A Different Reflection (5 page)

“Eight years? You haven't had any company here since then?” I was shocked. I thought it was a recent vacation that had prompted George to want new owners or tenants. He nodded.

“I don't mind. I get to stay in a beautiful house and can do whatever I choose!” he laughed as he sipped his coffee.

“But eight years? Gosh, I think I would be lonely, George. Why did the Wainwrights only stay for eighteen months? That wasn't a long stay – and, more importantly, why would they want to leave?”

“Well, I think you would have to ask them that. It had something to do with their twelve-year-old daughter and her wanting to be nearer her friends, I believe!” he stated. I had the feeling he knew the real reason, though. I scribbled that down in my notebook, something to follow up.

“Did they move back to London?” I asked.

“Yes, I think that Mr Wainwright works at Hendersely Brothers Solicitors in Knightsbridge.”

“Ooh that is a huge company, with big cases!” I replied, feeling the need to ask Mr Wainwright about George. I smiled, not wanting to give the game away, lest George stop being so open.

“So, Katharina, shall we stroll back to the house and continue?” he asked.

“Yes that would be great, thank you. I am intrigued to learn more about our young Master James Aldersley and what became of him!” I picked up my notebook as we headed out of the kitchen.

“Well, I am happy to indulge, but only if you tell me something about yourself in return!” he asked hopefully.

“I assure you, there is nothing exciting about my life!” I was quick to reply.

“Maybe not to you, but it is far more exciting than mine of that I am sure!” he smiled.

We walked back to the gallery of portraits and stood in front of the handsome James Aldersley. At twenty-five he was absolutely gorgeous and I stood for a minute as I soaked up the idea of him, in this house, and thought of how the women of that day would most definitely be swooning. God, as a woman of the here and now, I was struggling not to!

“You look intrigued, Katharina?” George suddenly announced as he snapped me back into the land of reality. I shrugged.

“I find I am slightly breathtaken at how handsome he was!” I confided.

“Well, that is what most women thought of him. Handsome, secure financially, young and willing to give them what they desired!” he winked at me. I know that I blushed. “Should I continue where I finished?” he then asked.

“Oh, please do!” I replied, with pen in hand, and he began.

Our young Master James had most women eating out of the palm of his hand by this age. It wasn't a pretty thing for his mother to see, and as he grew up, he distanced himself even further from thoughts of a long-term relationship.” George declared this with sadness.

“His mother had no influence over him at all? How did he treat his responsibilities here?” I asked.

“I cannot fault his duty as the man of the house. This place was thriving; he had invested money, extended the house and maintained it in a way that was beyond his years. His mother, I know, was proud of him for that part of his life. He took care of all the staff and was a fair employer, making sure that everyone – even with the smallest job – were happy here. But it wasn't enough! He needed to feel wanted for a short space of time, but nothing more!” he explained.

I carried on scribbling notes in my pad, wanting to ask more questions, but also wanting to hear more from George. “It must have been upsetting not only for his mother, then, but for everyone around him that he shared a relationship with. I feel sorry for whoever was personally attached to him as his valet – if he had one? It must have been heart-breaking to watch him change!” I sadly replied as George nodded.

“Indeed it was!” he then replied, before looking at me. “Shall I show you some of the plans in the library, showing the designs and work he did here?” he then asked.

“I'd love to, George. How interesting; I would like to see what his ability and talent was for designing.” It would be fascinating to look at original plans from works carried out here. George gestured for me to walk out of the door first. As we did, I looked at the large ornate mirror that we passed. “Can I ask a question, George?”

“Of course, anything!”

“What is with all the mirrors in this house? I know that James Aldersley was a ‘magnet' to women, as you so eloquently put it, but I cannot see him being someone who wanted to look upon himself so frequently.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I get the impression that he probably wasn't very proud of his behaviour, particularly with women, but I don't think he probably could help it either. He had dealt with huge distress, and that must have been tough. I would not however think that he would have wanted to look at himself daily, so frequently – it just doesn't fit!” I stated.

“You're very observant, and no, it wasn't James Aldersley that had all of the mirrors in this house put up. That happened after his time here, but that is another story – for later, maybe,” he concluded. That wasn't quite the explanation I was expecting, but I was glad that I had assessed James correctly.

We arrived at the library and George proceeded to go to a high shelf at the back of the room, where he pulled papers bound in ribbon down from. He passed them to me so that he could climb back down the ladder, then walked to the round highly polished table and untied the ribbon. “He was a very talented young man with lots of vision and scope, which I think he definitely inherited from his father!” he smiled as he unfolded the first plan.

“Wow, look at the work that has gone into these drawings!” They were amazing to look at. “Did he draw these too?” I asked curiously.

“No, no; his talent was great, but he had an architect draw these up. I do have small sketches here that he did to show what he was trying to achieve!” George pulled some smaller pieces of paper to the front and handed them to me. I had shivers down my spine. It was a little eerie – James Aldersley had hand-drawn these many years ago. I lifted them to my nose and inhaled; there was something satisfying about the smell of old paper and ink. When I opened my eyes, George was staring at me.

“Sorry!” I quickly exclaimed. I put them on the table and flicked through them with great interest.

“Don't be sorry; history is intoxicating, isn't it?” he smiled. I returned the smile. George wasn't about to make me feel foolish.

We stood for a long time, going over the workings and notes from a time when James Aldersley seemed completely in control of what he wanted, and George explained where and when all the works had taken place. He then pulled a large, leather-bound book from the shelf and suggested that we sit on the luxurious chaise longue, which looked a relaxing place to read.

“This became what I call the house bible; anything that happened here – socially, with staff, works carried out – were all noted in here by Margaret at that time. She kept records of everything done from the moment she married Howard. It is interesting reading. If you promise to look after this, maybe you could borrow it for your work?” he then offered.

“Really? I don't know what to say, it looks so interesting! I am sure that there will be items in here that I can use in my piece about the house. But we still do not seem to have revolved much around yourself, George, and how you came to be here!” I pointed out.

“Well I think it is about time that you told me a little about yourself, Katharina!” he requested.

“There's not much to tell, really.”

“How about how you came to have such an interesting name?” he asked.

“Ah yes, my name. It always seems to cause interest, usually of the ‘how old-fashioned is that' kind! You really want to know?” I enquired.

“Absolutely! Please do go on!” he insisted. He placed the book down alongside him, glanced in the mirror opposite and then gestured for me to continue.

“Alright. My mother, since she was a little girl, loved – and I mean
loved
– fairy tales of any type, from any country – particularly ones with happy endings. She read so many of them that when I was born she had names bouncing around her head for what I should be called, all of them linked in some way to her favourite stories. Honestly, I think that I could have ended up with about ten names if my dad hadn't put a limit on a first and middle name!” I laughed.

“So your full name would be?” George asked.

“Katharina Josephine Stuart!” I replied, waiting for his reaction. He smiled. “Please don't laugh, I know it is a mouthful, and I am absolutely sure that my mother was born in completely the wrong era, but even those two names were a hard decision.”

“She chose very wisely. I like it. It suits you and your personality!” he kindly remarked.

“Thank you. She was, when all was said and done, a true romantic at heart. Unfortunately my father wasn't and when I was three he took off and left us for someone else! It broke my mother's heart, and I know that she never fully recovered.”

“I am sorry!” George said as he placed a hand on mine. “So do you not see your father?”

“I never really wanted to as I grew older. Besides, he started a whole new life – a very successful career, and with a new family – and we were not part of that. He never really contacted us once he left, so when I learned he had died about six years ago, it's sad to say that I didn't even feel any sorrow. For me, he had died a long time before; he was never really in my life. My mother was my mother and father and she did an okay job!” I smiled.

“I think it's fair to say that she did better than okay!” he remarked.

“Thank you, that's sweet.”

“So does she live in London?” George then asked. I swallowed hard.

“Not any more. She died two years ago. Cancer,” I replied.

“Oh Katharina, I am so sorry. I shouldn't be prying!” he quickly replied. I placed my other hand on top of his.

“George, it's fine, really. It's nice to talk about her – I very rarely get the chance to these days! Anyway, my love of fairy tales and my name are all credit to my mum. She taught me to fight for what I wanted and also to never settle for anything less than true love that was reciprocated tenfold!”

“She was a very smart woman, and I agree whole-heartedly!” he smiled.

“That is why I find James so fascinating; that he had such a connection with both his parents, particularly his father. I have never experienced anything like that with my dad – that respect and love and need to be with him, and feeling so empty without him. Maybe that's a blessing?” I stated.

“Maybe. Let's not dwell on the sad things, though. You have your whole life to look forward to, and you are engaged yourself and so have prospects of your own family!” he then reminded me. I sighed.

“Yes, but that is another story entirely. I love John, I really do, but he proposed just about a year after my mum had died. At that point I was truly missing her and so lonely; it made me so sad still to know she wasn't there.” I shrugged. “I wonder sometimes if I was hasty in saying yes to his proposal, and just needed the connection of something close that was missing.”

“You think you have made a mistake? Under the circumstances, I think that you needed the emotional support!” George added.

“Emotional support? Yes, that is exactly what it was that I needed.” I shook my head. “I don't know, in the last six months we seem to have grown apart a little. Work schedules don't really help!” I replied as I looked at him, then realised I was pouring my heart out to a total stranger! “Gosh, I'm sorry. I can't believe I just told you all that!” I surprised myself.

“No need to apologise. Sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger. I find that we tend to tell the truth!” he replied as he patted my hand. “I have an idea – let us go outside and get some fresh air. I can show you the grounds before the weather changes for the worse!”

“Brilliant idea, I think the fresh air would be a good break,” I replied as I stood.

George almost jumped up. In the entrance there was a door that lead to the biggest cloakroom I think I have ever seen. He retrieved his coat as I put mine on and then we went out of the front door. It was decidedly cool, and the dampness in the air gave the promise of rain. Even in the shadows of the clouds, the garden was pleasant and it was easy to see how amazing it would be in full bloom. I asked how often it was tended, as George was not getting any younger, and wasn't surprised to find that he had a team of gardeners that kept it looking so tidy and well maintained. There were outbuildings, old stables and a garage that surprisingly held three cars – a fairly new Range Rover, an old but loved Porsche and a vintage Aston Martin. George explained that he had purchased them over the years and that he still did love to get out and drive. It amused me to think of him behind the wheel. As we walked back toward the house, the first large drops of rain started to fall. A very heavy downpour was imminent and so we hurried back to avoid the soaking. We had just managed to get back indoors as the heavens opened, and we took our coats off and shook off the heavy drops that had caught us all too quickly. I had that distinct feeling that someone was watching me, and I knew it wasn't George – he was in the cloakroom asking me for my coat. I quickly turned and glanced around the entrance and toward the mirror, which caught my eye. There was nothing out of the ordinary, but I walked toward it nonetheless and placed my hand on it. It surprised me to find that it wasn't cold to the touch, as I had imagined a mirror to be, but that it was warm. I quickly took my hand off it as George appeared at the side of me. “Everything alright?” he softly asked.

“Fine, I just had the strangest feeling!” I replied. George looked in the mirror at me and then asked me for my coat, which I gave to him without moving my gaze from my reflection. I suddenly realised what a mess I looked. Wet strands of hair clung to my face and so I quickly tousled my hair and then turned to George.

“Lunch?” he asked.

“Yes please, I am hungry now!” I replied as we strolled along to his kitchen.

We prepared lunch together and chatted about everyday things for a short time until my phone beeped. A text – not from John, as I would have expected, but Claire. ‘Hope it's going well!' it simply stated. I quickly replied with one word; ‘Remarkably'. We laughed, ate the sandwiches we had made, talked more and decided what we would have for dinner, with the added emphasis that I would help cook! I felt like I had known George for years; he was an easy person to like and I felt really relaxed around him.

The afternoon carried on in the day room, with me expressing that I could understand why he would want to share the splendour of the house with someone else, but also that I couldn't understand why he would want to have anyone here at all. My argument wasn't very convincing; if I was in George's shoes, I wasn't sure what I would do either. He explained the expense and time it took to look after such a house, and that although he had money and it wasn't the sole reason for wanting new occupants, he missed the house being filled with voices and love and laughter. He talked about all of the old gatherings here, like balls and dinners; he captivated me with his stories. He had a way of storytelling that almost transported you back there; like he had been there himself. As I sat engrossed in the magical tale he was telling of a grand and colourful ball held for James' mother's birthday, he suddenly jumped up.

“I must show you something – being a woman I am sure that you will appreciate them!” he quickly said as he grabbed my hand. He was quick to pull me up the grand staircase, down the corridor, past my bedroom and into the largest bedroom in the northeast corner of the house. It was nearly bigger than the entire apartment that I shared with John. George released my hand and walked across to the ornate wardrobe that stood in the corner. “This is what I am talking about!” he said as he released the catch on the doors and let them swing open. I felt my mouth almost drop to the floor, and I slowly walked toward it.

There they were… the most delicate, beautiful and colourful gowns of silk and lace and petticoats. The boning of the bodices, and laces for fastening up, with the masses of material it made them heavy to the touch… “Oh my goodness, George, these are beautiful. It's hard to believe they are still so intact!” I said as I touched them one by one: pink silk, cornflower blue, green, gold and a dark crimson. They were exquisite. “They should be in a museum, George, for everyone to see!” I proclaimed, still stunned.