Dante's Heat

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Gabrielle’s diary—September 15th

Ramblings …

I have been told I have no choice in this. I’m sure I’m going to hate it. I remember Robert Dante as a sullen, cold prick. I was happy when Sasha divorced him. He could look down his nose at the queen of England and have her shrivel into nothing. But I’m not going to be intimidated by him. I swear that on my honor. Besides, Geordy says he’ll bust me from the island as soon as he can raise the cash to get a decent boat. I wonder about that … Geordy’s a little lost these days. I know it’s too much pot. He gets confused. Though when he’s high, he f***s a blue streak, the best I’ve ever had. I wonder if Dante f***s? I think his d**k would be too cold to get hard.

Sash says I’ll be safe from prosecution on the island, though I say it’s persecution. She tells me I’ll have the authorities off my back. I can write to my heart’s content and won’t have to put up with another stupid college. She’s just trying to coddle me into agreeing to this ridiculous scheme of hers. I guess I have no choice, though, considering that stupid night Geordy and I got arrested …

I am a little scared … all that official crap makes me nervous. Anyone who says a body cavity search is not demeaning has never had one from the police matron from hell. I swear she was getting off. Probably wanted to make me into her girlfriend.

I’ve only been on the island once before and I don’t remember that. Mother brought me here to visit Sash, but I was too scared to stay. It’s funny how things look so big when you’re little. Maybe scary men like Dante are the same way—now that I’m grown I’ll think it’s silly that I was ever petrified of him.

I sure hope he doesn’t force his New England “good breeding” on me. I despise pretentious asses, and I imagine I’ll despise Robert Dante too.

This ferry’s getting kind of jumpy. The water must be rough outside, I have to stop or my writing is going to turn into scribbles.

I should write to Geordy tonight, tell him the lay of the land and where he can find my bedroom window. g.

***

As she came through the front entrance of Foxglove house, Robert spied her from the opposite end of the foyer. One glance her way and he resumed his journey from the kitchen to the library.

Gabrielle stood for some moments alone waiting for Sasha to reappear. The cursory look from Dante was chilling—his eyes frosting her unexpectedly. His hair was somewhat longer that she remembered fifteen years before. Now, curtly tied behind him in a ponytail sanctioned by the fashion of the times, it was perfectly logical for a man so cold. She considered him ruthless, to her consternation as ruthless appearing as she remembered him. Time and her age did not change that fact, though she remained determined not to let the man have his way with her.

As Sasha moved through the front door, Gabrielle jumped back startled. “You scared me,” she declared anxiously.

“And you look as though you saw a ghost.” Sasha ran her hand through her sister’s tousled locks soothingly.

“No, not at all. I just saw Dante, but he didn’t stop. Gracious as usual, I see.”

“You remember him being gracious?” Sasha asked.

“I hardly remember him at all, except how much I hated him,” she replied.

“Don’t look so sullen. We’ve been over this too many times.” The older woman continued to pet her fawningly. “You’re here because you need to grow up.” Sasha appraised her sister’s avant-garde attire—if that’s what you call it. Retro, new age, there had to be a name for this non-style, everything wildly mismatched—the long thin sixties skirt, patchwork vest and velvet suit style jacket. She wore a crimson beret overflowing with untamed hair. There was a streak or two of purple and yellow dye clinging to her matted hair from when she last colored it to match her latest fancy. She wore little make-up, just lines above and below her eyes enhancing their naturally dark appeal, and crimson lipstick on her thin lips.

“And this is going to make me grow up?” Gabrielle wondered aloud.

“This place has a way of instilling needed discipline.”

Gabrielle knew enough to shudder at Sasha’s choice of words, but not so her sister would see.

“Sasha!”

The two sisters turned to see a woman moving swiftly toward them, looking as though she was an angel floating just above the ground. Her dress was like a robe of forest green that drifted about her calves. Her feet tucked in black ballet slippers danced across the black and white checked marble tiles. About her head was a golden halo of shoulder-length blonde hair that gleamed like broad shiny ribbons as it moved. Her smile was dazzling.

“Penny,” Sasha held out her hands in a amiable welcome and the two embraced. Though Gabrielle could detect a condescending glimmer in her sister’s eyes, the other woman wasn’t likely to notice the fact. Gabrielle was practiced at knowing her sister’s moods and attitudes. “This is Gabrielle,” Sasha introduced her to Penny.

“Robert told me to look for you. I hope your trip was pleasant.”

“The water was choppy, but we’re here in one piece,” Sasha answered. “Robert still has his boat to the mainland?”

“He does, though it’s being repaired now. I’m afraid if you have to get off the island tonight, you’ll want to be ready when the ferry leaves. That should be in about a half hour,” she said, consulting her watch.

“Oh, I wanted to stay for dinner, but maybe it’s just as well. Robert is here now?”

“Of course, he’s here,” Gabrielle droned. “I told you he was on his way to wherever while you were hauling in my other bag.”

Penny looked at Sasha’s sister a bit startled, though more importantly, with a look that was subtlety penetrating—like she was reading from her soul. Gabrielle felt a cold chill dart up her spine. There was no reason save that small one to fear this woman. Foxglove’s new tenant had never seen such loving eyes. Despite the fact that this was their first meeting, Penny looked at her with the gentle regard of a mother for a child. Though, she was hardly a matronly woman—she exuded the kind of softness that would certainly melt the most grouchy soul, and Gabrielle’s concern faded as the woman stared into her face and smiled affectionately.

“Robert wants to see you, Sasha. You can go into the library while I take Gabrielle to her room.”

“You mean he doesn’t want to see me too?” the youngest of the three flipped off a bit sarcastically.

There it was again, that look from the seeming mistress of the house. Like she was perhaps startled, put-off and a bit surprised that anyone would be so insolent. Again, the look vanished.

“Later this evening, perhaps, Miss Casella, until then you can get settled in your room.” She waved Sasha off and took Gabrielle by the hand leading her up the stairs to the second floor. Gabrielle peered down at her sister who blew her a kiss.

“You can call, darling,” she heard her say as she waved.

“Yeah, sure.”

At the top of the staircase the two women took a turn and headed down a hallway—a great broad one perfectly suited to the large scope of the house, papered above the natural wainscoting in a dreary formal damask pattern of burgundy roses and vines. Gabrielle found the whole rude show too ostentatious to suit her. So what, if the man was oozing wealth, it hardly gave him the right to own a whole island and command people as if he was king. That was exactly what she remembered most about Robert Dante from her childhood. He thought he was above the rest of the world. As a seven year old, wise beyond her years, she was smart enough to see through that guise—just as she saw through it now. No doubt the man had this Penny bamboozled too. Gabrielle considered herself the last woman to fall for that kind of pomposity.

“You’re very despondent, aren’t you?” Penny said, as she led the brooding brunette down the hallway.

Gabrielle stopped. “Despondent, why would you say that?”

“Why it’s in your face,” Penny said, turning toward her. “Your eyes are vague. I suppose you didn’t want to come here.”

“You guessed right on that.”

“But you will find this suitable here, I’m sure.”

Suitable, Gabrielle questioned the word, but not aloud. The two continued to amble down the hall until they came to another staircase, revealed as Penny opened a narrow door.

“My room’s in the attic!” Gabrielle exclaimed.

“Oh! It’s a beautiful room,” Penny gushed as they mounted the stairs. “It was once mine and sometimes I wish it was mine again. I hear you like to write? This must be the most perfect spot for writing on the island—there’s a window seat looking out at the sea as it crashes on the rocks. You can see the spray … and the rainbows when it’s sunny … and daydream for hours. Oh, I wish I was a better poet, but I suffice with drawing occasionally …” She opened the door at the top of the stairs having reached this high perch of the house. “I’m afraid I’m not a very imaginative woman. I deal best with numbers—which is obviously why Robert keeps me around.”

Gabrielle couldn’t care less about Penny’s meandering monologue, but she did find the room exactly as promised. Like the hallway and staircases, this too was notably paneled with dark woodwork and deep-colored papers, though there was a window broad enough for a wide seat facing the ocean, not the bay. Daylight streamed beyond the dour furnishings casting morning sunlight to knock out any shadows. Despite the fact that she felt shunned by the very juxtaposition of the room to the rest of the house, she was pleased. Maybe it was just as well to be away from everything, she’d be left in peace.

There was a twin-sized bed with wrought iron head and footboards, a dresser, a table and chair for writing, and what looked like a very comfortable reading chair—though that too was upholstered in damask Gabrielle found woefully drab.

“Wonder whose color scheme this is?” she commented flatly, as she walked about the room.

“What was that?” Penny asked.

“Nothing,” Gabrielle shook her off.

“Robert had a bath installed here a few years back. It’s small but adequate. There’s just a shower, sink and toilet. But if you get the notion to spread out in luxury, there’s a really beautiful tub on the second floor—in the yellow room.”

“Yellow, really. I’m surprised.”

“You must think this dreary,” Penny commented.

“Hey, I’m in a dreary mood. Should suit me fine.”

“You’re angry too.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Just my impression. I’m sorry if that offends you. I could be wrong.”

“Naw, you’re not wrong. Sasha says I should be glad Dante let me stay here, but I suppose it’s better than the alternative.”

“What’s the alternative?”

Gabrielle shrugged. “You don’t want to know.”

“I see. Well, I’ll leave you here and come get you later.”

“That’s it? I just stay here?”

“Maybe you want to rest?”

“I’m not tired, this isn’t like I’ve been traveling overland in a buckboard for days or something.”

Penny laughed. “I suppose it’s not, but perhaps you could write some. I do know Robert would prefer you stay here for now. At least until you get more acquainted with how things are at Foxglove.”

“Sure. Just please, don’t lock me in,” Gabrielle smirked.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary,” the other woman smiled. Though Gabrielle’s comment wasn’t quite the joke Gabrielle thought it was.

“Hey, what’s that?” she asked, as she watched Penny retreat. Beside the dark wood doorframe she spotted a two-foot strip of leather hanging from a hook.

“Oh, why that’s just a reminder,” Penny said, her graceful hand grazing the smooth surface of the piece for just a second. She seemed a little nervous touching it, but not undone. “I suppose Robert didn’t want you to have any doubts how he maintains discipline in this house.”

“He’ll use that on me?”

“On your bottom, yes. But only if it’s warranted, I assure you.” Penny paused looking at her questioningly. “You did know?”

Gabrielle hesitated, a little dazed, then came-to as though she just awakened. “No. No, I didn’t, but then again, I suppose I’m not surprised.” She remembered the night with Sasha when she was drunk—a night she tried hard to forget. Now it all came back to her in vivid color, being thrust over the chair, a kitchen spoon shocking her sober, delivering so much wallop she was sore the next day. She pushed the memory away. No, she didn’t want to remember, and she didn’t want to think of it happening again.

It was just quarter past eleven when Penny left her by herself in the room. Even though she had nothing to say to Sasha, she resented not being allowed to say good-bye to her sister. Perhaps, now she understood why. With this new twist on her confinement at the island estate becoming clear, she trembled, as scared as she’d been in years. So frozen with alarm, she huddled in the corner of the window seat and looked out on the pounding surf. A tear or two began to make its way down her cheek, her eyes burning with a salty sting.