Читать книгу Possessed hearts - Анна Морион - Страница 7

1904. Warsaw. Four hundredth wedding anniversary of our parents.

Martin, Mscislav, me and Mariszka. Misha does not yet exist.

Mariszka and I are standing in a huge ballroom full of guests. We are wearing dresses from that shouty and boring era. Mariszka's dress is elegant, almost austere. Mine – bare shoulders and deep cleavage. In our hair, arranged in high bouffant hairstyles – artificial flowers. Mariszka has tiny blue violets. I have big red roses. My neck is adorned with a gold necklace with a red stone.

We watch the guests waltz, and I'm tempted to waltz too, but only with the one man I was flirting with five minutes ago. Markus Morgan. But I wasn't interested in him, no. I was only flirting with him because Mariszka is in love with him. But that's a secret only our mother and I know. And I took a keen pleasure in using that fact to annoy my little sister. And now she's standing there with her soul full of burning hatred for me. You can see it in her eyes. Doesn't speak to me. Doesn't look at me. Oh, the pleasure. The pleasure of humiliating her, this nun, this nun. Everyone's saying how modest and elegant she is. Well, with her qualities, her foolish love for Markus Morgan seems ridiculous, because he's a bad boy. He'd never look at someone like Mariszka. But I'm indifferent to him, I just want to get on my sister's nerves who's in love with him. And she's so easy to humiliate. To exploit her secret.

But Markus is busy dancing with his maternal cousin.

I feel someone's eyes on me.

Mum looks at me with a frown. I smile back at her and send her an air kiss.

Mariszka is being taken away to dance by Martin. He always cares about us, his sisters. But more for the youngest.

I am led into the circle of dancers by the beautiful vampire William Ruark Gordon, and we twirl in a smooth dance, discussing the latest news and laughing.

The next day, in the evening, we sit in the main hall, listening to a quartet of violinists. So terribly mannered, elegant. It's disgusting. Pretending to be aesthetes.

Mariszka's not here. She hasn't left her room since this morning.

This fact amuses me, and I realise with a thrill of pleasure that my goal of yesterday has been achieved.

– Please excuse us, boys. Maria and I are going for a walk," I suddenly hear my mother's voice.

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. That's it! How interesting to learn that I, without my knowledge, was going for a walk!

But, smiling at my mother, I rise from my chair and straighten the folds of the hem of my beautiful dress. Mum and I leave the castle and walk slowly down the well-maintained, flat stone lined path. We walk far away from our castle. Hand in hand. Silent. After a while our heels clack against the stones of the wide bridge that connects our vast estate with the rest of Warsaw.

Suddenly Mum stops and releases her hand from mine.

– Mariszka cried all night," Mum says quietly.

I glance at my mother: her face is full of sternness and sullenness.

– Because of you," she adds.

Ah, that's it. That's what this walk is for.

– Come on. She's always unhappy about something," I reply ironically.

– Maria, what you did was disgusting to your sister. You're well aware that she loves Markus Morgan. But you were flirting with him.

– I was just having a bit of fun. I didn't think Mariszka would cry about it," I say in an indifferent tone.

I don't have an ounce of regret in my soul.

– I know you've never felt sisterly love for each other. And that saddens me. But I am not asking you to love her. I'm asking you to respect her feelings. Her love. – Mum's voice suddenly trembles and tears appear in her eyes.

It makes me uncomfortable. It scares me.

– Mum… – I touch her shoulder, but she doesn't react to my gesture.

– You can't understand how she suffers. Unrequited love is the worst thing that can happen to us," she says with feeling.

I don't say anything. I'm struggling with two feelings: pride and love for my mother.

– Forgive me," I finally say quietly.

– It's not me you should apologise to, but your sister.

– It's beyond me.

– She's your sister!

– Mum, please! – I exclaim insistently and turn my back to her. – I promise I won't flirt with him again. That's enough, but don't make me apologise to her! Because that's never going to happen!

– Why are you so soulless? Why am I such a bad mother that I have failed to teach my daughters to love each other? – In a voice full of longing, Mum says.

This sentence makes me turn round to her.

A tear rolls down Mum's cheek. She wipes away this moisture with the palm of her hand, covered with a black silk glove.

I see her tears for the first time in my life.

It's unbearable.

Mum's crying.

A terrible shame eats at me.

I take Mum's palm in mine and press it to my lips.

I don't know how to comfort her. But I won't vow to seek Mariszka's forgiveness. Ever.

***

That memory came to me with the second stupor I had on the plane.

It's weird. I'd never thought about the past before. And the memory was a nightmare. A nightmare, a brutal truth that caught up with me after all these years.

My body, my soul, my brain was filled with the same horrifyingly intense feeling of shame that I had felt that night over a century ago. I grabbed the smartphone lying on the bedside table and typed a message to my mum: "I'm sorry for everything. You're the best mum in the world. It's not your fault your daughter is the worst daughter in the world."

One touch, and that message would fly to my mother like a dove of peace, like the belated repentance of her ungrateful daughter.

But my pride prevented me from making the gesture. So I erased the message, threw the smartphone in my lap, and leaned back in the first-class seat of the plane that carried me on its iron wings home to Toronto.

"'Wasn't it you who cursed me, Mariszka? I am now in your position! But unlike you, only I will know of my misfortune. I won't let anyone do to me what I did to you! – I thought with irritation. – I can't be alone with myself… I can't wait to land in Toronto already.

I hate long journeys and frequent changes of planes. But getting from Gdansk to Toronto is a whole system. Gdansk to Berlin to Reykjavik to Montreal to Toronto. Twenty-nine hours. Just dropped out of my life. Twenty-nine hours of thinking and wasted time. Nothing useful. Just wasted hours.

When the plane finally landed in Toronto, it turned out that my suitcase with my camera and all my stuff was stuck in Reykjavik and wouldn't arrive for another twenty hours. In response to this information, I just shrugged my shoulders helplessly. But I'm an avid traveller, so all my suitcases have special tags with my name and contact details, and the airport staff have promised to deliver my suitcase directly to my flat as soon as it arrives at the airport.

But there was one bright spot in all this pun: despite the spontaneity and lack of other flights, I was lucky enough to arrive in Toronto at ten in the evening.

My car was waiting for me in the airport car park. Very convenient.

Toronto! Hello, my favourite city! Full of life and lights! How nice it is to drive your roads in the evening! How nice to hear all the noise and clamour and see all the many mortals! How I missed you so much, even though I only parted from you for a short while!

The drive home from the airport did little to dispel my gloomy thoughts, but as I drove up to the penthouse, I was displeased to discover that my neighbour, the very same Troy, was having a raucous party. So before I reached the car park, I made a sharp U-turn and headed for the nightclub. But I couldn't forget. As soon as I started kissing the victim, I was suddenly so disgusted that I threw the admirer away from me and, stunned by the feelings of filth and contempt that engulfed me, I almost ran out of the club, got into my car and raced home at breakneck speed. Embraced by a feeling I'd never known before: self-loathing.

And I didn't care about Troy and his party!

Home… Home!

"What am I gonna do? What the hell am I supposed to do? I'm going crazy!" – I thought feverishly as I drove down the road, gripping the steering wheel of the car with nervous fingers. – How do I escape from myself? Where do I run to? To whom?"

– Get out of my way! – I shouted irritably, hitting the signal button, and then swerved into oncoming traffic, whizzing past a row of cars. – Idiots!

Some of them honked at me, but I didn't care. Then I turned onto the street I wanted and tried to get my thoughts in the right direction.

"I know who I can forget everything that's troubling me with. Misha. My darling Misha!" I suddenly decided. – I'll book a ticket to Stockholm as soon as I get to the flat. I won't tell her. And even if Fredrik is there, I don't care! I don't care about the camera in my suitcase in Reykjavik, I don't care about anything! I need to hug my Misha, my sunshine. Listen to her, listen to her like a bird. She will heal my wounds with her singing."

After reaching the penthouse and receiving a hefty speeding ticket from a traffic officer, I reached my flat in a couple of seconds, switched on my MacBook, which I always had with me in my bag, and booked tickets to Stockholm. The closest flight was in four hours. Business class. No luggage. I didn't have time to pack a suitcase. And I didn't have a spare suitcase. That's weird. I fly so often. I should have got one… Anyway, it doesn't matter.

I was wearing a short leopard-striped dress, a short leather jacket, black boots on high thick heels. A bag with my documents, smartphone and MacBook. That's all I need.

Ahead is the loss of a part of my life again. The long journey back to Europe. Once again, flying halfway across the world back for salvation. To Misha.

Toronto – Boston – Reykjavik – Stockholm. I'll be there at 12 noon.

At the airport I checked the weather in Stockholm: it's going to be clear, warm and sunny.

But I don't care. Besides, it's not a problem at all.

Upon landing in Stockholm, I texted Misha a brief, "Are you home?"

"We're at the cottage on Venerna," she replied succinctly.

Shit. So they're not in their Stockholm home, but in the cottage where they lived before moving to the capital. The lake house. We'll have to go there.

"Are you in Stockholm?!" – came a new message from Misha a couple of seconds later.

I stopped at the airport exit, avoiding the sunlight falling just a metre away from me. I needed a car with tinted windows. But I didn't see one in the taxi rank. Without thinking, I called the right place, and half an hour later, a limousine came to pick me up. With almost black windows. I asked the driver to park as deep in the shadows of the airport as possible, and the people around me watched in amazement as I quickly got into the car.

"Must be some kind of star. Have you seen it before?" – I heard a quiet female voice say.

– "Must be a model… Or a millionaire's wife. Yeah, well, look how much plastic surgery she has on her face!" – a second female voice replied in an affirmative tone.

Aha! Mistaking my vampire perfect beauty for plastic! Let them! Pathetic envious mortals!

But, fortunately, my person did not cause much of a furore, and the voices subsided as quickly as they had raised a low rumble of surprise.

"Coming to see you," I wrote to Misha, now safe from the sun. After thinking for a moment, I sent: "Is Fredrik with you? I hope I'm not disturbing you?".

"He's leaving. I'm waiting for you!!!" – Misha replied.

"He's leaving… Of course, he suddenly had some very important business to attend to! Misha should have only had to inform him of my upcoming visit!" – I smirked.

I left the limo at a small station near the lake. Misha came to pick me up in Fredrik's Mustang. Same old Mustang. It was high time to change it for something better and more modern. But of course Fredrik would never do that.

Thanks to a small cloud that covered the sun for a few seconds, I quickly slipped into Misha 's car, and we left the station, heading for a lake house I'd never been to before. Of course, I'd been invited a long time ago, and more than once, but I'd always failed to make the flight – my career had grown too fast over the past eight years.

Misha was beautiful: dressed in tight black jeans, her husband's long dark green T-shirt and sneakers. Her hair was damp and braided into a long shaggy braid, which, however, suited her pretty face.

– Since when did you start wearing your boring husband's clothes? – I asked with a laugh.

– When you wrote, I was swimming in the lake. There was no time to think about wardrobe, you know! – laughed at this Misha laughed. – So I wore the first thing I saw. Fredrik had just changed his shirt before he left, and left this one on the back of a chair in the living room.

– Where did he go?

– Stockholm.

– Did he have business there? – I grinned.

Wow, he didn't want to see me so badly that he didn't even bother to throw his T-shirt in the wash, just left it in the living room! That's not nice.

– No, he's just giving me time and space to be with you," Misha replied with a smile, not taking her eyes off the road.

– What do you mean? – I asked in a nonchalant tone.

– I'd known for a long time that you can't stand each other's company. Don't deny it," Misha said cheerfully, glancing at me.

– Shit. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. But I was hoping you didn't realise that. How long have you known? – I was honest. I was embarrassed that she'd known all along. Knew and pretended not to notice.

– A long time. You've been avoiding each other so obviously! But it's okay. I've accepted it. I love my husband and I love you, and since you can't be in the same room without disliking each other, well… I'm fine with that system. – Misha smiled a calm smile and shrugged her shoulders.

I looked at my little sister and I found it hard to believe. Is that my Misha?

She's grown up so much. No longer the hyper-emotional girl who'd gone off to study at Oxford. In the eight years she's been married to Fredrik, she's changed. Why didn't I notice it before? I was used to thinking of her as a little sister – reckless, inexperienced, impulsive. But now I realised clearly that that little girl was gone. And it was a little hard for me to accept that. To accept that she had changed, while I was still the same.

– What?" she smiled, probably noticing my confusion.

– Nothing. I just think you've changed a lot," I replied with a smile.

– For the better, I hope?

– You've become calm and sensible. My little girl has grown up all of a sudden! – I patted her cheek. – No more tantrums?

– No, Fredrik's not that lucky so far. Sometimes I can't hold back my emotions. I try very hard, but I guess it's my nature!

We laughed good-naturedly. She was so sweet, my Misha. She was making jokes about herself. Marvellous.

"That's my nature," she said. What is my nature then? To be an evil bitch, ruining the lives of my own sister and mother? Oh, God. How does Misha tolerate my company? She's so beautiful, so innocent. An angel. I guess it's true that dirt is most noticeable when white shoes are shining clean next to them.

That's how we drove: me – dirt and lies, and Misha – beautiful snow-white sneakers. Riding along a beautiful clear lake, in the heart of a magical Swedish forest.

– Do you still drive the poor Mustang? – I changed the subject, for it was unbearable. For me.

– Yes. Fredrik loves it. He drives it. I have a motorbike.

– What? A motorbike? – I was pleasantly surprised. – Somehow I thought you'd have the Volvo Fredrik would have chosen for you!

– No, I didn't. This time his displeasure doesn't bother me. In everything else, of course, I'm always inferior to him. I know it's bad. But I love him so much. I don't know how to express it! But I'm not that naive girl anymore, and he has to accept that I have an opinion. I can feel that strength in me – the strength to say no," Misha said in a serious tone.

– That's right. No one should be in charge of your life but you, and I'm glad you're beginning to realise that. – Her words pleasantly surprised me. I was proud of her.

– But really, I don't feel like he's disadvantaging me. I just trust his judgement because he's lived so many years and I'm just starting to learn about life. But it won't last forever. I'll grow up and be independent in my judgement. In the meantime, I have one small victory – my motorbike.

– Exactly. You've got a lot more ahead of you, my darling. Just live and learn. What kind of motorbike?

– Bajaj Pulsar 2000.

– You'll show me, because I prefer cars.

– Of course I do. Where's your luggage?

– In Reykjavik,' I answered without going into details.

– I have a lot of clothes. Take whatever you want," Misha said with a smile.

– Oh, I know that. Thank you, sweetheart. It's like old times.

We used to swap clothes whenever we had the chance to be around each other. But, out of my entire wardrobe, Misha always took only modest clothes. If I had any. I knew that after another visit to Prague, she often brought Mariszka's clothes with her, as if she was too lazy to buy them for herself. Or Misha so trusted the "impeccable", as everyone said, taste of our saint. Boring, if you ask me.

– And what are you doing at the lake? – I asked.

– I got tired of living in Stockholm, so we came back here, – Misha informed me.

– For how long?

– A couple of months. I'm so glad you're here! But why and for how long?

– I'm tired, too. Mentally. Decided to spend time with my beloved sister. – I smiled quite a bit. And it was almost true. – How long? Three weeks.

– That short? – Misha grumbled unhappily.

– Yes, I'm sorry. But I have an exhibition, an opening.

– Oh yes! Mum told me! – cheerfully chirped her little sister.

– I'm sure she did," I grinned. – Are you coming to the opening?

– When?

– The tenth of October.

– Still asking? Of course! And Fredrik will come with me, even if he refuses!

– Oh, gods, poor Fredrik! – I laughed.

Misha suddenly turned off the road onto a narrow, gravel path that led somewhere in the forest.

– We'll be home soon! – Misha said cheerfully.

– Remind me again: Did Fredrik build your house himself? – I asked.

– Yes, and in just a fortnight. We also have a jetty and a boat. And a swing.

– How nice. And how wonderful to see you happy, my darling.

– Oh, thank you. And I hope you're happy too.

"You'll never know the truth, my dear! Otherwise, you'll suffer for me. You don't have to suffer. No one has to. It is only my burden," I thought bitterly.

– Yes, of course," I smiled a fake smile.

A couple of minutes later, the lake and the two-storey wooden house on its shore, painted matte red, peeked out from behind the trees. But I didn't ask why red and why they needed swings.

– Well, I must justly say that Fredrik has done his best! – I exclaimed sincerely, stunned by the skill of my former lover.

– Yes, he did his best! But I helped too. I mean, I painted the whole house! What do you think of the colour? It's beautiful, isn't it? – Misha said with pride in her voice at my exclamation.

– Oh, yeah. Just gorgeous! – I answered her.

Misha parked the car near the house. Fortunately, the sun was hidden behind thick white clouds, and I could not hide from its rays.

I got out of the car and took the moment to look at the house more closely.

The "little house" (in the young Haraldson family's terms) was actually a massive tall house made of large, rough-hewn planks, fitted together so tightly that the lines of distinction were barely visible. The large wide terrace on the first floor, with a low railing made of thin trunks of some kind of wood, looked very cosy. There were wooden chaise lounges with soft fake fur covers on them. Next to the terrace was a large veranda with sliding glass doors. On the ground floor there were four wide windows and between them a tall solid wooden door, to which a wide wooden staircase with six steps ascended. The staircase and door were securely sheltered by a wide triangular roof, from which a large lantern descended on a thin chain.

– I forgot to warn you: we don't have electricity," Misha said suddenly, approaching me. – To be more precise, we have only one working socket, but only for charging phones.

– Are you kidding? – I grinned. – My MacBook is going to die in four hours, and I need to write to Elle about how busy I am!

– Do you have internet access on your phone? – Misha asked. – I don't.

– Of course I have internet! I'm just addicted to it! How do you live here? Without electricity and internet? – I hummed, surprised more and more.

– I assure you, life without the internet is magical! We are free of it. And we don't need electricity: in the evening we light candles and a fireplace. And it's so cosy! I only need water for my flowers.

– Don't tell me you don't shower? I know you, you're so tidy, you can lie in the bath for hours! – I laughed.

– We have a whole lake for that! But we have a shower, of course! True, it's more like a hose with water, there behind the house, but there's a wooden cabin! – Misha replied to this with delight. She took me by the hand and led me to a low jetty, next to which a big red boat was tied up. – Look how beautiful it is! The water is so clear and clean that you can see the bottom. But it's actually quite deep.

– Yes, it's very beautiful," I agreed eagerly. – But, you know, I couldn't live like this. With no electricity, no internet and an outdoor shower! Even in the middle of this lonely paradise. You could get bored out of your mind here!

– Yes, it can be lonely sometimes… But that's what we have a house in the capital for. And when I get tired of Stockholm, we come back here again and again. – Misha smiled dreamily. – I have so many memories with this place! And it helped me to recover from my bad experience in Oxford.

– After a crisis, you mean? – I asked, and immediately saw my sister's eyes round with surprise. I stroked her shoulder encouragingly. – Yes, yes, Martin told me! But don't be angry with him because he made me swear not to tell you what I know. And so I did. – I smiled warmly. – But it hurts me that you kept it from me. Why, Misha?

She lowered her gaze to the ground.

– I was ashamed… And I didn't want you and Mariszka to know," she answered quietly.

– So Mariszka still doesn't know? – I clarified.

– No. Not unless Martin has told her.

I can't believe it! It's happened! I know something about Misha that our sister doesn't!

I was very pleased with that.

– Well, let's put it behind us. Now show me your house, missy! – I said cheerfully, to distract Misha from unpleasant memories. – What about the cleaning? Do you do it yourself? Or do you hire mortals?

– Yes, ourselves, but when we are in Stockholm, an elderly couple from the local village lives here. They clean, take care of the flowers and the boat," Misha said with renewed vigour.

– And someone voluntarily agrees to live here without electricity? – I teased.

She took me by the elbow, and we walked towards the house. There was fine gravel all around, and I was unhappy to think that I would scratch my expensive shoes.

– We pay them well. All the more reason for them to like it here! – Misha showed me her tongue. – All you want is comfort! Which one of us is the cleaner?

– Aren't you afraid to leave them in a house with a blood supply of their kin?

– We don't have any. We only hunt.

'Ah, right, I remember that stupid opinion of Fredrik's about using bottled blood!' – I thought sarcastically. – Poor little sister! He's got her so subjugated!".

– But it's not Fredrik's fault," Misha said suddenly, as if she understood my barely perceptible chuckle. – It's my decision. Because… I'm afraid that if I stop hunting and acting like a real vampire, I'll have… A split personality again. – She smiled bitterly.