#babsdrury

He stood on the deck, looking out at the gulf islands scattered with cedar trees and tiny, colourful cottages, which seemed diminutive at this distance. They looked like doll houses. Ferdinand was lucky to have made his four o’clock ferry reservation, although now he began to have second thoughts about leaving his car – a jaguar E-type – unattended on the vehicle deck. But this was Canada. Suddenly a pod of around thirty killer whales burst into view. Ferdinand froze in place, staring at the orcas open-mouthed, and forgot all about his jaguar.

Finally, Ferdinand arrived. It was a resplendent chateau, surrounded by cedar trees and decorated with creeping emerald vines, which resembled a network of veins. In the garden roses grew: blood red, white, silver and gold. He parked outside, marched to the door, and knocked firmly three times. It was answered by a young girl of about thirteen, who turned scarlet as soon as he spoke to her and muttered something inaudible before scurrying away like a frightened animal. Not long afterwards, Alexa Ashworth descended the spiral staircase, carrying herself erect and flashing a set of blinding white teeth that matched her white-blonde hair. ‘Oh, Ferdie!’ They kissed each other on each cheek, the way people do in France. ‘How are you, Ferdinand? How was that awful ferry?’

           ‘Fine,’ he replied, ‘Better than flying.’ Alexa glanced past him at the forest-green jag outside. Pursing her lips and raising her eyebrows, she nodded approvingly. She looked back at Ferdinand and smiled, gesturing to an armchair. Taking a seat opposite, she rang a small silver bell on a tray. A young girl in a black and white maid’s costume, with mouse brown hair, walked swiftly into the room.

           ‘Mary, two vodka martinis, please.’ Ferdinand started to lift his right hand, but hesitantly placed it back on his lap, while Mary flitted off. ‘Are you excited for the party tonight? I’m afraid you’ve arrived rather early. No one will be here until at least seven o’clock.’ Ferdinand gazed out the window at the chinks of yellow light sneaking through red-and-gold maple leaves; it was still only October, and Vancouver Island was far enough south that it was light at this hour. He said he might take a walk, and left his drink with the servant girl, who was all too pleased for the chance to dispose of the untouched cocktail. Alexa’s makeup artist was due to arrive any minute, so she pranced upstairs, while Ferdinand went to inspect the grounds. The estate covered twenty hectares, and the gardens required constant upkeep. Ferdinand caught sight of himself reflected in the still waters of a lily pond. He’d been much younger when he first met Mrs Ashworth. At forty-five, his curly brown hair began to sprout a few greys and worry-lines creased his forehead. Though he was still handsome; his eyes were the colour of the lily pads and his cheek bones were prominent on his lightly tanned, perfectly symmetrical visage. He thought he’d better go inside and get ready for the party, which he was suddenly in the mood for.

The household staff busied themselves decorating the mansion, while Ferdinand went to the spare room to dress up as Dracula. He hoped it was original enough. Who was he kidding? His costume screamed indifference. It didn’t matter what people thought, though. It was entirely ridiculous for a serious psychiatrist to disguise himself as a demon and participate in Hallowe’en, which was really about children and candy.

Donning fake fangs, fake blood and a midnight cape, the doctor opened the golden door knob and strode with feigned confidence into the party. Alexa was wearing a floor-length porcelain-white gown and a crown of flowers freshly picked from the garden on her head. She held a bouquet of Parma Violet peonies in between her two full breasts, which were at least fifty percent on show. She was nearly the image of a blushing bride, were it not for the trail of red running from her left breast to the train of her dress and her rather horrifying makeup. And she actually paid for that. ‘Hello, Dracula.’

‘What are you supposed to be?’ Ferdinand enquired.

‘A zombie bride, obviously.’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Oh, look. The entertainment has arrived.’ Ferdinand spun around to regard the latest arrival. ‘Lucy, hi.’

‘Hey,’ Lucy grimaced. She wore a pointy purple hat, a long violet gown with belled sleeves, and pointy black shoes. You couldn’t tell if she were bald, because she was wearing the hat. ‘You look…nice.’

‘Oh, yeah? You do know this is a Hallowe’en party, right?’ When no one laughed, she added: ‘Lucy came as herself!’

‘Actually, I came as you.’ The whole room erupted into laughter and the bride’s face waxed red as magma.

Pockets of partygoers prattled animatedly, as Ferdinand poured himself a red plastic cup full of punch. He poured one for Lucy, smiling at her.

‘Cheers,’ she said, ‘To a fabulous fête.’

‘Are you Métis?’ Lucy rolled her eyes and laughed. He shouldn’t have asked that.

‘Yeah.’

‘Hi, hi.’ Alexa waved, waltzing over. ‘Is everybody having a good time? Mm… punch.’ Ferdinand wondered how much she’d had.

‘I think I’ll go out for some fresh air,’ Ferdinand suggested, swaying slightly as he stumbled towards the door. Alexa darted in front of him, lifting the train of her dress.

‘Why don’t I join you, Mr Vampire?’ Ferdinand shrugged by way of reply and removed his fangs. The doorway was barricaded by Harry Potter, Darth Vader and a ghost. Alexa and Ferdinand eventually got past them. Ferdinand lit a cigarette, and Alexa snatched one, holding it in her mouth for him to light. He asked how and, for that matter, where Richard was. The normally loquacious Mrs Ashworth replied tersely that her husband was fine, that he would be late as usual.

‘Oh, it is so cold.’ Alexa huddled herself up against Ferdinand, looking up into his green eyes. He put his arm around her shoulder and led her back inside, where Darth Vader started playing Shostakovich on the violin. ‘Dance with me, Ferdie.’ He placed his arm tentatively on her waist, as he led her around the dance floor. It was a sort of Viennese Waltz. If an octopus tried to do a Viennese Waltz. Spinning around in that ballroom, Ferdinand started to feel dizzier than he was already, and Alexa looked different somehow. Almost like it wasn’t Alexa at all. She flung her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his, and he held her head in his hands, kissing her back furiously. Her lips were so soft, like those of a twenty-one-year-old. For a moment, nothing happened. The fiddler kept fiddling, the drinkers kept drinking, the dancers kept dancing. Suddenly, Ferdinand was brought back to the present, to a sober realisation of what he had done. He opened his eyes, and in his peripheral vision he saw a sobbing bride scrambling up the staircase. In front of him stood a laughing witch, albeit a rather pretty one.

‘Have we met before?’ he asked.

‘Lucy Wilson-Knight,’ she replied, ‘And you’re the famous Dr Ferdinand Faber.’

‘Oh goodness, Lucy. Forgive me, I’m afraid I’m rather drunk.’

‘Yeah, we did tequila shots earlier.’ Did he? ‘You probably won’t remember this in the morning.’ But Alexa probably would.