincere. "I cannot fathom how difficult you must find it occasionally, raising your daughter as a widower."
"It can be difficult, sometimes," Mr. Willows admitted. "After all, girls need a mother like boys need a father. They often require both to be well-grown."
Mrs. Laurent sipped her tea. "That is a wise point."
The conversation continued, even as dinner arrived. Mr. Willows had gone to no expense to ensure that his guests ate well: a five-course meal, the wines complimenting each course beautifully. There was a thick, creamy vegetable soup, followed by chicken breasts in a mushroom sauce. Dessert was pastries, filled with cream.
David's eyes closed contentedly. That was quite good. The next time they visited Santa Carla, he hoped they would stay in this hotel and order from downstairs.
Mr. Willows had finished with one piece of paper in his pad; he had carefully torn it out and had it face down next to him. He glanced back up, then returned to drawing.
"That was just lovely, Mr. Willows," Mrs. Laurent said.
Her husband nodded in agreement. "It was delicious."
"Father knows the owner, so he gets excellent service." said Emily in response. "And then, we can always ask to have that service extended." She continued, leaving David to believe that she had requested such for their family.
"Really?" He asked. "That's surely useful."
She nodded. "Father used the connection to get dried lilies brought up for my room."
"You like lilies?"
"Yes. The fragrance is so sweet and gentle, and the blooms are bright and cheery." She gave him a dreamy little smile. "How could I not like them?"
"Well, I've always preferred roses, myself…" he trailed off, his eyebrow raised in jest.
It was not until half past nine had come and gone that Mr. Laurent told his wife that it was beginning to get a little late. They stood, and Mr. Willows looked up, a little despairingly.
"My sketch isn't done," he said.
"Then what's that on the table?" Mrs. Laurent asked, gesturing with a hand to the two pieces of paper on the table, face down.
"Composites. I wasn't too pleased with them." He replied, hesitating. "Would you like to see one?"
When she nodded, he picked the top one up and displayed it. The skill was evident; it looked just like the group. He had even drawn himself in, behind the couch where Emily sat. Mr. Laurent was next to him, Emily and David facing each other in conversation. Mrs. Laurent was seated in front of her husband.
"It's excellent. May I?" Mrs. Laurent asked, holding out a gloved hand. When he obliged and passed it to her, she held it to the window. The sun was set only a short while ago, but the faintest traces of sun still lingered over the water; visible through the window. "It's very good." She said. David was mildly surprised; compliments were something rarely doled out. "May we keep this?"
"Of course. Perhaps I can give you the final copy tomorrow?"
David looked at Emily, who gave him a little motion with her fingertips, as if to say, 'go on, go on.' Clearing his throat, he said. "If it's alright with Mr. Willows, mother, I could stay down her a little longer and have a conversation, and then when the sketch is done, I could bring it back up?"
"It's fine by me," Mr. Willows stated. "The lad is welcome to stay for a little while longer."
Mr. Laurent looked at his wife and nodded. "If you're willing to look after him for a short while, then by all means. But don't stay too late, now. Don't want to impede."
"I'll get the door for you," Emily offered, giving her head a tiny shake to the side. David caught on and followed behind her.
"I won't be too late, I promise." He told his parents as Emily held open the door and closed it behind them.
She whispered in his ear before they returned to where Mr. Willows sat. "When you leave, wait just outside the door until I come."
And with that, she turned a drifted back to her father.
David stood there for just a second. He was utterly confused about what she was talking about, before a grin slowly spread across his features. Now he got it. And he was looking forwards to it.
Mr. Willows looked up as David approached. "Now that your parents are gone, I can show you the real sketch. I didn't want them to see it, thought they may not approve."
He held up the half-finished sketch on his notepad, making David's jaw drop. Emily seemed shocked as well.
In this one, Emily sat on one end of the couch, facing inwards towards the middle. Her hands were folded demurely in her lap, and there was a pleasant expression on her face as she gazed towards the person on the other side of the couch. David. His legs were crossed at the ankles, with one hand supporting his weight on the couch, the other on his lap haphazardly. He, too, was looking at the person opposite him on the couch, his face free of the frown lines that had dominated his face that evening. Such was the trouble with overbearing parents. Behind the couch was Mr. Willows on Emily's side, Mr. and Mrs. Laurent on the other behind David. Their parents were slightly lighter, as if faded on the paper.
It looked to David that he and Emily were quite interested in each other, at least through Mr. Willows' eyes. Which wasn't all that far from the truth.
"It's impressive," breathed David. Emily's lower half was still mostly lines, and his parents faces bore hardly any resemblances to themselves, because they still had no faces.
"Thank you." Mr. Willows said. There was an audible hint of pride in his voice. "Emily, dear, would you run and get the pen in your bedroom?" She nodded and moved into the room, closing the door. She was well aware that her father wanted to speak to David alone. "The one your mother and father took was one for them-this one is for you."
"But why?"
"My boy, I can tell when young people are in love. That's how I met Emily's mother. And since your mother dislikes the idea-please don't give me that surprised expression, I could tell easily-I want to encourage it. If no one does, it will wither and fade."
David nodded. He was well aware of the fun that occurred when he irritated his mother.
Mr. Willows turned stern. "But even though I have blessings for your relationship, you must go about it properly."
"Yes, sir."
Emily returned from her bedroom and gave her father the fountain pen. He nodded in thanks, using it to scribble a note on the back of the sketch.
Mr. Willows didn't take long after that to finish the sketch, and soon David was led to the door by Emily and her father. "We'll see you tomorrow, David," Mr. Willows said, shaking his hand. The now finished sketch was clutched in David's hand tenderly.
"Thank you, sir. Goodnight." David said, with a discrete wink at Emily. He passed through the door and beginning to walk down the hall. At the sound of the door closing, he stopped and leaned against the wall. Emily had told him to wait there, but for what, he only hoped he knew. She hadn't said, but he was fairly certain. In all honesty, he was a little surprised at her coyness. It wasn't something he expected. Then again, David had only met Emily the previous day. But, it was too scandalous, there was no way that she was thinking of her bed-any self-respecting person would hate the idea, so soon after they met. Like his mother.
He hoped all the more that she was thinking that.
Twenty minutes passed. Then thirty. David's head was drooping forwards on his chest when the door softly, oh so softly, opened, with Emily peeking out.
"Come in," she hissed. David obliged before the door was closed. The room was dark, and she was in her nightgown.
David blushed. He wasn't expecting her to be in her nightgown, even after he had been half-thinking he would. "Why did you-"
"I had to wait for father to fall asleep, it took so long," Emily moaned. Her voice was low, trying to keep quiet.
"Shhhh, don't worry about that." David said, putting a finger to her lips. He gently stroked the side of her face with his hand. "He's asleep now, right?"
Emily nodded. "Yes."
"And would I be right in thinking that you told me to stay for, ah, that?"
Emily's eyes were a mix of surprise at his quick revelation and pleasure. She nodded.
A feeling of great joy and happiness welled up within David.
"Well, then, let's go into your room, eh?"