Hadrian's Wall (62 page)

Fearful, I looked from one
side to the other and I saw no one, so I tried a few angles and
started taking photos with my new phone.
My new phone!
I never could have
imagined that someday I’d ever have a chic cell phone. Minutes
later I watched as the images were saved in memory.
Amazing!

I heard footsteps and suddenly realized that
I was in the middle of the street where someone could have seen me.
I dropped the phone into my handbag and fled. While accelerating
the pace, I thought I heard what might have been a male’s short
laugh, but there was no one around.

Oh, sure! Of course there was!

But when no one came into view, I got
carried away and I took more pictures of all the interesting things
that I encountered until the memory in my phone was full and I had
to stop.

Ahead, at the next corner, I saw the sign of
the shop Keyra mentioned to me—Fenton Frame Shop & Gallery. The
sign letters written with delicate and bright colors were painted
on a white wooden double door flanked by blue clapboards. Both the
door leaves contained large rectangles of glass, allowing a partial
glimpse inside the store. I opened one of the doors, causing a bell
to ring.

The place was empty, so I looked around
waiting for someone to appear. The store was divided into different
sections. Near the entrance, various crafts were displayed,
probably created by local residents. There were paintings, carpets,
decorative boxes and figurines. In the center of the store, I came
upon a revolving rack containing postcards with scenes from the
region. I selected a few to admire the drawings and verse. I was
impressed. The little legend read: “Young Talents of Maine
Group—Initiative of the School of the Arts UWall.”

“Hello!” I heard someone behind me.

I hurriedly put the cards back in their
place, like a child caught in the act of stealing a cookie.

I turned around to face a very old man,
half-bald, with a pair of glasses hanging from a thin chain around
his neck. He wore a striped, long-sleeved shirt and trousers held
up by suspenders. His clothes made me feel transported to a film
set in the 40s.

“Hi!” I replied with a smile.

As I walked toward him, I noticed in the
opposite corner was an area filled with ready-made frames and
frames waiting to be seated. Among them, I saw some hand-painted
chairs and a colorful bookcase, also hand-painted. Definitely, it
was a “confusingly pleasant” visual.

“I’m looking for a frame for a drawing that
I intend to give to someone as a gift.”

His friendly smile accentuated the wrinkles
at the corners of his eyes.

“Can I see it?”

I handed him the
drawing roller
which he
opened with great care as someone used to dealing with the work of
artists would do.

“Very good!” He glanced at me over his
glasses. “Very good indeed! I don’t recognize the author’s
signature.” He frowned.

I felt my face heat up and shyly looked
down. “It...it’s mine. I did it.”

He raised his eyebrows in astonishment.

“You?” He looked at me incredulously. Now I
wanted a hole to open up beneath my feet.

“Your talent is undeniable, young lady.” He
pointed to the drawing. “This is Adrian Cahill, isn’t it?”

Now it was my turn for eye-popping.

“Yes. How did you know?”

Of course he should know
the Cahill family well.
In fact, who in
this town did not know them?

“Oh...” He smiled enigmatically. “I’ve known
him for a long time! Those eyes...” He pointed to the drawing
again, making a sweeping gesture with his free hand. “They’re
unmistakable. You captured his personality well.”

Carefully, the man placed my drawing on the
countertop.

“Adrian is who you want to give the
gift?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “Let’s see what we can
find...something to fit the lightness and irreverent elegance of
your dash.”

Irreverent elegance of my
dash?
Hmm... I would not describe my modest
drawing with such imposing adjectives. It was strange that he
treated me like an artist when I did not consider myself to be
one.

The man went to the wall and started looking
for different frames.

“How about this?” He selected one sample and
placed it on the counter and then he placed another next to it.
“And this one?”

We spent the next few minutes evaluating
several frames. He gave me some suggestions, showing that he had
much experience in the business; however, he left me free to choose
according to my personal preference.

Biting my lips, I selected some models by
the colors and ended up deciding on a simple, black and white
frame, no details, except for two silver threads which skirted the
whole length inside and out, to highlight its content. I thought it
would match perfectly with the small size of the drawing.

“Well chosen,” he said.

I didn’t need to beg him to have it ready by
Friday, since he informed me that it would be finished on Tuesday.
When we were about to say goodbye, he suddenly said, “I saw you
admiring the postcards.”

“I think they’re very beautiful.”

“Do you...” He paused, trying to decide if
he wanted to ask. “Would you like to do something like that for
us?”

I looked at him, very surprised.

“I don’t know...”

“Why don’t you sketch something and we can
talk on Tuesday?”

“Sure, Mister...”

“Fenton,” he said, extending his hand.
“Lewis Fenton, at your service, Miss...” He bowed gallantly. The
gesture revealed a bracelet beneath his shirt sleeve. On it was the
same symbol as on the bracelets of Marjorie Newton and Rita.

“Melissa Baker.” I offered my hand, which he
gently squeezed.

“Melissa. Beautiful name. The honey is a
substance with healing properties...as well the Mauve...” he
commented, somewhat enigmatically.

I left the store with a strange feeling. All
the way back to the cable car terminal I created hypotheses for the
mysterious symbol. My father would say that Mr. Fenton’s appearance
was a sign. How I wish my dad was beside me now to protect me, to
listen to me and to explain to me things I didn’t understand or
would never understand.

When I got off the cable
car in the lower town, I was overcome by an unexpected feeling of
vertigo. Just thinking about how far I’d have to walk to get back
to McPherson House made me slouch.
Damn
it!
I wanted to spend time in the video
store before heading back to my drawing board.

I had no alternative but to call
Stephen—either that or sit on the curb until I felt better. I
retrieved my phone from my handbag and punched in his number.

He answered on the first ring. “Yes?” he
said, sounding surprised.

“Stephen, I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m
not feeling well. Could you give me a ride home?”

“So now you want a ride? You’ve been walking
around like you’re getting ready for a marathon. You should have
requested a ride from the beginning. I would have taken the private
road to the upper town.”

I almost told him to spare me the sermon,
but I stopped myself in time. He chuckled, as if he knew what I was
thinking.

“Stephen...my
dear
bodyguard! Could you
please be charitable and pick me up?”

“Sure,” he said. His voice sounded very
close. “You asked me so sweetly, how can I deny you anything?”

Turning on my heels, I found myself facing
him. He was standing behind me, still holding the phone to his ear.
A mischievous smile hovered on his lips.

“Well...” I said.

23

DELILAH
’S
STORY

I crossed the main hall of
the McPherson House, skimming through the gardening book that
Delilah lent me. I’d have to make a list of things I’d need to buy
in order to take proper care of Keyra McPherson’s pansies.
I hope those poor little plants will survive
while I’m a resident here!

I was immersed in my thoughts, so it was a
shock when I recognized the two voices I heard coming from the
study room where I was headed. I wanted to take advantage of the
wireless Internet access to do my research, but now I didn’t know
if I should go in.

I stood beside the French doors, surprised
by the confidential tone of the conversation.

“I just don’t understand! What do you expect
to get for minding that vapid girl?” Abby Haines asked.

“Stephen asked me to, okay? It’s my chance
to do something for him,” responded Delilah Key.

“You’re so obsessed with Stephen Cahill that
you forget your friends!” Abby complained.

“That’s not true.” Delilah sighed. “Please,
Abbs! Try to understand! I didn’t want to sneak around, spying on
Baker. She’s not the kind of girl I usually make friends with.”

“I know! She has no sense of elegance. And
between us, she seems completely out of place here.”

“You’re right. She doesn’t know how to
dress, not even a little fashion sense, and we don’t have anything
in common,” Delilah snorted. “She says she wants to be an artist.
Can you believe that? Artists are sensitive to beauty, shapes, they
know how to combine colors, but she...” Her voice trailed off
without finishing her sentence. “Anyway, it’s my big chance to get
close to Stephen. I thought he’d never ask me, but now that he’s
asked me to do him this simple favor, I can’t refuse.”

“But if he’s providing her security
protection—that’s what you told me anyway, why do you need to watch
her too?”

“Abby, for God’s sake, you can’t tell anyone
what I told you!”

“Of course not! What do you think I am?”

“Sorry, I know I can trust
you, but it’s just that Stephen really stressed the issue of
confidentiality.” She dragged a chair over and sat down. “He
doesn’t want me to watch her in the literal sense of the word, he
wants me to keep her company, to befriend her so that she feels
welcome in the new setting. In fact, he wants me to be like
a
concierge
...”

I could almost see her rolling her eyes,
judging by the irony in her voice.

“He also wants to know if she misses
something...”

So my hunch was right! All the concern she
was pretending. Delilah was simply a surrogate nanny for Charity
and hating every second of it.

I don’t need nannies! Why can’t Adrian get
that into his thick skull? Maybe he wants someone to watch me
because he’s afraid that I might embarrass him in front of his
friends. He didn’t have to worry about that anymore. I’d agreed to
stick to his version of the story about my rescue.

Adrian didn’t trust me.

I changed my mind about doing any research
or studying, what I needed was some quiet time alone for a while.
There’s nothing I like better than seeking refuge in the privacy of
my own room, but on second thought doing nothing would drive me
crazy. I was angry, so I decided to study, but in my own room.

An hour later, I was tired of trying to
concentrate on my research. The only way I could purge my feelings
of disappointment was to get absorbed in my drawings. I was into my
second draft when I heard a knock at the door. I knew who it was.
Didn’t take me long to confirm that I’d become the best psychic on
the planet.

“Hi!” said Delilah, poking her head
inside.

I looked at her askance
while I collected the papers on the bed. As much as I knew the
d
rawing board
was
more appropriate for drawing, I was accustomed to working on the
bed.

“You oversleep today? I waited a long time,
but you didn’t show up, so I gave up.”

I gave her an insincere smile. “That’s
it...I woke up late.”

She approached the bed. “What are you
doing?” she asked curiously.

“A little bit of everything,” I answered
evasively.

She sat beside me, leaning back on her
hands. A moment later she picked up the drawing that was laying on
top of the essays I had begun to write for the school assessment
test.

“Cool! I didn’t know you drew so well,” she
said in slightly accusatory tone.

I gave her a severe look. “How would you
know if I hadn’t told you?”

Finally, she noticed my “frosty attitude”
and stared at me.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

She rolled her eyes, as if arming herself
with patience.

“Tonight Abby and I are going to ‘BP’ in
Uptown. Dwayne plays on Saturdays...”

Suddenly, her cell phone rang. She jumped
off of the bed and retrieved it from the pocket of her shorts. She
grimaced was she saw the display. “It’s my mother. She always sends
messages when I don’t return her calls.”

Well, now she’ll leave and save me the
embarrassment of refusing her invitation.

“See you soon,” she said, heading for the
door.

Apparently
not
...

“I’m not going with you guys,” I told
her.

She stopped in the doorway, her hand resting
on the doorknob.

“Why not?”

“Look, Delilah, let’s be frank! I don’t need
anyone watching over me. You can tell Stephen that his plan failed.
It’s bad enough having him nagging me all the time.”

She opened and closed her mouth.

“I don’t need a nanny,” I added, by way of
explanation.

Delilah lowered her head and stared at the
floor. I could almost hear the gears in her mind working.

“You heard my conversation with Abby,” she
said.

Your answer is correct! Collect your prize
of one million dollars!