Chapter Three
Tiffany woke up the morning after her flight from the hospital in the most sumptuous bed she had ever been in. For a moment she felt a stab of fear--the ever-present fear of her husband finding her--but as she took in the surroundings, fear was replaced with surprise and delight. The bed was comfortable; it was huge, with the softest sheets and a thick, well-made comforter covering her. She reviewed the night, trying to remember everything.
Tiffany remembered the handsome, strong man who had carried her into the house, who had spoken to her--easing her apprehension and telling her that she could stay as long as she wanted. She had been in so much pain, had been so delirious that she hadn't had time to take everything in. Vaguely she remembered slipping into a bathtub that the man had filled with deliciously hot water, full of some fragrance she couldn't identify, but which had soothed her frazzled nerves, done something to mediate the pain she was feeling. There had been a cup of tea, a few pills, and she had been wrapped in a thick, plush robe--one she was still wearing when she awakened--and tucked into the bed she had found herself in.
The room was no less impressive than the bed. Tiffany sat up carefully, wincing at the echo of pain in her ribs. She would have to be careful, she reminded herself; it wasn't the first time she'd had her ribs injured at Ralph's hands. The floor directly underneath the bed was covered with a thick, ornate rug--but beyond that, Tiffany caught a glimpse of hardwood flooring. There was a big, antique chest of drawers, a comfortable chair, creamy pale blue walls with a few pieces of art on them. It was a big room, but somehow everything in it gave the impression of coziness. She smiled to herself when she caught sight of a fresh bouquet of flowers on a low bedside table.
Swinging her legs carefully over the edge of the bed, Tiffany cautiously stood and picked up a folded card next to the vase. I hope the morning finds you well. I have a full staff here; I apologize that I will probably not be available to greet you when you wake in the morning, but everything is at your disposal. You have only to ask--everyone working here has been instructed to fulfill your smallest whim.
As if on cue, there was a soft knock at the door, and Tiffany started--until she told herself firmly that it wasn't as though Ralph would knock, if he had somehow made his way onto the property, into the house. "Come in," she said, sitting back down on the bed, smiling at the card still in her hands. It was difficult to believe that any man could have an uninterested reason to put her up--to tell her that she could stay as long as she wanted. Something he said the night before flashed through her mind; "I know what it's like to be in fear for your life." If he did, that might explain it.
A woman came in, giving Tiffany a polite smile as she entered. "Ms. Lofton, my name is Angelica--I'm Mr. Lawrence's head housekeeper." She approached slowly. "I thought you might have slept yourself out by now and might be hungry. Mr. Lawrence said you were to have anything at all you'd like to eat." Tiffany was briefly overwhelmed; the house was so luxurious--she knew that she couldn't possibly be in the best of the rooms, and the bedroom she was in was nicer than even the best hotels she had stayed at.
"I'm afraid I'm not really sure what's available," Tiffany said, hedging. She was hungry--and she knew she needed to take her pain medication with food.
"There's anything you could want." Angelica paused and smiled. "Which is probably a bit overwhelming. If there's something in particular you like having for breakfast, we can make it for you. If you have no idea--I can make a few suggestions, based on what I know the chef makes the best." Tiffany caught a little twinkle in the older woman's eye; it suggested that Angelica knew--very well--what the chef was capable of.
"I think I'd like... Eggs benedict. With a side of hash browns. And some very good, very fresh coffee." Angelica nodded approval.
"Do you need any help getting to the bathroom? I understand you're quite severely injured." Tiffany could hear the faint accent lingering in the woman's voice--she thought it might be British--the more Angelica spoke.
"I think I can manage that. But I do think I might need to find some more clothes." Tiffany looked down. The robe she was wearing, while comfortable and soft, was not the sort of thing she would want to walk around in--not that she was going to be going very far, at least not yet. But she would feel more comfortable in at least a pair of pajamas.
"Ah! I'm sorry, I forgot to mention." Angelica walked quickly to the chest of drawers and opened the second one from the top. "Before he left for the day, Mr. Lawrence got you a few odds and ends--we guessed at your sizes, but most of it should fit." She took out a pair of pajamas and brought them to Tiffany for inspection. There were still tags on, but the prices had been removed; nonetheless, Tiffany saw that the brand was Victoria's Secret--these were not cheap. They looked wonderfully comfortable--thick, soft cotton.
"Thank you so much," Tiffany said, taking them in hand and glancing in the direction of the bathroom. "When will... Mr. Lawrence?" Angelica nodded. "When will he be back?" Angelica glanced away from her face for just an instant, before meeting her gaze once more.
"He should be back just before night," she said smoothly. "If you think you can get into the pajamas without any problems, I'll just put in your order with the chef." Tiffany assured the older woman that she could, and got up, slowly and carefully, shuffling to the bathroom as Angelica left in the same quick, breezy way that she had entered.
Tiffany went from one sense of luxury to another; the breakfast that Angelica brought her was amazing--hash browns piled high, the eggs benedict absolutely perfect, and the coffee rich and flavorful. She took one of her pain pills and let Angelica help her to the sitting room attached to her guest room, where she settled on a comfortable couch with a blanket draped over her and watched TV; her mysterious benefactor had every conceivable channel, and on-demand service as well--there were some shows that Tiffany had never watched, but which she had heard about on enough occasions to be curious, and while the master of the house was away, giving her full access to his hospitality, she indulged her interest--binge-watching the most intriguing ones. Throughout the day, Angelica came by every so often to check on her, bringing her lunch and snacks, asking if she needed anything else. Tiffany was beyond contented with her situation--she was almost suspicious. How good could Mr. Lawrence really be? She couldn't quite believe that any man, even if he had experienced abuse at some point in his life, would open up such an opulent home to a perfect stranger without expecting something in return. As the afternoon wore on, she wondered if there would be a hidden cost for all of this extravagant generosity she had already received.
Tiffany felt a flutter of apprehension as the afternoon moved into early evening, the sun starting its descent on the horizon. The owner of the house she was staying in would be returning soon--Tiffany worried that she might have done something wrong, that she might have presumed too much on his offer of everything being at her disposal. After living with Ralph, she knew very well that for some people, there was no need of any real infraction. Tiffany told herself that she was being silly--that Ralph would never have made such a generous offer to her as what her mysterious benefactor already had. It was obvious--or should be--that Mr. Lawrence was a very different kind of man.
When he came into the room, Tiffany started to get up instinctively, feeling both defensive and afraid. "I didn't think you'd mind if I watched some TV--I can't really do much, as injured as I am," she said quickly. The man shook his head, smiling as he came closer, moving slowly, holding his hands up and out in a soothing gesture.
"I certainly didn't expect that you'd feel up to going horseback riding, Tiffany," he said. Tiffany felt the blood rush to her face at the way her name sounded with his accented voice. "You had everything you wanted? I see you found the pajamas." Tiffany blushed a deeper crimson, looking down with a shy smile.
"Angelica actually told me about them," she said. "If you--if you didn't mean for me to wear them..." Mr. Lawrence gestured for Tiffany to sit down, and moved to a chair nearby.
"I want to explain something to you--and I hope you don't feel I'm being condescending. You are absolutely welcome to anything in this house. If you had wanted to wear the drapes on your windows, I would not mind. If you had wanted to go stair-surfing to amuse yourself, I would not mind; though I would ask that you wait until you're fully recovered from your injuries. I know that you're afraid, Tiffany. But believe me--please believe me--when I tell you that you have nothing to worry about." Tiffany took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart.
"I've been so used to being afraid," she said quietly. "I just... Sort of jump to the conclusion that I've done something wrong, because anything would set--him--off." Mr. Lawrence nodded. "I will try to accept that you really do want to be generous to me, Mr. Lawrence." He frowned and Tiffany felt her heart start to pound again.
"Please, call me Daniel, Tiffany. I would like us to be friends." Tiffany smiled, feeling a slow rush of relief flow through her body.
"Daniel, then. I'll try to accept that you really do mean it, that you're not..." she looked down at her hands, blushing again. "That you're not looking to get repaid somehow." Daniel laughed, and Tiffany looked up at him in surprise.
"Tiffany, I could host a dozen people in this house without needing them to repay me for anything. I'm a very comfortable man; in fact, I may eventually turn part of the house into a homeless shelter just for the company." Tiffany smiled at the obvious joke. "You're a guest here--I wouldn't have you here as a guest if I expected something from you in return. I would have told you straight out what I expected, and given you the choice of whether to accept the price or not." That made sense to her; Tiffany told herself firmly that she wouldn't let herself worry about potential repayment--that if he changed his mind, she would assume that he would be direct to her. She knew, deep down, that it wouldn't be as easy as that--she'd be looking for him to change constantly. But if she reminded herself enough times, she may eventually believe it.
Daniel asked her what she had been watching, and they began to talk; Tiffany slowly relaxed, even began to laugh and smile--though her laughter was cut off by the pain that flared up in her ribs. Daniel insisted on her ordering as much food for dinner as she could stand, even urging her to have dessert, though he ate nothing himself. It was odd, but she told herself that as wealthy as Daniel clearly was, he was entitled to a few eccentricities--and it didn't appear that he suffered from anything like starvation. They watched a few episodes of one of the shows Tiffany was catching up on, and talked late into the night about the state of TV; Tiffany found that Daniel had firm opinions about how far the medium had come since its early days. He made her smile at his quotations of "golden age" commercials, contrasting them with what was shown on TV currently.
"You have those old jingles memorized! Some of those companies don't even exist anymore." Daniel grinned.
"Oh, that's just time--every company rises and falls. But what's more interesting are the ones that are still around: what they've done to stay relevant." They argued and debated, with Tiffany playing advocate for the greater representation of women and minorities--a topic that she had always been passionate about when she had been in college, when everything had seemed so bright and interesting. She was surprised at how much of her opinions she had been forming, been developing, even while she had been living in the hell of her life with Ralph; Ralph didn't want intellectual observations about commercials and the ways they depicted women--or how they treated minorities. Daniel, on the other hand, was fascinated by her comments about "token black women" or "affirmative action Asian men," and the tropes that had managed to persist in media about different groups. He admitted ruefully that he hadn't given a whole lot of thought to the issue. "It's shameful to admit, but I suppose since I'm not the group being depicted, it hasn't really affected me directly enough to notice."
Tiffany was fascinated by the fact that Daniel seemed to be quick to admit his lack of awareness. Even without her experience with her husband, Tiffany hadn't often seen a person readily accede to the fact that she might be better-informed than they on any particular issue. Most people she had debated with had stubbornly refused to admit that their whole viewpoint might be based on a lack of experiencing the same kinds of hardships she endured as a woman of color. "I will at least now be more interested in seeing these things," Daniel said with a little smile. "I'll be ready to debate you once I am fully knowledgeable about it." The fact that he was willing to learn, that he was ready to find out more--and didn't expect her to explain it to him in detail, to break down why something was insulting, or why it was a good thing--was refreshing.
When she started to yawn again and again, almost uncontrollably---struggling to stay awake to talk to the fascinating man in spite of the doze that overcame her, a result of the late hour as well as the medication--Daniel stopped the discussion abruptly. "You should get some rest," he suggested gently. "I can help you into bed, if you like." Tiffany felt a shiver of apprehension; her mind, tuned to the suspicion of violence, read into what he was suggesting. Daniel seemed to see her discomfort. "If you'd rather go on your own steam, I can hang back and just be ready to provide physical support, but I don't want you to injure yourself further." Tiffany blushed in embarrassment. He was being so kind to her, so nice--why couldn't she just accept that he wasn't trying to catch her unawares, wasn't waiting for his moment to pounce? She shook her head.
"No, you're right. I shouldn't be trying to get around like a regular old healthy person." She took a deep breath and pushed down her sense of fear. "I'd appreciate the help." Daniel stood and carefully tucked his arms underneath her, lifting her off of the couch in a smooth, quick movement; Tiffany almost gasped at how easily he had pulled her up. She wasn't huge--and he wasn't sickly or weak--but she knew that she was certainly not light as a feather, and Daniel had lifted her as if she were nothing more than a child.
"I'm stronger than I look," Daniel commented, carrying her through the sitting room and into the bedroom itself. He laid her on the bed gently, pulling the blankets and sheets over her. "I should be here during the day tomorrow. If you're feeling a little bit better, I can take you on a quick tour of the house." Tiffany nodded, feeling intensely drowsy. Daniel looked down at her, holding her gaze intently. "Remember this, Tiffany: you are perfectly safe here. No one--not even Ralph--can get onto this property. No one can harm you. Rest easily, and sleep well."
He gave her cheek a brief caress and then turned away, leaving Tiffany feeling comfortable, sleepy, and confused as to how she could have managed to have such incredible luck as to meet someone so kind.
End of Book 1
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