From Silver to Diamonds

Chapter 3

“Yes would be the most perfect and formal answer,” he retorted. “We have finally arrived at the La Maison and once you step out of the limo you are Sophie Moreau of Genova not the suburban girl Sophie Harrison. Be sure to be polite and be well mannered in front of the crowned prince or I don’t guarantee he’ll follower your conditions.”

I didn’t know if I should feel quite insulted or not.

Since he mentioned it, I quickly asked the suited man to ask the driver to lower the dark windows down. We had passed two gian twrought iron gates controlled by dark green uniformed gatekeepers and up the stone path towards a remarkable cream coloured 18th century chateaux, surrounded by a yards of woods. The boundary walls stretch far and wide till it disappeared behind the mansion.

In between two brick roads, there was a long strip of grass divider that separates from the in and out lanes. On both sides of the roads, seasonal flowers bloomed magnificently in a splash of a rainbow, delicate sculptured trees ornamented the orderly kept lawns, with low trimmed hedges lined up together to form simple garden mazes on the two main lawns. 

As the car drew closer to the chateaux, a large fountain stood at the end of the divider, its water jumped and stopped in a rhythmic manner glistening under the sun. We drove in front of it where a breath taking Palladian portico stood before me. To my relief, it was low without too many steps to the front entrance.

A smart looking footman, dressed in thick red blazers and matching bellboy cap bolted out of the white furnished stained glass doors to greet us. He pulled the door and with one arm set behind his back and the other in front of him, he offered me his hand.

I hesitated and wondered what a proper lady would do. Without wanting to stare stupidly at the footman for too long, I quickly gave him a hand as he guided me out. Once I’m out, I instantly yank back my hand as quickly as possible because as an only child, independence and personal space played a large part in my life.

In a blink of an eye a red carpet rolled out from the top of the portico to the tip of my worn out favourite pair of pink volleys, causing me to jump and hit my waist against the corner of the door. Pain shot from where it got beaten but soon disappeared when uniformed male servants, maids and other footmen lined along the sides of the carpet. 

I could hear trumpets giving out an ostentatious fanfare from out of nowhere and then all the servant bowed or curtsey at my presences.

“Welcome home my lady,” they chanted.

Mr Chevalier stepped beside me and signaled me to go up the carpet.

I’d regret from wearing my volleys and should have worn something less grubby because I was afraid that I’ll dirty the carpet and in which I did.

There was frown already pasted on my forehead as I walked awkwardly up the carpet, my eyes stared at the servants who kept the bodies straight and eyes looking directly through me. I wondered if they have noticed that I’m actually not their mistress by looking close up or perhaps what Mr Chevalier said about me looking eighty-five percent alike the real mistress was accurate.

As I reached to the top of the portico a beautiful golden retriever gotten up of its hind legs, barked and growled at me. I took a step sideways, trying to avoid the beautiful but vicious dog from pouncing on me but luckily the carer grasped on to the plaid golden rope, tugging it back away from me.

“Juilet, sit!” he commanded but failed.

Somewhere in my duffel bag, I pulled out an eaten beef jerky that I’ve bought from one the free duty stores in France, then unwrapped the packaging and reached out to her.