European style, cufflinks and a pair of mirror-polished black brogues completing the ensemble.
Lucy’s room is at the far end of a central corridor, an immaculately dressed Robert making the final adjustments to his shirt cuffs as he strides along it, his manner confident, his demeanor bright and alert.
A slight hesitation at Lucy’s door before knocking.
“Luce! We need to get going.”
“One moment. One moment,” she calls out from within.
Robert can hear her feet pounding as she scurries about her room, footsteps eventually thumping their way to other side of her door. A moment of silence leads Robert to open his mouth to call out once more—
The door is snatched open to reveal a beaming Lucy.
It takes him a further moment to take it all in, her presentation as immaculate as his own, the dinner suit she is wearing, replete with black tie, in the style of a man’s, but cut for a woman, a fresh pair of navy-blue sneakers on her feet.
For her part the beaming smile is subdued at the sight of Robert’s own appearance.
“So how do I look?” she says.
“You look…great. Great.”
Lucy’s detection of more than an element of misgiving has her anxiously looking over herself for some error or omission.
“What is it?” she asks.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. So…ready?”
“ What — is — it? ” she says, glowering back at him.
His exasperated shrug of the shoulders and hand gestures at her outfit say it more than the words, “You’re wearing a DJ?”
“A DJ?”
“Dinner jacket—tuxedo in American. Wouldn’t you rather wear an evening dress? I’m sure you’d look very pretty.”
“ Pretty? ”
Robert has a measure of the vast hole he has started digging for himself, and decides to cut his losses.
“You look great. Let’s go.”
* * *
From the formal garden to the rear of the house a woodland walk leads the way. The sun—if it can be called that—is low in the sky, and lamps are already aglow, though there is still enough natural light to see by.
The edge of wood is densely populated with flowering azaleas, which in England would normally be the case in mid-spring, yet the surrounding trees are in full leaf—a sign of high summer. It’s not the only juxtaposition that Robert has noted in the flora—the best of spring and summer have been merged into one here, something he suspects to be everlasting, the need for seasons dispensed with in what he takes to be an artificially engineered ecosystem.
Wisps of heavy scent permeate the evening air, finding their way to Lucy’s newly acquired senses with an almost intoxicating effect as she flits from one bush to the next. But at one plant, seemingly given pride of place, she stops with a look of disappointment, sniffing at its ember-orange blooms.
“This one has no smell.”
Robert recognizes the particular azalea before her. He is quite certain that it will be the only one of its kind in the whole of the garden. Though not an exact replica like his house, the garden layout is broadly the same, right down to the plantings. In his own he had included only fragrant azaleas, with a single exception at this spot.
“This is a hybrid called Gog .”
“ Gog ? What kind of name is that?”
“It’s an old hybrid, Lucy. It was my father’s favorite. He liked it for the color of its flowers.”
“Oh.” Lucy says, staring at her feet. “Is your father’s Gog like the flower Lucius gave me?”
“Something like that.”
“I didn’t mean to pry.”
“We’d better get a move on.”
The azaleas give way to denser woodland now cloaked by dusk. Robert feels distinctly uneasy as they make their way along the path, a crunchy mix of forest detritus with the occasional fallen twig snapping underfoot. It’s the silence beyond their own passage that unnerves him, and he can’t help but look all about as they head forward. Still, Lucy seems quite at ease, curious about everything she lays her eyes on, so one less thing for him worry
Lucy’s room is at the far end of a central corridor, an immaculately dressed Robert making the final adjustments to his shirt cuffs as he strides along it, his manner confident, his demeanor bright and alert.
A slight hesitation at Lucy’s door before knocking.
“Luce! We need to get going.”
“One moment. One moment,” she calls out from within.
Robert can hear her feet pounding as she scurries about her room, footsteps eventually thumping their way to other side of her door. A moment of silence leads Robert to open his mouth to call out once more—
The door is snatched open to reveal a beaming Lucy.
It takes him a further moment to take it all in, her presentation as immaculate as his own, the dinner suit she is wearing, replete with black tie, in the style of a man’s, but cut for a woman, a fresh pair of navy-blue sneakers on her feet.
For her part the beaming smile is subdued at the sight of Robert’s own appearance.
“So how do I look?” she says.
“You look…great. Great.”
Lucy’s detection of more than an element of misgiving has her anxiously looking over herself for some error or omission.
“What is it?” she asks.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. So…ready?”
“ What — is — it? ” she says, glowering back at him.
His exasperated shrug of the shoulders and hand gestures at her outfit say it more than the words, “You’re wearing a DJ?”
“A DJ?”
“Dinner jacket—tuxedo in American. Wouldn’t you rather wear an evening dress? I’m sure you’d look very pretty.”
“ Pretty? ”
Robert has a measure of the vast hole he has started digging for himself, and decides to cut his losses.
“You look great. Let’s go.”
* * *
From the formal garden to the rear of the house a woodland walk leads the way. The sun—if it can be called that—is low in the sky, and lamps are already aglow, though there is still enough natural light to see by.
The edge of wood is densely populated with flowering azaleas, which in England would normally be the case in mid-spring, yet the surrounding trees are in full leaf—a sign of high summer. It’s not the only juxtaposition that Robert has noted in the flora—the best of spring and summer have been merged into one here, something he suspects to be everlasting, the need for seasons dispensed with in what he takes to be an artificially engineered ecosystem.
Wisps of heavy scent permeate the evening air, finding their way to Lucy’s newly acquired senses with an almost intoxicating effect as she flits from one bush to the next. But at one plant, seemingly given pride of place, she stops with a look of disappointment, sniffing at its ember-orange blooms.
“This one has no smell.”
Robert recognizes the particular azalea before her. He is quite certain that it will be the only one of its kind in the whole of the garden. Though not an exact replica like his house, the garden layout is broadly the same, right down to the plantings. In his own he had included only fragrant azaleas, with a single exception at this spot.
“This is a hybrid called Gog .”
“ Gog ? What kind of name is that?”
“It’s an old hybrid, Lucy. It was my father’s favorite. He liked it for the color of its flowers.”
“Oh.” Lucy says, staring at her feet. “Is your father’s Gog like the flower Lucius gave me?”
“Something like that.”
“I didn’t mean to pry.”
“We’d better get a move on.”
The azaleas give way to denser woodland now cloaked by dusk. Robert feels distinctly uneasy as they make their way along the path, a crunchy mix of forest detritus with the occasional fallen twig snapping underfoot. It’s the silence beyond their own passage that unnerves him, and he can’t help but look all about as they head forward. Still, Lucy seems quite at ease, curious about everything she lays her eyes on, so one less thing for him worry
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