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Post by Jenny on Oct 3, 2008 12:28:05 GMT -5
Jerome nodded, and kissed her on the cheek softly before going to find Emma and leaving her alone. She couldn't remember feeling so anxious in such a short amount of time of being alone, but she gripped the blanket she had wrapped around herself so tightly her fingers started to hurt. Jerome's study was one of the smallest rooms in the penthouse, , and she started to feel extremely claustrophobic inside it, but dreaded opening the door for fear of what could be outside it. She forced herself to take a sip of her chamomile tea in the hopes of calming herself down, which seemed to have no effect whatsoever.
It was while she was feeling so lonely and helpless that the doorbell rang, and Jerome's phone also buzzed. She froze--she didn't intend to answer her husband's phone, and she didn't inted to answer the door, but then they both rang again, and Jerome hadn't answered[.i] them, and what if someone had caught him, and Emma, and was coming for her, and that was why no-one had answered the door, and if that was the case--
Suddenly, the door opened, and she heard her husband's voice, and then Carmelita's. Thank God.
It was only half past five, so evidently Carmelita had found someone to cover her evening shift at the restaurant, and dragged Nero away from work slightly too early as well. They weren't expecting Andrew until at least six, and the Widershins until seven, and Cora whenever she decided to arrive. Feeling suddenly a little safer, she stood and opened the door, and just as she stepped out into the hallway her adopted daughter met her there.
'What is it?' she asked. 'Jerome said it would be best if you told me what had happened, and Nero already knows, but he wouldn't say. Are you ill?'
Carmelita was so oblivious to the situation that it brought tears to Esmé's eyes again just as her husband and daughter arrived back, Emma holding her books with Jerome's hand around her shoulder. 'No, Carmy,' Esmé answered. 'I'm not ill.'
Carmelita let out a sigh of relief. 'What, then?'
'I'm afraid it worse than that,' she said, and rubbed at her eyes to clear them of tears. 'It's what we always hoped wouldn't happen, Carmy.' she pasued, and swallowed, glancing at her daughter. 'Olaf has come back.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 3, 2008 13:21:22 GMT -5
Carmelita’s azure orbs widened, and her red lipticked mouth fell open in horror. “Olaf?” she exclaimed. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as I am of what is in and what is out,” Esmé replied, and her family could tell by her tone of voice that she was in no way trying to be comical.
“When did this— how long have you known?”
“Since this morning. He posed as one of my potential clients, and was there waiting for me when I arrived for work.”
“What did he say?” Carmelita asked. “What does he want?”
“What he’s always wanted,” Esmé said. “To gain access to a vast fortune, and become one of the wealthiest people in the world.”
“But you don’t have a fortune.”
“No. But Andrew Squalor does.”
“You told him about Andrew?” Carmelita asked.
“On a whim, yes,” Esmé admitted. “But that was never my intention, Carmelita. I was scared, and Olaf kept pressing me for information. He already knows about Emma, and that you work at Café Salmonella, and…” Esmé trailed off, feeling her eyes fill with tears as her shoulders shook. Jerome let go of Emma and stepped forward, wrapping his arms tightly around his wife.
“Why don’t I take you back over to the couch so you can lie down,” Jerome offered, and Esmé nodded tearfully.
She was now shaking as much as she had been back in Nero’s office, and Jerome was anticipating another anxiety attack. These attacks usually lasted up to thirty minutes at best, and always left Esmé feeling utterly exhausted.
“Have you drunk any of your tea, darling?” Jerome asked as he helped her to lie down on the couch.
“A little,” Esmé replied. “But it didn’t help.”
Jerome frowned, but decided that it would be best not to argue with her over such a trivial matter. “Well, maybe all you need is a little nap,” he said, and kissed her forehead.
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Carmelita asked. She wheeled the double carriage containing her and Nero’s one-year-old twins into the study, followed by her husband and sister.
“You and Emma can keep your mother company while I go keep an eye on the front door,” Jerome said. “I want to be there when the Widdershins arrive.”
“You invited them over?” Carmelita asked, her voice laced with disgust. She was still sore about the argument that she'd had with Colette the night before, and was in no mood to associate with the contortionist so soon afterward.
“I received a telephone call from Fernald earlier,” Esmé explained. “It seems that he and Colette ran into Olaf downtown earlier. And to complicate matters even further, Faust was with them.”
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Post by Jenny on Oct 3, 2008 13:59:04 GMT -5
Carmelita frowned even deeper, but felt a little less angry with the contortionist than she had beforehand. 'I shouldn't imagine Olaf intends to bother them much,' she said. 'After all, they made it very clear to me last night they hadn't any fortune to steal. In no uncertain terms.'
'Carmy,' her adoptive mother said in an almost snappish tone, and Emma jumped at her sudden change. 'You really must try to forgive Colette--she is in the same position we are now, especially concerning Faust. She's going to be just as worried as I am.'
As she said this, she pulled Emma closer to stand next to her, as if to protect her.
'But Faust and Olaf aren't related, Esmé,' Carmelita returned. 'Unless of course that's another thing Olaf failed to mention.'
Esmé flinched, and purposefully didn't bring Kit to mind. 'Perhaps,' she replied at length. 'But if anything, Emma is safer than Faust. Olaf values Emma because she's related to him, and he couldn't care less what happens to Faust. And you're all too aware of what that might mean, Carmelita.'
She nodded, and sat down next to her mother. 'What did he ask?' she said. 'What did he want of you?'
'He wanted to check if I was going to assist him or not,' Esmé answered. 'And then told me that he knew about you and where you worked, and where Emma went to school, and he had photographs of you both. Forty-eight hours, he said. Forty-eight hours to make him incredibly wealthy through Andrew, or he might go after Emma.'
Emma said nothing all the time, even though Carmy expected her to. She was sullen and tired-looking, and just looked down at her knees all the time. It made her older sister worry.
'Wouldn't it be easier to just theoretically wire him Jerome's trust fund?' Carmelita asked, brow furrowing. 'I know Andrew has all the old money from the family, but Jerome's got a billion in that account, so--'
'I lied,' Esmé answered quickly. 'I told him the only money we had was what I earned.'
'And he believed you?'
'I hope so,' she answered, taking another few sips of her tea. 'But I'm more frightened for Andrew, and to some extent for Cora. She's just an old woman, she lives on her own. What would she do if--'
'--It won't happen,' Carmelita told her comfortingly.
'But that's why I want her to stay here,' Esmé said. 'At least until the forty-eight hours is up, and a bit longer. I don't want her hurt.'
~
The Widdershins were no less impressed by the grandeur of the 667 lobby as they were the first time, but they could not stop to appreciate it. They were forced to run to the elevator as a handsome, dark haired man held it open for them.
'Which floor are you going to?' he asked, fingers hovering over th buttons, as the three Widdershins' climbed into the elevator. An elderly woman--who seemed to have retained a lot of her grace--stood behind him in shadow, with a small bag, and another at her feet which presumably belonged to the man in front of her.
'The top,' Colette answered. 'The penthouse.'
The man looked a little shocked, and then smiled. 'So are we,' he said, and the doors slid closed. 'Are you friends of my brother's?'
The other family looked a little awkward for a second, until Andrew chuckled, and slapped himself on the forehead.
'How stupid of me,' he laughed. 'I haven't introduced myself.' He held out a hand. 'I'm Andrew Squalor, Jerome's brother. And this is Cora, our mother.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 3, 2008 14:51:41 GMT -5
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Fernald said, and stopped himself before he could hold out one of his hooks. “I’m Fernald Widdershins. And this is my wife, Colette, and our daughter, Faust.” The only reason he hadn’t felt awkward about it back at the Not So Supermarket when meeting the Squalors was because he knew Esmé. But these people— although related to her husband —might not be familiar with her circle of acquaintances, former or not. They were obviously quite wealthy, judging by their attire and authentic leather luggage. Faust was reaching out to feel what she supposed must be fur making up the elderly woman’s coat, when Fernald held out his hand to stop her. Unfortunately, he revealed one of his hooked hands in the process, and was unable to escape the astonished looks of both the man and his mother. Thankfully, the elevator stopped before either of them could comment on Fernald’s hands, or ask to hear the story of how he had gotten them. He was relieved when the doors finally slid open and the five of them stepped out, each carrying their respective luggage. As they stepped up to the door of the penthouse, Colette kept a firm hold on her daughter’s hand in the hope that Faust would not make another grab for the woman’s fur coat. “I only wanted to touch it,” Faust whispered, “to see if it was really real.” Cora glanced over her shoulder at the small, blonde-haired child, and gave her a friendly smile. Embarrassed, Faust immediately lowered her head and took a step closer to her mother. Andrew took notice of the awkwardness building between him, his mother, and the three strangers, and attempted to make conversation as he rang the doorbell. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen my brother,” he explained. “The same goes for my sister-in-law and my two nieces. It’ll be nice seeing them all again.” *** Jerome and Nero were sitting together in a pair of chairs in the hallway when they heard the doorbell ring. Jerome leapt up and rushed across the room to answer the door. “My,” Nero chuckled, “but I do believe that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen you run, Jerome.” Jerome ignored the somewhat rude words of his son-in-law, and instead concentrated on undoing the latch on the door. He pulled it open and smiled at the sight of his mother, brother, and the Widdershins family standing out in the hallway. “Why, hello,” Jerome exclaimed. “I’m glad to see that you’ve all arrived safely, and together, no less.” Andrew threw his arms around his brother, and immediately took a step back. “Jerome,” he said, “is there something… different about you?” Of course, Jerome knew exactly what the answer to this was, but perhaps he could avoid it. His weight had become such a sensitive subject over the past year, and whenever anyone mentioned anything concerning it, it was almost always enough to drive him to tears. He would really rather not get into it now, in front of his family and the Widdershins, especially when there were more important matters that needed to be discussed. “Why don’t you come in,” he suggested, “and I’ll take you all back to the study? Esmé is there with Carmelita, Emma, and the twins.” “Esmé couldn’t be bothered to sit and wait with you?” Cora asked, as she and the others stepped into the penthouse. “It’s a complicated matter, Mother,” Jerome said as he helped her off with her mink coat and hung it on the rack by the door. “I thought it would be best to wait until we were all together before we discussed it.” “That is not the point, Jerome,” Cora replied sternly. “The point is Esmé should be here with you. It’s very rude of her to hide herself away in another room when she’s expecting company. Besides, what kind of example is she setting for Emma?”
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Post by Jenny on Oct 3, 2008 15:54:12 GMT -5
'Esmé's extremely upset, mother,' Jerome answered, attemting to remain patient with his elderly mother, even though he couldn't bear to hear his wife talked about in such a way. 'She's exhausted and worried out of her mind, and Carmelita and Emma have decided to stay with her to attempt to make her feel a little better about the situation.'
'I'm still not sure I see what she has to be so upset about,' Cora muttered.
Fernald could see Jerome's face, which was a picture of anger, but it was Andrew's that surprised him most. He had taken an instant shine to the younger version of Jerome they had met in the elevator, and did not expect his face to have darkened so considerably over his mother's comments.
'Anyway,' Jerome managed, attempting a smile and to keep his voice at its usual placidity. 'I'll be making something for us to eat soon, although I doubt Esmé will be in the mood for dinner somehow.' His mother opened her mouth, but he cut her off. 'Although I do suspect that she will make an appearance at some point, if she isn't too tired.'
'I should hope so,' Cora added under her breath, and was eventually escorted into another room by Andrew, who muttered at her half-angrily all the way.
The Widdershins' and Nero were left, and it was eventually Faust knocking over an umbrella stand that broke the silence. Jerome and Fernald laughed, but Colette frowned and looked about to chide her daughter for her clumsiness, but again Jerome stepped in.
'Don't worry,' he said before Faust could apologize. 'Come and sit down wherever you like, and don't worry about knocking anything over. It's the least of our worries, after all.'
Just as the Widdershins' finally sat and attempted to look comfortable--even if they weren't--and Jerome himself was about to begin making somethng for dinner even his wife might be able to manage, Esmé and her daughters appeared in the doorway.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 3, 2008 16:20:10 GMT -5
“Hello,” Esmé said softly. “When you didn’t come back, I got worried and thought I’d come to make sure everything was alright.”
“Everything is just fine, darling,” Jerome said, and once more ran across the room, this time to greet his wife and stepdaughter. “I was just about to head into the kitchen to make something for us all to eat. Where’re Carmelita and the twins?”
“She’s putting Kit and Monty down for a nap in one of the spare rooms,” Esmé explained. “Have your mother and brother arrived yet?”
“Yes. She and Andrew are in one of the parlors, I believe.”
“So they’re safe? They’re unharmed?”
“Yes, darling,” Jerome assured his wife.
Emma looked across the room, where she spotted Faust standing in between her parents. Emma would have liked to approach the younger girl, but her disagreeable mother made the teenager feel somewhat apprehensive. Luckily, however, Faust noticed Emma, and dashed down the hallway to greet her.
Before Emma could stop her, Faust threw herself into the older girl’s arms as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. “Hi, Emma,” Faust exclaimed. “I missed you!”
“Hi, Faust,” Emma replied, a little surprised at the burst of affection from the girl she had only known since the night before. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Emma,” Jerome said, “why don’t you take Faust and go see if your grandmother and uncle would like some tea?”
“But I’m not allowed to use the stove,” Emma pointed out. “How will I be expected to heat up the water?”
“The kettle I used to heat the water for your mother’s tea should still be plenty hot. All you have to do is pour it into some mugs.”
“Alright.” Taking Faust by the hand, Emma led her down the hallway in the direction of the parlor, leaving Esmé, Jerome, and Nero alone with Colette and Fernald.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 3, 2008 16:51:58 GMT -5
'Are you related to that man I met today?' was Faust's first insenstitive question to the older girl as they made their way down into the parlour. Emma looked a little shocked at the bluntness, and then frowned.
'Unfortunately, yes,' she answered. 'But I don't know much about him.'
'Is he your father, instead of Jerome?'
It stung Emma again to hear that, but she forced herself not to rise to the bait Faust was unknowingly offering her. 'Yes,' she answered. 'Genetically, although--'
'What does genetically mean?' Faust interrupted.
Emma let out a loud sigh. 'Never mind. Jerome is my step father and that man you met today is my actual father. The one related to me, although I've never met him. Clear?'
'Why have you never met him?'
Emma gritted her teeth. 'I don't know,' she hissed. 'Perhaps because he's a psychopath.'
'What's a psychopath?' Faust asked, which was the final thing to push Emma's anger over the level she was able to control.
'Do you ever stop asking questions?' she asked loudly, and Faust immediately blushed and looked down at her scuffed black boots. 'I don't know anymore than you do.'
'Sorry,' the younger girl muttered, and followed Emma into the parlour--the third they had passed--to come face to face with the elderly woman and handsome man she had met first in the elevator.
'Emma!' Andrew cried, and stood to give his niece an affectionate hug. Cora, however, exhibited no such behaviour, and fixed her granddaughter with an unaffected glare, which Emma shrunk away from confusedly. What had she done?
'Jerome asked if you wanted any tea,' she began awkwardly, and Faust stood behind her feeling extremely out of place.
'That would be great,' answered Andrew, and then turned to his mother, who turned away and faced her back to both her son and the two girls in the doorway.
~
'I was so sorry to hear you had a run in with Olaf today like I did,' Esmé began, taking a seat across from her former associates. 'I hope you're feeling alright.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 3, 2008 18:52:38 GMT -5
“Yes, thank you,” Fernald said, and smiled, much to the distaste of his wife, who had curled herself up in the chair with her husband. “Thankfully, the only threatening thing about Olaf was his presence.”
“What troubles me,” Esmé said, from where she was seated on the loveseat with her husband and son-in-law on either side of her, “is that Olaf now knows about Faust.”
“Hmph,” Colette answered. “I don’t see how that’s any concern of yours, seeing how Faust is hardly your daughter.”
“I’m concerned because she is a child,” replied Esmé matter-of-factly. “And, as we all know, a child is no match for a wicked villain.”
“The Baudelaires would certainly be able to prove that statement wrong,” Colette chuckled bitterly. “They outsmarted you— and us —countless times.”
“Well, the Baudelaires aren’t here, are they? For all we know, they could’ve perished in the fire along with other members of V.F.D.”
“Not to mention Hugo and Kevin.”
Esmé let out a tiny gasp of surprise, while Fernald turned to his wife, who was now looking down at her hands.
“You’re referring to the hunchback,” Esmé said, “and the ambidextrous man.”
“Who else would I be referring to?” Colette snapped, her eyes still concentrating on her hands. “For many years, they were my only friends. I came to think of them as brothers. And now, because of you—” She lifted her head, and everyone could see that there were tears in her eyes. “—because of you, they’re dead.”
Colette’s accusation hit Esmé so sharply in the heart that she barely heard Fernald as he began to gently scolded his wife. Lifting up a pair of long-nailed hands, Esmé covered her mouth and rose slowly up from the loveseat, shaking off the hand of her husband as he tried in vain to pull her back down.
“Esmé,” Jerome said, and shot Colette a furious glare.
With a tiny sob, Esmé turned and hurried down the hallway. Jerome didn’t have to think twice, and raced after her.
That left Nero alone with the Widdershins. Suddenly, for some reason he could not explain, the vice principal began to feel fiercely protective of the woman who had always treated him less than kindly, and who Carmelita had come to love more than she ever had her biological mother.
“Mrs. Widdershins,” Nero said, “that was a most distasteful display if ever I’ve seen one. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
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Post by Jenny on Oct 4, 2008 6:51:08 GMT -5
Colette looked to her husband, as if expecting or wishing for support against the Vice Principal, but Fernald had nothing to say, and simply looke ddown at his hooked hands miserably.
'Who are you to say?' she retorted eventually, annoyed by Fernald's lack of defence for her. 'I don't recall you being around at Caligari Carnival when it all started.'
'I wasn't,' Nero admitted. 'But I was around for the fire at Hotel Denoument, and I know as well as everyone else here that the fire wasn't Esmé's fault. KIt's terribly sad that your friend were killed during it, but I find it hard to see how Esmé can be blamed for something she didn't start.'
'If she'd never tricked us into joining her it never would have happened!' Colette cried. 'It wasn't Olaf that made us join, it was Esmé!'
'And if it had been up to Olaf,' Fernald contibuted eventually. 'You'd have ended up in the lion's pit, Colette, and you know it.'
'If you don't choose the wicked thing, what in the world will you do?' Colette said, making her voice even higher, though Esmé's was lower than hers to start with. 'I suppose that's your philosophy too, Fernald? After all, whatever Esmé says goes with you, it seems. You cat as if she's some sort of saint, when we all know that can't possibly be true! Has everyone else forgotten the things she's done?'
The question--asked in a barely understandable accent, as Colette's French had been creeping in the more and more upset she became--rang in the air for a long moment, and then Fernald found himself with the answer.
'We haven't forgotten,' he said calmly. 'We've forgiven her.' And he held up a hook., as if reminding her of how much he had to forgive.
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 4, 2008 11:55:17 GMT -5
Jerome was terrified that Esmé was liable to barricade herself inside a room and possibly do herself harm following the display in the hallway. He didn’t stop running until he caught up with her just outside the master bedroom, grabbing her by the wrist before she could disappear inside.
“Let me go, Jerome!” Esmé demanded.
“No,” he said gently. “I want you to come into the kitchen and sit with me while I prepare dinner.”
“You can’t expect me to go anywhere else when that woman is still here, can you?”
“No, darling, of course not. But I’m not going to let you out of my sight for even a minute, either.”
“I was just going into the bedroom for some tissues,” Esmé explained. “I wasn’t going to hurt myself.”
Jerome supposed that at least some of what she was telling him had to be true, considering the tears pouring down her pretty face. “You can use my handkerchief,” Jerome said, and reached into his pocket. He withdrew his handkerchief and folded over a corner, before using it to wipe away his wife’s tears.
“The worst part of all is,” Esmé went on, her voice shaking from her sobs, “is that all of what Colette said out there is true. The fact that Hugo and Kevin are now dead is my fault.”
“Esmé, you mustn’t do this,” Jerome said, and wrapped his strong arms around her, just in case she had any ideas about running into the bedroom and doing the unthinkable. “You mustn’t blame yourself for what happened to Colette’s two companions. It’s a terrible thing, but not something that you were responsible for.”
“But I tricked them, Jerome! And all for the sake of revenge! I was jealous because Madame Lulu was receiving all of Olaf’s attention, and I thought if I could get her out of the way, then he would take notice of me again. I just couldn’t bear to carry out the dreadful deed myself.”
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Post by Jenny on Oct 4, 2008 12:25:48 GMT -5
'So what you're actually saying is,' Jerome started carefully. 'You didn't kill Madame Lulu, and you didn't kill Colette's associates either. I fail to see how that makes you guilty of anything, my dear. You didn't start the fire and trap yourself inside it on purpose, did you? It seems to me Colette just doesn't know who to blame.'
'But if I'd never fooled her, and lied about Olaf's troupe, Hugo and Kevin never would have died, Jerome!' his wife sobbed. 'And that's the truth, no matter how you sugarcoat it!'
'But, sweetheart, don't you see?' he asked, and pulled her close for a hug. 'That's like saying the person that drives you to the beach is the one that makes you swim far out and drown,' he felt a little guilty using such horrific comparisons, but it was the only way he could think to make her understand. 'You didn't cause Kevin and Hugo to die, darling. Colette should blame Olaf for the fire.'
'But she doesn't,' Esmé said into his neck. 'She blames me. I don't want her to hate me....'
'She's probably just as worried and stressed as you are,' he comforted. 'And when she stops to think, she probably knows deep down you aren't to blame.'
~
'I hate her, Fernald,' Colette muttered. 'And I hate that bald, fat man, and I hate Carmelita Spats, and I hate the fact that you made me come back here!'
'You should be grateful,' her husband said, still staring ahead as if deep in thought. Nero had left after a few moments to find Carmelita--and to escape the unbearable Mrs Widdershins--and Fernald rather felt like doing the same, but he didn't want to upset his wife or anyone else further. 'It was very kind of Esmé to invite us to stay, and she only did it because she doesn't want anything to happen to Faust. Why can't you see that?'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 4, 2008 14:08:23 GMT -5
“Because, Fernald,” Colette answered, “Esmé Squalor happens to be the same woman who tricked me all those years ago. She is the same woman who insisted that I push my employer to their death. And she is the same woman whose boyfriend started the fire that killed my two closest friends.”
“She’s also the same woman who is now trying to protect you,” Fernald pointed out. “To protect all of us. Give Esmé a chance, and you’ll see that—”
Colette cut him off. “What? How much you prefer her over me?”
“That isn’t what I was going to say at all, Colette, and you know it.”
Colette didn’t respond, and instead chose to stare across the coffee table at the empty loveseat.
“Besides,” continued Fernald, “Esmé loves Jerome. You’ve seen them together. It’s obvious to anyone who looks at them that—”
“So, what you’re saying, Fernald,” Colette said, her eyes glued to the loveseat, “is that if it weren’t for Jerome Squalor, then you’d leave me for Esmé.”
Fernald was growing increasingly tired of his wife’s astonishing allegations against both him and his former accomplice. “Colette, I insist that you stop this at once,” he hissed. “Yes, I loved Esmé once, but that was a long time ago, before I ever met you. And the fact that you would accuse me of harboring feelings for someone I gave up on over twenty years ago makes me realize just how little you trust me. I treated you a lot worse than Esmé ever did, and so I fail to see how you could be so disrespectful towards her and still love me.”
It suddenly dawned on Fernald that this was the very same behavior that Esmé herself had once shown, during her days as Count Olaf’s girlfriend and Fernald’s companion. It was only now, as he sat glaring at his wife, that Fernald realized just how similar Colette and Esmé were.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 4, 2008 15:11:45 GMT -5
'You're nothing like her,' Colette answered quickly, shaking her head and allowing a few blonde curls to fall free from their bun. 'You were always kinder to me than she was, and you never took advantage of how clue less I was like she did.'
You are too stubborn, Colette!' he answered. 'And you're using the fact that I loved her twenty years ago as an excuse to hate her, because you know that she isn't to blame for what happened to Hugo and Kevin!'
'That isn't true!' Colette cried, blending her vowels again as her French accent took over. 'And you practically told me a second ago that if it weren't for Jerome you'd--'
'No, Colette!' her husband cried. 'I love you, no matter how jealous you are, and it frustrates me so much when you refuse to see it!'
He took her shocked silence as an opportunity to sway her.
'Nobody expects you and Esmé to suddenly become the best of friends,' he said, taking her pale hands in his hook. 'All we want is for you to stop fighting her. She's trying to help us. And in forty-eight hours time, I can guarantee you'll be thankful we're still here, with a doorman and a telephone that works, and windows in all the rooms.'
'But he isn't after us,' Colette said quietly. 'We haven't got enough money for the windows, so we haven't got anything he can steal. So--'
'--That won't stop his, Colette,' her husband interrupted sadly. 'He'll come after us just to hurt us. Don't put anything past him. Why else are the Squalor's so worried?'
'But he's not going to just hurt Emma, or Esmé,' she replied. 'Esmé has so much less to fear than we do, hasn't she?'
He let her hands down. 'No,' he answered. 'She has much more.'
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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Oct 4, 2008 16:18:08 GMT -5
Esmé was sitting at the kitchen table, her gaze focused sharply on the window across from it. “I half-expect Olaf to swing by on a rope attached to a helicopter at any moment,” she said.
Jerome turned away from his position at the blue stove where he was preparing cod fillets to look at his wife. “I know you’re worried, Esmé,” he said, “but you’re simply allowing your imagination to overtake your better judgment.”
“My imagination has nothing to do with it,” Esmé replied. “How do you think Carmelita managed to get that yacht onto the rooftop at the Hotel Denouement?”
Jerome tried once more to distract his wife’s attention from the possibility that Olaf would show up as an uninvited guest at the penthouse. “Would you like corn on the cob or a baked potato with your fish?”
Esmé turned her face away from the window to look at her husband. “Jerome, you aren’t listening to me. What if Olaf—”
Jerome came away from the stove and sat down in a chair beside his wife, pressing a pair of fingers against her plump lips. “Ssshhh,” he said. “Discussing that man is only making you jumpy, not to mention what it’s doing to your condition.” Lowering his fingers away from Esmé’s mouth, Jerome wrapped his hands around her wrists and held her own hands up in front of her face. “Look at yourself, darling. You’re absolutely shaking from fright.”
Esmé nodded, taking back her hands so that she could wrap her arms around Jerome’s waist. It wasn’t difficult, considering how long her arms were, and she rested her head on his shoulder.
“I suppose you’ll expect me to sit at the table in the dining room with everyone again,” she muttered.
“Not if you don’t want to,” Jerome said. “If you’d rather sit in here and eat, then I’d be more than happy to join you. I thought I’d just make myself a salad while everyone else enjoys the fish.”
Esmé pulled back to look at him. “Jerome, don’t be silly.”
“You should’ve seen Andrew. He couldn’t even get his arms around me.”
“Well, his arms are too short. Honestly, he’s barely any taller than I am. He takes after your mother, whereas you—” Esmé trailed off, as she realized what she had been about to say. “I meant in looks only,” she added quickly.
“I know what you meant, sweetheart,” Jerome said, reaching up one hand to affectionately caress her cheek.
“It’s going to be awkward,” Esmé said, “having so many people together in one apartment. It’s times like these that make me feel lucky we live in the penthouse.”
“See? I told you I smelled food.”
Esmé and Jerome turned just in time to see Emma and Faust enter the kitchen.
“We were in the parlor,” Emma explained, “listening to Uncle Andrew babble on and on about stocks. We got bored and decided to excuse ourselves. Faust insisted that she smelled food and, well, here we are.”
“So, what’s for dinner?” Faust asked.
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Post by Jenny on Oct 4, 2008 16:34:31 GMT -5
'I'm making some fish,' Jerome answered. 'Do you like fish?' he asked as an afterthough.
Faust nodded enthusiastically, and it warmed his heart a little: she obviously didn't eat as often as she should have, and by the looks of things neither did her mother.
'It will be ready in about half an hour,' he continued. 'Until then, if you liek you and Emma can sort out your own room arrangements.'
Faust's eyes lit up. 'Can we share?' she asked Emma instantly, and the thirteen year old grimaced a little. She liked Faust a lot, but she didn't fancy being woken up early and forced to stay up late into the night with the ten-year-old.
'You can have your own room right next to mine,' Emma answered, but then Faust's face fell a little, and she relented. 'Or I guess we could share, if you really want. As long as Jerome will help me get a mtress to move into my room for you.'
Her stepfather nodded, and felt quite proud of her for not disappointing little Faust. 'You can arrange where everyone else sleeps as well, if you've time,' he suggested. 'It would be best if Colette and Fernald could be somewhere near Faust, and Uncle Andrew and your grandmother aren't too much of a problem. And Carmy and Nero can room next to the nursery, obviously.'
'Alright,' Emma said, and beckoned for Faust to follow her again down the hallway to the corridor where both the master bedroom and hers were located.
'It's nice that Emma's made a friend,' Esmé commented, smiling softly. 'Even if Faust is a little young.'
Jerome nodded, and turned back to preparing the fish.
'It's a shame her mother and I are so determined to ruin it,' she sighed, and before Jerome was able to comfort her tears had sprung from her eyes once more, and she buried her face in her hands.
Just as he made his way across the kitchen to comfort her, one of the small penthouse windows slammed shut, and she gave a frightened cry and jolted forwards.
'It's him!' she cried immediately, and Jerome wrapped his arms around her.
'You have to stop, darling,' he whispered. 'Forty-eight hours, he said, didn't he? You can't worry yet.'
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