As garden parties go, it went rather well. There was a string quartet set up on the paved stone area in front of the chapel, allowing for those who wanted to get in a waltz to do so at their leisure. But, in general, the gathering was more low key. Lights strung twinkling in the trees to give a sparkle to the garden amidst the fountains and sculptures still shine through the leaves, even as the last of the surprisingly good turn out of guests goes to catch a late private train back to Geneva at the station in town.
The musicians have already been sent to the kitchens for their pay, brought up from Paris for the event and staying in the staff quarters for the evening much to Mr. Leif's delight. And the other serving personnel move through the grottos and benches to collect stray wine goblets.
Victoria sees the last of her departing company off from the open gate, waving as the car pulls up to take them along. Pulling the heavy wooden palisade shut behind herself she rolls her neck a bit, latching it with a click in place.
Two of the erstwhile guests remain. Among those who were in attendance, were there any more fabulously dressed? It would be hard to find such, even if one were in Geneva itself, let alone in the country. They had seen the gardens before. In fact, they have become rather intimate with the grounds of Rolle. But the party actually afforded them the ability to actually see the garden, stroll through it. Which they did. Together and with others nearby.
Mostly together...
There were moments when hands could be seen clasped, eyes could be seen making an exchange, when a smile at a passing comment would deepen and they would find one another again. There was something very palpable occurring. Perhaps it was being in the garden, among such pleasant music, drink and conversation.
The Court of Geneva is not one with whom William himself has any great experience, Georg of Geneva being his only real tie to the city and to Switzerland as a whole, in truth. Albeit, Georg is a rather large tie (he is, indeed, enormous), still it is only one tie.
Until now. Now there is Victoria Gifford...
Along with the pendulous feeling of ... well, let's call it what it is... pending copulation, there was something else dangling over their heads, William's in particular. Something unsaid that will be spoken. He had offered the hostess praise before her guests....
Now he must offer her an apology...
William hovers now, even as he has some parts of the night, around the last few remaining olives (a growing weakness) and yet another martini. He is not known for being a martini drinker, but anything to get an olive in a drink. And he must have a drink in his hands. And he waits for Victoria to return from seeing the last remaining visitors from Geneva off for the night. In the meantime, he looks upward to the stars overhead.
And his own conscience...
Behind him, Ian comes to stand. He looks up, a twinning other, as if something fascinating is taking place in the heavens. It is true, they have seen polestars come and go, comets dazzle and frighten the masses, and the spheres of the universe shift in their procession, perhaps they are like any others who walk the Earth, always looking to the stars as if there must be something more.
While William stands in black tuxedo, Ian stands in white tie, prepared for a dinner. If he speaks to William, it's unheard. Ian twists to take a drink from his own martini, then follows William's ponderous steps.
Now that one doesn't have to entertain any longer, the shoes are free to go. And so, they do. Victoria takes the few meters from the gate to her private patio to slip off the strappy black things that go with her strappy black dress, and set them on the table for retrieval when she goes into her rooms to retire.
But while the more formal duties of hostessing are complete, there are still others that remain. And one of them is finding her overnight guests.
Making her way back towards the patio that serves their suite, she allows her toes a nice opportunity to squish slightly in the moss between the stones.
"I've heard those little pickled onions compliment the olives pretty well." She offers as she comes up on the duo, "You might ask Landry to mix you up an Olive in Olive sometime, too. Vermouth, Tequila, Curacau, olives. It's supposed to have a pretty good kick.
Hands stay at her sides, and she smiles her lovely glowing smile, "I'm glad you could stay for the party. Did you have a good time?"
"I shall, where is he?" William looks from the stars, from his companion and to his hostess. He seems amused by the prospect of having a personal bartender. How kind of you to offer up your servants! But he seems to let the idea go with the next sip of martini, riding over the flavor of the last olive eaten.
"I had a very nice evening, thank you again for inviting us. The chateau looks great, you look great, and your guests appeared to also have a lovely evening. It was nice. It is a good garden," he tries not to grin to excess, "...for entertaining..."
"I wanted to speak with you a while, especially since we return to Scotland tomorrow night. And you know how it is, how Time can play tricks on you. One day you look up and you're eight-hundred years old." A smirk at himself. William exhales, looking to his glass for a moment and then to the woman directly. Seriously.
"I want to apologize for last night. My behavior was... very poor. I am honored after such treatment that you would allow me to be here all night, eating all of your imported olives." The languid baritone eases with the pull of a joke at his own expense. But he means what he says.
"I apologize for not acting like a friend and I wish to say that... if you have a path that makes you happy, that is all that matters, Victoria. Nothing I say really does or should matter if you have a passion, or even not a passion simply an idea, and follow it. If I listened to every Ventrue elder that told me art was a waste of time..." William smiles a little. "I forgot in my old age that I, too, was once young and once had elders dispensing advice to me. So..." There you have it.
"I'm sure he's overseeing things with the staff. I think if I ever need to get him to do something for me he particularly dislikes, I'll just have to offer to throw a party for my snobby friends from the city and he'd do anything." She smiles, "I enjoy throwing parties as much as the next girl, but I think he's the generalisimo of social galas."
There's a nod and the smile continues, "I'm glad you enjoyed it, and thank you on all counts. I had a good time too." She looks up at the trees, "And that was the idea with the garden. I've never had one before, so I'm glad it worked out."
Her eyebrows go up a little in surprise, "Ah, well, thank you. I'm sorry I was rude, I should've held my temper better." She shrugs a bit, "My uncle used to say it was the Irish coming through. Anyway, apology accepted if you'll take mine."
And that, it seems, is that. She's as chipper as if it never happened in the first place. Though, truthfully, she was before that anyway.
"Want your presents?"
Ian saunters behind William, lingering a moment. Only when William finishes does he step up into the conversation, having recently started a fresh martini. He's quiet though, no apologies from him, and only tilts his head at the notion of presents.
"Mais oui, now... no more apologies," he murmurs. Turning back to Ian, William grins. "Should I start playing bartender, amours?" He asks in such a way that he already knows what Ian is going to say. It is, in fact, why he asked.
Another sip of the martini and William is turning, looking for olives. "Presents?" The vagaries of the mind -- he has already forgotten about Yule gifts outstanding. "But my birthday is not until June," William grins, heading over to one of the chairs brought out onto the garden for tonight's festivities. "Gardens... Alire tells me that is how he is coping with his princedom, pruning his plants," a glance to Ian. "I suppose it is better than pruning one's council. I was never good with plants myself. I am too impatient...so... gifts," he picks that thread of conversation back up, notice how easily.
She nods in agreement, not apparently expecting one from Ian at all. That might be the sign of something truly wrong. Instead he gets his own smile, just as normal. Which is, actually true. The discussion and progression of events happens enough that it is its own tradition. And so, that topic is left where it lies.
"I just helped Bergran design it. He does all the work. Though it's interesting, I picked mostly night blooming plants so I could enjoy them." One of the luxuries of being in on the design process. "And yes, presents that have been moving around with me often enough that I hope the bows aren't all squashed. I think if I'd been taking them on commercial travel they would've gotten their own miles."
She looks to the chairs and gestures down the path, "I'll go get them from my office and meet you back here."
Ian sips at his martini again, moving over to the seats gestured. "You could ship them," Ian notes for the record, "...we do live in the modern age." No need to pack things around or save them for months after the fact. His hand touches one of the seats, but he appears in no rush to sit down. However, the martini is placed on a near table.
Black eyebrows lift slightly as he takes a seat -- he does not like to stand and drink -- and he glances over to Ian. Moods seem to have changed somewhat. For a moment, William wonders why, but then he looks to Victoria, nodding. "Of course. We'll be here."
Taking up his martini again, William sips at it. "Is there a particular reason you're not responding to my witty repartee?" he murmurs to his husband. If Victoria caught that on the way out -- the notion doesn't seem to trouble William any...
It is as it is...
"I could've." She says half over her shoulder, her voice mostly teasing. "Or I could keep them. They're pretty nice."
Disappearing behind one of the flowering jasmine arrangements, she's gone for a few moments before she comes back with a larger moving box. Still sans shoes.
Setting it down on a smallish nearby table, she folds back the flaps on the top. Inside are four brightly wrapped parcels, varying in shape and size though it appears that there are two larger and two smaller. Each in matching colors. Without bows at all, as it happens, instead decorated with flat ribbon with an artistic minimal quality.
"No," Ian smiles, glancing to the skies again. "Maybe your repartee is not as witty as you imagine?" Ian teases, a grin following the return of his attention to William. Ian smirks and waves his hand, "No, laird, there is nothing wrong. I simply have very little to say, hmm? You have said your piece," Ian nods, "...as you wished. You are very kind," he observes.
"I wouldn't say that," William murmurs, "I am simply cognizant of when I am in error. Perhaps it was kind of me to admit it." He flashes a smile, finishes his drink and says nothing on the repartee. He seems content in the rest.
When Victoria is returning with gifts, William is lighting a cigarette, iconic face glorious under the dim amount of illumination, glorious nonetheless, and he exhales scented smoke.
Hashish...
Cinnamon...
Opium...
Tobacco...
A confederation of flavors and narcotics. For those counting, he's up to two packs a day.
Victoria, in turn, plays Santa on the off season. One green and one red box a piece, one small one large, isn't that lovely? One could almost say it was planned to work out that way. And then the box moves off the table so it can be used for setting things on, instead relegated to the cobbled ground underfoot.
Now that that's done, she takes a seat in one of the available chairs, "You two can figure out who goes first." That isn't something she wants to have to decide. Particularly in the current climate. Hands are folded in her lap and she leans back in her seat a bit, ankles crossed at the edge of her black chiffon skirt.
Boxes are placed and Ian looks at them in turn. "Beauty before age," he murmurs to William, giving Victoria a nod of quiet thanks and acknowledgment.
"That's very kind of you," he notes to Victoria, taking up the smaller box. Smaller usually means more expensive, doesn't it? Not that he pays attention to such things. William opens the gift -- the very act of which is striking him as funny at the moment. Why is a man nearly one thousand years old opening gifts? Shouldn't he have staff for this? Isn't it funny?
Paper off, he begins to examine the contents...
It's a feeling of superior dis-ease. No, I have nothing to apologize for. She will meet me where I stand, or she will not at all. And her discomfort, if any, or belief in what I have or have not said, is not my problem. The gifts appear in an image. And these are silly too. She should have mailed them. I don't care more about them, because I now see them in March...
William's small box is full of fluffy cotton packing that wraps four glass wine stoppers. Each a different hue, the obviously handblown craft pieces are spiraled with gold, a matching set. Delicate and elegant, they catch even the limited light from the twinkling trees to reflect it into the white batting and turn it various luminous shades.
"Merry Christmas, even if it's late. I suppose we could say they're Easter gifts instead if we wanted." Victoria offers, leaning up to catch a look at the shining bits in their box.
"Lovely," Ian says softly, picking up his glass again. He takes a drink of the slowly-disappearing martini, then reaches for the smaller of his own two boxes, following his husband's lead.
"We could," William says with some amount of slowness, perhaps distraction. "But I don't think we should exchange gifts over the Savior's mangled body. But these are nice, thank you." He pauses. "I think I will save the rest for the plane ride. I am going to have to have something to do since I am not piloting us myself..."
He does sometimes like to 'drive', as it were.
Indigo eyes focus on Victoria, nodding again. "It was nice of you to think of us in this way. We'll send our thank you cards by June," he teases on that score. A glance to Ian, then William is pulling his cigarette out of his mouth, knocking off the ashes finally, right into the grass.
"It will be good to get home," William notes quietly. "We have been traveling, it feels like forever, I know this cannot be right. It must be only a couple of weeks..." A glance to Ian, watching him open his own small box.
"More than," Ian says softly. "Gifts over the mangled body," Ian repeats, rather liking that image, apparently, as he opens the box before him where he stands.
The second small box is the smallest of the four. Jewelry sized, in fact, which is apt since that's what it contains. A set of hand turned silver cuff-links rests inside the package, denoted subtly on the back with the caster's mark. The trick to them, is that they lay perfectly flat in their long box. When they are folded, they form a Z with a slightly raised nob on the top side accenting contrast to the straight lines themselves. Simple but powerful.
"Well, I was thinking of the rebirth aspect, but it could be taken the wrong way, I guess." Victoria says easily, grinning at the mention of June. "And you're welcome."
"Thank you," Ian says softly, they are quite attractive. Ian lifts one of the links from the box and examines it closer. After revolving it near his nose, he sets the cufflink back into the gift-box, careful to make sure that both are safely ensconced within. "I am with William, however. I think I shall like to open the other on the trip home, if that is alright?"
"They are quite nice. Very lovely, thoughtful gifts," William concurs. And then in a whisper, conspiratorial. "I won't tell Our Lord Jesus Christ if you don't." As if he speaks with him at the grocery store. First name basis and all of that...
William watches the ash drift to the ground then looks between the two of them, first to Ian and then lastly to Victoria. "It's a long plane ride. We'll need some sort of activity to keep us busy afterall." He is rising in the next moment, exhaling the intoxicating smoke to the sky and placing the small box on the larger box. "I do not have a drink in my hand, Victoria, but this... illegal cigarette will have to do," he holds it up slightly, "...to the start of something New. Good luck."
Victoria nods, both to Ian's reply and the notion of opening the others later, "Sure, if you like. The other two are the fancy ones." They're yours now, so however you're inclined to open them is fine with her. Apparently not needing to watch every reaction as the paper is pulled back this year. "But I hope you enjoy all of them."
Perhaps taking the hint that this is closer to the close of the evening, she sits up slightly, "Have a good time, I'm glad you could both stay as long as you have I know you've wanted to get home. I'll see you in the evening before you leave most likely. If briefly." She is an early riser, after all. Getting up well before sundown to do whatever it is that she does in that tower of hers. "I'm having the window hung in my office tomorrow over the plain one they had installed, it's been rather inconvenient the last few days not to be able to come down early."
She smiles, standing as well, "I don't have anything at all so I'll just have to nod." Which she does, "Something new, indeed."
"What..." Ian begins, inhaling as a beginning, "...happened with the window? You never said."
Quiets. Smokes. Listens. William glances between Ian and Victoria again. Oh. Right. There was some incident.
"Oh, lightning." Victoria says easily, "The tree outside was hit in a storm a few nights ago, the branch caught fire, fell through the window. I had hoped to have it hung before the party but I just had to make due with having the regular panes reframed and installed instead." One of the joys of old houses. Finding someone who can do the structural repairs on them.
Ian ahs and nods, picking up his martini again. Terribly civilized, the late-Edwardian look. All he needs is one of William's cigarettes. "Such is the way of old homes. You will establish your book of artisans, I am sure, with time."
"If you find a good one, keep him," of course he's sexist, "... on retainer." William smiles around the cigarette, looking to it. Almost time to put it out. "Good artisans are hard to find." He grins at that.
He should know...
He is one of the worst to contract... too busy...
"Well," an exhale and he stamps out the cigarette on the sole of his horrendously expensive shoe. "We should get to packing and then to bed. Especially if we want to be up and about at a decent hour." Crack of twilight riser he is not, not anymore. William looks to Ian. Ready? Then, hands free of cigarette he takes up the presents.
She nods, "Landry's got a list of people they've been using for the past few years, so far it's been quite helpful." What with all the renovations and all, she's gotten to call on craftsmen of all various sundry types. Plumbers, electricians, carpenters, demolition teams. "But I'd like to find a better stonemason. Someone who does more period style work." She shrugs, one will come along eventually.
Victoria smiles, "Let someone know if you need anything. And thanks again for coming." She moves her chair back off the path, out of the line of traffic for the rest of the work patching up the garden that is likely to happen in the morning light. Mr. Bergren will have to check on each of his precious bits of greenery to make sure nothing untoward happened to them in the night.
She turns to Ian, "If you'd like to stay when William has to do work in Venice, you're welcome to. It's only an evening's ride to get there by train from here." Close enough for visits without having to live in the city. And yes, she did decide to go ahead and make the offer anyway.
Ian nods, "Thank you, Victoria. A kind invitation." He smiles again and finishes his martini quickly. "And despite William's comments, I am sure you will receive a note from us long before June." A grin, and Ian steps away from the table, leaving the cocktail glass there. As for the gifts, he's confident someone will deliver them upstairs.
"William will send you the name of a stonemason in the area that may work well here, and help the chateau come along."
Ian moves around to take up a spot at William's side, keeping his hands...and his confidences...to himself tonight. A grin is given, and he looks down at the stone as he begins to walk away from the garden and quietly towards the rooms set aside for him and William.
Posted by rowan at April 12, 2004 07:41 PM
