The rain had stopped. I could feel it clearly. I stared at the Lotrec painting for a moment longer and then headed for the side entrance of the National Gallery. I wondered why I always spent so much time with it.
The girl was uncomfortable in the palace. After a passionate night with me, she wandered up the endless staircases hidden inside the building I had commissioned.
I passed the eternally bored porters and took refuge in the interior of a luxurious Rolls-Royce. The driver's name is always Jan. Qualified English or Scottish drivers are hard to find these days, so this time it's Jean Paul – a Frenchman. Previously, it was a Pole. Jan, of course. Nice, but he talked too much. I don't like anyone interrupting my morning walks. I asked the agency for another one.
"Here you are, madam. Milord will be back soon."
She followed him without a word of complaint. The bath was ready. She closed the door, and after shedding her clothes, she plunged into the large tub. The foam smelled of flowers. It was my favorite scent.
We moved with dignity through the familiar streets of London. Jean Paul drove a limousine that glided smoothly like a royal yacht. It was good that he didn't say anything unless asked. People who talk too much can be very dangerous. They can accidentally reveal the deepest secrets. And my little secret was worth keeping secrets.
She left. "Follow me," the old servant ceremoniously showed her the way. "This is a portrait of the old earl. Don't you think Sir Robert bears a striking resemblance to him?
" "Yes. An uncanny resemblance.
" "Sir Robert will be here in a moment." He ordered lamb in mint sauce. Would you like the same, or would you prefer something else?
"I've never had lamb in mint sauce, so I'd be happy to try it.
" "Some appetizer.
" "No, thank you. I'll wait for Sir Robert.
" "Why did you come to London?" I asked Jean Paul.
"Curiosity, my lord. One is always looking for adventure.
" "Were you also a driver in France?
" "I didn't work as a journalist.
" "And now?
" "I'm done with that. I was collecting information on a prominent politician and they tried to shoot me. I survived, but my fiancée died. After that, nothing made sense."
I smiled. "I know the type. He'll be a journalist again someday, but now I can be sure of his loyalty and discretion."
The dining room wasn't very large. Just the right size for a sumptuous meal for two. Two place settings were waiting for us. She sat down in one of the two chairs and looked at the paintings on the walls. She didn't show any signs of nervousness.
The telephone buzzed loudly.
"Ann. ... Nice to hear from you. ... I spent the night with that aristocrat I met last night. He has an amazing house. ... I'll ask. Maybe he'll invite you too."
The old servant entered silently.
"Sir Robert has arrived and will be joining you shortly. "
She felt strange.
"I have to go, Ann. I'll call you later."
She turned off her cell phone. She stood up and went to the window. He was getting out of the car.
I waved when she noticed me. Jean Paul closed the door. I slowly climbed the next steps leading to my house. The same stolid guard who'd been doing this for a year opened the door. I have to throw him out. He doesn't know the basic rules of etiquette. Despite everything, I'm still sentimental, and seeing his fat ass suspended on a panting body as he traverses the hallway from the door to the armchair a few meters away, I smile, and all my anger melts away. I take the rose my butler, Steve, had prepared and head for the dining room.
"Hello Jenny. I hope you weren't too bored during my morning walk.
" "I got lost in the corridors of your palace.
" "It's just a big old house. It has its secrets."
Marta, the maid, served the meal. She's worked here for many years, never leaving the house. Just like everyone else in the house, except for the drivers.
"When I met you at the disco, I didn't know you had such a palace.
" Life sometimes has a way of playing surprises.
I let her talk about everything. I savored the taste of lamb, sipping it with a unique wine that had been aging for years at the bottom of my cellar. I gazed at her lips with delight. When we finished, my old butler, Steve, came back.
"Sir Robert, shall I serve dessert?
" "Yes. You're right, Steve. Time for dessert."
I stood up and walked over to him. For a moment, I could end the schizophrenia of my images. I penetrated his body, and we became one again. My hands aged once again in an instant. Time for dessert
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