Whitebridge (Wattys 2016)

Chapter 2: The calm before the storm

1930. 07. 14.

8 pm.

The rain had gradually quieted, Nature had calmed down and everything was still and silent. Everything but the castle' s imposing dining room. There jazz music was playing, conversations were constantly held, and hors d'oeuvres were devoured. And even though there were only eight people eating, servers were continuously rushing in and out of the room with fully packed trays in their hands. The appetizers were just as posh as the castle itself, consisting of caviar, canapés, deviled eggs, crudités, amuse-bouches, prawn cocktails and the puffiest pastries. Champagne and wine were drunk but of course, not by the children, they enjoyed some lemonade or sparkling water. Had someone been watching the scene from the outside, it would have seemed that there was a big celebration going on inside, when in reality, it was only a family dinner. Charlène was munching on a canapé while she enjoyed the modern music and the caresses of the vaporous summer wind after it had escaped through the slightly open windows, ruffling the long, white drapery. The ambience of the place seemed even more significant to Charlène after she had studied it for some time, undisturbed. And then, as children so often do, she fell into a state of oneirism thinking about her future, the things she was going to do when she finally becomes a woman and the places she was going to visit for she had sworn before that she wouldn't live in a single country all her life. She wasn't sure of many things but that was the good in it, she could imagine them. But she loved the thought of foreign places, how she could create sundry pictures only from paint and canvas, to listen to modern music or to light classical pieces and she adored the castle of Whitebridge. So her daydream was made of these greatly valued things. In her fantasy the demoiselles were having a party, just like their mother had been, and the castle looked even more fantastic and lavish than in those days. It was a summer night, the sky shone; stars adorned the full moon. Fine music was floating in the air as Charlène chatted with artists for she, of course, was always invited. This party was different from the many others she had attended because this time, she met a man. A man, maybe an artist himself, who became infatuated with her. She saw a scene where she painted him and she blushed at her vision and pressed her palms onto her cheeks to cover the rosiness. And, they were going on a world tour together and their life was never boring and bland. This was only a figment of her imagination, but some parts of it could have also been a vision of her real future. She hit the nail on the head in some aspects, but in others she couldn't have been further from the truth. I spare you the details and I won't tell you any more because I, as a storyteller, can't spoil the finale before even starting the plot, but trust me, you will eventually find your answers.

„While we are waiting for the main course, you could play us something, Charlène." Her uncle turned to her, interrupting her vivid reverie.

Charlène wasn't timid or nervous when it came to playing the piano in front of other people. These were all people she knew well, but even if she hadn't, she wouldn't have had stage fright. She loved playing the piano for she loved arts and music and that instrument was a combination of both.

„Choose something, uncle." She said as she stood up, trying to straighten her creased dress.

„Play something new, a piece we've never heard by you before." He smiled at her.

William Moor had been a handsome man once, but with time, his face had changed. Wrinkles had formed near his eyes and he had also put on some weight. His skin wasn't tanned but he wasn't pale either, he was somewhere in the middle. He had a regular, maybe a mite longer nose, a small mouth and a beard on his chin. He had never had black hair, and it became entirely white when he reached fifty. William was never the better-looking brother and as he grew older, he became the uncle type, if there was something like that. Maybe that was because he was the only uncle Charlène had ever known.