The sun rises differently here than at home. Here, the sky gathers its hues of peach and pink like it's assembling a bouquet, and the ball of sun frolics through the posy-horizon, before floating upwards like a balloon. At first, it doesn't look like it'll stop – but it does, and the rays beaming through the large window make it feel as though it's stopped right over us.

I made sure to get up and watch because Eric said it was the best thing about this place, and his room has the best view. He says he's had this room since he was a teenager, and it's never changed because he tries to only come here once a year – for his birthday. If the room at all reflects who he was then, I figure he was a very prim and proper teenager, or at the very least a very mature one.

Everything's an untouched kind of clean, and ivory-coloured or leather-clothed. Something occupies every space – a silk-dressed bedroom bench at the foot of the bed; a velvet chaise longue by the window – but still, the space feels distinctly... empty. I can imagine some strapping teenager that looks like Eric drinking champagne from the bottle and smoking cigarettes with a circle of overindulged friends, but there are no burn patches on the floor or champagne cork marks to prove it. The only sign anyone's ever lived in the room, let alone a teenage boy, is the coffee-coloured mohair teddy bear he's had on the nightstand since he was 13.

"His name is Teddy", he'd told me when he handed me the waistcoat-donning bear proudly.

"Come up with that all on your own?" I'd quipped.

As empty and ornate as it feels, light gives this room new life. When the heavy curtains are drawn and the tiebacks are fastened, the most glorious white light pours in, and makes the stately ivory a flickering, bright silver-white.

Fastening the curtains back now, with my bare feet on the silk carpeting, I sigh and breathe it all in. This must be how princesses feel.

The only thing missing is my prince. But he's left note in his place, on the right side of the bed, lodged between Teddy's paws, and I grin when I spot it, springing onto the bed.

Good morning my Evie, I hope you had a wonderful sleep. I'm more upset than you know about being unable to wake up with you, but a cousin of mine arrived this morning, and is dragging me, very unceremoniously, to an early morning polo match. I should be back by midday if you'd like to stay in for breakfast. Ana will make you anything you like.

Thursday,

Eric.

P.S. I've had some cherries picked for you since you enjoyed yesterday's so much – ask Ana to show you to them.

He'd told me this sort of thing might be more common than I expected – his being pulled away for 'quintessentially Cotswold' things.

We went out on the lake in the early evening yesterday, because he said it would likely be the only full day that we'd have to ourselves out here.

In all my eagerness to find out what going 'out on the lake' meant exactly, I didn't give much thought to what he had said or meant – not right away. Dangling our feet off of the side of the catamaran, and lying tangled together in the tentative sun, reading dreary Joyce to be ironic and intellectual for as long as we could before the air turned too crisp, the moment was faultless. It was when brisk air began to blow that I ruminated for long enough to remember what I'd wanted to say – but it's your birthday... Surely you get to choose what to do on your birthday...

He'd only stroked my cheek with his thumb, to a gentle pace that I've come to know as a sign he's overthinking. And so, I closed my eyes, content with enjoying what was left of the only full day we'd have to ourselves out here.

————- ♡ ————-

"Shit." I curse and grip the cuffs of the oversized dress shirt as the morning chill blows against my bare legs without warning

It looked comfy on Eric, and I liked the colour – I suppose its suitability for mansion-roaming hadn't crossed my mind.

I hope this doesn't mean I'm lost, but this Persian-rugged hallway looks just like the last one. Fuck.

I did intend to find Ana... but then I peered down the marble stairs, and the prospect of exploring seemed much more enticing. Sorry, Ana.

Yesterday, whenever we passed a golden-knobbed door and I asked Eric what was behind it, he'd laugh and say it was nothing special, the same as the last one, without ever having said what was in the first one.

I thought I'd grasped a pattern to help me find my way along the sage-painted walls: Renaissance painting, dark mahogany door, Renaissance painting, dark mahogany door, bust-of-someone-important, dark mahogany door. Problem is, all the oil-painted naked ladies are starting to look the same, every mahogany door looks very heavy and very off limits, and I can't actually tell the marble heads apart.

"Oh, hallelujah." I exhale when I find where the staircase ends. Still no clue where I am, but it's not a corridor of doors and busts and that's good enough. Walking through the first door frame I meet, I'm in what looks like a kitchen: varnished white tiles; neatly shelved copper pots and pans; a gleaming oven, with an even glossier vent hood... But there aren't any chairs around a table, or brightly coloured cereals on the oak island. Somehow, I don't get the impression that this is the sort of place where people pour themselves some Coco Pops and call it day.

Three doors wide with a glass front, the steel fridge, with its fresh, colourful contents, is hard to miss. It's even harder to miss the curly-headed man squatted in front of it, in a striped button-down shirt, boxers and very soft-looking socks.

I'm not sure what to say, or if I should say nothing at all and be on my way. What do I say that doesn't surprise him to the point of heart attack? Good morning? Good morning. That's a good, non-alarming neutral introduction.

"Good morning!" My high-pitched uncertainty sounds cheerier than I'd intended.

"Fuck!" He starts, toppling over.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" I say, running over on tiptoes to help him, "I didn't mean to scare you."

"No, no, that's quite okay..." He looks at me curiously for a moment before his eyes bulge, "Oh! Oh, you're-!"

A little confused, I fill in the gap,

"Angie."

"Evangeline!" He speaks over me. I'd offer my hand for a shake, but his are holding a clear bowl of... freshly picked cherries.

I smile, and shrug,

"Just Angie's okay. And you?"

"Oh, erm, do you...?" He says, with the same eyes, holding the bowl out to me in offer.

"That's alright..." I politely decline. The little that's left doesn't look quite so enticing with his still-wet pips mixed in. This must be...

"Freddie." We speak at the same time again.

"I'm Freddie! I j- come here!" He pulls me into a one-armed hug, balancing the bowl with the other. Freddie looks a little older than Eric, and his hair's more of a dark mane than Eric's light and slick cut, but I can see the resemblance. It might just be the way he was nibbling at the cherries, but his feeble moustache and prominent teeth make him look a little mouse-like.

"Wow, you're a proper cutie! Alright!" He says, holding me in his grip a little too long. My laugh must betray my discomfort – he finally lets me go.

"Hey, we're twins..." He says referring to our nightwear, while his eyes greedily rake over my legs, left bare in Eric's large shirt. I cross my hands awkwardly in front of me, not that it makes much of a difference. When his eyes snap back up to mine, his grin is Cheshire, a little gross, and more rat-like than mousy.

"So, um, whe- what's the plan, what are you up to today? Where's your beau?" He's a little too eager with his questions, and I'm not sure how much I should tell Freddie 'the moocher', but ugh I think he's all I've got – I'll go crazy if I get lost trying to get back to our bloody room.

"Just trying to find my way around the place, heh. Eric said something about a polo match? I'm not sure where..."

"Oh my wow. That must mean – alright, um..." He finally puts the bowl down, and pats about himself as if anything useful could be hidden in his crumpled shirt or boxer shorts.

"I can drive you down there, 'f you'd like? I needed to do some catching up with them anyway."

"Oh, that'd be great! Thank you."

"Nah, no probs at all!"

"Could you - uh, sorry, I got lost, like, 5 times on my way down here – do you know how to get back to Eric's room?"

"Oh, for sure, yah. Follow me, Angie." He says wiping his hands on his paunch with another gross grin when he says my name, and I'm starting to worry that that might just be how his smile looks.

I'm grateful that he leads the way, and as we head out and up the stairs, I spot Ana, dusting under the stairway. Sure enough, Freddie's keen eyes spot her first, and he moves extra slowly as he ogles her legs. Seriously?

I come to a stop a few steps behind, with an explanation-demanding eyebrow raised.

"Oh! No, no, I'm not- good morning, Abigail!" He shouts over the banister. She looks up, irritated. "Abigail – housekeeper." He explains quickly, before picking up the pace again.

"Morning, Ana." I smile, waving, and when she responds with a wave and 'good morning!', Freddie, embarrassed, strikes up another conversation.

"So you from 'round here?"

"Not even close. Aldwych, kind of."

"Oh, I know that area! I've been to The Delaunay in Holborn. Quality breakfast. I went with Auntie Kitty, actually," he says over his shoulder, bobbing his head in my direction.

"That's Eric's mum, right?"

"Oh, 'course, you've never met! Yah, she's flying in from the chalet in Lech tonight, I think. You ski much?"

"Uh, no, not much..."

By not much I mean not ever – not unless Wii Sports counts, but I have a feeling that Freddie, marching up the marble steps in his jacquard-knitted socks, wouldn't know too much about it.