***Castle***
🏰 On the journey she was awash with a strange excitement. Invited to his home for the first time, she was about to see the building that had been his been his most successful design before he stepped down from architecture. Neil was cooking for her tonight. He never needed an occasion to use his culinary skills, nor did he bother about how time-consuming and complex the menu. A typical night was gourmet-then-bed.
As they pulled up outside his apartment block, Saskia was astounded by the size of it. It didn't quite grok with her that she was on the outskirts of London now, as no other such grand a building was neighbouring it for miles. It was three sided - triangular but with curved balconies at each edge point where the sides meet. With sparkling glass windows mirroring the sky, she had visions of poor birds flying straight into them!
Feeling somewhat ladylike as Neil opened the car door for her, she carefully swung those heels round and onto the ground without chipping the car. Her view ran smoothly up the building as she stepped out. 'Wow!' she said, impressed at the sight; the view from the top floor must be breathtaking.
The ground around her was vast and open, with each side of the triangle having its own square of grass with benches, all surrounded by flowers no higher than a foot. A fountain built in at the point of each triangular peak and spat water fifteen feet into the air in a straight flow. Neat trees either side of the entrance curved and joined to form a dappled canopy overhead. The whole design gave the busy London skies quite spectacular aerial imagery - intricate looking and worked to planned perfection.
'And you did all this, Dad?' He simply smiled and gestured for her to follow him.
Swiping his security card to pass through the first double doors of Balfour Complex, concierge (Martin, today) waited at the next set of glass doors a few feet away with a personal greeting; Neil's well familiar face required no ID, and he wasn't insulted by being asked anything of Saskia. In fact, he was rather amused at wondering what young Martin made of him walking in with a tidy piece of skirt. Not that he viewed his daughter in such terms, but he knew what young minds were like.
Her heeled boots clacked off the marble flooring as she followed him to the escalator, her steps resonating too loudly for her liking, striking up memories of high school where she'd be given a tongue-lashing for wearing high heels along the administration corridor if she were caught. She also didn't know if he was fooling her or not when he said he rarely used the lift, but she and her shoes were grateful to be not taking the stairs. It was while waiting on lift descending, that she noticed the sign on the wall to the left:
Residents are reminded to check
both in AND out at reception
when using the pool and/or the gym.
Thank You
ALCOHOL NOT PERMITTED
'Told you,' Neil smiled, nodding towards the words - her face a picture of wowed disbelief.
'That's nuts...' she whispered, 'a pool and a gym? I'd never make into work!'
All this had the feel of a high class hotel than a block of residential flats. But the splendour didn't end there; she hadn't reached his Heavenly abode yet.
Opening the door for her to slip in past him, she only took three steps before being rooted to the spot, the only thing moving being her head. Her eyes took in the wonderment of the open plan apartment. It looked somewhat strange but fascinating seeing four rooms in one stretch of the eye. To her right was his kitchen, not great in size but cleverly designed with space-saving units and just-for-one mod cons and gadgets on spanking, granite counters. Apart from a guest room and a separate bathroom, all other rooms were there before you, but without any walls.
The biggest feature of the sitting area consisted of a large, grey mega-soft sofa with matching chairs positioned squarely in front of a long, chrome-framed fire place that sunk into the wall, the flicker of false flames dancing up from large oval pebbles behind cool-touch protective glass. A very low greyed pine table sat in the middle of the suite. In matching pine again, a bureau and a couple of sideboards sat against walls as you walked your way in, and any decorative ornaments and bowls were positioned dead centre and in perfect symmetry. Overhead lighting consisted of thin chrome bars bursting like fireworks. The whole decor ran itself radiantly in serene greys and whites with the occasional toss of black for good measure, while the decor got gradiently darker until black dominated the open plan as it made its way to the windows.
It was the bed in the farthest-away part of the floor that fascinated her the most. A king-sized beast of a thing where ten little ones could easily roll over without falling out! It sat close to huge ceiling-to-floor sliding windows - a full wall's worth of a view of distant London while still under covers. Her mother would take a fit if she saw this - she'd never have wished any ex this well...
'Can I get you a drink, Saskia?'
'Hmm?' she mumbled, releasing the breath she didn't realise she was holding. 'Ah...yes. Start with a coffee if that's okay?'
'Sure. Any preference?'
Not answering right away, she made her way towards those huge windows, slinging her bag and jacket onto and over an arm chair in passing. 'Ah ... whatever you're having.'
'Okay, just... make yourself at home,' he was reluctant to say, before picking up the abandoned denim jacket (that looked raggedly sorry for itself) with a hint of rebuke, and placing it neatly in the closet. He had this notion that tidiness may not be part of her daily regime. 'Home it is, then,' he whispered to himself.
By the time he had the coffee's out, she was by the windows, transfixed on the view. Neil smiled, feeling rather good at the way she'd been absorbing her surroundings. Creeping up on her, she jumped at his voice. 'Coffee.'
'Jeez, Dad, never heard you there, and I can't hear a single thing from outside, it's like you've pressed a mute button or something!'
'Here,' he handed her her drink, 'I'll sort that out right now.' Sliding one of the doors open, he invited her on to the veranda, where a gentle bustle of outside then said hello. 'Drink these out here before I start cooking.'
All balconies were a good fifteen foot up from the flat below's one, sweeping round in half oval which joined the three-sided building -like that of the curved end of snooker triangle (though more apparent from above.) Decked out in fancy navy, grey and blue shades, a two-man table and chair set sat at the best viewing point, while a cluster of pots with plants and coloured flowers sitting each side of the doors. Saskia had to feel the petals, convinced they must be fake as he didn't come across as one who would potter about with soil given his nail-checking obsession. But they were indeed real. A canopy and patio heaters took care of sudden weather changes.
Standing at the railings together, sipping from teeny coffee cups, he felt relaxed at the way she was relaxing. But it helped to be in his company beyond the constraints of a stuffy suit. He looked a different man in mufti; jeans, cable sweater, and canvas shoes, gave him an altogether, softer, easy-going look.
'God, the view's amazing,' Saskia said, 'I initially pictured you more at home in a converted house in Knightsbridge!'
Giving a little smile, his memory raced back to his previous home with Magrette, and she was close to the mark on that guess. But he thought it pointless to comment on that; where he lived now was his new start after their split. 'It's nighttime that brings the magic with it. You get a clearer view of the landmarks once they're lit up - quite far off mind you but you can still make them out. Anyhow, I'll leave you to finish your coffee out here, best make a start to our tea.'
'Tea?' she frowned, 'I was hoping for a glass of wine next... '
He tucked in his top lip to stifle a giggle. 'Sorry ... some daft little habits never leave you. It's what it's called in Scotland - eating a meal around this time.'
'Ah, I see... '
During their car journey he made it quite clear that he manned the kitchen all by himself - that his cooking involved him alone - and not to feel offended. But being perfectly honest, she told him that cooking was her disaster point; she'd most likely do more harm than good anyhow. It was a simple dish really, (her request!) but her last attempt at quiche ended up as an omelette as she thought double cream was only used in puddings. No. She was happy with him going solo.
Washing away the last of her meal with a mouthful of red Bordeaux, she clattered her cutlery down in joyous gluttony having cleared the plate.
'I'm not just saying this to big you up, Dad, but that really was delicious. How'd you get the pastry so buttery?'
He shrugged. 'Practice, I guess.'
'Right!' Saskia announced, standing immediately. 'I'm gonna have another glass of wine, then wash all those dishes ... least I can do.'
'No need, the dishwasher will see to that. I'll grab that last bottle of wine from the fridge and we'll head to the sofa, let our food digest for a bit.'
Now sitting with a stemmed glass of red in her hand, she made extra sure that the drink was hitting both her mouth and being placed back to the table steadily. Despite her head beginning to grow more woolly, she'd die if a splosh of uninvited red landed on the sofa.
For a short time, while waiting for night to descend, they peppered each other with random questions - something like those meme's on websites - mostly about their likes and dislikes. More importantly, both seemed to be making the other laugh in equal measures, so they had good senses of humour on the plus side. On a lesser but still amusing side, she noted that his nail-checking habit followed him around indoors too, but didn't want to highlight the fact. At their first meeting in the park, she thought it could be out of shyness, or awkwardness, but she reckoned now, having had quite a few public meet-ups, that the man had a recurrent compulsion. Her red wine train of thought concluded that it was better than picking his nose!
Darkness had settled itself by almost an hour without them even realising. Time flies without the decency of slowing down when you're unaware of its status, so when Saskia queried the time she was sad to mention she would have to be leaving shortly as it would take a taxi at least 50 minutes to have her home. But before the goodbye's, Neil invited her back onto the balcony for that promised night-lights captivation - and she was staggered into stone. What a sight. Had she been bowled over any harder she'd be over that balcony! Once more they took their afternoon coffee stance - now replaced with a nightcap bourbon - capturing the wondrous sounds and visions cutting the night.
'Who needs Wonderland with all this in front of them?' she cooed. 'And all the stars out, too.'
'Can you see the Eye?'
Her eyes scanned the mass of twinkles and window squares. 'Oh, yeah, I see it now.' She pointed over to it then spun quickly around, her back to the barrier. 'Dad ... can I ask you a personal sort of question?' But before he got the chance to agree or not, she asked anyway. 'Why did you choose to live here? I mean, I know you designed it, but I thought you'd prefer something more secluded.'
'Secluded?' he asked, not really following her. 'I'm pretty much on my own up here! '
'Yes, I know, but I kind of pictured you either in a house with three floors and loads of squared windows, or one with a looong driveway, back and front garden— '
'—and electronic gates, huuuge stone lions at the entrance, red telephone box outside,' he teased.
She tutted at his joshing. 'Maybe not to that such a degree ... ' She knew him well enough now to know that wouldn't quite be him (as much as it appealed to her) '... but I thought you'd have preferred somewhere more central.'
'Nah. The heart of London wasn't for me anymore after my divorce. I'm used to my own company now anyhow and it feels safer. Can get a bit noisier out on the balconies during summer though, but the soundproofing makes indoors peaceful enough.'
'Don't you think Magrette would come running back if she saw this view?' The tipsy-induced thought slipped out from her too quickly.
'I don't think her husband would be too happy about that!'
Saskia noticeably cringed and she flushed in earnest, not sure what to say.
'Ah, sorry, Dad, me and my big—'
Neil reached out and pulled her into a hug, laughing at the look of abashment at her blunder. 'That's okay, kiddo, (a nickname he'd started using for her on occasion) 'you weren't to know.' He released her from his fatherly crush a few long moments later, her red face started to lose its luster. 'Anyhow, we best be getting you home. I'll give Marcus a call and he'll come pick you up.'
'Who?' Saskia felt a bit concerned at first, not having heard the name before.
'He'sa driver for our company - my one, usually.'
'But it's half eight.'
'He gets paid for the inconvenience, plus he lives just five minutes away. He'll see you home safely.'
'Wow ... taken home by a chauffeur? What will the neighbours say!' she playfully quipped.
'Don't fret, he'll have normal clothes on.'
'Okay then, Dad, cheers ... best nip to the loo first.'
Heading back to the balcony after her loo visit, she stopped quietly by the open doors, arms crossed and leaning on the door frame. She stared at him holding on to the balcony, arms outstretched. The spotlights in the decking threw up a hazy brightness, causing a misty aura to his outline in the cooling night air. Saskia smile. She could see for herself why he had satisfaction from the highest floor - he was lording it over everyone else, wasn't he? King of the castle, jewel in the crown. Sensing her presence, he turned and followed her back inside to call his driver.
Standing ready to leave, jacket on, Saskia thanked him for such a pleasant evening, stating that it was a shame the night ended so soon, but sleep beckons earlier bedtimes for working hours. His excitement and joy had fortified and heightened each time he saw her. Tonight had been more private, the first time away from the distraction of others. Fatherhood was kicking in at an enormous rate and he was yearning for more.
'Listen, Saskia, let me know if you think I'm overstepping the mark here, but ...' His nerve slipped a little and he bottled it, '... och, it doesn't matter.'
'No, go on. What were you about to say?'
'Well, there's actually a spare room tucked away here,' he nodded to the door in particular, 'and well, maybe sometime in the future you could use it? Obviously with certain arrangements to suit work and your mum and things. It would be nice to know you didn't have to rush off.'
'Um ...' she was taking her time to considering this.
'Sorry, sweetheart, of course it's too soon. I didn't mean to put pressure on you.'
She smiled broadly, and grabbed him into an unexpected hold. 'Of course, I could. You are me old dad after all!'
Neil gripped her back to near crushing point, eyes closed, relieved he hadn't botched the evening with his impatience. 'I've loved having you here tonight.'
Pulling herself free from him, she fixed him in an affectionate stare. 'We've twenty seven years of catching up to do, so I think I can manage one or two nights a week!' she assured him. 'Leave it with me.' He nodded, happy with that.
'Right, then... do I have time to check out this room before I'm chauuuffeeered,' she said in a deliberately lengthy tone, 'home, tonight?'
'Yeah, sure.'
As he was leading her to her new sleeping quarters, she said in a faux, posh voice 'Ooooh! I do hope the neighbours will still be up.'
She expected the room to be drab or in pastels as most are, but the hit of colour - mainly red - startled her. Tartan bed sets and curtains welcomed guests, while large, commissioned paintings by Steven Brown, mainly stags and highland cows in vibrant colours adorned the walls. On another wall was a hung a lonesome Scottish calendar that an old friend never forgets to post every Christmas. The carpet was red and a set of pine double wardrobes with matching dresser, stood solidly in place. Bedside tables with lamps finished off the room. She loved this little splash of native eccentricity in his otherwise neat world. To most, it probably conformed more towards the feel a of a cheap highland bedsit or But and Ben, but to her it shouted I still miss Scotland.
'As you can probably guess it doesn't get used much, I think the cleaner's maybe had a kip in it before!'
'You have a CLEANER?' She gawped wide-eyed at him.
'Here as well, yes. Just on Thursdays, and ah, sometimes Mondays, look ... ' he brushed off the luxury that was tantamount to Saskia as good as having his arse wiped for him, and continued with his thought, 'we can change the decor, make it more to your liking.'
'What? No!' she protested. 'The room's fine as it is, really. Besides, I'm half-Scottish now, am I not!'
'Yes,' Neil smiled at the pleasant reminder and ran a finger down her soft, warm cheek, 'so you are!'
A loud buzzer went off somewhere in the sitting room, indicating that her car was ready to see her home. He accompanied her and introduced her to Marcus, and soon waved her off. It had been a successful enough evening, one of many aspired ones to come. Because of his millions, and with his standard of living and level of comfort around him, he hoped he hadn't come across as too much of a pretentious git. But if anything, she had truly helped strip away that businesslike, city-hungry veneer that cocoons him throughout the day.
Back indoors, he picked up her wine glass from the sitting room table, twisting it by the stem and examined all the fine and crooked lines the stain her lip gloss had left. It still felt surreal that he had a daughter. Tonight had meant the world to him.
Usually the dish washer was loaded minutes after the meal, as a dirty pile bugged him. Tonight he hardly noticed it. Although starting to feel tired, he didn't quite like the thought of waking up to mess in the morning, yet he survived the tableware stewing in their own congealment these past few hours.
'Pat yourself on the back, mate'. He said to himself.
end of ***Castle***
No comments:
Post a Comment