The Lost Son | Ferry's Tale # 2

The lake house

Ferry entered the room, and his footsteps resonated as if he were in an empty museum. Next to the ivory marble fireplace which covered almost the entire wall where a big fire was burning, was a round table on which several papers were scattered on which elegant and tidy handwriting danced in front of his eyes. Celia's handwriting. A big sofa, covered with green silk fabric and bordered by two massive brown armchairs made of natural leather, was laying by the high windows with white translucent curtains like butterfly wings. In one corner, a black piano lay on which several scores were scattered.

Ferry picked up a sheet of paper from the table and read it randomly. It looked like Celia had already started reading the book they were supposed to do read together. The book was about the wrong choices the heroine had made, and which had led her to death. The lines written by Celia were so true and profound as if she were the heroine of the novel. Ferry was lost among the words that flowed smoothly in front of his eyes. Miss Wood was right—Celia was a talented writer. He didn't even hear her when she came in.

"Did you find anything interesting? Have you always been that curious?" she asked in the superior tone that Ferry knew so well. He flinched, then carefully placed the sheets on the table. Celia wore a grey sweater made of the finest cashmere and flannel trousers in blue and white plaid. On her feet, she had the finest lace-up shoes made of deer leather. Her blond hair was flowing on her back, soft and shiny. Her dark-blue eyes were studying him.

"You can sit wherever you want," she said and crouched on the sofa by the window. "I have already read half the book. If you want, I can tell you what's about."

Ferry shook his head no. He didn't need any favor from Celia. With the book in his hand, he sat on the edge of one of the soft armchairs.

A maid wearing a black-and-white uniform which looked like coming from an old era, entered the room pushing a trolley on which there were several trays with cakes and tea. With precise movements, she poured the tea into the finest porcelain cups, adorned with pink roses. The cups clinked melodiously at the delicate touch of the silver teaspoons. Ferry took a mouthful of exotic fruit tea, pleasantly surprised by the unique, aromatic taste.

He began to read the book, accompanied by the ticking of the pendulum in the corner. It was hard for him to focus on that bright, yet cool house.

The silence was interrupted by the rhythmic noise of high-heeled shoes. A cool drift, bringing along the smell of lotus flowers, filled the room with the arrival of the lady of the house. Mrs. Claudia Haughty was neither too tall, nor too thin. But her clothing, more suited to Celia than to her, made her look shorter and fatter than she intended. The bright-red lipstick, the color of crushed cherries, the layers of powder that covered her complexion with moles and pimples, and the bubbled nose, the false and long eyelashes, which moved like spiders with each blinking actually looked like Mrs. Haughty was trying too hard. The little hair, dyed blond that she always wore in a fake bun, twisted around a sponge, at the top of the head. She wore a silk blouse with ruffles in a pale pink color that put her generous bust in plain sight. Her thick legs were visible through the white pants, too tight for her silhouette. She barely walked in the golden shoes, with the heels too high.

"Good evening, children," she said in a shrill voice, too loud for the refined air she wanted to display. "How's the reading going?"