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Chapter 14 – The Hunter's Lair
"This way." Mr Campbell had finished his post dinner brandy and bid Charlie to follow him. He led her down the hallway and into an intersecting corridor she hadn't been through before. He ensured that she followed him closely, turning his head every few seconds.
Charlie took in this new part of the house, committing a mental floor plan to memory – this corridor intersected with the one servicing her bedroom, classroom and the rumpus room. There was only one door left in "her" hallway that she hadn't yet seen behind. This new corridor though, was just as lushly decorated with an intricately decorated Persian rug running the length of the hall. Lighting was provided by a number of tasteful art deco wall sconces.
Four portraits were hung along the walls; one clearly of Mr Campbell himself at a younger age, another of an elderly gentleman who bore a striking resemblance to Mr Campbell, one of an older woman of an age with the gentleman and the final portrait of a young lady in her prime. It was the final picture that caught Charlie's attention because despite the age difference and the vagaries of canvas it was clear that this was a painting of Charlie's late mother.
She stopped dumb founded in the middle of the hallway, staring at the painting. She looked younger than in any of the photos her Dad kept of her. Her Mother looked radiant and beautiful, glowing in a gentle light and dressed in the most elegant lavender dress. Mr Campbell stopped and joined Charlie at her side.
"Yes, I told you I knew your mother once. She was a beautiful creature – the most precious thing in the world." He stared wistfully at the painting as if recalling memories of youth and beauty, of a happier time long forgotten.
Charlie asked out loud: "What happened – why is this here?" Internally her curiosity peaked.
"She and I were to be together, we were meant to be together… but it didn't work out that way." He sighed reflectively but then suddenly turned away from the painting: "Never mind, it's all in the past, come along Charlotte!"
He resumed walking down the corridor, motioning that Charlie should quickly follow. Perplexed by this new mystery she dragged herself away from the painting, a new piece of the puzzle to be considered carefully. Just who was Mr Campbell, was he just my father's friend or something more? What did he mean about my Mother – that they were meant to be together?
It was with these questions hurtling through her mind that Mr Campbell opened the door to reveal his private sanctum. Distracted from the new mystery she looked upon the room in the house where Mr Campbell clearly spent his leisure time. Whereas every other room in the house was immaculately spotless, here was an organised chaos. Cluttered, thought Charlie, not messy, cluttered.
The dark, carpeted room was brightly lit from two sources. One, a classic chandelier provided soft ambient lighting in the room, while a smaller high intensity work light hung from an adjustable cord descending from the roof above a bench. A large window stood in the wall furthest away from the bench; when open, natural light would dispel all the shadowy corners of the room, however at present the heavy curtains covering the window were drawn.
The work bench was covered in material scraps; she noticed some of the scarlet material that had made her sailor suit sitting together with off cuts from the yellow pinafore she wore at the moment and the pink striped material from the dress she had been forced into on her first night here. Pieces of discarded blue gingham were heaped in with the rest; she obviously hadn't seen that one yet. An industrial sewing machine and a serger sat on the bench as well. Next to the bench sat a series of sewing chests, the type that opened up to reveal a series of staggered compartments containing various sewing supplies and equipment.
A double built-in cupboard stood behind the bench; one door partly open revealing bolts of un-used material in yellows, pinks, reds, blues – all the colours of the rainbow were represented. Some bolts sported delicate patterns; others were made of silk or cotton. Smaller rolls of lace poked out between the numerous bolts while manikins stood arrayed around the workspace. All of them were stripped bare and Charlie noted that each of them closely matched her own size and body type.
On the opposite side of the room adjacent to the window, stood an aging and well loved Chesterfield single seater with a mahogany occasional piece next to it. Upon the small table stood a glass full of brandy, a cigar box and a clean ashtray. The chesterfield faced a stereo system, not a new one, rather a twenty-year-old hi-fi set with a turntable and four speakers. Two stacks of speakers surrounded either side of the cabinet housing the turntable and amplifier. Rows of vinyl records were packed into the cabinet below the turntable.
Apart from the cupboard containing the bolts of material, a number of other freestanding wardrobes lined the walls containing, Charlie guessed, other hideous garments similar to the one in which she was currently dressed. Mr Campbell closed the door behind Charlie and brushed passed her to sink down into his seat.
Charlie began to pose a question: "Mr Campbell, My mother…"
"Is not a topic of conversation at the moment." He interrupted before she could give voice to her unanswered questions. "Is that understood?"
"Yes sir."
"Now Charlotte, do you know how to put on a record?" He quickly changed the topic away from Charlie's mother.
"Umm, I guess so, Dad's got an old turntable that he uses sometimes. I've seen how he does it although I've never tried it myself."
"Well come over here and I'll show you." He pulled himself out of the chesterfield and walked to the stereo. "First you have to turn on the amplifier, this button here. Now we take out our record." He lifted up an album from the bottom of the cabinet. Charlie looked at the front cover depicting a frizzy haired man dressed in 1970's brown with a thick woollen scarf thrown over his shoulder. Any fan of 70's folk music or popular culture would have recognised a young Bob Dylan; however Charlotte's knowledge of popular music was more focussed on The Offspring and Limp Bizkit than rock-survivors like Dylan.
"Now you have to be careful when handling vinyl, it scratches easily, so only hold the record on the outside like this. The side you want to play goes face up, not face down like the CDs you probably listen to. We place it on the turntable like this. Are you following me?"
"Yes." She stood next to him, fixed on listening to his instruction. Like everything else she'd witnessed him doing, he was a methodical perfectionist. She thought for a moment as he showed her how to gently unlock the turntable's arm and place the needle on the outside track.
Mr Campbell was an ongoing mystery to her. She could never have called him a kind man, but she would have to say that he was passionate. The zeal he expressed toward his work was nothing short of fanatical. The finely crafted, if completely sissy, dress she was wearing, indicated that this dedicated focus dominated his private life as well. He was a collection of paradoxes. He seemed to hold Charlie in high regard; even when he lost his temper he remained firm but polite. He apparently cared for her company given that he seemingly enjoyed the strange dinners they shared. And now she noticed that together in this room he had become more animated, less standoffish and warmer toward her.
Currently he was explaining why he preferred vinyl to CD's or even to the new MP3 format, which he sneeringly rejected. Apparently the quality of the analogue recording process used in vinyl reproduced particular frequencies better… Charlie returned to her thoughts as he continued talking.
She compared all these traits against the man who was keeping her in this apartment against her will and had subjected her to the most abject humiliation and intolerable pain. How could she reconcile these two facets of the same man? It was impossible; she was simply unable to understand him. If he cared for her so much, as he proclaimed, then why did he hurt her like he did? If he was so concerned for her welfare why was he staging this continuing mental warfare, trying to change her into something that she would never be?
Now he was showing her how to detect where one track started and another finished. He lowered the arm down onto the record and as a folksy Dylan ballad began he returned to his chair indicating that Charlotte should make herself comfortable.
Finding a space on the carpet between the stereo and his chair she knelt down and spread her awkward skirts about her. As she was settling in on the floor waiting for whatever was to come next, a knock at the door announced the arrival of the maid. She walked into the room dressed in her traditional English maid outfit bearing a box. She offered the box and a handwritten note to Mr Campbell who placed both on top of the cigar box and ashtray next to him. He looked toward his quickly depleting brandy; "Madeline, can you please show Charlotte where the brandy is kept and have her return with the decanter and a new glass please, and by the way, thankyou for delivering this." At the mention of brandy Charlie's heart skipped a beat…
"A pleasure Master Campbell, I'll be off now if there's nothing else you need tonight?"
"No thankyou Madeline, Charlotte can look after all my needs, just bring her back after she's fetched the brandy."
"Yes sir. Good night." The maid looked toward Charlie as the girl gathered her skirts up and followed the maid from the room – her heart beating at a million miles a second at the prospect of possibly finding the kitchen.
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