Page 62 of The Hopeless Romantic’s Guide to Enchantment

“It doesn’t look far to walk.” As soon as the stupid remark is out of my mouth, I regret it. Quite apart from any hostile nymphs, hasn’t Stefan just told us we’re not to go wandering beyond the castle gardens?

“I expect we’ll be needing breaks from study,” Gavril says. No more than that. But it’s as if a light goes on inside me, some thing warm and good and inviting.

“Mm. I expect we will.”

* * *

Next day, we get the quick tour of the castle. The other women are sharing a long, high-roofed room. The windows there have coloured glass and the sunlight shining through them illuminates two rows of folding beds, with various possessions either neatly unpacked or messily strewn about, depending on the individual. Is that a violin case? I wonder who plays. We could have live music and dancing.

All through the tour, Belle and her friends keep talking about this and that, even when Stefan is explaining something. He’s too well-trained to reprimand them. However, among our fellow scholars there’s a Frenchwoman, Brigitte, very chic and a few years older than most of us. She eventually speaks up, telling them firmly to hush. David, the Canadian, silently applauds her. Stefan nods thanks to Brigitte, and finally Belle shuts up, though for how long that’ll last, who knows?

I find myself shivering as we head off toward the library. Lovely as the long chamber was, it gave me a strong sense of something not quite right. I wonder what happened in that room, long ago?

“Okay?” murmurs Gavril as we approach the library.

“Mm.” I’m not, really. My thoughts are scaring me just a bit. But I won’t tell him about it now. It helps that he noticed something was wrong.

The library has a collection equal to that of a large university, but with an emphasis on Romanian culture and history. There’s a rare books section at one end, behind glass doors. A librarian, Lidia, runs through various rules that need to be followed: no eating and drinking in here, and no removing anything from the library. Keep noise to a minimum. At the end of the tour, Lidia draws me and Gavril aside and tells us that as we have our own separate study space, we may take books up there provided we first fill in a form for her. Nothing from the rare books section, of course. We smile and say thanks and of course not. I wish I could show her the fragment I already have and ask for her opinion. But it’s too high-risk; nobody wants to talk about what may or may not once have happened here, a series of events as strange as any fairytale.

* * *

It’s a fine day, crisp but sunny, so the village square is full of folk. I’ve come down there to talk to a couple of local women who organise traditional dance performances, whether that’s a community celebration on a special day or entertainment for a group from the castle. Stefan has arranged for them to meet me outside the café. The women – one around my mother’s age, one younger – are at first rather wary, and my Romanian really isn’t up to the job, but Gavril has sacrificed his own study time to come with me, and the ladies warm to him, though I can tell he’s edgy, especially when interested locals start gathering around to listen.

“And our favourite dance for the spring festival,” he translates, “starts with a double circle, men on the outside, women on the inside. We weave in and out like this.”

The older woman, Liana, demonstrates, lifting her hand to grasp that of the other woman, Madalina, passing and returning. “The men go one way, the women the other, until we find our true partner again, and then we vary the move.” She stops in her tracks, looking at Gavril. She adds a few words, raising her brows in question, and he fails to translate.

“What?” I ask.

“Need him,” Liana says in English, pointing. “To show. You and him.”

I’ve never seen anyone look more awkward than my fellow scholar does then. Our audience is growing all the time as people emerge from the café and stop to gawk. I spot Belle and Mandy among them. Gavril’s looking as if he might bolt.

“Please,” I say, and I do that thing, left foot tap, right foot tap, both feet shuffle. After a moment that seems to last forever, he steps forward and takes my hand. Speaks to the women in Romanian. I think what he says is, I am no dancer.

The women break into laughter. It’s plain they’re delighted with the whole awkward situation. It’s also clear to me that we need more than two couples to demonstrate the dance she referred to. But as we move into place, the two women facing each other, Gavril and me copying, other folk come forward to make up the required double circle. Young women pass babies into the care of others. People set down bundles or bags next to the café’s outdoor seating. A couple of brawny-looking men and a group of half-grown boys ensure the two circles are of equal number. I’m impressed. Especially so when Liana sends a small boy into the café and he emerges leading a man holding a fiddle and a woman with an instrument like a mandolin. When we’re all in place, Liana gives them a nod, and they strike up a tune so lively a person simply has to dance.

The steps are easy to pick up, and all the locals seem to know the dance. Nobody cares if an old man is rather slow, or a boy decides to throw in a few extra moves, or someone turns left instead of right. At first Madalina, who’s next to me in the women’s circle, gives instructions as we go, but she soon sees I don’t need them. As for Gavril, I lose track of him quite quickly, which is a worry, because I know he’ll be way out of his comfort zone. But when the pattern of the dance brings us face-to-face again, his smile says a whole lot more than I’m surviving. And the way he holds my hand as we turn wakes up something deep inside me. As the steps of the dance draw us apart again, I catch the sweetest look on his face, and wonder if I’m blushing.

In return, I show the locals a Scottish country dance, explaining that my ancestors come from there, which they do, on my father’s side. Belle and Mandy are still watching, though they’ve moved to the terrace outside the café and are sitting there drinking what look like cocktails and eating tiny cakes. I feel as if I’m being sized up, and it’s uncomfortable. But I go ahead and teach the basic steps, then call for eight volunteers to make up a set. The musicians soon pick up the beat and the pattern of the dance, and they improvise an accompaniment. The crowd claps along, keeping time. When we’re finished, there’s riotous applause. Gavril and I are swept up to the café and offered free drinks and cakes. People have lots of questions for me. Gavril is kept busy translating. I’m not going to get any of the information I really want now. I’ll need to see Liana again, without an audience.

* * *

The day after that, there are guests to lunch at the castle, academic guests, and afterwards half of us get up and in turn give a fifteen-minute talk about our research topic. I acquit myself well enough, I think, though I have dance music going through my head the whole time. Once or twice, I catch Gavril’s eye and he gives a nod or a little smile. I bet he’s shuffling his feet in encouragement. I wonder how he’ll manage his own presentation, but once up there he sounds both expert and very much invested in his work. I learn later that one of the distinguished academics in the audience was his supervisor at the university in Braşov. I still haven’t asked him about his mother’s family. We may have become friends, but we’re not ready for that conversation.

Belle’s presentation surprises me. She’s really engaged with her topic, which relates to biodiversity, and in particular bioluminescent fungi, which are apparently found in this forest. I’d have thought she’d be the last person to be passionate about conservation. Clearly, I’ve misjudged the woman. Mind you, her manners haven’t improved.

After the presentations, all I want is to collapse on my bed and switch off. Another part, more insistent, is telling me, No time to spare. You’re not here for long. Do what you need to do. Be brave! Find the magic! Across the reception area, I see Gavril engaged in deep conversation with his former supervisor and a couple of other learned-looking people who were in our audience.

“First, coffee,” I mumble to my annoying inner voice. I go back to our shared study area and make a pot. Enough for two, just in case. Then I go via Gavril’s room out to the balcony. What with the festive lunch and the presentations, it’s late in the day. “Nearly moonrise,” I murmur, not quite sure if I’m talking to myself or the gargoyles. It may be close to summer, but the evenings get cold. I look down over the forest, wishing Gavril would come back, wondering how he’d actually feel about breaking sensible rules. Seems like he’s a bit of a golden boy in the academic world.

I hear a plink! like a pebble dropping. When I turn my head, something’s changed. This is the exact spot where we stood yesterday, with all the gargoyles looking at us. Now, every strange head – horned, hatted, snake-haired, bulging-eyed, long-toothed – is turned toward the place where the first trace of moonlight is touching the edge of the forest. But…

I jump, as someone right behind me says something in Romanian that my instincts tell me is equivalent to Holy crap! I turn, and there he is, with a mug of coffee in his hands.

“Sorry, did I startle you?”

I grimace. “Not as much as they did.” I jerk my head toward the gargoyles, who keep their stony gaze on the forest. “Unless I’m imagining things.”