Fatal Flowers. V. J. Banis

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      CHAPTER THREE

      My thoughts were so taken up with Martin and the limousine that I almost didn’t notice the surroundings through which we were walking. Like the house, the grounds were in a terrible state of neglect. The grass was uncut, the hedges untended. A thick forest of trees and brush bordered the house like a horseshoe, the open space being occupied by the sandy beach which, now that I saw it up close, was littered with driftwood and gnat-attracting clumps of slick kelp.

      We went up a brick stairway that needed fixing. Weeds had pushed up between the cracks to catch the sun. We skirted a huge swimming pool that had obviously gone unused for many years. It was drained of water, its tiles were cracked and crumbling, dirt and leaves covered its bottom.

      Another brick walk in the same state of disrepair took us up onto a wide terrace that ran across the full front of the house. This, at least, looked as if it were used from time to time. Bright multi-striped umbrellas shaded metal tables and chairs. The marble flooring was swept clean—but not scrubbed. The sun chaises were new looking. I wondered briefly if they’d been recently purchased for my benefit. No, I decided, glancing at my famous mother; she wasn’t the type woman who did anything to impress another woman, not even her own daughter.

      The mansion towered over us, larger than I had at first thought. Jasmine and purple bougainvillea hung from the tiled roof, and every cornice was unattractively splattered with birds’ droppings. The riotous natural growth that seemed to invade every part of the exterior made it evident that nature was merely waiting to claim its rightful heritage.

      I paused on the terrace, looking about, pretending to catch my breath. I thought I saw movement at one of the upstairs windows, and glanced up. A shadow passed across the curved window of the tower at the south corner. The second floor section of the south tower had no outside wall; it was one massive window running completely around the outer curve of the tower. It surprised me somewhat to see so massive a window in such perfect state of repair. Even the tower itself seemed to be better maintained than the whole rest of the house.

      “What’s that?” I asked Leland, pointing up to the glass-fronted tower.

      Again Leland and Diana exchanged a strange fleeting glance.

      “Just an old solarium,” Leland told me. “My grandmother was quite a plant nut, like me.” He chuckled but it was a mirthless chuckle.

      “You?”

      “Yes, plants are a hobby of mine,” he said. He looked up at the glass front. “The solarium is never used any more. I’m afraid I’m letting the place go to pot.”

      I was going to comment on the good condition of the south tower, but instead I said, “Why? It’s such a beautiful place...or at least it could be.”

      “The house is too old. It isn’t worth fixing. The repairs would cost more than the property is worth.” He sighed, looking wistful. “Someday the whole place will fall down around our heads and Diana and I will be forced to find a new home, but until that time we like to think of this as home. We like it here, believe it or not.”

      Diana turned and went inside. Leland motioned toward the front door. “I believe you’ll find the interior a little less depressing,” he said.

      Leland was wrong. The interior was just as depressing as the outside, although I had to admit that it looked better cared for. The main hall was paneled in dark, dull wood. The staircase that led to the upper floors was a strange, square affair, going off at all sorts of crazy angles, like a patchwork quilt.

      We were in the center of the house, obviously, I thought as I looked around and saw doorways—all in dark oak panels and all closed—that went off into rooms on both sides. The entrance hall was completely empty except for a marble topped console table that supported a huge burst of pampas grass, dry and dead looking.

      “Have you had breakfast, my dear?” Diana asked as she slipped off her hat and gloves and tossed them on the console next to her handbag.

      “Yes, on the train,” I told her.

      “Then perhaps you’d like to go directly to your room and rest for a while? We’ll have lunch on the terrace in about an hour or so.”

      I noticed she did not offer to sit and chat. We hadn’t seen each other in over twenty years and she was treating me like someone she saw every day. Casual little comments, admonitions, small talk. There was no attempt at friendliness, no display of affection, or pleasure at seeing me.

      To be truthful, I was rather glad. I knew her attempts would only be artificial and I would not have welcomed any such shows of emotion.

      “I am a little tired,” I told her.

      “Then come along,” Diana answered, squaring her shoulders and walking toward a small door tucked away under the stairs. She pressed a button and the door slid open. It was a private elevator. I breathed an inward sigh of relief, knowing I wouldn’t have to tackle that crazy staircase.

      When the door to the small lift closed and I found myself alone for the first time with my mother, I felt a tinge of uneasiness. She was looking at me, eyeing me from head to foot.

      “We will try to make you comfortable while you are here,” she said.

      “Thank you,” I answered, hoping I sounded as aloof as she. “I can’t stay very long, you know, I have my job to think about.”

      “Oh, yes. They tell me you teach school, or some such thing.”

      Her snobbishness was irritating. “Some such thing,” I answered as sarcastically as I could.

      Diana jabbed a button. The elevator gave a little jolt and we started upward. “I rather hoped that we could be friends,” she said after a while.

      I merely looked at her.

      “It has all been very difficult for me,” she went on. “You have no idea how dearly I’ve wanted to have you with me. Of course, you know my career would never permit that.”

      “Oh, Mother, please, since when does one’s career take precedence over one’s own flesh and blood?” I could feel the stinging behind my eyes, but I refused to let the tears come. I wouldn’t show her how much I’d missed her during all those long, lonely years. I wouldn’t show her that she’d hurt me terribly—could still hurt me if she chose to.

      The elevator thumped to a halt on the second level. The door swooshed open. Diana swept out of the lift, leaving me to manage on my own.

      “You can’t possibly understand my position, can you, Alice?” she asked over her shoulder as we walked slowly down the wide hallway. Like the entrance hall, the corridor was paneled in dark, dull wood and was as depressing as what I’d seen of the house so far.

      “No, I can’t.”

      “It is a great responsibility, being famous. One can’t think of oneself, or do what one most pleases. I lived for those faces out there in the dark—hundreds and hundreds of faces who came to me in order to try and forget their drab, dreary existences. I was only a child when I started in movies during the depression years, and during those dark times I came to realize just how much my face, my pictures meant to millions of starving people.”

      She stood before a door—presumably СКАЧАТЬ