Escape From Reality (4 page)

“My name is Dominick.
This way, Ms. Connors, if you please.”

Leila followed
the man down the long wooden dock toward the beach. As they reached the sand, Leila
glanced up. Above the deep green of the tropical trees, she glimpsed the castle
rising into the night sky. From this vantage point, she could see lights in a
few windows, glowing golden. And from this vantage point, there appeared no way
to access the castle.

“How do we get
up there?”

“Through here.”
Dominick pointed toward the edge of the beach. “There is a passage that leads
to a set of stairs carved into the side of the cliff.”

Leila stopped
in her tracks, her eyes traveling from the blackness of where he indicated, up
the long, long way to the towers and turrets. Dominick turned. In the dim
light, she thought he was smiling.

“Don’t worry.
There is light along the way and I have a torch.” He held up a flashlight and switched
it on, a cone of bright light illuminating the dense undergrowth.

“I apologize. I
know this path by heart. You will be perfectly safe. It looks more daunting
than it really is.”

Leila hesitated
a moment longer.

“Come. You’re
almost there.” Dominick’s voice was like a soothing wave, washing away the last
of her anxiety.

Leila nodded.
“I’m ready. It’s just been a bit of an overwhelming day.”

“Understandable.
But soon, we’ll be there. A late supper is waiting, you’ll have a chance to
relax, freshen up, and start your adventure.”

Dominick turned
away and Leila followed, walking toward the beam of light as it illuminated the
sand and then the opening between two large trees. Beyond that, just visible at
the edge of Dominick’s light, she could just make out the gray of stone.

Once at the
base of the stairs, Leila realized there were lights rising into the darkness,
torches set into recesses in the stone, their flickering light allowing her to see
where she was stepping.

Their pace was
slow as she and Dominick walked steadily upward. Leila found she enjoyed the
opportunity to stretch her legs, the intoxicating scent of the jungle
surrounding her. An unidentified flower blooming nearby perfumed the night air
with a heady fragrance and she inhaled deeply, trying to draw more of the scent
into her lungs.

The stairs
rose, sometimes broken by long flat stretches, wider, giving views out over the
trees and what looked like topiaries of animal shapes dotting the lush grounds
below. She caught an occasional glimpse of the ocean, heard the sound of the
surf somewhere pounding against unseen rocks. Then Dominick stopped and turned
to her.

“Look.” He
moved aside and pointed ahead.

Lying on the
water, larger than she would have ever thought possible, was the moon, round
and full and silver, casting a wavering path across the water toward them.

“Oh, it’s
beautiful. It looks so close, as if I could reach out and touch it.”

“The castle has
excellent views of the sunrise and sunset, along with moonrise. It’s one of the
many magical elements you’ll find here.”

They continued
upward, finally coming to what looked, in the dark, like a courtyard. Dominick
walked across the stones, bringing Leila to a large wooden door banded with
thick strips of iron. He grabbed the large handle and pushed, and it swung
inward silently on well-oiled hinges. Soft light spilled out across the stones
at her feet and Leila was drawn toward the open door like a moth to the flame.

“You’ll have a
chance to settle into your room and then have a late supper with Ms. Bullard.”

At the mention
of Ms. Bullard’s name, a wave of butterflies erupted in Leila’s stomach. During
the excitement, and occasional moments of panic, during her trip, she’d lost
sight of the real reason she was here: to meet and work with the famous romance
writer Cheryl Bullard. The only author she truly looked up to.
The woman
that could ultimately change her life.

“Thank you, Dominick.”

“The dining
room is right this way…” He pointed toward their left and Leila caught a brief
glimpse of a roaring fire and a large table that appeared set for two,
candlelight flickering on silver.

“Your room is
at the top of the stairs.” They ascended a thick marble staircase that sparkled
with a myriad of colored light reflected from the large twinkling stained glass
windows at the very top. Tapestries lined the walls, and Leila’s fingers
trailed along the rich fabric as she followed along, her eyes scanning the
artwork, shocked to see bold paintings of different couples in the throes of
passion and one large portrait that looked like a woman’s vulva.

“I’ve never
seen anything like this before.”

They reached
the landing, Dominick pausing before an intricately carved door flanked by wall
sconces holding fat white candles. In the flickering light, shadows played
across a carving of two figures, arms tightly wrapped around each other.

Dominick
nodded. “The castle will likely introduce you to many things that you have
never seen before.”

His voice faded
as Leila leaned closer to the door. For an instant, the figures shimmered and
swayed then drew closer, arms pulling the other into a passionate embrace, the
kiss deepening.

The clothing on
the figures fell away, the woman’s breast briefly burnished by flickering
candlelight before being covered by the man’s caressing fingers. The man was clearly
aroused, the scene quickly becoming extremely erotic. Sounds—a soft moan
of pleasure, a sighed gasp—echoed in the hall. The couple’s actions were
clear now, the man was making love to the woman as they stood, her leg placed
high on his hip, his hand beneath her leg, his hips flexing…

“Oh…my…” Leila
stepped quickly away from the door, one hand to her throat, backing into Dominick.
He caught her elbow and she turned to him in confusion.

“Miss Connors,
are you alright?”

Heat rose in Leila’s
cheeks, her words caught in her throat as she struggled to reply. Glancing back
at the door, she drew in a startled breath. The couple, now fully clothed,
stood a polite distance apart, sharing a chaste kiss.

“I…I’m fine. I
think I’m just tired. The carvings…I thought I saw them move.”

Dominick’s
chuckle was low. He released her elbow, reaching for the wrought-iron door
handle.

“Writers, yes…such
vivid imaginations. I would imagine that comes in very handy in your line of
work, seeing inspiration in even the mundane. Even in a simple door.” In the
soft light, she thought she saw him smile.

Dominick opened
the heavy door to her bedroom and Leila’s uncertainty was quickly forgotten.

“Oh my! It’s
beautiful!”

Her room was
incredibly large, dominated by a glorious four-poster bed intricately carved in
the Jacobean style. Rich burgundy drapes hung from the sides and across the
top, and a heavily detailed Tree of Life spread covered the thick plush mattress.

Carefully arranged
around the room were various antique dressers and a massive wardrobe, all in
the same style and all heavily carved. The floor was covered with a thick burgundy
rug, reflecting the Tree of Life pattern on the bedclothes. As on the stairs,
the walls were hung with tapestries, but the light was muted and Leila couldn’t
see the details. A single multi-paned window with a deep padded ledge reflected
the light of the candles.

“It’s a bit
anachronistic, you know, 17th century Jacobean in a medieval castle, but the
owner is a bit of an eccentric and, well, when you own a castle, you can
furnish it as you like.”

Leila dropped
her purse and bag on the carved bench at the end of the bed, turning to watch Dominick
light the last of the candles on the mantle with a long taper.

“The owner… who
is he?”

He turned, an
enigmatic smile on his face. “I’m afraid I cannot divulge that information,
Miss Connors. If you were looking for the provenance of each piece of furniture
in the castle or the vintage of every bottle of wine in the cellar, I’d be
happy to supply that information. But…” He blew out the taper, dropping it into
the banked fire.

“That’s one of
the many charms of this island, and this castle.” He looked around the room
with such fondness that Leila believed, for a moment, the castle belonged to
him.

“I’ve worked
here since the beginning; I know all the secrets.” With a measured step and a
broad smile, he walked toward her. “But now, as you well know, giving away all of
the secrets, especially at the very beginning, ruins the story.”

Dominick walked
to the door, hand resting on the large handle. “The fire is banked for the
night and needs no further attention.” He glanced at the hearth as if to
confirm his words. “It’s not so much for the warmth, although we do get a
freshening breeze at times, but to ward off the ever-present dampness. You’ll
be expected in the great hall for supper shortly. Bottom of the stairs, to your
right.”

He left her
standing in the middle of her room, the door closing softly behind him. After a
moment, she retrieved her bag and stepped toward the bathroom.

Reflexively,
she glanced at the heavy wooden door, as intricately carved as the door to her
room. Rather than finding a man and woman in an embrace, she saw a pair of
swans, their arched necks gracefully entwined, floating on a calm pool beneath
weeping willow trees. She stared at the door, willing the figures to move, but
the placid swans remained immobile, heads bowed.

Finally
stepping past the swans, she walked into the bathroom. It was a cavernous
space, and as Dominick had said, anachronistic. The walls were rough-cut gray
stone, the window no more than an arrow-slit filled with tiny panes of leaded
glass.

But the
fixtures were state-of-the-art, surfaces covered in rich marbles and granites,
almost invisible glass doors covering the shower. Leila glanced longingly at
the deep bathtub, sighed, and turned to the vanity mirror.

Ten minutes saw
her ready, or as ready as she felt she could be, to meet the most inspiring
person in her life. Her clothes were more or less clean, a bit wrinkled from
travel but still presentable. There would be time later to explore the
offerings in the dressers and wardrobe.

The great hall
was enormous, a coffered ceiling rising over twenty feet above her head. Leila
let her eyes travel over the room, taking in the stained glass windows, glowing
softly in the candlelight. Suits of armor stood between the windows, glowing
dull silver.

“Welcome, Leila.”

The voice
seemed to come out of nowhere, but she recognized it instantly and turned with
a stifled gasp.

“Oh, Ms. Bullard.
I…I didn’t see you there.” The woman seated at the head of the table rose,
coming toward Leila.

For all her
diminutive size, Cheryl Bullard was an imposing figure. Dressed in her
customary skirt and flowing shawl, she held out her hands toward Leila.

“I’m sorry,
dear. I know it all must be a bit overwhelming.”

Leila took Cheryl’s
hands and was rewarded with a brief kiss on both cheeks along with an embrace.

“Come.” Leila
was released and Cheryl turned, indicating a chair for Leila.

“You must be absolutely
famished. We’ll have our supper and then I’ll give you your first assignment
and homework before you rest.”

Leila took her
seat, placing the linen napkin across her lap. “Assignment?”

Cheryl waved
her hand. “Nothing too stressful, I can assure you. The plan for the week will
be very simple; we meet once a day for tea or dinner, discuss your writing and
overall progress, and I give you something to take away, to work on, usually
overnight. There’s a table outside of your room; just place your pages there
and they’ll be brought to me. I’ll review them…”

“Pages?”

“Yes, there are
no computers or Internet here, just paper and pen. I don’t want you distracted
by anything but your own desires and thoughts. You need to truly connect with
your writing. Let yourself get caught up in the beauty and mystery of your own
mind, Leila. That is a place where fantasies come true.”

A door suddenly
opened behind Cheryl and Dominick entered carrying two covered dishes, setting
them in front of the women. He reached for the bottle of wine, filling Leila’s
glass.

“Anything
else?” He hesitated. Leila shook her head, as did Cheryl, and he retreated.

“I’ll review
your assignment and you’ll receive my written critique in the morning, the same
place where you left your pages.” Cheryl removed the cover from her plate. Leila
followed suit, the aroma of roasted Cornish game hen making her mouth water. The
plump golden bird was nestled on a bed of wild rice, with steamed vegetables
alongside.

“This looked
delicious. I guess I’m hungrier than I realized.” Leila picked up her knife and
fork, cutting into the delicate hen. She lifted the fork to her mouth, closing
her eyes in bliss, almost unaware that Cheryl was speaking. Opening her eyes,
she chewed while focusing on the woman to her right.