APRIL
The room is nothing like what I imagined.
A tall bookcase lines one wall, packed with classical novels, every one of them leather bound and carefully arranged. There is no television anywhere. Heavy velvet curtains in deep crimson block out the outside world, thick enough to swallow sound and light. A large fireplace dominates the far wall, flames snapping and popping as it throws out real heat.
Standing close to the fire, palms stretched toward the warmth, a long breath slips out. The chill from the journey finally leaves my fingers. Eyes wander again, taking everything in slowly.
A dressing table sits near the window. It is almost empty, only a comb and a bottle of aftershave resting neatly on the polished surface. No clutter. No personal chaos. A walk in wardrobe stands open,
