Keep knocking

Growing impatient, Alan continued yanking on the doorbell rope. After almost two minutes, he heard hurried footsteps and the door opened a crack, revealing the face of a short and surprisingly attractive woman in her late 30s. She seemed a little out of breath and her cheeks were flushed and pink. She wore a frilly white maid's bonnet on her head. It was slightly askew, and a few loose curls of chestnut-brown hair fell across her face. "Yes? Can I help you?" she asked, frowning slightly.

Straightening himself up, Alan cleared his throat: "Weller´s the name, Alan Weller. I´m from Massingbird, Massingbird & Levine, the real-estate company. I´m going to be staying here until the company finds someone willing to buy the house."

Immediately the woman's frown turned into a radiant smile, like the sun appearing from behind dark clouds. "Aw, so you´re the new master! C´mon in, c´mon in!" She opened the door wide, ushering Alan in with a little curtsy. "Just leave your bags outside, I´ll get the boy to carry them in. Just make yourself at home, I´m sure it´s been a long journey all the way from England! Here, I´ll take your hat..."

Slightly overwhelmed by the sudden display of hospitality, Alan stepped into the entrance hall. He gasped, the hall seemed even bigger on the inside. A wide staircase lead up to the second floor. Marble and polished wood gleamed in the half-light. The front door was framed by an elaborate set of stained glass windows, bathing the hall in strange, swirling patterns of coloured light, which were the only source of illumination, giving it an otherworldly feeling. Hanging above the staircase was a massive painting. It showed the portrait of a man standing in front of what looked like the ruins of some ancient Hellenic temple or basilica. His hair was long and wild, his face almost hidden by an impressive moustache and he had the most intense gaze Alan had ever seen. The eyes seemed to stare straight at him like two gimlets.

"Handsome, isn´t he?" asked the maid, shaking Alan out of his intimidated reverie, "That´s old Harman Kairelis. He had this house built way back when. It´s such a good painting, don´t you think? It´s a Pickman, you know. Those are rare these days..."

"Oh, erm, yes. I suppose it is quite striking. Very unique." said Alan, "Now, before I get too comfortable, I need to check the condition of the house. Would you mind showing me around Miss...?" he trailed off awkwardly.

"Reed. Lucille Reed is my name, though you can just call me Lucy. I´m the maid here, though I guess you could tell by the clothes." she gave another little curtsy. "Follow me then, I´ll give you the tour."

As Lucy lead him through the dining hall and kitchens, smoking room, game room, lounge, music room scullery and downstairs bathroom before heading up the central stairwell past Harman Kairelis' stiletto-sharp stare, Alan took a closer look at his guide. She was shorter than him by about a head and she filled her black uniform with the white apron fairly well. Alan swallowed hard. Though the uniform was itself fairly demure, covering her from her neck to her ankles in rustling folds of dark fabric, it seemed rather...tight around her chest and hips. It was pulled taut across her body, framing the voluptuous body underneath, accentuating its outlines and gentle curves. As she walked up the steps, still burbling cheerfully about this piece of furniture and that picture on the wall, he couldn´t help but sneak a few furtive glances at her plump, supple buttocks shifting under the dress with each step.

On the second floor, Lucy showed him the guest rooms, bathrooms and the nursery, which was full of unused old furniture covered in grey cloth. Each room was clean and well-furnished,though there was something about the proportions of the rooms they entered, that made the young Englishman strangely uneasy. Some quirk of construction, a geometrical idiosyncracy found in the angles of the corners, the ratio of walls to floor or patterns in the tasteful wallpaper that was unlike anything he´d ever seen in the many houses he had appraised in his career thus far. He put it out of his mind, it was just the jetlag, the unfamiliar New England sunlight and the experience of travelling abroad for the first time in his life. Or maybe the yanks just had funny tastes...

Tearing his eyes from his cheerful guide's enticing posterior once more, Alan noticed that there was a locked door that Lucy simply brushed past without comment and asked her what was behind it. Lucy's face grew sombre for a moment: "That´s the Margravine Bedroom. It used to be Lady Wahl's room... We locked it off after her sad passing. It´s all in perfect condition, I assure you, there´s no need to go in there..." Turning away from the door, she lead Alan to the next room. "And here´s the Master Bedroom, Master" Lucy declared, grinning cheekily at her own abysmal joke, all smiles again, "I assume this is where you´ll be wanting to stay, Sir?"

The bedroom was large, with a high ceiling. A large portion of it was taken up by a massive, silk-draped four-poster bed, that looked big enough for about five people. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall windows overlooking the gardens. Suddenly, Alan felt rather tired. Knowing that there were no problems with the house had put him at ease and the vicious transatlantic jetlag had begun to set in. Noticing this, Lucy put a hand on his shoulder. "How about a rest Mr. Weller? I´ll run you a bath and you can maybe have a little nap until supper. I´ll show you the rest of the house tomorrow, how does that sound?"

Alan sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. There was still the cellars and the tower remaining, not to mention the extensive grounds outside, but he didn´t feel quite up to it. He could feel Lucy's presence at his side. Unbidden, his brain produced the fantasy of sinking his face between her soft breasts, seeking comfort in her warm cleavage. He shook his head, blimey he was tired! Perhaps a bath and a rest were just what he needed...