“He has a truly single-minded focus,” Raymond murmured to Dulcie. They had been sitting in a large window seat behind Xander as he worked. Raymond had been providing a running commentary as various thoughts about Xander occurred to him.
Dulcie had her laptop out and was taking notes. She was trying very hard not to respond to Raymond other than an occasional nod of acknowledgement. She felt it was rude to be talking about Xander right in front of him. Or actually, in this case, behind him.
Raymond sensed her uneasiness. “He can hear us, certainly, but does not process what we’re saying. Imagine if you were sitting in a café and a couple seated behind you were speaking Italian. You wouldn’t know if they were talking about you.” He gave a lighthearted chuckle.
“Actually, I speak Italian,” Dulcie replied flatly. It wasn’t a lie. She wasn’t fluent, but she certainly could carry on a general conversation. Just as it had before, his attitude was beginning to grate on her nerves. Besides, how did he really know whether or not Xander could understand them?
They both looked up as they heard bustling at the doorway. Giselle nudged the door open with her knee and came in with a tray loaded down with teacups and pastries. Dulcie looked at her gratefully. She couldn’t know what a welcome interruption she was.
“Xander usually has tea now, and I thought you might like some as well,” she smiled at Dulcie. She was careful not to make eye contact with Dr. Armand.
Xander put down his brush, walked to the tray, ate an entire scone, then poured a cup of tea. He took it back to his easel and stood, staring at the painting while he drank down the whole cup. Then he put it on the table beside him and began to work again.
Dulcie watched with interest. He had not requested assistance from Giselle in any way. She had not offered to help him, either. She simply stood back while he took what he needed. Yet, his actions did not seem impolite. Perhaps it was Giselle’s complacent reaction, but Xander seemed to almost acknowledge her.
His manners were interesting, if they could be called manners. He was quite neat. He ate the scone without leaving a dusting of crumbs in front of him, something that Dulcie had difficulty doing at times. He drank the tea carefully, almost gently. Dulcie looked closely at him. His hair was brushed and looked clean. His clothes were obviously fresh and had little, if any, paint on them. Dulcie wondered how he had learned to be so careful. Was his father the same way?
She had the sudden urge to meet his father. Dulcie shook her head slightly at the thought, and realized that she was most likely thinking far too hard about this project. “No,” she thought. “Focus on Xander, get the film crew in here, do the mini-documentary, and move on!” Yet her mind couldn’t help but wander. How long was his father in prison? When would he be eligible for parole? Was Xander ever able to visit him? Did Xander miss him?
Dulcie’s thoughts were interrupted by the clatter of a spoon hitting the floor. She looked over at Giselle. Raymond was helping himself to the tea tray, his back to Dulcie. Giselle quickly knelt to pick up the spoon and as she did, a look of anger briefly flitted across her face. She hissed something at Raymond who simply chuckled and turned away.
“What was that?” thought Dulcie. She realized that they must have known each other when Raymond had worked with Xander previously. Did they not get along? Perhaps he had done something to upset Giselle, or even Xander? Clearly Giselle was not enamored with Raymond. His affectedly charming demeanor was decidedly not working. It did not seem to bother him in the slightest, however.
As he turned around to rejoin Dulcie she felt a sudden chill fall across the room, as though a cloud of uneasiness had descended upon them all. Dulcie looked over at Xander. He had stopped painting. He walked toward the window and looked out. The day was bright and sunny, but a strong wind howled off the ocean. Dulcie had never liked windy days. They always made her feel angry.
Since Xander was not working she decided to take a break herself and get some tea. She closed her laptop and carefully put it back in her briefcase just as Raymond had reached his seat. He sat as she stood. It seemed slightly awkward. She smiled to cover her thoughts, knowing full well that he could see through them.
Giselle had joined Xander at the window. They were both silent. She looked at him and brought her hand to her mouth, as though drinking. He remained still, not acknowledging her. Then, still looking out the window, he slowly raised his own hand to his mouth as she had just done. Giselle’s eyes widened. She went back to the tea tray and refilled his cup, leaving it on the table beside his painting. Several moments later, Xander went back to his easel, drank down all of the tea, then picked up his paintbrush.
As Giselle collected his cup, she made a quick motion to Dulcie with her head. Dulcie understood. She followed Giselle across the room. Giselle busied herself clattering cups and spoons, so that no one could hear. She leaned over to Dulcie and whispered, “He has not communicated back to me like that since his father was sent away!”
Dulcie suddenly remembered that Xander had communicated with her, or she believed that he had. The first time that she had seen him work, when she had asked him for the painting, he had held his hand open, with palm up. She took it as a gesture of giving. “Giselle, has he ever done this,” she made the gesture, “with you before?”
Giselle looked surprised. “Yes, but again, not for quite some time. How could you know that?”
Raymond now joined them. “Am I correct in noticing that our friend has begun communicating again?”
“Yes, we think so,” said Dulcie.
Raymond looked over at Xander. “That is very good. It’s an excellent sign that the healing process is underway with him. He’s able to reach out to others again, or at the very least, respond to them. It is his own way of reaching out, I suppose.”
“Does he ever respond to people that he doesn’t know?” asked Dulcie.
“Not that I have ever seen,” said Giselle.
“Of course he can,” Raymond began, but was interrupted by Giselle.
“Non! That ees not what she asked!” the housekeeper snapped, her French Canadian accent deepening.
Dulcie looked back and forth between the two. How well did they know each other? She knew that Raymond had certainly been in the house when he had worked with Xander. Did he simply get on Giselle’s nerves, or was there something else?
Giselle turned to Dulcie, “You must excuse me. I have been with the boy since he was a baby. I have become protective of him, perhaps overly so.”
Raymond chuckled behind her but said nothing. Dulcie saw Giselle’s back stiffen but she remained silent as well.
Dulcie cleared her throat. “Well then, I suppose we have seen enough for today. We should probably give Xander some space and let him continue his work in peace.”
“Yes, and I must get back to my office for an appointment,” Raymond interjected.
“Good,” Dulcie thought. She wanted to speak to Giselle alone. She hung back as Raymond left, letting Giselle shut the door behind him, perhaps more firmly than necessary. Dulcie took her time with her coat, waiting to hear Raymond’s car door shut, then she turned to Giselle. “May I be blunt?” she asked.
Relief seemed to wash over Giselle. “Yes, perhaps that is best at this point!”
“How well does he really know Xander?” Dulcie jerked her head toward the now closed door. “How much time did he spend in the house?”
Giselle paused, not sure how much to reveal. The correct answer was that Raymond had spent a great deal of time in the house, but only half of that time was with Xander. She decided that the correct answer was not necessary, however. Not now, at any rate. “Our Dr. Armand is a man très intéressant,” Giselle replied, dodging Dulcie’s latter question. “As I’m sure you have noticed. I believe that he does understand Xander, but as a… what is the word… specimen?”
“Do you mean, an example of someone with his condition, rather than an individual?” Dulcie asked.
“Yes, yes! That is exactly what I mean. Dr. Armand,” she stressed his title as though there were some mistruth to it, “Sees only how he may gain from a situation. In Xander’s case, he wanted to study him and write scientific papers to publish. He told me once that it would benefit his career.”
“Well that explains a lot!” Dulcie thought. To Raymond, Xander was simply a case study. Yet, wouldn’t that be true with nearly anyone brought in to evaluate the boy? She decided to change the subject. “Could I see the rest of the house, Giselle? I need to bring a film crew in here, and I want them to interrupt your lives as little as possible.”
Giselle nodded with understanding. “Yes, of course. Follow me,” she said as she quickly led the way down the hall. “You have been in the living room, I believe.” She gestured as they walked by a doorway. Dulcie had, the day of her brief meeting and cup of tea with Edith Bernstein. “We have a powder room here,” she waved at a small space under the large staircase, “Then the kitchen back here,” She stepped into a gleaming, white room.
Dulcie blinked. The walls were the color of cream, as was the stove and massive porcelain sink. The marble countertops were streaked with veins of gray, the only contrast in the bright room. Yet it did not come across as sterile or stark. Soft, was the word that leapt into Dulcie’s mind. It reminded her of a Michelangelo sculpture, the way he was able to make a massive, hard block of stone look as though it was warm and supple.
Giselle was still speaking. “Do you know if your cinema people will require meals?” she asked, concluding a sentence that Dulcie had not heard.
“Oh! That’s a very good question. I have no idea, but I will find out. I’ll give you a complete schedule of what to expect. I’m truly hoping that we intrude on your lives as little as possible.” Dulcie said with sincerity.
The two continued up the stairs. They passed a door that stood ajar. Giselle paused. “You may as well look in there,” she said, slowly pushing open the door. She stopped in the doorway and turned to face Dulcie. “It is where the old man died. Or rather, where he was pushed from the window. I suppose he would have actually expired on the ground below.” She grimaced.
Dulcie looked beyond her and into the room. Heavy curtains framed large, multi-paned French windows. Unlike Xander’s studio, these did not have a window seat beneath them. They reached nearly to the floor. A heavy oak desk stood in the middle of the room, close to the windows.
Dulcie was silent for a moment as she looked around the room. It appeared to be unused and had a depressingly overbearing feeling about it. Without warning, Dulcie shivered.
“Yes, it makes me do that too,” Giselle said quietly.
Before she could stop herself, Dulcie blurted out, “Giselle, what happened? I know that you weren’t here, but what do you think really happened?”
The other woman shook her head. “I wish I knew,” she said without looking at Dulcie. “But I do know one thing. He was an evil man,” she said.
Dulcie’s eyes widened.
“Yes,” Giselle continued. “He delighted in tormenting others. He would play games to make everyone feel uncomfortable. He could find your weakness, and before you knew what was happening, he would slide his words into that part of your mind like a knife through the heart. No one was safe, not even his own daughter. That is why she drank so much, I believe. The only person that he could not hurt was Xander, because no one can know what is in his mind. I think that is the single thing that tormented Oscar Bernstein, the fact that there was one person he could not control.”
“Why did everyone stay?” asked Dulcie. “Wouldn’t they have been better off not living in such a situation?”
Giselle sighed. “Certainly they would have been, but they stayed for many reasons. Xander was not always as self-reliant as he is now. Imagine him as a young boy, unable to communicate, not knowing how to dress or bathe or even eat properly. He required a great deal of professional therapy and care, all of which costs money. The only person with enough money to provide everything was the old man. And he paid all of the bills, with only the one condition: they all must live in this house.”
“I think I can guess the rest,” Dulcie replied. “They had no idea what they were getting themselves into, and Oscar Bernstein’s interference was a slow, insidious process.”
Giselle frowned as she replied, “Very slow and very insidious. It is the best way to describe it.”
Dulcie wondered how Giselle had retained her own sanity throughout the process.
“I can see your thoughts,” Giselle spoke quietly.
Dulcie opened her mouth to speak, then closed it quickly.
Giselle continued, “You are thinking, how could Giselle escape the torment when the others could not? The answer is quite simple. First, as a servant, I can remain invisible. Second, also as a servant, I learn everyone’s secrets. Everyone has them. Secrets. Most are of no consequence.” She waved her hand in the air as if to discount them en masse. “But some, some are quite important. Oscar Bernstein had one of those, and I knew what it was. Perhaps it was less of a secret than a weakness, but he did not want anyone to know, nonetheless.”
“What was it?” Dulcie asked, knowing that she should really not be so curious.
Giselle laughed. “I will tell you. It does not matter now. The old man was, as you can imagine, quite vain. He was the, I do not know it in your language, narcissique?”
“Narcissist, in English” Dulcie replied. “But that would have been fairly obvious I should think,” she said quizzically.
“Certainement, but it leads to his secret. You see, he was very ashamed and I believe even disgusted by Xander. Monsieur Bernstein could not accept that he had such a grandson. It was the other reason that he kept them all in this house. The fewer who knew about his disgrace, the better. I saw him look at Xander many times with eyes of loathing.”
Dulcie could only imagine how dysfunctional the entire family must have been. She was glad that Xander was unable to recognize his grandfather’s feelings. Yet, was that true? Was he unaware, or did he simply show no emotion?
Their conversation was interrupted by the domineering presence of Edith Bernstein entering the room.
“Good, you haven’t left yet. Come with me,” she commanded looking at Dulcie. Giselle was clearly ignored in the statement. The housekeeper turned away, giving Dulcie a bemused smile as she left.
“Of course, Mrs. Bernstein. Is there something you wanted me to see?”
“Obviously,” barked the older woman.
They continued farther down the corridor, away from the stairs. As they passed by Xander’s studio, Dulcie saw him painting again.
Edith led Dulcie into her bedroom and quietly shut the door. “Earlier I was cleaning up some things of Xander’s. He has all of those paintings just standing there in the studio, and I decided they needed organizing. While I was moving them, I found this,” she pointed to the painting that she had found earlier, now propped up on the chair in the window. “Have a look and tell me what you see.”
Dulcie stepped forward. She looked intently. Two men appeared to have been talking. One was leaving the room, looking distraught. The other was laughing meanly, or perhaps sneering? Or both? She glanced at Edith Bernstein. “Who are these men?” she asked.
“Oscar, and his son Lawrence,” the woman replied curtly. “Look closer. Anything else you see? Is there anyone else?”
Dulcie peered again at the painting. “No one I can see, but there is a shadow, over here,” she pointed.
“Good, good,” Edith nodded, muttering quietly.
“But I don’t think I understand why you would show me…” she was cut off by the other woman.
“Those were the clothes Oscar was wearing the night he was killed. That’s the window he fell through,” she pointed to the canvas directly behind him. “It appears to be about the time of day that he was killed, at dusk,” Edith barked.
The significance began to dawn on Dulcie. “Xander made this painting,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.
“Of course,” Edith responded.
“And he only paints what he sees,” Dulcie continued.
“Now you’re getting it,” the older woman said.
“So, there must have been another person in the study with Oscar Bernstein. Another person in the house.”
“Exactly,” Edith acknowledged. “It wouldn’t have been Giselle. She never went in Oscar’s study, unless he wasn’t even in the house. She hates the room. Supposedly, Lawrence was the only other person in the house. This seems to show otherwise.” She boomed.
“Yes, it does,” Dulcie said. “But Mrs. Bernstein, I don’t understand why you’re showing this to me, specifically.”
Edith walked across the room. She shot back over her shoulder, “I took the painting from Xander’s study earlier. He was there. He knows I have it. I left this room for a little while. When I came back, this was sitting on the floor propped up against the chair. I think he’s trying to tell us something.” Edith picked up another canvas and turned it around to face Dulcie.
She was now staring at a portrait of herself.