Timeless (5 page)

Our whole Venice Beach house could fit into this one room
, Michele thought in amazement. Her eyes could hardly take in this overwhelming spectacle. Marion’s brief description of the Windsor Mansion’s grandeur had hardly prepared her for this.

At last she found her voice. “I can’t believe Mom actually
grew up
here.”

Fritz turned to look at her, his expression suddenly serious, but before he could say anything, a woman in a tweed suit entered the room. She had dark blond hair pulled back in a businesslike bun and kind blue eyes, and she looked like she was in her midfifties. Her face lit up with a smile at the sight of Michele.

“Michele! So wonderful to finally meet you,” she greeted her. “I’m Annaleigh, the head housekeeper. I’m in charge of running Windsor Mansion, overseeing the staff, and keeping your grandparents—and now you!—happy.”

“Nice to meet you,” Michele replied. As she shook Annaleigh’s hand, she thought for the second time that day that she
had
to have entered an alternate universe. Her mom had never hired any kind of domestic help before, so having this whole household staff sprung on her was more than a little overwhelming.

“Your grandparents are waiting for you in the drawing room. I’ll show you the way.” Annaleigh started toward the room, but for a moment, nerves rooted Michele to her spot.
Was she really ready to meet the grandparents who had ignored her for virtually her entire life? What was she going to say to them? Were they supposed to hug? Shake hands? She glanced down at her jeans and Converse sneakers, feeling that she didn’t belong in this fancy world at all.

Annaleigh turned around, giving Michele a quizzical look. Michele took a deep breath and followed her out of the room. As Annaleigh led her through hallways decorated with French and Italian paintings, a prickly feeling rose on Michele’s skin. She once again had the sensation that these hallways, this place, were strangely
familiar
.

They soon reached a large formal gold-paneled room, where crystal chandeliers hung from a coffered ceiling. And in the room stood a gray-haired couple. They were looking out the broad windows and murmuring to each other, their backs to the door, so Michele’s first glimpse of her grandparents consisted of fancy-looking black fabric adorning two tall, reedlike bodies.

Annaleigh cleared her throat. “Mr. and Mrs. Windsor? Michele is here.”

“Michele.” Dorothy’s soft voice spoke the name before she turned around, clutching her husband’s weathered hand.

Michele’s first reaction was that they looked nothing like what she thought of as grandparents. Amanda’s grandparents lived with her family, and as a result Michele had grown close to them and considered them the gold standard. Amanda’s Grammy and Papa were all round softness, a little like Mr. and Mrs. Claus, with Grammy usually knitting new sweaters for her beloved shih tzu while Papa belly-laughed over his favorite
sitcoms. But Michele’s grandparents looked more like an elderly king and queen, with erect posture, austere faces, and designer clothing. Dorothy looked like she had never knit in her life, and Michele couldn’t imagine this regal man belly-laughing over anything. In fact, that was just it: both of them looked like they rarely, if ever, laughed.

Walter Windsor had a long, narrow face with sharp blue eyes, a salt-and-pepper beard and mustache, and ivory skin the same shade as Michele’s. Dorothy’s gray-blond hair was pulled back in a chignon, and her pale face was dotted with a few age spots, her cheekbones impossibly high. Michele was struck by her grandmother’s hazel eyes.
They’re just like Mom’s … and mine
. Except that Dorothy’s eyes had a hollowness to them that made Michele draw back in discomfort.

“Hello, Michele,” Walter said, taking a few steps toward her. He and Dorothy looked just as unsure of what to do as Michele felt. They stood a few feet apart, looking at each other.

“H-hi,” Michele stammered.

“You are beautiful, dear,” Dorothy said quietly, studying her features. “Just as I expected.”

Michele looked down, suddenly embarrassed. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

“You don’t know how long your grandfather and I have waited for this,” Dorothy continued heavily. “We only wish we weren’t meeting under such terrible circumstances.”

Walter looked at her as though seeing a ghost. “You are so much like … her.”

Michele couldn’t reply. She just stared at these strangers, her mind buzzing with dozens of questions that she felt unable to
ask out loud. After a few moments of silence, Dorothy placed a tentative hand on Michele’s shoulder.

“Well then. You must be tired from the trip. Annaleigh will show you up to your room so you can get settled. We’ll have dinner together later.”

“Oh. Okay.” Michele looked up and noticed that Annaleigh had been standing in the doorway all along. Evidently she had expected the big reunion to last only a few measly minutes. Michele followed Annaleigh out of the room, stung. Was
that
her grandparents’ idea of a warm welcome?

A
nnaleigh turned to Michele with a friendly smile. “Would you like a tour of the house before I take you up to your room?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Michele followed Annaleigh into the opposite hallway, which was decorated with tapestries illuminated by candelabra.

“I’m not sure if you noticed, but the furniture in the drawing room is entirely made up of reproductions of pieces from Versailles’s Petit Trianon,” Annaleigh announced proudly as she led the way. “Like some of the best Gilded Age homes, the Windsor Mansion followed the rule of being built like an Italian palazzo and decorated like a French Rococo chateau.”

“Wow.” Michele shook her head, having a hard time registering that this was all real.

The first door Annaleigh opened led into a room of pastel blue with gilt moldings. A mahogany dining suite stood at the center of the room. “Now, this is the morning room.”

“Seriously? You have one room just for the morning?” Michele asked in disbelief.

Annaleigh chuckled. “Well, not exactly. Of course, the Windsors always have their breakfast in this room, but morning rooms are also traditionally used for lunch, tea, and any casual daytime gatherings.”

There’s
nothing
casual about this place
, Michele thought as she followed Annaleigh into the next room, the walnut-paneled library. At the sight of this temple of books, Michele felt the flicker of a smile play on her face for the first time in weeks. She wandered through the room, scanning some of the titles of the leather-bound volumes lining the ceiling-high bookcases. A mural of angels was painted on the ceiling, and Baccarat chandeliers sparkled beneath it. The walls and desks were a deep mahogany, and plush dark leather armchairs and wing chairs scattered throughout the room all looked tailor-made for curling up with a novel.

“Come on, let me show you the ballroom. That’s my favorite place in the whole house,” Annaleigh said excitedly.

When they entered the ballroom, Michele’s prickly sensation grew stronger, and she hugged her goose bump–covered arms to her chest. She moved away from Annaleigh, wandering slowly around the room. It was like something out of an Edith
Wharton novel, with its romantic white-on-ivory decor, gleaming dance floor, bronze and crystal chandeliers, and tall Roman columns. A Steinway grand piano stood at one end of the room, with a gilded balcony above.

“The most honored ball guests would sit up in the balcony and watch the dancers,” Annaleigh said dreamily. “Isn’t it incredible?” Michele didn’t respond and Annaleigh seemed to notice her strange expression. “What is it, dear?”

“It’s just”—Michele swallowed hard—“I keep feeling like I’ve
been
here before. But I know that’s impossible.”

“That is strange. Maybe you’ve seen ballrooms like this in a movie?” Annaleigh mused.

“Maybe.” But Michele knew it wasn’t that.

Annaleigh led Michele past the ballroom into a space she called the Moorish billiard room. It looked masculine and foreign, with walls covered in colorful Moroccan tiles and a glass dome ceiling.

“This is where the men would come smoke their cigars and play pool during parties,” Annaleigh said, gesturing to the large billiard table in the center of the room.

“Are there a lot of parties here?” Michele asked.

“Well … no,” Annaleigh admitted regretfully as she led her out of the room. “Not in the ten years that I’ve been here. But the Windsors were once famous for the society balls they hosted. I think once it was just your grandparents living here, they didn’t have much use for parties.” She broke off as they reached the covered patio, with a view of the back garden. “Now, this is where your grandmother plants her beautiful flowers and palms.”

Michele shook her head in amazement. “This place … it’s unreal,” she blurted out. “It’s like … it doesn’t belong in the modern world. It almost seems … enchanted. You know what I mean?”

“I do know what you mean,” Annaleigh agreed. “It’s all the history here. You can almost
see
the spirits of Windsors past when you walk through the halls.”

Michele stopped short, thinking of her mom. “Really?”

Annaleigh winced. “Oh, Michele, I’m sorry. That was tactless of me. I just meant … well, there’s so much history here is what I meant.”

Michele dropped her gaze. “It’s okay. I know.”

“Anyway,” Annaleigh continued nervously, “I would show you the dining room, but since you’ll be there in an hour for dinner, we can save that. I’m sure you must be curious to see your room.”

Michele nodded and followed Annaleigh up the grand staircase. They stopped on the second landing (the mezzanine, Annaleigh called it) for Michele to look into Walter’s study and Dorothy’s parlor, which were on opposite ends. Michele shivered as she stepped into the parlor, realizing that this was the very room where Marion had left her fateful goodbye note.

Upstairs, the marble walls were light rose, matching the red-carpeted hallways. A railing bordering the third floor allowed one to lean over and gaze down at the mighty staircase and the Grand Hall below.

“Now, this is a
very
special room,” Annaleigh said with girlish enthusiasm as she led Michele to the French double doors.
“Most of the Windsor daughters had this room when they were growing up, from the early 1900s to, most recently … Marion.” Annaleigh opened the doors, and Michele drew in her breath.

The room was lilac, with white antique French furnishings that looked more appropriate for the court of Versailles than for a teenage girl. The sumptuous double bed was set on a raised platform, with an elaborate carved cream headboard and snowy white bed curtains. A floral Aubusson carpet added to the effect. There was even a large fireplace of gray and white with gold candelabra on either end. A gold mantel clock and a large mirror sat atop the fireplace.

“It’s like going back in time,” Michele murmured, fingering the lilac curtains on the tall windows. “To a time where no one wore denim.”

She wandered around the room, taking in the delicate white mahogany vanity table and desk. She stopped short, a shiver running down her spine, at the sight of the accessories covering the vanity: china brushes, mirrors, and perfume bottles, all bearing the monogram
MW
.

“These … were my mom’s?” Michele asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Annaleigh nodded. “Your grandparents have always kept her room just as it looked when she was living here.” She paused. “Is that all right?”

“Of course,” Michele murmured, picking up her mother’s hand mirror. There was something comforting about being surrounded by her mom’s old things, as if Marion could walk in the door any minute to claim them. But it was also so hard to imagine her bohemian mother living in this formal princess
bedroom, using a brush made of china. Michele felt that Marion Windsor the heiress was an entirely different person than Marion Windsor the mom.

“This is the only room in your suite that has almost all its original furnishings,” Annaleigh continued. “Your grandparents asked me to add some modern touches to your adjoining rooms. I hope you’ll approve!”

“My
rooms
?” Michele echoed, bewildered. That was when she noticed a single door on each side of the room. Annaleigh gestured for Michele to follow her.

The first door led to a huge dressing room—which Michele hardly had enough clothes to justify—and a marble bathroom. The opposite door led to a spacious sitting room, which featured an antique glass-enclosed bookcase (filled with recognizable books like the Harry Potter series and Jane Austen’s tomes) as well as a flat-screen TV, a DVD player, and a state-of-the-art sound system. In the corner of the room was a round oak table with a place setting for one and a matching dining chair.

“Why do I have a dining set in my room?” Michele asked.

“For meals, of course. We’ll have a dining cart sent up here for you at mealtimes, and every morning, you and I will go over your menu together. Look, the TV tilts at whatever angle you choose, so you can watch comfortably from your dinner table!” Annaleigh beamed, but her smile faded as she saw Michele’s mystified expression.