Lies and Weddings(13)
“I turned the loo into my darkroom,” Rufus said, opening the narrow door so Eden could peer into the tiny space where a photo enlarger had been propped up on a plank of plywood under the shower.
“So where do you bathe?”
Rufus gestured outside. On one end of the back deck was an outdoor shower nestled between thick tropical bushes and a wall of stacked volcanic rocks. Rufus pointed to a galvanized steel cistern on the roof. “That tank collects rainwater for the shower.”
“So cool! I’ve never taken an outdoor shower,” Eden said.
“Then you must take one while you’re here. It’s absolutely glorious, you’ll love it. Sometimes I turn out all the lights and sit in the shower late at night just to gaze at the stars.”
“Sounds amazing,” Eden said.
They went back into the house and Eden noticed Rufus’s worktable by the back corner across from the bed. Tacked to the wall all the way up to the ceiling was a collage of dried palm fronds, magazine clippings, and his own photographs. Along with pictures of the ocean, tide pools, and bright green geckos were snapshots of Bea, Augie, and an old black-and-white print of Eden, looking directly at the camera and laughing as a long clump of hair blew across her face. She remembered the exact moment he took the photo, when they went hiking along the cliffs of Tintagel many summers back.
“Why do you have that picture up?” Eden asked.
“It’s my favorite picture of you.”
“Not my best look.”
He was about to protest but decided instead to change tracks. “So…I guess you’re not impressed?”
“What do you mean? You know I always enjoy looking at your work.”
“I’m talking about the cabin.”
“Oh, I adore it! It suits you perfectly and I can see why you love spending so much time here.”
Rufus smiled in relief. “Mum came here once and called it a rat’s nest. She stayed less than ten minutes.”
“I wouldn’t expect her to appreciate any of this. There’s nothing for her to lacquer in here.”
“Haha, no there isn’t! But I do take credit for this little cabin being the inspiration for her new resort.”
“She’d never have visited Hawaii if you hadn’t been spending so much time here.”
“Not only that, but I think she saw what was special about the cabin, even though this isn’t her aesthetic. It’s no coincidence she put twelve surf cabins on the hills above her resort. Of course, hers are built of trendy blackened wood and are tricked out with cashmere throw pillows, soaking tubs, and movie screens that retract from the ceiling. She knows her crowd and she’s got the perfect plan to lure them here.”
Eden glanced around Rufus’s unassuming cabin, thinking how much the space embodied his free-spirited ethos. The way he had fashioned a beautiful worktable out of an old glass door and a pair of tree stumps; the seashells and ocean pebbles arranged in an intricate mandala along the window ledge. This was what she loved about Rufus, his raw creativity and how much of a nature boy he was, so much happier in his surf shack than in a grand manor. For the first time since arriving on the island, she felt a pang of guilt over what had happened the night before. How in the world had she allowed herself to be roped into the countess’s maniacal scheme?
Skip Notes
*1 The Princess of Wales has made it known that she prefers to be called Catherine, so for God’s sake please stop calling her Kate Middleton.
*2 Actually, they were a pair of Togo love seats by Michel Ducaroy pushed together, but Eden wouldn’t have recognized a $20,000 vintage leather sofa and would have been appalled at the cost.
II
The Countess’s Bedroom
GRESHAMSBURY HALL ? 24 HOURS EARLIER
The evening before her flight to Hawaii, Eden had been summoned back to the Big House, where she found the countess propped up against a dozen plush Luigi Bevilacqua silk-velvet pillows[*1] while Bea lounged at the foot of the bed, petting Noel and Liam.
Arabella glanced up at Eden as she entered. “Shut the door. It’s time to tell you about OS. You are sworn to secrecy, do you hear me?”
Eden nodded dutifully.
“Now, you and I both know that Rufus is wasting his life away in Hawaii. It’s high time Rufus settled down and did something with his life…”
“Is it? He’s one of the hardest-working people I know,” Eden insisted.
“Doing what, pray tell? Cleaning surfboards?”
“He’s an artist.”
“A failed artist. Five years out of art school and he hasn’t even managed to get into a decent group show. And he refuses to let me help—one phone call to my friend Jessica and he’d have a solo exhibition at her gallery in San Francisco, but the boy is so stubborn. Anyway, that’s beside the point, Rufus doesn’t need to be a famous artist—he’s going to be the Earl of Greshamsbury. He’s had enough fun fooling around with his cameras and bumming around the world in those stinky flip-flops. It’s high time he came back to England and stepped up to his real duty—he must get married and give me lots of grandsons.”
“Don’t you mean grandchildren, Mummy?” Bea interjected.
“Grandsons FIRST,” Arabella said sternly. “Eden, you’ve met the parade of undesirables that Rufus has brought home over the years: The one who didn’t shave her armpits. The one with the pet lizard. The one that lied about her age. The Australian one. And the worst one of all was the folksinger.”