December 22, 2010 10:30 a.m.
Every time Wolf's eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, I'm proven correct. I've never thought that eyes were the windows to the soul, but I think I may be a believer now. Wolf's radiate hostility every time he looks at me - which, for the record, is a lot. It's only twenty miles between Wolf's home in the town of Oudewater and Amsterdam Airport, but it feels more like two-hundred.
It took me aback at first, I'll admit. Plenty of people don't like me, but it's usually after getting to know me. No one has ever made their minds up within the first minute of seeing me. I glance down at my outfit; comfortable skinny jeans and suede ankle boots with an oversized oatmeal sweater on top and a thick navy-blue Sherlock Holme's-esque jacket pulled up at the collar to shield my neck from the elements. Even though the heater is blasting in the car, I still feel cold.
Next to me, Xander grins encouragingly. I wonder if he's ignoring his friend's bad manners or if he's oblivious to them. I feel cloistered and uncomfortable even though he's trying to tell me about the great things to do in the Netherlands.
"Is this your first time in Europe?" Wolfram asks, cutting through Xander's babbling. Though his question, presumably, is aimed at me, his tone is politely disinterested and he meets my eyes for only a second before flicking away in dismissal.
I feel the need to put him in his place. Not to impress him, but to make him eat his words, I give him a beatific smile worthy of Mother Teresa and say, "no, I travel almost every year with my parents. Last year we did Italy."
"Tourists," Wolfram says derisively.
I blink. Um, duh? Not all of us have ancestral homes on the other side of the Earth. "You're well traveled, I take it?" I ask, my gaze boring into his.
The insufferable man doesn't even have the courtesy of feigning humbleness. "Now that I'm part of van der Waals Enterprises, I rarely travel for pleasure anymore. Luckily we have homes in the cities where our branch offices are located, so you could say I'm a citizen of the world." He tilts his chin up and we lock gazes in the rearview mirror.
Did he seriously just lowkey brag about his multiple residences? My parents were still paying off the mortgage on their house. "Must be nice," I say wistfully, forgetting to sound aloof.
He flashes a dimpled smile at me so fast that it's blinding, even more so than his perfectly-whitened teeth. "It is." There's a faint whiff of smugness to his words.
Everything about this boy is expensive, I think, and curl up against the window, peering out. If I didn't know I'd crossed the Atlantic Ocean to get here, I would think I was leaving JFK Airport. The same dreary grayness of the sky and the same clogged lanes fill my vision as Wolfram expertly navigates us through the swarm of returning travelers with surgical precision.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry I forgot to ask. Did you have breakfast?" Xander blurts out.
I tear my gaze away from the window. "They served us something on the plane."
"It's no trouble if you want to stop and eat something more substantial," Wolfram remarks blandly. "American girls aren't usually in the habit of skipping meals, are they?"
He doesn't seem to expect a response to his question, and it's a good thing too, because I'm seething. I'm not hypersensitive about my weight but his jab wounds me right in my soft underbelly. I shift uncomfortably on the seat and count to ten. "Thank you, but I'm really okay," I say at last.
As much as he preens that he's sophisticated and worldly, I know from Xander that Wolfram was born in the United States and spends most of his time at the New York head office...which makes me wonder why he's so determined to give the impression otherwise.
"We're about to enter the village of Oudewater," Wolfram says, breaking the silence. "Just a few minutes from home, now."
I peer out the window to see that we have, indeed, entered the village. I forget to be peeved as soon as I see the fairytale landscape outside. My gasp can't be contained and I clutch at Xander's hand. "It's so..." I trail off, unable to express in words what I feel.
Outside, colorful, cozy houses dot the landscape and there are more pedestrians and bicyclists than motor vehicles, giving the town an air of having stepped a century in the past. A chubby toddler in a stroller looks inquisitively at the car as we crawl by at a snail's pace and I wave energetically.
Wolf's annoyance is practically radiating off him as he gives me a dumbfounded look. "Did you just wave at a total stranger?" he demands, sounding appalled.
Xander leans his shoulder against mine conspiratorially. "Wait til you see the house, Char. It's Disney princess amazing."
At Wolfram's raised eyebrow, Xander exclaims, "c'mon, man, those are classics." To me, he says, "Wolf's a bit sensitive about the Disney franchise."
"Something about a servant overturning the social class system and becoming a princess?" I smile sweetly at Wolfram, even though I can't see his eyes in the mirror.
"Yes, I like to see the lower classes kept in their place," Wolfram deadpans. Not missing a beat, he adds, "and Cinderella was never truly a servant, you know. She was impoverished gentry."
"He majored in literature when he was in college," Xander mock-whispers. "He thinks Disney bamboozles our youth into believing that happy endings are real instead of telling children the truth about the original fairytales."
"Cinderella's stepsister cut her foot to make it fit in the slipper," I point out, slightly aghast. "And you want to tell that version to children?" It hasn't been that long since I was a child who was easily frightened by movies - after watching the Titanic, I vowed never to set foot on a cruise ship and slept huddled between my parents until the nightmares went away.
When Wolf smiles, his eyes are cold. "The truth is always preferable to a lie."
Okaaaay, so this guy would probably advocate telling small children that Santa isn't real either. What a grinch! I force a tense, wooden smile to my lips to keep my retort from spilling out. The last thing I need is to be homeless in the Netherlands two days before Christmas.
"I'm surprised you didn't want to spend the holidays with your family, Charlotte. Or your boyfriend. Xander tells me you have one?" His tone implies that he thinks my boyfriend is a figment of my imagination.
He makes a sharp left turn and I careen into Xander. If it's possible, Wolf's eyes grow even stormier. We pass a pine-green cottage with a small cluster of caramel-colored cows grazing in a nearby pasture. Its rustic simplicity is all at once charming and quaint, and I drink in the sight eagerly. Wolf notices and I automatically stiffen. As if he finds my eagerness embarrassing to him in some way, he makes a great show of rolling his eyes.
"I do." I leave it at that. No point in airing my dirty laundry in public.
Xander shoots me an apologetic look. Damn right he should be apologetic. I don't tell him things so he can gossip with his co-worker, after all.
"We're coming up to the drive," Xander says suddenly, grabbing my arm. "Char, look."
I scooch from the window-seat to the center to get a better view; we're no longer in the village, but careening through a winding road shrouded in skeletal trees. It's totally creepy, especially when we round the bend, I see a monstrous grey mansion looming ahead. Only a long stretch of driveway separates us from the house. I don't look so much as gawk like the tourist Wolfram accused me of being. "You actually live here?" I ask in disbelief.
Maybe in spring and summer the place would have looked marginally more welcoming, but in its current state, it looks more like an asylum or prison than anything else. Everything about the house is grey and forbidding, whether it's the bare trees that line the driveway or the climbing vines which barricade the windows. At either end of the house is a circular tower; I think it's called a turret. If I squint hard enough, I can imagine Rapunzel throwing down her braid of hair for a lover. A flash of blonde appears in the window and I flinch instinctively - is it just my imagination or was that a girl?
"Impressive, isn't it?" Wolfram asks, not bothering to mask his pride.
Xander's still looking at me expectantly, so I echo his earlier sentiment. "Wow, Xand, you're right. It's definitely a nice place."
"Nice place," mutters Wolfram under his breath, like it's the worst insult in the world. He speeds up and gets us to the front doors in less than thirty seconds, braking hard enough to make the tires screech their agony against the gravel.
"I hope you're ready for a van der Waals Christmas experience," Wolfram says dryly. "Let me pop the boot for you." He hops out before I can say a word and slams the door shut with more force than was strictly necessary.
"Pop the boot?" I whisper to Xander. "Boot? Why does he think he's British?"
Xander rolls his eyes. "It's just how he is, Charlotte." He gives me a big, dopey grin. "C'mon." He opens his door and extends his hand to me.
I hesitate for only a second before taking his hand and allowing him to pull me out. I stumble slightly against his chest and Xander laughs, straightening us both up. "Don't fall," he teases.
"I know you'll catch me," I retort, unable to repress the silly smile that slides over my face.
BANG!
I jerk at the noise; Wolfram's hand is on top of the now closed trunk and he's glowering at me. When Xander turns to look at him, Wolf's expression melts away into one of bland indifference again. It makes me want to scream, but instead I just wrap my arms around myself like I'm trying to ward off the cold.
"Let's go," Wolfram says curtly.
"Here, let me," I begin to say, reaching out for my luggage, but he sweeps past me like the lord of the manor, my bag rolling with heavy chunk chunk chunk noises through the gravel. It's an ugly noise and is probably damaging the wheels of my luggage; I'm pretty sure the wince on my face is evident for all to see.
We follow Wolfram up the short, four-step flight of concrete stairs to the main door. As soon as we arrive, the door creaks open and a straight-backed elderly butler with an old-fashioned Hercule Poirot mustache opens the door. "Sir," he intones in a grave voice, holding the door open for us. "Welcome home."
Author's Note: Merry Christmas, everyone! :) Thanks for reading and if you're feeling generous and want to stuff my stocking, feel free to vote/comment/add to a reading list :)