Julie
A story of star-crossed lovers, piano lessons and old fashioned families that comes to a head on a fateful night. It might continue in the future.
They’re all convinced I’m corrupting her.
I sit on the bed, a sick feeling in my stomach; the bowl of soup on my tray taunts me with its smell of vegetables. It comes in waves. The smell and the sick feeling. Not to mention the knowledge that I’m completely out of my depth.
The pictures in my mind come in waves, too. Each one of them is a cramp in my belly. The fancy dining room upstairs. The whole family reunited, sitting primly on straight-backed antique chairs, small talk burying them like soft, dull snow. The fleet of staff conjured out of thin air, all of them at our beck and call in honour of this momentous occasion - the maids flitting around since dawn with furniture polish; the photographer snap-snap-snapping both families in various constellations on the winding staircase - brothers and sisters, mamas and papas, everyone together; the chefs making exquisite things out of lobsters and olives. And me, title-less, cringing on the piano stool, clinging to my champagne glass tight enough to snap its stem.
I don’t know why tonight disturbed me so much. I didn’t even make it as far as the “get-to-know-you” dinner. You’d think I’d be used to this constant parade of wealth and status after living with the De Clare for nine months, but instead of making polite conversation, I just smiled and drank. That’s probably why I’m feeling so wretched. My cheeks still hurt from smiling. I’m truly in a whole other world. Life’s been like something out of Downton Abbey ever since I got here - like turning the clocks back to last century.
Distractedly I glance at my watch on the bedside table. She’ll have met the guy by now. Her husband-to-be.
The thought of him sitting next to her at the table makes my guts churn so violently that I automatically bend over, my hands pressed to my stomach. The precariously balanced bowl of soup topples over. A brown stain with bits of green starts slowly spreading over the soft, white blanket. Well, I was anything but hungry anyway. I put the bowl back on the tray, the tray on the bedside table. I’m starting to gather all my strength to get up, when the door opens so suddenly it startles me. There’s only one person in this house who wouldn’t bother to knock.
“So here you are. I was wondering where you’d got to.”
Julie walks into the room, shaking her perfectly coiffed head, her smile shining as brightly as her antique diamond earrings; then her eyes are drawn to the blanket and she frowns.
“I’m sorry. I was feeling ill, so I thought I’d have something to eat in bed. But I made a mess.”
“Don’t worry, it’s fine,” she says breezily, smiling again.
Of course it is, for her. She won’t be the one cleaning it up.
Here, she seems to read my thoughts. “Come on, don’t give me that look. Mariana is paid for that. Handsomely paid. Spare me the nonsense, give me a kiss. That’ll make you feel better.”
I’d love to, but I’m not at ease. Somebody might be eavesdropping; one of the staff bribed to sneak up here and check on us, to confirm the family’s suspicions. But Julie is already standing next to the bed, reaching out to me. Carefully I get up and hug her, burying into her soft warmth, setting my worries aside.
“So, how was it?” I try to keep it casual, obviously failing. “How was he?”
She releases me and glances away, slightly thwarted.
“Not so bad, actually.” She clasps her hands, doesn’t look me in the eye. “You know, he seems rather nice. Shy, too.”
Hmm. Sounds like they found the perfect candidate. Nice and shy. Ludicrously wealthy, of course - the son of an oil magnate, something of that sort. And, most importantly, completely under the thumb.
“What did the others think?”
“Well, naturally Grandma launched into her usual interrogation routine. She’s truly just like the Spanish Inquisition.”
“And your brother?”
“His only contribution was that eyebrow-raise of his. Discreet and terrifying. Typical Vincent.”
I can picture her family perfectly, looming over this guy, like wolves drooling before their wounded prey. Especially Vincent. I’m feeling sorry for him, then I remember. He’s marrying Julie. He’ll get to spend the rest of his life with her. Resentment burns in my stomach. No, that arsehole doesn’t need an ounce of pity from me. I hold her, as close and as tight as I can. Then I ask one of the thousand questions racing through my head.
“Did they leave the two of you alone?”
She sighs.
“Oh, Lottie… Do we have to…”
“Did they?”
“Yes, they did.”
Okay, now a harder one.
“Did he kiss you?”
She turns around, flushing defiantly.
“So what if he did? You know I have to marry him, so why do you ask? What could possibly be the point?”
The point… I sigh and shake my head, backing down. She just doesn’t get it. The point…
“Fine,” I say, “whatever. You call the shots, as usual.”
Suddenly, she screams.
“I don’t call shit!”
Her cursing is not like normal cursing. She underlines every letter. It’s a form of rebellion, like when women used to burn bras on the street. Her face lights up scarlet when she curses. I know I have to defuse the situation, somehow, or else she will scream bloody murder until they all come to see what’s happening. The thought almost makes me panic. I plead to her frantically.
“Calm down, someone might come in.”
“Let them! Everybody knows anyway.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”
But she’s having none of it.
“No, you listen to me now, Lottie! I’m tired of being pushed around by every single person in this bloody house! By them with their marriage arrangements, by you with your jealousy. You really want to know how it went? He’s NICE, alright? He’s sweet, he wasn’t ordering me around or finding fault with everything I said and did, or trying to educate me - he was even listening to me, believe it or not. But I was…”
A knock. I knew it. Mariana opens the door, an ever-so-slightly puzzled look on her face.
“Is everything alright, Miss Horst?” Her eyes dart towards Julie, who is red-faced and frowning. “Oh, I thought I heard your voice, Ma’am.”
“Yes, Mariana, I’m afraid I got carried away scolding my teacher for spilling soup on this nice blanket. Pure wool and a family heirloom as well, it’s such a pity. Do you think you can clean it?”
No hesitation, no blushing. Julie has an innate talent for lying.
“Not a problem, Ma’am, I shall take care of it at once.”
Mariana takes the tray from the table, then pulls the blanket from the bed. She glances at me, efficient and unreadable. Surely she knows about us. Servants always know everything, all of their family’s deepest secrets. She most likely thinks I started it. Of course she does.
“Would you like me to warm up more soup for you, Miss Horst?”
I don’t think I’ll ever want to have soup again in my life.
“I’m fine, thank you, Mariana.”
“I’ll come back to fetch the tray.”
Julie immediately intervenes.
“I’ll take it back to the kitchen later, Mariana. Just try to remove those stains.”
Mariana blinks. It must be the first time ever that Julie has offered to lift a finger.
“As you wish, Ma’am.”
“Thank you, Mariana. That’ll be all.”
Julie might be an extravagant rebel, but she’s a lady. She’s been groomed from childhood. She knows how to deal with those beneath her station.
Mariana curtsies and leaves.
I quickly hug Julie, before she starts screaming again.
“I’m sorry.”
She wriggles away and looks me straight in the eyes.
“The whole time I was only thinking of you. I got out of there as soon as I could, and now you’re being all cold and suspicious with me…”
Her voice breaks, she’s on the verge of tears. I hug her again. She’s tense at first, then she slowly melts into my arms, rests her head on my shoulder with a small sigh. Julie…
“Come to me tonight,” I offer.
She looks at me – puzzled, tempted?
“It’s the first time you’ve asked.”
“Well…”
What can I say? We might not have many more chances? We should grab all we can as long as we have time? You’re too beautiful for words, your eyes glistening with tears?
No time to reply. One more knock on the door. Or rather, a bang. Then Vincent enters.
“What’s this all about?”
We startle, instinctively move apart from each other. He rounds on his sister.
“What’s wrong with you? You barely say a word to your future husband and in-laws all evening, you sneak away as soon as we leave for our after-dinner brandy, and now I hear you’ve been making a scene up here?”
His forehead vein is throbbing. Maybe he’ll have a heart attack and I’ll be left alone with Julie. The things we could do together, in front of his stiff corpse…
Julie says nothing. Then his attention turns to me.
“You!” The word rings with indignation. He must be absolutely furious. Normally, yelling and banging is not his style. He seems to remember himself, takes a deep breath, his trembling index finger still pointing at my chest, his mouth pursed so tight his lips disappear. What comes after is, as Julie would put it, typical Vincent. Pure, glacial contempt.
“We brought you here to teach my sister piano, not perversions. We took you in out of sheer pity, because of your late mother. You betrayed our trust.”
Right, they definitely think it’s me. No point in trying to dispute that. I just stand there meekly, looking at the tiles in front of Vincent’ feet as he decides my fate.
“You’ve caused enough trouble in this house. Pack your things. I’m calling you a cab tomorrow morning. That’s more kindness than the likes of you deserves.”
A stone sinks in my chest. No room for discussion. It’s an order. The wave of sickness is coming back. I am speechless. But Julie isn’t.
“But you can’t! I still need lessons. My Bach is awful. However will I practise my fingering?”
I cringe. Not the best choice of words. Served to Vincent on a silver platter.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ve practised that more than enough.”
Julie’s mouth shuts and her face turns bright red. Then Vincent delivers his signature smirk. He knows he won. That smirk. I could punch him.
“Don’t worry, Miss Julie. I’m sure you won’t lose your talents, even without my guidance.”
You all think I’m corrupting her. But I was not her first, and I’m sure I won’t be her last.
Vincent raises his eyebrow, but does not retort. He doesn’t need to. Julie’s face is very white all of a sudden, her mouth opens and closes, but no more sounds come out. She is defeated, and he knows it. He nods slowly, folding his arms, savouring his triumph.
“My decision is final. Now come with me, Julie. Miss Horst will be busy packing.”
He drags her away, his hand so tight around her right wrist – her strangled hand wriggling, her pale, long, perfect hand – I swear I can hear bones cracking. Julie follows along, no more struggle.
At the door, she turns around. Quickly, I mouth to her:
“Tonight. Come tonight. Please.”
She nods, her face crumpling, her eyes welling up with tears again. As soon as the door closes behind her, I feel a fist clench around my stomach and I stumble, then let myself collapse onto the blanketless bed.
Curling up small, I try to comfort myself. Tomorrow without Julie doesn’t exist. She’ll come tonight. I know she will. They might lock her up, but nonetheless she’ll find a way. She will come. We’ll be together. Tomorrow doesn’t exist. We’ll be together tonight.