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“They deserved everything they got,” Sandra fumed. “Plus, my uncle’s cottage got the thorough cleaning it needed. We owed it to him, all that we’ve used it this year.”
“That’s true, and it’s not going to do us any good to get in a snit about the wager,” Laney said. “Besides, we’re better cooks than the guys. I’m not sure I could take Jason’s weird scrambled eggs again.”
“They aren’t that bad,” Sandra defended him.
“They are, too,” Elise said, grabbing a huge plate of steamy bacon and eggs. Pushing her back against the swinging kitchen door, she moved into the dining room where the three men were sitting at the old dining table waiting like three lordly sovereigns. Laney followed with orange juice, and Sandra with French toast.
“This is pretty special food considering that it’s a camping trip,” Laney reminded them as she poured the juice in crystal goblets.
“Not much of a camping trip at all,” Jason retorted with a hearty laugh, lifting his goblet as though he were drinking vintage wine.
After having served the men their meal, the three women stood back and waited for some sign from them to proceed.
“My, how Old World of you to wait for permission,” Erik noted smugly. “Would you like to join us now?”
Laney nodded with a mocking sneer, and the three took their seats at the table.
“Should make you eat in the kitchen,” Matthew commented drolly.
“Or maybe lap their meal from our hands,” Jason gibed.
Sandra’s eyes narrowed as she peered down the table at her fiancée.
“Sorry, sweetie,” he said; though he wasn’t sorry at all. He would remember having scrubbed the kitchen floor in Martha’s Vineyard while the three women had gloated over him. Erik could not forget wearing that silly apron as he cooked Laney’s elaborate mushroom crepes; and no one, especially Matthew, could ignore the memory of the smartly dressed banker, getting his fresh-pressed Dockers grass-stained mowing the cottage lawn—not to mention the stains on his hands after pulling dandelions from the flowerbeds.
They were good sports, but they had memories like elephants. Those unforgettable incidents were now so fresh in their minds it seemed as though they’d happened just days ago. Yet, even with those memories fueling the payment of this wager, their game felt more real, less the joke and more like something darkly driven—inspired by their surroundings.
After breakfast, the three couples explored the house, taking similar paths through the main floor and upstairs bedrooms where the men had explored the night before. By daylight, the curious devices, notable throughout the otherwise normal mansion, stood out more acutely.
“What the hell are all these O-rings for?” Laney pondered aloud while running her hand over the surface of one great mahogany bedpost. She stared into the high center of the burgundy velvet canopy, seeing a fancy array of thick silken ropes dangling like an ornament. “And those ropes?”
“Kinky sex,” Jason stated flatly. “I don’t think we can escape that conclusion.”
“Really,” Sandra murmured thoughtfully. “Maybe you should tie me up,” she snickered.
“You’ll never do that to me,” Laney said waltzing away.
“No,” Erik replied, “you’d never be that vulnerable.”
“Is that a shot?” she whipped around to confront him.
“No, a truth, my sweet.” The naturally dark glimmer of his eyes gleamed even more poignantly in the grey dimness of the cloud-shrouded day. Rain beat against the roof outside, sometimes pelting the windows as though the sky were throwing knives to break the surface.
A wild erotic chill raced to the top of Laney’s spine, tickling the hairs at the base of her neck before darting to the top of her head. She shook off the feeling and turned away from her husband.
“I find this mesmerizing,” the diminutive Elise clung to Matthew’s arm, while he massaged her lightly across her back—a flirtatious sort of move that only enhanced the hypnotic spell. Matthew’s caustic eyes seemed to bite more intensely as the couples moved from room to room.
“So, have we picked out berths? Or are you ladies still too scared of mice to bed down up here?”
“It’s okay with me,” Sandra said. “I haven’t seen any rats, yet. The beds look surprisingly fresh—almost as though they were waiting for us.”
“It’s a bit curious,” Erik suggested. “I think some explanation from Mr. Archibald Devane would be in order.”
“And why’s that?” Laney asked. “I’m not sure I like that man—after the way he frightened Elise.”
“Maybe he frightened you,” Erik said pointedly. “Fact is, I have the feeling the man is not telling us the entire truth.”
“And why should he tell us the truth,” his wife shot right back. “After all, we’re trespassers. Maybe the place is still used more than he let on. Even if it is, though, it’s really none of our business.”
