Lost in La La Land(16)

“Bath,” I blurted.

“Bath?” He wrinkled his perfect nose again.

“Sir Walter Elliot and Elizabeth have gone to Bath.”

“Anne hates Bath.”

“She’s here. With me.”

“Here?” His eyes widened.

“Not in the house now. She’s visiting tenants. We close the house up today in anticipation your sister and her husband will take possession immediately.”

“I see.” He sighed. “That is likely for the best. I took a jaunt in the fields above the house in hopes of seeing my sister already in the garden.” He said it in a way that made me suspect he wasn't telling the truth. Not the real truth. It was his version of why he’d been there. No doubt the one he’d chanted when he was walking up the hillside.

“Of course.” Had Anne been the one to take a stroll in the field she would have come upon him and maybe the entire story would have come to its end right then and there. She would have seen him, been weak and showed him that she loved him. He might have returned the love and there would have been no need for the full tale.

As it was, this was a lucky turn of events.

I had been the one to see him. He had used me to get into the house and be near her. I knew this was the same as my using him as a distraction so I could prove my machine was safe, even for a person like me.

The sound of the carriage arriving at the house ended the stare we were stuck in, both thinking of another person.

He was the best sort of company to be with, someone who understood your distraction was because your heart was split. You had one half while the other piece remained with the person you loved where it was unintentionally brutalized.

“It sounds as if my sister has arrived,” he spoke softly, nodding his head at the hall behind us.

“It does,” I agreed.

He smiled weakly, not for me but through me.

That was how we saw each other, we didn't.

It was rather perfect for a moment.





Chapter Seven


Blinking into the dreary weather through the window, I longed for something so wrong.

It wasn't necessarily the captain.

It wasn't my husband.

It wasn't even the distraction from regular life.

It was the fresh feeling of being alive.

The story lingered, killing off whatever curiosity I had over the machine and my dead husband, and created a need to live again. Not just any life but the one I wasn't brave enough to live out in the real world. A life I didn't think actually existed out there.

I sipped my tea, hating that it tasted so plain, like every other aspect of my existence. In the story, tea came with fresh-made scones, hand-churned butter, and honey from the apiary out back. It all tasted the way my first-ever cup of tea tasted. I had it in England, at Harrods, fifteen years ago and used that experience to frame all tea in the stories.

But it wasn't simply the food and drink. It was everything about the meal.

The conversation was soft and pleasant and the food was rich and flavorful. The tea was dark, like the dismal day staring back at me through the window, only it was bold and robust.

Not dreary at all.

No, every aspect of that perfect world, the one I’d created, was bliss. Even if I ended up having tea with the Crofts and Wentworth, it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable. It was lovely.

I blinked and realized the phone was ringing. I didn't know how long it had been. I turned, answering with a fake smile and suppressed agony. “Hello?”

“Dr. Hartley, how are you?” Dr. Brielle appeared cheerful and fresh faced.

“I’m well, Dr. Brielle. How are you?” She was the only one I actually liked of the team investigating my machine. Liked, as in could imagine being friends with.

“Very well. I’m calling to let you know the inquiry into the machine is completed. You will be notified of the outcome soon.” She smiled wide and I knew the answer, not from the smile but the stony look in her eyes. The smile was faked.

“The mayor won?” I couldn't believe it and yet couldn't believe I honestly thought Lucid Fantasies and I would be given a fair chance.

“I don't know, just that the outcome will be presented soon. The other reason I was phoning though, was that I was hoping to book a session on the machine. I was hoping to come in and have a chat about that.” She swallowed hard, still trying to convince me that she meant no harm, but at the same time warning me of something I couldn't see or guess at.

“You wish to run through a book again?”

“Yes, much longer than last time. The two hours went by so quickly.” Her eyes widened, again as if she was trying to tell me something.

“Of course. After you complete the two-hour trial you are permitted to try four hours. When would you like to come in?” I spoke as politely as I could but the strange stare in her cold eyes and the quiver in her soft voice told me this conversation was not to be trusted. Maybe she was not to be trusted.

“Is this afternoon clear?”

“Of course. I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

“Very good. I’ll see you then, not to do the run-through but to try to pick a better-suited book for myself. Cheers.” She hung up too quickly.

Something was off.

It didn't stop me from going to meet her.