InterActiveNovels: Rebecca

 

I was on the terrace of the Manderley mansion; the sight was stirring. Before me lay the blue Atlantic Ocean, the song of seabirds, and, perched on a sharp rock, the lighthouse.

Frith, the butler, with extreme courtesy, invited me to sit at an iron table expertly set with a white linen tablecloth, a silk napkin, a gold-trimmed plate, and heavy silver cutlery. To the right lay The Times. I asked him to bring black coffee, grapefruit juice, bread, cherry jam, and butter.

In his eyes, I saw the genuine joy he felt in bringing me breakfast; the job was everything to him. He was not the typical modern butler, watching the clock to count the seconds until the end of his service. Frith was completely different—nearly two meters tall with a sinuous frame. I told him he looked like a man who had stepped straight from the pen of Daphne. He didn’t say a word—which was understandable.

I climbed down the stairs. My feet hit the gravel, and I was surprised to see how perfectly raked it was; there were no stray piles or weeds—everything was pristine. I walked along a wide path, observing the floral arrangements along the sides. At the end stood a carved wooden bench overlooking Manderley. I sat in the middle and began to read The Times. The articles were so long it took me an hour to finish.

When I raised my head to watch a seagull above the mansion, I saw black clouds and flashes of light. I decided to take shelter in the gardener’s shed, away from the trees and oaks. I opened the window and saw Manderley devoured by the darkness; it seemed as though the wind was about to sweep it away.

When the wind stopped blowing, I saw the two main stained-glass windows light up. I felt a strange sensation; it felt as if I were being observed by two eyes—the eyes of Rebecca, searching my soul.