Delecto - Games of Mastery (part 1) Read Free Page B

than my normal wild tangle of curls that I
had difficulty taming and even more difficulty keeping in a style
when it was short. Hence the long length.
    “ Right,”
I said to myself, taking a deep breath.
    Picking up my
briefcase, and my purse, I left my car and made my way toward the
house. As I passed the Jaguar, I couldn’t help but stop and have a
quick and wistful peek inside.
    It was a car
that was beautiful to admire and, I imagined, both a pleasure to
own and a dream to drive. Three things I was unable to appreciate
any further than from afar.
    My shoes
crunched noisily across the graveled forecourt as I progressed
toward the house entrance.
    Arriving on the
door step, I felt like Jack at the castle of the giant. Not only
was it a huge stone doorstep, there was also a ridiculously huge
front door. At least ten feet, of solid, studded, grayed oak,
arched to the heavens like a church portal. I pressed my finger to
the adjacent doorbell, which clanged loudly like the bells ringing
out for Sunday mass.
    I waited for
its answer, sidestepping nervously.
    The door swung
open a few seconds later, with a painful creak, the weight of the
door straining on its overburdened, complaining hinges, and I was
presented with a well-groomed, gray-haired man. He was in his mid
fifties or thereabouts, dressed formally in a white shirt, black
tie, matching pinstripe pants and a black waistcoat. My brief
observation told me this was not Mr. Shaw.
    According to my
father, Sebastian Shaw was quite young. And whatever quite young
meant, I felt fifty-something didn’t qualify.
    He nodded his
head at me briefly. “Please step inside, mademoiselle.” Then he
opened the door wider, and I mounted the step.
    My heart
stirred to life in an instant. I stood inside a space that was
beautiful to behold. It had an ecclesiastical air with its tall,
arched windows. Signs of modernity mingled with classic
architecture in a pleasing and seamless flow. Creamy walls blended
with black and white accents. My eye wandered over the light
sconces on the walls and the heavy crystal and wrought iron
chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling. I admired the pale
gray velvet-upholstered chaise and the pair of black onyx console
tables flanking it. Splashes of large green plants were dotted
artistically around the space. It was all very simple but at the
same time absolutely stunning. And clearly expensively done.
    The butler
closed the door behind me and led me in. “This way, please. Mr.
Shaw is waiting for you in his study.”
    I followed the
well-dressed Frenchman with a little apprehension at what, or
rather whom, awaited me in the next room.
    My kitten heels
clattered with a series of little echoes across the black marble
floor, announcing my presence to the silence. We passed a large
glass table on which stood a black vase full of dozens of white
roses on the verge of opening. I slowed as I passed them, taking in
a deep breath, capturing the exotic scent which bathed the air
around them.
    Oh, how I love
roses and these are simply perfection.
    We approached
the wide and curving staircase, and he looked over his shoulder and
gave me a small smile of encouragement, then continued onward,
leading me up the grand stairway. My feet sank into the deep cream
pile of the carpet upon the treads, and I laid my hand on the cool,
age-darkened oak of the stair rail for support.
    My stomach
rolled with nerves.
    We finally
reached the top of the stairs, and I followed him to the end of a
low-lit corridor, where a door stood slightly ajar.
    “ One
moment.” He bade me to wait by raising his finger in the air then
rapped on the door with his knuckles.
    “ Yes?” A
male voice replied. He quickly went in and I stood outside,
clutching my case with a racing heart and a feeling of nausea
rising in my stomach. I was so annoyed with myself. I never felt
this nervous meeting clients in the office, so why should this be
any different? Even on a day I had to face a very