| Subject: À la Vie! – Chapter 9 |
Author:
Diane
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Date Posted: Sunday, October 24, 06:03:34am
In reply to:
Diane
's message, "À la Vie!" on Tuesday, October 19, 01:16:54am
Chapter 9
When Michael’s hired car pulled into the embassy driveway, the first thing he noticed was that his father had company. He was a little perturbed. He had been very specific about his travel plans. The butler let him in the door, and showed him into the drawing room. When his father spotted him, he turned to his guests and announced, “And this is my son, Michel, whom I have been telling you about.” He spoke in French, so Michael did the same. He stepped forward to greet him.
“Bonjour, Père. Vous avez bonne mine aujourd'hui.”
“Ah, but looks can be deceiving, can they not?” The ambassador gestured to his guests. “Michel, I would like for you to meet my neighbors, Estrella and Elena Vacek.”
Michael saw before him one of the loveliest creatures he had ever seen. She was petite, with warm doe-eyes and long, black hair. When she spoke, Michael swore he heard music.
“Good day, Michel,” said the enchantress. “Your father has been telling us all about you. He is very proud of his son, the famous art dealer.” She spoke in English, her accent British, her diction flawless.
“You can call me Michael,” were the only words that came to mind.
“Michael, then,” said her mother. “I hope we can persuade you to join us for dinner one evening during your visit.”
Michael turned to look at Elena’s mother, and saw in her regal beauty what Elena would look like in twenty years. “I would be delighted,” he responded, flashing perfect white teeth in a genuine smile.
Roberta Wirth was getting paranoid. She was sure she was being followed, although she had no idea why. The other day, she could have sworn someone even took her picture. This was really creeping her out. She decided against going to the police, though, having spent too many nights on the wrong side of the bars when she was still a “working-girl.” But she had been sober for five years now, with a respectable job as a maid at the Howard Johnson. She hoped whoever was following her around was getting well paid for it. Her life, as she saw it, was dull, dull, dull.
Michael rarely left Elena’s side. She had a PhD in Art History, so they had plenty to talk about. She, like Michael, had lived all over the world, and they compared notes and laughed. On the fourth and final day of his visit, he wasn’t entirely surprised when his father called him into his study and asked him what his intentions were toward Elena Vacek. “She’s very young,” his father warned, “only twenty-two, and has led a very sheltered life. It’s true that her mother and I would be pleased if there a union between you, but first you must ask her father’s permission.”
“That’s a bit premature, don’t you think, Father?” said Michael, smiling. “Elena and I are friends. It is true I would like to get to know her better, but I am not in any way prepared for marriage!”
His father reflected for a moment, then said quietly, “Michel, I’m dying. I will probably not live another six months. It is my fervent hope to see you settled down with a wife and family—someone to carry on the family name. Think of it as a dying man’s request.”
Michael looked at the old man before him. He knew he had “dishonored” the family name, at least in his father’s eyes, many times. It wouldn’t hurt anything to talk to Salla Vacek, would it? Mentally crossing his fingers, Michael promised his father what he wanted to hear.
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