Gardner Hall gleamed in the sunlight. A replica of the Victor Hortia staircase shimmered in the light, like a thin gossamer dream, as the sounds of construction were heard, sometimes loud, sometimes soft, in different rooms of that magnificent, even stately house that was slowly coming into its true glory.
On a landing, the frames of two large paintings shimmered in the light.
Royal examined one of them with satisfaction. The painting process had been exhausting, to his dearest love, but the results spoke for themselves. The painting was enchanting, it seemed to be even more lifelike than life itself.
There was a pointed sniff, and Royal turned inquiringly, "Aline?"
Aline Garnder rustled her skirts profusely, and finally she said, with a slight touch of uncertainty in her voice, "Your wife is still in her room, even though breakfast is already past. That is not normal, not when there is so much to plan and do. There are menus to come, and charity parties, and tea parties, and deciding on the date of the ball. And I still say Roy, that painting, it is almost indicent to be so in prominent place, it would be more suitable in the confines of your office, for instance, or"
With a light smile, Royal cast an lingering eye over canvas. It was done in the style of intimate portrates of Winterhalter, and it showed Valentine, all flowing half-undone hair, mangolia tinted gown, and those baroque pearls, glimmering in her neck, all shadows, light and mirrors. Dream within a dream, and it was all his. His old daydream was now a reality, finally.
Royal remarked lightly, "Aline. Never mind the ball, that's when the renovations are over."
Royal noticed a slight tightening on his sister's face, but Aline simply replied, "And then there's the matter of Uncle Robert's house, for which Dorothy has plans, which she's already gone to speak about publicly, apparently there's interest. We have our own townhouse, where Mama lives. Perhaps Dorothy's idea has merit, although I don't want to live in that particular house myself, we both have the right to use it, so perhaps it would be a good idea to put different rooms of the house to profit."
Royal nodded thoughtfully, as he remarked, "Perhaps, perhaps. We'll see, Swithin may have thoughts on the matter as well, as it was he who collected all belongings of my late Uncle in some storage space or another. Then there is the matter of Claires personal effects as well."
Aline's sinff was extremely pointed this time.
A couple of hours later, after getting some sort of clarity from the ever-increasing pile of papers, Royal heard a soft, beloved voice say, "Mon cher mari, voudriez-vous du thé ou du café cet après-midi?"
Smiling, Royal threw his favorite fountain pen over the drafts of international agreements, and the export license application that would give him the exclusive right to sell his father-in-law's perfumes in Canada. He extended his hand to Valentine, and, exaggerating his accent, to hear a bright, sparkling laugh, Roy declared, "Conduis-moi, mon amour, vers des scones, du thé et du café, mais ces délices culinaires sont pâles à côté du plaisir de ta beauté et de ta compagnie."
In the drawing room, the mauve tea set, used only by the family, glittered.
And with a little concern, Royal glanced at Valentine, she seemed listless, and pale, but Valentine was always pale. There was a withdrawn look in the shimmering pale green eyes, and her teagown, with its verdant-green stripes, was impressive, but somehow out of place.
With a grin, Royal remarked, "Were you playing dress-up again?"
There was a greenish ink stain on Valentine's index finger, as she remarked, in mellow tone, "You may think it's a lark, as you say, but you said yourself that I get to choose the contents of my own wardrobe. I don't think the money that goes to my dressmaker is that much, on a grand scale. Considering the fabrics I bought on our honeymoon, I've only used a fraction of them."
Royal glanced towards letter-tray, there were few missives there, in one of them he saw Christines graceful cursive, as Valentine outlined some luncheon menus to local Kingsportian Ladies Aid.
The faint smell of Turkish-style coffee mingled with the scent of floury scones and light tea.
The shadows of the darkening evening rose on the green spring grass, somewhere a dove cooed.
Royal glanced at the budget calculation, one more time.
And then he rested his head on his hands, as he thought about his promise, made in the warmth of Venice, in the scent of incense. Plans that would not come true, but how could he tell it to her, how could he kill hope from her, hope from the comfort that faith brought?
For days Royal pawned information. In the evenings, exhausted in the darkness of the bedroom, listening to Valentine's breathing, counting the beats of her heart, listening to her restless tossing and turning, seeing the shadows deepen under those bright eyes.
Finally Royal, giving up, and pressing his head into Valentine's pink skirts, as he said haltingly, "The chapel I promised it won't come, it's too expensive."
Valentine froze, for one instant, then Royal felt narrow cold fingers touch his neck, under his collar, and he heard her whisper something.
Inwardly Royal trembled, for on the rare occasions when Valentine slipped into Occitan, it was a sign of inner turmoil, too great for English or French.
And that evening, Valentine did not write in her diary. There was quite a pile of them, all with brocade covers.
She only huddled, stiff in Royals arms, as he read aloud Oscar Wilde, this close the scent of her parfume, it meant home to him, like her warmth, her skin were.
The days passed, spring turned into summer.
Valentine had spent time with Dorothy long happy evenings, filled with reveries, glimmering laughter, tea dances, charity sales, with Aline in collaboration. Slowly the house project was really coming to fruition, soon perhaps the first tenants would be able to move in.
And then, one perfectly ordinary afternoon, Royal, looking up from budget calculations, as Stevens' head-butler's voice was heard saying, with strained tone, "Mr. Gardner, some of the maids are worried about Mrs. Gardner. Her moods, they have been erratic lately, they say, that she whispers, something about bugs, or ants, in the wallpaper, and inside the walls, we keep a neat house here."
Royal, dropping his budget calculations carelessly on his desk, so hard that the red ink bottle fell over, slowly the blood-colored ink stained and blurred the calculations and charts beyond readability.
He ran through the corridors of Gardner Hall, looking for his wife.
Valentine was not in her rooms, not in the library, not in the kitchen, not in the parlor, or in the drawing room, not in the south or west wings.
Valentine stood before the painting, and cautiously Royal approached her.
Quietly Royal whispered, "Mon trésor, tu te sens bien, puis-je faire quelque chose?"
Valentine turned her head slightly, so that her position was identical to the position of the painting, as she said in a thoughtful voice, "I'm pretty sure that woman doesn't mind the spiders on the walls, do you think she has them too, my dear? The spiders climb the roses, the caterpillars eat the rose leaves, they crush and transform. I feel so floating, everything is suddenly so clear. The grayness is still there, but not so strongly today. I want to travel, can we do that?"
A cold shiver of fear gripped Royal's heart, as he took his wife's hand in his, and swore, "Of course, my dear. Anything you want, anything at all."
Days passed, Valentine's moods fluctuated.
Aline pursed her lips, grimly as she suggested, "Royal, be sensible, be a Gardner. Cloister is a perfectly fine place, why don't you even consider it?"
Royal glanced at his sister coldly, as he remarked with chill courtesy, that unsettled Aline to her core, "No, I've been there, the place is hell on earth, even if it looks quite opulent on the outside, and even if you have lovely memories of the place because of your late fiancee. One doctor dared to say it's because Valentine isn't pregnant yet, or because she's not Canadian. We're going to Switzerland, she needs roses and light and lakes."