hideaway for a mistress would have some tradition behind it, and that could possibly be made into a tourist stop for those with slightly puerile interests if peddled carefully to the right market.” She was babbling a bit, but the situation had scattered her wits. She was still trying to figure out reasons this degeneracy could be accepted by normal society.
Tristam didn’t seem to mind. “Couldn’t it just?” There came a flash of that charming grin and another spray of those invisible pheromones of his that made her insides jump and flutter. “But, no. This was the main residence. Vellacourt wasn’t that sophisticated or considerate of his wife, who died shortly after they emigrated. He is especially graphic in his writings about his carryings on. His journals are a disaster in terms of political correctness. He was a competent architect, though. The old house is well constructed andmore tasteful than some of these strange later additions would lead you to suspect. And he was a fair farmer, though he did not personally till the soil.”
“But still a bisexual lecher sadist,” Karo said under her breath, again swept away by morality. “And a rose by any other name.”
Tristam shrugged. “Just so. And I always think it’s best to look things square on. As I told the current owner, there’s nothing to be gained from wincing at cold hard facts, evil ancestors, or even bad grammar.” She couldn’t tell if there was laughter in his voice.
“Well, one thing is certain,” Karo replied.
“Yes?” her employer asked.
“I can’t have my parents coming here on vacation. They’ll just have to wait for a visit to Williams-town and Jamestown after I’m through. Father might— might —understand, but mother is Episcopalian…and not the kind who drinks heavily and only goes to church on Easter Sunday.”
Tristam began to laugh. “I understand. My own mum is so high church as to verge on Roman Catholic.” He pointed up the stairs. “Okay, we won’t do the torture chamber, but let’s go up anyway. Turn left at the top. I want to show you the ugliest pilasters in North America. Then I’ll feed you breakfast.”
As they started to climb he asked, “Are you at all attached to the pleasures of the table?”
Karo was glad for the change of subject. “Yeah. Especially if I don’t have to cook.”
“Are you firm about that?”
His tone was the first sign of worry she’d takenfrom him, but she stuck to her guns. “Fairly. It’s sexism to think that the woman should always have to cook. It would be more efficient to share responsibilities. Since we’ll be sharing our time here.”
He sounded somewhat disappointed. “Well, I expect we’ll muddle through. I’m a fair hand with the B and E, and I can just manage toast.”
She laughed. “Good to know it. And, by the way, I can’t stand kipp—Uh, what is that…that thing ?” She pointed, almost outraged.
“Fruit, I think. But, yes, it looks a bit like something else. And that’s a snake and a tower, I hope. But the wood is so cracked it’s hard to be definite. I felt you needed to get a look at it, so you could ponder it over breakfast. It really has that Vellacourt feel. It’s what we’ll be selling here.”
“It’s got to be the ugliest pilaster in North America,” she murmured, awed. “And the most pornographic.”
“Yes, that Vellacourt feel,” Tristam repeated. “Stand over here, actually. See? It looks rather like the south face of the temple of the Kama Sutra. Only, not as artistic.”
Karo tilted her head. “No, not by a long shot,” she agreed. “That Vellacourt feel. How are we going to sell this?”
Chapter Four
Yesterday upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today.
I wish, I wish he’d stay away.
—Hughes Mearns
If slightly more prudish than himself, his new assistant was correct about many things, among them that Belle Ange was hideous. Tristam simply could not fathom why
Tristam didn’t seem to mind. “Couldn’t it just?” There came a flash of that charming grin and another spray of those invisible pheromones of his that made her insides jump and flutter. “But, no. This was the main residence. Vellacourt wasn’t that sophisticated or considerate of his wife, who died shortly after they emigrated. He is especially graphic in his writings about his carryings on. His journals are a disaster in terms of political correctness. He was a competent architect, though. The old house is well constructed andmore tasteful than some of these strange later additions would lead you to suspect. And he was a fair farmer, though he did not personally till the soil.”
“But still a bisexual lecher sadist,” Karo said under her breath, again swept away by morality. “And a rose by any other name.”
Tristam shrugged. “Just so. And I always think it’s best to look things square on. As I told the current owner, there’s nothing to be gained from wincing at cold hard facts, evil ancestors, or even bad grammar.” She couldn’t tell if there was laughter in his voice.
“Well, one thing is certain,” Karo replied.
“Yes?” her employer asked.
“I can’t have my parents coming here on vacation. They’ll just have to wait for a visit to Williams-town and Jamestown after I’m through. Father might— might —understand, but mother is Episcopalian…and not the kind who drinks heavily and only goes to church on Easter Sunday.”
Tristam began to laugh. “I understand. My own mum is so high church as to verge on Roman Catholic.” He pointed up the stairs. “Okay, we won’t do the torture chamber, but let’s go up anyway. Turn left at the top. I want to show you the ugliest pilasters in North America. Then I’ll feed you breakfast.”
As they started to climb he asked, “Are you at all attached to the pleasures of the table?”
Karo was glad for the change of subject. “Yeah. Especially if I don’t have to cook.”
“Are you firm about that?”
His tone was the first sign of worry she’d takenfrom him, but she stuck to her guns. “Fairly. It’s sexism to think that the woman should always have to cook. It would be more efficient to share responsibilities. Since we’ll be sharing our time here.”
He sounded somewhat disappointed. “Well, I expect we’ll muddle through. I’m a fair hand with the B and E, and I can just manage toast.”
She laughed. “Good to know it. And, by the way, I can’t stand kipp—Uh, what is that…that thing ?” She pointed, almost outraged.
“Fruit, I think. But, yes, it looks a bit like something else. And that’s a snake and a tower, I hope. But the wood is so cracked it’s hard to be definite. I felt you needed to get a look at it, so you could ponder it over breakfast. It really has that Vellacourt feel. It’s what we’ll be selling here.”
“It’s got to be the ugliest pilaster in North America,” she murmured, awed. “And the most pornographic.”
“Yes, that Vellacourt feel,” Tristam repeated. “Stand over here, actually. See? It looks rather like the south face of the temple of the Kama Sutra. Only, not as artistic.”
Karo tilted her head. “No, not by a long shot,” she agreed. “That Vellacourt feel. How are we going to sell this?”
Chapter Four
Yesterday upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today.
I wish, I wish he’d stay away.
—Hughes Mearns
If slightly more prudish than himself, his new assistant was correct about many things, among them that Belle Ange was hideous. Tristam simply could not fathom why
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