Chapter 9

By now, dusk had thickened into an inky blue setting for the moon as evening unfolded across the city. I turned off from the busy thoroughfare and drove down a leafy lane with wide pavements. Navigating the traffic around Braxa properly required a certain amount of weaving between cabs, buses and cyclists but here in the suburbs, things weren’t so bad. About a quarter of the way down the lane, I turned once again and steered the car through the gates leading up to the Imperial Palace Hotel.

It strikes me as queer that in a republic, many places should be named after things that are reminiscent of empire and royalty. I suppose they evoke some kind of epic grandeur from the past, though considering the Imperial’s actual splendour, a more unassuming moniker might have been the way to go.

The hotel was a veritable palace of opulence, with a warm, honey-coloured stone facade, finely proportioned curb roof and tall windows adorned with delicate ironwork balconies. Marble steps led up to ornate doors flanked by tall, white columns and topped with a curved pediment. The walled grounds surrounding the hotel were meticulously manicured — a tranquil and secluded retreat from the bustle outside.

A line of imposing motorcars queued ahead of us. I brought the convertible to a halt behind them, waiting as they dislodged their passengers and were driven away.

Tires rolled over the gravel driveway, emitting an oddly pleasing crunching and grating sound as cars advanced.

Ahead of us, a couple stepped out of a black automobile and onto the red carpet leading up to the entrance. As the woman stopped to adjust her shawl, the man straightened his tie and tuxedo jacket. He cast a glance at his reflection in the polished paintwork of the car before handing the keys to a valet attendant. At the top of the steps, a liveried doorman held the door open for the pair and beckoned them inside.

I pursed my lips in a silent whistle, amazed by the lavishness of it all. The “Woodchopper’s Ball” was already living up to its illustrious reputation.

By ancient custom, thawing winter and the approach of spring marks the beginning of the social season. Calendars become crowded as balls, carnivals and house parties are celebrated with exuberance. The season commences with a series of balls that take place during the final twelve days of winter — though they are known as “spring balls” nonetheless. They have become known for the “country maiden” style outfits worn by young women attending. Although rooted in traditional folk attire, over time, the outfits have become a little less traditional, with hemlines and necklines veering somewhat from maidenly propriety.

The ball at the Imperial was not just one of the many season-opening functions. Hereabouts, the “Woodchopper’s Ball” was an important social occasion in its own right. Its name might have conveyed humble folksiness — a vestige from a time when professional guilds organised these sorts of events — but it had long ago ceased to be anything of the sort. I gather there is a degree of vying and jostling involved in securing a coveted invitation.

I had been to spring balls before, but none of them could compare to the glitzy event at the Imperial. Beside me, my two companions fizzled with excitement at the prospect and despite my cloudy mood, I began to share their anticipation.

Enide and Andra had been due to attend the ball last year, escorted by Andra’s brother, though apparently, something had gone awry. From what I had gleaned, there was a row between Andra and her brother.

I had been at home, brooding over what had transpired with Enide the day before and frolicking around ballrooms the furthest thing from my thoughts. The telephone rang, not long after I’d returned from dropping off Mother and Mirrla.’

“Good morning Rody,” Andra said cheerfully after I’d answered.

“Hello Andra,” I said, my mood lifted by the sound of her voice. “How goes it?”

“Splendid. How are you?”

“Oh, you know — thoughts in a whirl, heart heavy with sorrow — so on and so forth,” I lamented, only partly in jest.

Andra laughed. “Come along now — a young man of good breeding and sound mind like you —there are plenty of ——”

“If you say,” I warned, “anything about ‘fish’ and ‘sea’, I shall hang up.”

Andra kept laughing, “Look, what you need to do is clear your head — regain your equanimity. Why don’t you take a brisk walk in the countryside — set off for the rolling hills and verdant meadows — that sort of thing.”

“Have you called just to be annoying and sprout cliches?” I inquired. “Because, as it happens, I was thinking of donning a tweed and going off for a bit of fresh air while fretting over the callous, merciless nature of love.”

“Ha! Look who’s sprouting cliches now!” Andra bellowed on the other side of the line.

“How was Enide?” I asked pensively, bringing things around to what I’d been wanting to ask from the beginning. “What did she say?”

“Oh ... well. Do you have all day?” Andra asked with a patient sigh. “She is ornery — embarrassed — upset — frustrated. And that’s just how she feels about herself.”

“And this self-flagellation — I suppose it manifested itself as ——”

Andra picked up after my pause. “Many allusions to your lack of guile and character,” she confirmed.

“I thought as much,” I huffed in resignation.

“But Rody, joking aside, she really does want to talk — and to apologise — so don’t make it hard for her tonight,” Andra advised.

“Tonight? Why?” I asked. “What happens tonight?”

“I hope you are joking,” Andra said slowly, her tone deadly serious.

“Honestly — I’m clueless,” I confessed.

There was a long pause. “Perhaps Eni’s right about your lack of guile ——”

I cut her off before she could build a head of steam. “Andra ... please ... I’m in no mood, so curtail your reprehending tone — just tell me.”

“Have you any idea how sought-after invitations to this ball are?” Andra asked with a dramatic flourish.

It finally clicked. “Oh ... yes,” I recalled, catching up with her meaning. “The to-do over at the Imperial,” I remembered going over things with the girls a few days prior.

“The ‘to-do’!?” Andra blurted. “Do you know how long it took me — how long it took Enide — how long it took us to find dresses for tonight!?”

“Don’t worry Andra, I’m all caught up now — I’ll be ready,” I assured her.

“Yes, of course!” Andra huffed derisively. “It’s easy for you — you’ll just put on a snazzy uniform ten minutes beforehand and — and ——” she sputtered.

“And look dashing?” I offered helpfully. “Is that what you are trying to say?” I added with a grin and listened as Andra scoffed on the other end of the line.

“You really can be awfully smug and hateful sometimes,” Andra lamented.

“Also,” I said, wanting to set her straight on another point, “if you think ten minutes is all it takes for me to look my best, then I’m afraid you’re in for a jolt.”

“Heavens above!”Andra exclaimed. “You’re such a princess!”

It was my turn to laugh and scoff.

“Do we need to go over anything else?” Andra asked.

“I will come over to your place and we’ll all drive up together. I told you — I’m all caught up now,” I said soothingly. Andra wasn’t one to take things too seriously so it was more than a little amusing to hear how flustered she was about this evening.

“Come by taxi — we are staying over — and pack an overnight bag — remember?” Andra checked.

“Yes, yes — the suite at the hotel — I remember Andra,” I chuckled.

“Alright then,” Andra allowed, apparently placated now that she was sure I had been suitably briefed. “At least you didn’t try and ditch me — unlike Eni.”

“Truth be told, I am not brimming with enthusiasm either — but I know how much you are looking forward to it,” I confessed. “Didn’t Eni want to come?” I asked, trying to not sound overly dejected. Though it was hardly a surprise, it still hurt to know Enide was reluctant to be near me.

“Last night she was wavering a little — but I set her right,” Andra explained. “Look, I’m going to tell you what I told Enide — you are both being fools. You are thinking about all this the wrong way ... if you ask me,” Andra said vehemently. “But we aren’t going to go over all that yet. First, we are going to drive up to the Imperial and dance as if we haven’t a care in the world — be happy — oh, and drink — a lot!” She emphasised. “Then, afterwards, when we’re suitably pickled, we’ll go up to the suite and hash everything out.”

“How decadent,” I said sardonically, then jokingly added, “I don’t think Mother will approve of your influence.”

“My influence!?” Andra cackled before continuing. “Oh, I vouchsafe there will be no word of reproach about me from your mother,” Andra breathed enigmatically.

“You seem pretty confident about that,” I observed.

“Indeed I am.” Andra declared brashly.

“Should I be jealous?” I quipped.

“Aunt Faidra holds us dear for entirely different reasons,” Andra replied playfully and turned her attention back to the arrangements for this evening. “What time will you be here?”

“Half past six — maybe a little earlier,” I told her after a hasty mental estimate.

“That’s fine — we’ll be ready,” Andra said merrily. “And don’t forget what I told you — Eni is feeling pretty sore about yesterday — so don’t give her a hard time, will you?” she reminded me.

“I won’t ... Of course. But we still need to talk — to try and ——” I trailed off, realising I had no idea where I stood with Enide.

“You will — I’ll make sure of it,” Andra promised.

“Alright,” I said tentatively. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet — wait till you find out what’s in store for tonight,” Andra said teasingly.

I laughed. “You know, I’m not much of a dancer,” I warned her.

“I wasn’t talking about the ball,” Andra teased. “I’d best be going now. See you later Rody.”

“Err ... yes, I’ll see you later Andra,” I mumbled distractedly, wondering what she was up to.

In the late afternoon, I alighted from a taxi in front of the entrance to Andra’s place. Calling it a mere “home” seemed both inadequate and inaccurate. The property resembled a compound of sorts nestled on a shallow slope. The main house loomed a little distance away, easily visible through the still somewhat bare and unadorned branches. It was a large country house, handsome but not extravagant, being neither formal nor falsely adorned. Several other buildings, some semi-dilapidated, were scattered haphazardly around the property with no clear pattern or organisation.

Instead of living in the main house with her parents, Andra had, since the year before, taken up residence in one of the guest houses. These were located close to the entrance, along the driveway but separated from it by a wide grass verge. The three guest houses had been built cheek-by-jowl like terrace houses, identical to one another. At first glance, they resembled a block row of small cottages that might have been built for groundskeepers or labourers on a larger estate. Though small compared to the main house, the guest house offered Andra a large measure of independence and privacy.

I made my way up the brick-paved footpath to Andra’s door, carrying a twill garment bag over my shoulder and a holdall in my hand. The wet grass was covered here and there by damp patches of dead leaves and brown moss. As with my previous visits, I was struck by the calm and tranquillity of the surroundings, with only the occasional bird call and my footsteps breaking the silence. I noticed the tail end of Enide’s black convertible sticking out at the end of the terrace.

Having decided that Andra’s advice was more apt than I’d initially thought, I purposefully set aside my sense of unease at the prospect of seeing Enide. Over the years, Enide and I had bickered and rowed more times than I can remember, but we remained each other’s oldest friend. We had never needed hollow gestures or over-earnest heart-to-hearts to get over a quarrel.

When I arrived at the entrance of the middle abode, I put down the holdall, took a deep breath and rapped my knuckles on the door. I could hear the muffled voices of the two occupants — like squabbling birds, in heated discourse over the matter of my admission. I grinned imagining some charming parlour scene from a comic novel, as the girls — their countenances aglow with rosy feminine flush — engaged in a battle of wits over the question of who should open the door.

The sound of shuffling behind the door told me that a resolution had been reached — one of them was about to open the door. That someone turned out to be Enide, and she didn’t so much open the door as fling it open, standing before me with her chin stuck out defiantly. It was instantly clear that she was poised for a skirmish. Enide stood in the doorway with an erect bearing and an irate mood, although the effect was severely undermined by the rollers in her hair.

I felt myself grinning from ear to ear at the sight of her. She was wearing a long, loosely fitting satin dressing gown. In my admittedly limited experience, when a woman had the right kind of figure, satin gowns could do wonderful things for her, no matter how much coverage they provided. Enide certainly had the right kind of figure and the hair rollers could do little to diminish the effect.