Ch 150
Once I returned from the train station, I followed Phelan into the lobby and looked around the surprisingly bright and cheerful interior of the Swan Hotel.
The long desk was painted white with a lace cloth covering the surface. The fabric on the walls was white with green and red stripes that reminded me of hard candy. There were several paintings of swans as well as figurines of the elegant birds on the book shelves built into the far wall.
Two leather chairs in the corner were occupied by a pair of women, both fanning themselves. They stopped speaking when my brother looked in their direction and then giggled and hid their faces with their fans when he nodded at them and greeted them in French.
Two men sat behind the desk on stools, one making notes in a ledger and the other lightly tapping a bell out of boredom.
I took a deep breath, greeted by the warm smell of vanilla and sugar. I assumed it was from the candy shop next door and found the scent quite pleasing after hours spent on a dairy farm.
"Kimmer?" the man with the ledger questioned. He was short and thin with pale eyebrows and a waxed mustache.
My brother nodded. "Phelan Kimmer."
"You have two rooms reserved for the next five nights. Correct?" he asked in Danish.
"Two rooms reserved. Six days, five nights. I believe I spoke to Herr Lund. Is he available?"
"Ah, you speak French. My French is not good, so forgive me," the man said, switching from Danish to French. He nudged the man who continued to toy with the bell, and when the younger of the two looked up, I assumed it was the first gentleman's much younger brother or possibly his son. "Yes, I remember now. I am Aksel Lund and this is Harald, my son. We have corresponded for the last few weeks, Mr. Kimmer. Welcome back to Ketterhelm, we are glad to see you."
"Yes, it is a pleasure to meet the owner at last. We have purchased two baths per night," Phelan reminded him.
The man nodded and added a check mark to a column in his book. "Yes, yes, I recall your reservation quite clearly. Nightly hot baths upon your return and then a late night snack with tea, sandwiches and cookies."
"And perfume," Phelan added.
"Perfume?" I questioned.
"For the baths," my brother replied.
I raised a brow. "Perfumed baths?"
It sounded quite extravagant for a quaint hotel. I wondered if the so-called baths were little more than two holes dug in the ground behind the building, fit for hogs to wallow.
Lan looked at me from the corner of his eye, appearing somewhat annoyed by my continued questioning. "It's a luxury, Kire. I intend to fully enjoy myself while on holiday."
"Trunks are inside of the rooms," the older man said. He turned and grabbed two keys from the hook on the wall behind him, which he handed to Phelan before he pointed to the half staircase on our right. "First and second doors on the left."
Phelan thanked him and handed me my key on a brass ring with a little wooden keychain that was engraved with the hotel name and the room number.
"Take a cookie. They're fresh out of the oven," the younger man said in Danish as he held out a silver tray with an engraving of a swan in the middle. "Complimentary."
The sugar cookies were as big as our hands and we both took one before we turned and walked up the stairs to our rooms.
Phelan had purchased separate suites for our stay, and once I stepped inside, I found the accommodations were quite spacious.
A large floral bouquet at the door perfumed my living space with a light and pleasant smell that replaced the sweeter scent from the confectioner.
I unbuttoned my sleeves and rolled them up to the elbows before I opened the door that adjoined my suite to my brother's and peeked inside.
"Miss me already?" he gruffly questioned as he looked up from where he sat on a plush sofa the color of moss. The walls were a lighter-colored wood, possibly birch or ash, the floors slightly darker. With the darker green furnishings, the colors reminded me of a forest.
"For an entire ten seconds I was lost without you."
Phelan grunted. "Have you seen the tub yet?"
"Not yet," I said as I turned and walked through the suite toward the four poster bed and through a large doorway to a brightly lit room with several ivory pedestals holding ferns and trailing foliage, which continued the forest motif.
The lavatory was more humid than the rest of the suite while the large window allowed the afternoon sun into the room, adding to the heat.
A giant, porcelain glazed trough was in the center of the room, supported by four brass claw feet with a plush wool rug in front of it over a tiled floor. The inside of the tub had been smoothed so that the seams didn't protrude against bare flesh, making it into what looked like a giant, oblong bowl.
"This is…"
"Enormous," Phelan said as he came up beside me, grinning with delight. "Wait until it's filled with boiling water and scented. You'll be a happy, shriveled up prune in no time."
"How many buckets would one need to carry into the room to fill this?" I asked.
"One."
"One?" I incredulously asked. Clearly he was mistaken unless the bucket was as large as the tub.
Phelan walked around to the back of the tub where there was a square cabinet. He pulled both doors open and showed me the interior where there was metal piping and a spout.
"What is that?"
"A water pump, installed by the new owners last year. Due to the placement of the tubs, there was no way to directly add water without tearing up the floor and physically moving these troughs toward the wall, so the owner, Aksel, called upon none other than John Kohler to aid in the solution of filling these tubs."
I stared blankly at my brother. "I'm not familiar with that name. Who is Kohler?"
"You've never heard of Kohler?"
"Is he Danish?"
"No, he's an American and you shall never forget his name once you soak in this tub." Phelan knocked on the metal edge of the tub with his knuckles.
"How does it work?"
"There are two heaters below these rooms that provide enough hot water for a bath, designed entirely by this American while he was in New York City. The new hotel owners met him across the Atlantic and asked for his input and nine weeks later, this innovation has made a tiny hotel in Ketterhelm, Denmark one of the most advanced places to stay in the entire world. And we, little brother, are amongst the first travelers to enjoy such a luxury."
"How long does it take to fill?"
"About fifteen minutes each."
"Fifteen minutes?" I asked, raising a brow. "That cannot be."
"It absolutely can and one of the hotel workers will tell us when the water is sufficiently heated and fill the tubs on our behalf. You'll note when walking around barefoot that the floor in this room is also heated thanks to the water being boiled beneath us."
I bent and touched the floor with my palm, nodding at the discovery. I imagined on cold winter evenings the invention was even more luxurious than it was in September when the days were still pleasantly warm.
We made ourselves comfortable in my suite while waiting for the water to heat. Hot tea was delivered first along with a tray of another dozen cookies of various types by a younger woman who looked exactly like the two men at the desk. She was dressed in a white frilly maid's uniform that looked too large for her petite frame.
"Is everything to your liking?" she asked, her question directed at Phelan. She blushed and shook her head when he looked up and asked if she spoke French.
"Everything is wonderful," I answered her in Danish when she shook her head that she did not speak the same language as my brother.
"Have you made any more paintings?" she eagerly asked.
My brother looked at me and I translated her words.
"He says that he has completed a few," I said.
"Perhaps you would show us some drawings before you leave?"
Phelan nodded when I told him what she said. "Of course, it would be an honor."
The young woman smiled politely, but looked genuinely disappointed when my brother was unable to answer her for himself.
"Ring the bell if you need anything," she said, once again directing her words at Phelan. She pointed to a button on the wall near the door. "My name is Signe. I shall return when your baths are ready to be filled."
Once she left, Phelan removed his boots and stretched out onto the sofa while I left my shoes in the corner near the door and eased into a chair where I propped my feet up on the ottoman and pulled my mask off, grateful for the opportunity to be without it after a long day. My cheek itched, but I refrained from scratching as I knew it would become tender and start to bleed.
"You shouldn't concern yourself with Toke and Hilda's lack of appreciation for your music," Phelan said. He had his eyes closed and hands folded over his chest, the position of his body much like a corpse in a coffin. "Especially Toke."
"I'm not concerned."
"Good."
"But…"
Phelan turned his head to the side and opened one eye, squinting at me. "But?"
"I should say I am not concerned for myself."
He briefly stared up at the ceiling, then closed his one eye and beat his fingertips on his chest. "You're concerned for our grandparents."
I shifted in the chair, twisting to face him. "Don't you find it unusual that Hilda and Toke don't speak of their children?"
Phelan turned silent for a brief moment. He picked at his fingernails and shrugged. "Does it matter if I do?"
"Of course it matters."
"And what should I do? Demand that they speak of their daughters and son?"
My lips parted as I considered his question. "Not demand, but encourage. Especially our grandfather."
"I am hardly the person to dictate the lives of others when it comes to what's appropriate with one's children, don't you think?"
I exhaled, perturbed by his self-deprecating comment. "Do they know about Marco?" I asked.
"No," he said quickly. "Not yet."
"Hilda was not particularly pleased when she learned Alex was conceived out of wedlock."
Phelan sat up. "Were you surprised?"
I shrugged. "A little, I suppose."
"Toke and Hilda haven't met Alex," Phelan reminded me. "To know my favorite nephew is to truly be surprised by his imagination and gregarious nature and adore him for it. Speaking of Alex, what did your telegram say, if I may ask?"
"Which one?" I asked. "He sent multiples."
Phelan chuckled. "Ah, to be a child with no knowledge of monetary value."
I smiled to myself and opened his first telegram. "He has a loose tooth," I said once I finished reading it. "And Bessie does not."
"Alex writes telegrams precisely how I would expect. Speaking of which, I believe I have at least a dozen letters from my affable nephew left to read. I suppose I should begin those once we are settled for the night."
There was a knock at the door, which I answered swiftly once I had my mask in place. I left my telegrams on the chair to read later in the evening and opened the door where I found both Signe and Harald waiting in the hallway with large silver buckets in hand.
"We shall begin filling at once, if you would like," Harald offered.
Phelan climbed to his feet and motioned for Signe to follow him into his suite through the door connecting both rooms. A moment later my brother returned and I heard the splash of water being dumped into the tubs.
"I have been looking forward to this since we stepped aboard the train," Phelan said. He remained standing and stretched his hands over his head, cracking his back and neck in the process. "Actually, I have been looking forward to this since Herr Lund agreed to reserving both suites for me."
"Is there much traffic through Skyderhelm where the suites would be unavailable?" I asked.
"Ketterhelm has a decent amount of visitors, yes. Skyderhelm, no."
"Where is Ketterhelm?" I asked. "I thought we were staying in Skyderhelm."
"Skyderhelm is where the farm is located, population one hundred and thirty-six, but the town is actually Ketterhelm population fifteen hundred and eighty, give or take the infants born this year to the families of child-producing ages. If you think you missed a sign, I assure you that you have not. The locals apparently know precisely where one town ends and the other begins, but truly it's all the same."
"Do you know where one ends and the other begins?" I asked.
"Of course I do." Phelan smiled to himself. "There is a little more progress every time I visit and I have been visiting consistently for fifteen years now. I've watched the train station grow from two tracks to six. This hotel was an inn up until last year and they typically only had a handful of rooms occupied. From what I understand, all summer they were sold out."
I nodded in approval.
"The restaurant used to be a cafe with three tables and now it has at least fifteen and they are always busy, despite what Toke thinks of their chef. The food isn't as good as what Hilda makes, but our grandmother is extraordinarily gifted when it comes to cooking. Plus, Toke and Hilda have sold their cheese to the chef for the last few years. The restaurant pays top dollar for their dairy products and the confectioner on the other side I've heard purchase cream weekly."
"They make their own cheese?" I asked.
"The best cheese you will ever taste," Phelan assured me. "And I am not saying that because we are related to the makers. Hilda is like a chemist when it comes to food. I'm certain the restaurant could find another product that would taste fine and save them a great deal of money, but the family that owns the restaurant and the couple who bake in the confectionery have known Hilda and Toke their whole lives. They have a strong community, and I doubt those passing through Ketterhelm realize the best resource the town has to offer is its people."
"You like it here," I observed, noting the pride in his voice when he spoke of the small towns.
Phelan shrugged. "Better than Paris, not as much as Brussels."
Harold, lathered like a racehorse, appeared a moment later, red-faced and out of breath. "I will help Signe finish the other one," he said. "Once we have finished wait ten minutes or you will scald yourself."
Both Signe and Harald returned to my suite a few minutes later and proudly announced that the baths were both filled. Signe handed my brother two small green bottles and smiled as she excitedly told him the scents. Phelan nodded and thanked her before he turned to me.
"What scent is it?" he asked.
"She said ancient tree, I believe."
Claude had taught me the basics of the language and there were words that I couldn't quite identify, but that sounded similar to ones I had mastered.
"Rustic cedar, I believe," Phelan said. He removed the stopper to one bottle and inhaled. "We shall fall asleep smelling like a majestic forest, surrounded by a dozen feather pillows."
"Delightful," I said.
"Oh, Kire, you have no idea."
oOo
There was a pocket door hidden behind the trailing plants and full ferns that connected the two bathrooms, which Lan opened after moving the jungle of foliage.
"It's for the maids," he explained as he began to unbutton his shirt. "To make cleaning more efficient by giving access to both the front and back of the suites. It also makes it easier for me to pester you while you attempt to relax."
"Retribution for the many times I woke you in the night when we were children?" I asked.
"Do you honestly think I am so petty?" he gruffly questioned.
"Are you not?"
"Of course I am."
He walked through the open pocket door and pulled off his shirt, which he flung aside before he began unbuttoning his trousers with his back to me. I reached for the top button of my own shirt and felt terribly self-conscious in his well-muscled presence.
My brother had already seen me shirtless while on holiday in Northern France, but it hadn't been intentional. I stepped away from the pocket door and stood on the opposite side of the tub, far from where Phelan could see me, and slowly unbuttoned my shirt.
My mask was still in place, and I caught my own distorted reflection in the fogged up mirror. The stark white of the mask stood out, but the rest of my features were blurred.
I rubbed the smooth, cool surface with the blade of my hand and cleared a small portion of the mirror. Rivulets of water slid down to the bottom and clung to the edge. For a long moment I stared at the image before me and thought of how it would have been easier to walk through life in an opaque world, the flaws blending into the acceptable. A murky canvas, I thought, the blemishes smoothed over.
"Do you want your perfume bottle?" Phelan asked as he walked back into my side of the suite in nothing but a towel.
His voice startled me more than his sudden reappearance. I glanced briefly in his direction, noting the definition of his abdomen and chest and muscle tone in his arms. With his hair pulled back from his face and stubble growing after two days without shaving, he looked like the definition of masculinity.
Still fully dressed, I turned from him, instinctively drawing my hand to my face despite the mask.
"Are you getting into the tub fully dressed?" my brother asked, sounding quite exasperated. It was his normal tone, but I still took offense.
"I'll disrobe when you are back in your own suite," I snapped.
"My, my," Phelan said. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "No need to be brackish, Kire. I merely came to offer you luxury in a little green bottle. I will see myself out."
He placed the bottle on top of a white robe that was inside of a wicker basket beside the tub and turned, shaking his head in dismay.
His departure made me feel foolish for my reaction. "Lan, I didn't mean–"
"I know," he said. A moment later I heard a soft splash and my brother inhaled sharply as he stepped into the water.
Frustrated with myself, I exhaled and unbuttoned my shirt, which I folded and set aside. Steam wafted over the surface of the water, which rippled thanks to vibration through the floor, which I assumed was from the heating mechanism below us. I opened the bottle and poured a small amount of perfume into the tub before removing the rest of my clothing and setting them into a pile with my mask and hair piece on top.
It was extraordinarily hot at first touch, almost uncomfortable. I stood for a moment, the water reaching just below my knees, and waited for my flesh to adjust to the temperature before I submerged myself fully and added the rest of the perfume.
Several minutes later I placed a rolled towel behind my head and stared up at the copper tiles on the ceiling.
"Well?" Phelan asked, his voice echoing from the other room.
"It's incredibly hot," I answered.
Water lapping against the sides of the tub replaced conversation. I adjusted the towel behind my head so that it fit the curve of my neck and stretched out, toes protruding from the water's surface. The longer we remained silent, the more I desired to say something and break the growing tension I felt between us, but nothing of interest came to mind.
"Have I offended you?" Phelan asked suddenly.
I gripped the edge of the tub, wincing at his inquiry. "No."
Phelan grunted. I heard a trickle of water and assumed he cupped his hands and allowed the hot water to drip through his fingers.
"Are you certain?" he asked.
"Positive," I answered.
He made a sound of acknowledgment.
"Do you ever…" I paused abruptly, attempting to phrase my question appropriately. "Do you ever wonder if people dislike you?"
"No," he answered.
"Never?"
"Kire, may I remind you that I critique the art of first-year university students? Intolerably pompous art students at that all of whom believe they know everything and who inevitably draw my likeness on the body of a donkey once I begin to slash through their inflated egos?"
I frowned at his answer.
"As I am certain you are aware, I have a reputation for being disagreeable. I suppose if I am being honest, I am often astounded when others seem fond of me," he said.
I furrowed my brow, surprised by his statement. "Why?" I questioned.
"Why? Because I am not an easy person to like," he mumbled.
"I don't believe that's true at all."
"Oh?"
"Your salon club seems quite smitten with you."
"They are a group of fools."
I rolled my eyes. "You have caught the attention of several women, including the maid who filled the tub and the ladies in the lobby."
"Physical attraction is not synonymous with enjoying one's company," Phelan said.
"I suppose not, but surely it counts for something."
He inhaled deeply and exhaled a long breath. "A couple years after I moved to Paris with Val, we were at a gathering. I walked into the dining room and there was a woman drinking wine straight from the bottle, away from the rest of the guests. I apologized for the intrusion, but she slid off the table and asked me to stay a moment. After a brief exchange of words, she determined that I was quite dull, but in her inebriated state, she said that I was handsome enough even if I had no other desirable qualities, and she fully expected I would take all of her friends to bed if given the opportunity."
"That's…rude," I replied.
He made a sound that didn't indicate whether or not he agreed with me. "I slept with her first, the very next night at a party hosted by one of Val's cousins," he admitted.
My eyes widened, but I said nothing.
"You truly have no comment?"
"That was not what I expected you to say."
He inhaled again and I did the same, taking in the cedar oils perfuming the tub. "I can't recall her name, Cecilia or Cynthia, I think, but she thought that it was my first time, which is why she invited me into her bed, as if I were some uneducated, small village simpleton in need of a Parisian woman's expertise."
"Woman? How old was she?"
"Early thirties?"
"Thirties? How old were you?"
"Sixteen."
"Did she know your age?"
"I'm not sure. Most people mistook me for being Val's age or older," he answered. "But regardless of what she thought, after that night, I saw her on occasion and we would exchange pleasantries before going our separate ways."
"Did Joshua know the two of you…?"
"Not for a few years," he answered. "And by that time I had slept with most of her friends."
"Well, then surely they did enjoy your company." I sank lower into the water, feeling quite uncomfortable discussing my brother's illicit affairs.
"Physically, yes."
"You are…" I swallowed down my own petty jealousy over his muscular physique. "Attractive."
Phelan snorted. "Exceedingly so," he replied with a chuckle.
Again the conversation paused. I reached for the washcloth and soap atop a fluffy white robe and dunked both into the water.
"It was meaningless," he said. "I don't recall a single conversation that was significant. No favorite color, flower, or season."
Julia's favorite color was green. She loved daffodils because those were the first flowers Lisette had ever brought her from Meg's garden and she preferred late spring, when the chill of winter no longer clung to the air and the birds sang before dawn.
I smiled to myself, imagining my wife's surprise and delight that I knew the small details she had shared with me over tea or in passing conversation, the likes and dislikes that made Julia uniquely special to me.
"That sounds–"
"Like every man's dream?" Phelan said before I finished speaking. "Beautiful women lifting their skirts without a single moment of commitment?"
"I was going to say it sounds like a lonely way to live."
"You are a romantic, little brother, quite the admirable quality."
He splashed loudly from the other room, presumably changing positions in the tub.
"I thought…" he said suddenly.
Lan stopped speaking, and after a long silence, I wasn't certain if he wished to continue whatever was on his mind. I scrubbed my arms and chest with the soapy washcloth, attempting to think of something of interest to change the subject.
"I thought that was the way it should be," he continued. His voice sounded strange; strong, but with a hint of trembling uncertainty. If my ears had not been trained for music, I doubted I would have noticed the change. "Perpetually seeking physical satisfaction, never trifling with bothersome emotions or attachment to anyone."
"You never wanted more?" I asked.
"Always. But more was a fleeting thought. I knew if I wished to know the inner workings of another person's heart and mind, they would want the same from me."
I nodded despite the wall separating us. Intimacy of any kind was something I had both desired and feared. From a distance I envied the way men clasped the hands of their female companions. In the darkened halls of the theater, I'd witnessed stolen kisses and heard breathy voices and the hush of rustling fabric when lovers thought they were alone.
How I had envisioned myself pressed to the curves of a woman urging me closer, hands exploring flesh over clothing, hearts racing. I imagined what it would be like to press my lips to a forehead, grasp hips, and whisper words of desire.
But those thoughts were little more than fantasies, a type of love someone born deformed would never truly experience. I longed for something bitterly out of my reach, forbidden to a monster.
Romantic, no. I was not romantic. I was a master of tormenting myself with a life out of reach.
"I used to think it was unreasonable for anyone to want to know me," I admitted.
"Relationships are unreasonable."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Essentially I felt as though I were peeling back armor and handing a stranger a knife. Perhaps they would sheath the weapon or perhaps they would slash me open when I was at my most vulnerable. Quite frankly, I had no desire to be cut open any more than I had in the past. And besides, I doubted I had anything to offer when it came to substance. What if I was laid out before them and there was nothing of interest?"
The visual made me shiver. His interpretation of love–romantic and otherwise– was macabre and defensive, nothing like what I experienced with Julia or even the friendship I'd had with Madeline for thirty years or Claude for a matter of months.
"Do you still feel this way?" I asked warily.
"I don't know how to feel," he answered. "Especially after…" His voice trailed away, the strength behind his words reduced by sorrow. "After Daphne and Rose. And Jean."
"What about Florine?"
"What about her?"
"You spent the night in her home, didn't you? Was there anything between you?" I carefully asked, having no desire to hear the passionate details of their encounter.
"Would you believe me if I said I spent the night fully dressed on her sofa?"
I furrowed my brow, uncertain of whether I should be relieved or disappointed. "I thought the two of you–"
"I know what you thought and what Marco thought as well, but Florine is no longer a woman in search of a forbidden lover as she was twenty-five years ago. She's actually been with the same man for the last several years."
"Does Marco know she is in a relationship?"
"He does, which is why I believe he was initially upset with me staying the night. Thankfully before we departed from your home I had a word with him and cleared up the misconception that I am a red-blooded scoundrel-at least in this instance."
"Are you disappointed that she is with another man?" I asked.
"It would be selfish of me to say that I am, disappointed, so I will instead say that I am happy for her. Seeing her again, I realize our lives were not meant to be forever intertwined." He grunted. "One could say I have a way of unraveling, Kire. I grasp hold of nothing."
I pictured him with the frayed end of a rope instead of fingertips and toes, of his hair made of fibers and joints consisting of loose knots. I shook my head, dislodging the image.
"You do not have a way of unraveling," I firmly disagreed.
He scoffed at my statement.
My lips parted then pursed shut as I considered my next words. There was much I desired to say to him, words that I would never be able to speak if we stood face-to-face as they seemed far too intimate.
With a wall separating us, it seemed easier to say what was on my mind, like a confession spoken in confidence.
"You feel quite deeply, far more than you realize or give yourself credit for," I said, staring up at the copper tiled ceiling. Some of the tiles were turning green along the edges due to the humidity, like mint-colored frames around the repeating patterns.
I paused, waiting for my brother to dismiss my words, but he said nothing and I continued, hoping he was receptive to my statement. "You love selflessly, Lan, with every bit of your heart and soul for others."
Again I paused and swallowed, hoping his silence didn't indicate that he took offense to my observation. "And I think that perhaps you have convinced yourself that it isn't necessary to have someone care for you, that you are better off giving than hoping to receive."
He remained absolutely still, and if not for the sound of him breathing, I would have thought he had dunked his head beneath the water to avoid hearing my words. I continued to stare at the ceiling, my heart in my throat, afraid I had crossed some imaginary boundary drawn between us and that he was incensed.
We were two men who were still in the fledgling stages of our relationship as brothers, men who had not been given many chances in our childhood to feel wanted, safe, or loved.
I thought about how I had craved affection, attaching myself to those who showed me the barest shred of compassion, whereas my brother had seemingly barricaded himself. Loneliness had plagued me due to my appearance and he had sought out a lifetime of never truly connecting with anyone because he thought he had nothing of merit to offer.
Staring at the tiles, I thought of our first few meetings and wondered if he had been quarrelsome in the beginning as part of his defenses, if he had pushed because he could not bear to lose anyone else that he had cared about. Perhaps he merely wanted to see with his own eyes that I was alive and that he expected nothing else, no further relationship.
"Lan?" I said when he did not respond. I expected him to grumble that his name was Phelan, not Lan, and that I should not shorten it.
Your funds are truly insufficient, I had said to him.
I no longer wished to hold onto such heaviness. In hindsight I realize my misplaced trust in a stranger, he had said in return.
My blood ran cold as I thought of the conversation that had nearly destroyed the start of our adult relationship.
"Have I ruined your bath, Kire?" he asked at last. His voice sounded strange, distant and hopeless.
"You ruin nothing," I said.
Steam no longer rose from the water's surface, the temperature quite comfortable in the bath. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of perfumed oils and humid air.
"I am truly grateful for the time we have spent together over the last few months and the opportunity to know you, my brother."
I heard water cascading into the tub as he stood, followed by the splash of his bare feet onto the heated tiled floor.
"The sandwiches and tea should be here shortly," he said. "Will you accompany me for refreshments before bed?"
"Of course."
"Thank you," he said.