When The Reign Stops

Chapter Two

Blonde hair, rosy, glossed lips and impertinent eyes. She was exactly as I remember her. My little
sister, still carrying one too many bags probably filled with too many products acquired from shopping sprees, catalogues or spontaneous holidays. Though my best guess at the contents would be masses of clothes, fit for no occasion other than to be vacantly stared at in the mirror or to please a man. That man was standing in front of me, in the form of Blake Thurman, a self made CEO of a trading company whom had "fallen for my sister at first sight." I could never quite be bothered to remember any other details other than these two. His arrogant eyes burned into mine, his mean lips pursed in disapproval.

"Thanks for letting us in. We were just about to head back to the Mercedes, right Annie?"

"We were but that's not important, oh Jade, you look so thin. No offence, I understand loss of appetite is a symptom of grief. You are still grieving I see, not surprise considering she was all you had. Grandmother that is. Unless you do have someone else in your life now- not that I would know for sure- as we rarely speak and I do feel for you I do but-"

"Where are we staying?"

Even when Blake interrupts Annie, my expression doesn't change, preserved as a perfect mask of indifference my Grandmother emphasised was so important when dealing with family. 'There is no power in a person who can't lie with their face, and no person with power whose truth is trapped in expression.'  I swallow my surprise at Blake's question and return it in a similar tone.

"What are you doing here?"

Silence.

Annie's arms give way and the cluster of bags fall to her feet but she doesn't pick them up. Blake throws his head back and a sharp laugh scrapes my eardrums.

"I don't have time for this."

He pushes past me, leaving the porch and I make no effort to resist. One of Annie's bags was dangerously close to crushing a potted plant on my porch. I didn't feel like Marie would appreciate Annie's negligence anymore than my instructions to clean the mess. Annie reaches for the bag in my hand. Instinctively I move it away, meeting her pale green eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

Flippantly, she brushes her hair off her face and I can see annoyance fill creases in her powdered forehead.

"Oh, why do you keep asking that? We're here because you asked us to be."

To my concern, I let a blank expression free.

"In your letter. You sent one about two weeks ago, handwritten and stamped. The contents consisted of a formal invitation to Westwick Manor, a dinner and quote, 'an evening of consolation.' Blake suggested it was your way of expressing your loneliness. Randomly reaching out to estranged family. Seeking a polite form of comfort. I thought differently... yet still managed to convince him to come all this way. For grandmother."

"For Grandmother?"

I questioned her, holding out her bag, close to bursting at the seams.

"And for what else?"

Her light eyes darkened and a cruelty curved her lips as she stepped inside my house, leaving the bag in my hand.

"You thought I came here to see you?"

There she was. My little sister, exactly as I remember her, only all grown up and able to keep up a sharper act.

-

Marie placed the final bag outside the double doors, her old bones impressively unresponsive to the effort. The guest bedroom was also impressive with it's plush carpet and silk curtains cut to the full length of the windows and tarnished with tassels. The bed was emperor sized with an apricot tinted duvet and matching pillowcases. I noticed that an apricot aroma coated the room, for some reason I was relieved for the scented candle and the fact that Marie had gone through the trouble of polishing the dressing table mirror. Annie gave her hair a content flick, heading straight to the dressing table.

"This will do nicely. Shame about the... orange."

Blake's attention had been entirely consumed by  his cellphone, which he barked into, his voice crossing the line between passionate and tyrannical. 

"I'll leave you to settle down for an hour or so and then I'll be back to talk about this letter you're so indignant about."

She gave me a nod from the mirror.

"I figured you'd be like this. I can show you the letter if needs be."

She reached into the smallest of her luggage, a Gucci handbag and rummaged with exaggerated delicacy until she pulled out a letter, still resting in its envelope, glossy black stamp slick with ink.

Dearest Sister,

I cordially invite you to a formal dinner at Westwick manner. You are to stay the night and are welcome to bring a guest. I hope to see you soon.

Yours Truly,
Jade Westwick

It looked like my penmanship and sounded like it too. Short, and curt with no elaborate decadencies or small talk. Though I knew for a fact I hadn't sent or received any written letters in well over a decade and that my sister was the last person I would've written to. A forged letter? A prank? This in no shape or form was a coincidence and Annie's puzzled face confirmed it.

"I didn't write it."

Blake waved us away from the door, his voice had come to a halt and the concentration burned his already ablaze eyes.

"You didn't?"

"No."

"Who did?"

My gaze fell to the floor while Marie was still fussing with the pile of bags by the door.

"I don't know. I had no knowledge of your arrival until you banged down my door. You're welcome to stay for dinner and the night, since you've traveled all this way-"

"Your door. Oh I'm sorry, are you forgetting you and I both grew up here. It's my house as much as it is yours."

I smiled wanly, catching Marie's ebony eyes as I half turned to face the door.

"I didn't forget. But there isn't a need to remember."

I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy watching her face change, seeing it twist in dissatisfaction. Her eyes first, clouding with undeveloped fury, then her lips stretched almost to the full length of her face, two angry red roses growing in her cheeks, jutted out as if thorns had pierced her tongue. She had always been easy to anger and I'd had years youth to learn which buttons to press. Ego was usually the shiniest of them- any definitive sentence or statement threatening her oh-so-judicious judgement bothered her most. She loved having the last word, thinking it concealed the fact she valued her materialism over intelligence. A sudden creak in the floorboards snapped me back to the present and I heard Marie gasp and mutter something in French- something she only did when her emotions got the best of her.

"I thought I heard voices."

Even Blake's attention had been snatched away from his cellphone, which he held away from his ear in a trembling hand.

"It's good to see you again."

Came a gruff, sturdy voice, distinguishable from early childhood. A voice no one had heard in decades yet unmistakably my Grandfather's.