Chapter 8: BP001-P05 – Cherry Wine 4 – Meiandra Arvis

In the middle of drinking, her father suddenly slammed his cup down on the table so that the contents spilled over the edge. The sound startled Meia and when she raised her head she saw him reading the letter he had in his hand a second time. It looked like there was something written in it that he could not believe.

Meia was about to ask when he stood up and came rushing around the table as if he wanted to go to her and when he passed the doorway, Meia knew that this anticipation was true. He still had the letter in his hand. Meia did not know what he wanted. She had not done anything wrong. What did the letter say?

"What? I didn't do anything."

Her father did not slow his pace. Meia slid on her chair towards the centre of the table. As she did, the egg hit the edge and bounced out of her hand.

"Why are you throwing that down? Do you to clean up here?"

"I-"

Meia bent down for the egg because she felt asked to do so. But with her father behind her back, she did not manage to grab it. Bumped by her fingers, it continued to roll away under the table.

Her father shook his head. "Leave that for now. Here, read this," he urged her.

As soon as she came back up, he put the letter in her hand and when she had it, he sat down on the chair at the end of the table next to her. He probably wanted to observe her reaction. It was unusual. Why should she read the mail? She was sure she hadn't done anything wrong. She hadn't even left the house.

Meia looked at the letter. The paper was snow-white and lay strongly between her fingers. It was really thick. The text was in a curved cursive script that seemed so elaborate that Meia was sure it could never be copied. The whole get-up screamed money. But the strangest thing was the name in the greeting.

"This is addressed to me?"

"Yes, it is. Now read it first."

Meia had never received a letter before? It was a new experience for her. Resting the heel of her hand on the edge of the table, she read the contents attentively.

'Dear Miss Arvis, I hope you will forgive me for being so direct, but I am writing to you because I'm thinking of you. ...'

Meia was confused. The introduction sounded almost like a love letter? Not that she had seen a real one before, but that's how she would imagine one. Her gaze went up to her father. His smile was brimming with self-satisfaction, as if he had achieved something. It was suspicious, but not exactly revealing.

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'Before I explain, courtesy demands that I introduce myself. My name is Jena Monet. Surely you know this name, ...'

He was right. Meia already knew that name. It wasn't a name you couldn't know. Everyone knew him.

'... but what you don't know is that you also know me personally. ...'

He was right about that. Meia had never met him, he was too important for that to be possible.

'... The previous year you went to a ball of the Hagen family. Perhaps you do not remember it. Due to the butler's carelessness, you almost hurt yourself. Fortunately for everyone, it did not come to that. ...'

Unfortunately, however, Meia still partially remembered this ball. She had played with the family's fluffy dog for ages because she was so bored. Meanwhile, her father was talking non-stop with some half-important people that they didn't know. He had left her alone and so she had nothing better to do. When she later came back up from her crouch and while she was wiping the dog slobber off her mouth, the butler suddenly danced past her. Or maybe he wasn't dancing. The memory was hazy. All she really wanted to do was nimbly grab another glass of the delicious cherry wine from him, but as she leaned forward, she lost her balance for some unspecified reason and as he fell, she grabbed the butler's arm to hold on to him, but unfortunately his arm snapped away like a dead branch. Overall, the butler had not been very helpful, which was unusual for a butler, but that was not the point. With a great deal of skill, she still managed to catch herself in time without anyone noticing. The butler, however, had thrown away his full tray. So in a way, the ensuing misfortune was not her fault. While everything was falling down, she even tried to retrieve the runaway glasses, but only achieved a certain partial success. The rest of the wine spilled over the dog. Meia had sullied the poodle. The glasses had knocked him out gently. As she bent down to help him back on his feet, an arm suddenly wrapped around her stomach. The squeezing sensation was very uncomfortable, which made her cough. That was all she remembered. But it had been late that evening. Afterwards her father had not been that angry and nothing serous had happened to the dog. It was therefore an easy memory to repress.

'... You should know, I was the one who caught your fall and I was also the one who carried you to your room. After I had put the blanket over you, I wanted to leave, but you grabbed my hand to stop me. Closer and closer you pulled me to you. I followed your wishes until I was so close that I could see myself reflected in the gleam of your emerald green eyes. You apologised to me. There was no reason to. Since then I have been thinking of you often and by now I am sure I have seen more in your eyes than just myself. I want to see you again. I want to ...'

Meia did not know anything about this. She had probably apologised for her mistake while half asleep. She was usually to blame when somehting went wrong, so she developed that habit. With an imprecise expectation, she read the last lines again. A strange feeling spread in her stomach. The text made her breath grow heavier and her heart beat faster. She swallowed. The words were clear. This was a love letter. A love letter addressed to her and coming from someone who had probably put a lot of effort into it. Meia placed the paper on the table in front of her and her trembling hands beside it. It took effort not to cry. Before she could read the rest, she had to take a breath. Never before had anyone shown such obvious interest in her. Actually, no one had ever shown such interest in her at all. This was the first time.

Realistically, she thought it unlikely that the letter was really from Mr Monet. He was one of the most important men in the country, why would he write to her of all people? Perhaps it was a fake? Did her father really know if the letter was genuine? Besides, it could have been anyone who had taken her to her room at that day. Her father had not even noticed that she had been removed from the ball and did not know who had been responsible for it. The question was, what was the purpose of sending her such a letter? Kidnapping her would be useless. She would bring no money. Where would it come from? There was none in this house. But Meia did not find any other answer. So it was a real letter after all?

"What's the matter? Aren't you happy?"

"I don't know. I'm not done yet."

"What do you mean, you don't know? The letter is from Jean Monet. The Jean Monet! That I have to emphasise that at all. We will never find a better man for you." As if he hadn't been listening to her at all, her father stood up. His face beamed with joy. Meia had never seen him so happy. It was almost eerie. "It has taken two years. Finally after two years of hard work. Finally our efforts are paying off." He started frantically pacing up and down the dining room as if he had lost something and probably it was his mind. "Arvis and Monet. It will be a bond for eternity. Our influence will grow again. Our administrative sphere will grow again. We'll be swimming in money. - Dragging him into the bedroom. I didn't know you knew how to use tactics like that. It seems you did learn something from your mother after all. - Once the marriage is announced, the rest of the aristocracy will be biting their nails in frustration. They won't be able to believe it. The Arvis, who they always have ridiculed, are suddenly standing above them again..."

Her father continued talking, but it was not necessarily directed at her. It was much more like talking to himself. Meia therefore did not feel compelled to listen to him any longer.

.../ End Part

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