The Choice ( a serial work of fiction) Part 5

I turned slowly from the window , leaning against the sill to think. My situation was this , I was somewhere , by myself, in the dark, in a house that I did not know, without a phone. I wandered into the kitchen and found several boxes and tins of tea, Sleepytime, Rose, Apricot Jasmine, Rose hip. I pulled down the green box of Sleepytime, washed out , then filled the kettle on the stove with water. Searching the cabinets, I found some mugs , washed one of those as well and set it on the stove. My treasure hunt turned up some Mocha Milan cookies , which I took with me ,as I tried to decide what I should do next. I walked slowly from the kitchen back into the living room, and from there into the dining room.

I found the switch by the entryway , for where I was standing , there was only an arch. Two white built in cabinets housed some of the most beautiful china that I had ever seen. Munching a cookie, I walked to the one on the right. I pulled open the door and picked up a small dessert plate. It was almost seashell shaped with very tiny pink roses on it. It was edged in gold, some of which went into the design itself. It was not possible to guess its age for the dish was well kept and showed neither cracks nor crazing. Slowly, I turned it in my hand- on the back was written Limoges France in a circle - the center of which has the monogram LR&L. I put it back and took a better look at the dining set- a cherry mahogany table , oblong with Queen Anne scrolling. surrounded by eight chairs with burgandy, navy, ivory and olive padded seats. The phrase "the better to eat YOU " popped into my head and I shuddered . The screaming whistle of the tea kettle sounded from the kitchen. I walked through the swinging door at the other end of the room and back to the land of poultry decorated reality. The kitchen seemed cozy after the formality of the dining room.

Grasping the mug of tea and the cookies, I went in search of the tv. Cable or no, normal sound was a must right now. I plopped into a leather recliner , placing both cookies and tea on a nearby table. I watched as the citizens of Paris waved their little flags for the arrival of Cardinal Richeleau and clapped. I had always loved Dumas and to see Charlton Heston, middle aged but fit in such a role, warmed me to the place in which I found myself. A good omen. My eyes closed as Oliver Reed told Micheal York a story about love. The last thing that I heard as I nodded off was " I think that she is dead. Don't you? I should hope that she is dead."