“Mmm,” said Franklyn, who did not seem at all interested.
“Really, doctor?” asked Brice, with perhaps more enthusiasm than might realistically be expressed. “I’d be so grateful to know about it!”
“You would?” asked the doctor.
“I always love to impart tidbits of knowledge on guests.” Brice smiled. “It gives them a more well-rounded experience here at the Hotel del Arte.”
The doctor looked pleased. “That is certainly an insightful and admirable goal. Very well, then. I believe the first true hedge mazes were constructed in the mid-sixteenth century, although there are some gardens with mazelike qualities dating back to as early as the fifteenth…”
As the doctor began her discourse, she and Brice moved slowly ahead, while Arlo and Franklyn lagged behind.
“You’re the new pool boy, right?” Franklyn asked.
“Arlo Kean, at your service, Mr. Elore.”
“Second day on the job, Arlo, and already being invited on special events. You must have made quite an impression.”
“I’m happy to say, Miss Cole finds me indispensable.”
“Is that so?” Franklyn looked impressed. “Lena Cole is a devastatingly intelligent and capable woman. You could not come more highly recommended.”
They had reached a four-way intersection in the maze. The doctor and Brice turned to the west. Franklyn was about to follow them when Arlo said, “Mr. Elore, do you see that?” He pointed to a rolled-up piece of paper sticking out of the hedges in the north corridor, where Zeke had notified him by text that he’d planted it, after retrieving it from Lena.
Franklyn stopped and stared at it. “A note of some kind?”
“Should I retrieve it, sir?” asked Arlo.
“Do you think we should?” Franklyn asked nervously.
“Fortune favors the bold,” said Arlo. Without waiting for further waffling, he pulled the paper from the hedge. He unrolled it and made some small show of surprise. Nothing too dramatic. “It appears to be addressed to you, sir.”
“Me?” asked Franklyn, with the sort of surprise normally reserved for statements like “You have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
Arlo held out the note. “See for yourself.”
Franklyn timidly took the offered sheet of paper. Arlo was glad to see that Brice had taken the doctor down another passageway, out of both hearing and sight.
“Oh, my…” said Franklyn. “Listen to this!”
“Do you think that’s okay?” asked Arlo. “I’d hate to pry.”
“I need you to hear it. To tell me if I’m awake rather than dreaming! To make sure I understand the contents of this missive and am not deluded with wishful thinking.”
“I’ll do my best, sir,” said Arlo.
Franklyn cleared his throat.
To my own, dearest Franklyn:
These gentle words are for your gentle heart.
Forgive me if I do not play the part—
I know I should be shy and blushing sweet,
But Love insists I cannot be discreet.
I offer you these lines from which we start,
Though they be more of sentiment than art,
For without you I’ll never feel complete.
If you feel the same, tell me next we meet.
With fondest love and affection, your own dearest Isabella.
Franklyn gripped the paper, which ruffled as tremors of passion washed through him. He looked pleadingly at Arlo. “Could this be real? I have never thought life could be so cruel as to show me dreams come true, then yank them away. But neither have I ever found it to be so benevolent as to fulfill them so completely.”
Arlo nodded shrewdly. “You’re wise to be cautious, sir. For all we know, it could have been written by someone else.”
Franklyn examined the paper. “It does appear to be her handwriting, which I have noted in the past to possess a distinctive perkiness.”
Arlo peered over his shoulder. “It looks like hers. But could it be a forgery?”
“I suppose,” admitted Franklyn. “But to what end? Furthermore, the tone of the letter is very much in keeping with her speech.”
Arlo thought he heard a bit too much Lena coming through, but was grateful Franklyn was not particularly objective in his analysis. “True. So the evidence confirms that this letter is from Isabella.”
Franklyn shook his head in wonder. “How can a man be so lucky?”
“Lucky?” asked Arlo. “More like doomed.”
“Doomed? What do you mean?”
“It seems clear she means to have you for her own,” said Arlo sadly.
“Yes,” said Franklyn, a dreamy smile spreading across his face.
“With passion that deep,” continued Arlo, his voice mournful as he adopted the more poetical speech of his companion, “she will be satisfied with nothing less than the union of your two souls.”
“Do you really think so?” Franklyn stared at the note, glassy-eyed and beatific.
“I’m afraid you can kiss freedom good-bye. From now on, your lips belong to Miss Ficollo.”
“Oh, God.” Tears sprang from Franklyn’s eyes.
“There, there.” Arlo patted his back. Then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Wait. Maybe if we leave this garden maze right now, you can still escape love in the arms of Miss Ficollo.”
Franklyn looked at him in horror. “You must be joking!”
“You would prefer love and Miss Ficollo to freedom?” demanded Arlo.
“I would prefer love and Miss Ficollo to all the riches in the world! To all the knowledge one could gain! You say I should avoid her embrace, but I have longed for it since the moment I first saw her. Her eyes transport me. Her voice soothes me. Her words move me. There is no one in this world I find more beautiful, more noble, or more true.”
“That’s how you really feel about Miss Ficollo?” asked Arlo.
“That times a thousand and more!” declared Franklyn.
“Why have you never told her?” asked Arlo.
“It is my own damned shyness that betrays me,” admitted Franklyn. “When I look into her radiant face, words abandon me.”
“Well,” said Arlo, “you do a fine job telling her how you feel when you’re not looking into her radiant face.”
“I beg your pardon?” Franklyn looked confused.
Arlo took Franklyn by the shoulders and spun him around. Standing a short way down the south corridor were Isabella and Lena.
“Dearest Franklyn.” Isabella’s eyes were wet with tears. “Is that truly how you feel?”
Franklyn seemed frozen, unable to move. But then he broke free from the ice of his own dread. “Fortune does favor the bold. And so I say yes, Isabella! I have loved you for so long, I cannot remember a time when I didn’t! You are my one true love, now and forever!”
“This is the part where you kiss her,” murmured Arlo, and gave him a push.
Franklyn first stumbled, then ran into Isabella’s waiting arms. They kissed, long and deep.
Lena strolled over to stand beside Arlo. “So far, the plan is going well.”
“I’d say so,” agreed Arlo. “Lovely verse, by the way.”
“It was easier than I expected,” said Lena.
“Careful,” said Arlo. “Some people say love is contagious. You might start writing verses of your own next.”
“I believe my constitution can handle it,” said Lena. “But what about yours?”
“Fortunately, I have been vaccinated against love by a mixture of intelligence and good common sense,” said Arlo.
“That is a relief,” said Lena.
They watched the lovers kiss in silence.
It is this author’s considered opinion that people talk entirely too much. Words, which should be used to communicate, are often used for the exact opposite purpose. As our two heroes stood next to each other, unprotected by their word shields, witnessing the union they orchestrated together, each could not help but be intensely aware of the other’s presence. Of the other’s warmth, of their distinctive scent, of the rise and fall of their chest. Of any perceptible movement toward them. Perhaps Arlo leaned ever so slightly in Lena’s direction. We might even suppose it was unintentional. But, as all the world knows, there are naturally attractive forces between particles, and the closer the particles, the stronger the attraction. So that slight movement exerted itself upon Lena, who in turn leaned slightly toward Arlo. This continued for several minutes, the space between them gradually shrinking as the longing for each other grew. But before contact could be made, an opposing force appeared.