Abstract Ethics
Gracing the Pier
Three days after his unexpected meeting, Vyvyan Sellars was drawn to Whitby Pier. It was early evening, and the golden sun blazed off the white balustrades as Vyvyan sat alone on a bench. His mind was occupied with one though – or rather, one face. The stunning image which had been revealed to him from under Lady Winterton’s chandelier proved impossible to shake from his mind. So much so that he sat in a stupor as he looked out over the sea. He barely noticed the many people who strolled along the pier; sharp-suited men, wielding on their arms woman trussed up in pretty corsets and twirling lacy parasols. He was oblivious to them all. In this dark, deep sea, the water seemed to hold the reflection of the Contessa. Even the waves which licked the sea walls took her likeness. To Vyvyan, she was everywhere, though she was nowhere. And yet…the sudden sound of wing beats brought Vyvyan back to his senses as a school of gulls wheeled over the pier.
He looked up, and she was there. Framed by the smouldering embers of the setting sun, the Contessa was standing almost at his shoulder, looking out, with him, over the sea. Surprised, he guessed that he was seeing an illusion, until she sat down upon the bench next to him and greeted him.
“Good evening, Mr Sellars,” she said, taking his hand she had done three nights previously.
“Good evening, Contessa…your ladyship,” he stammered back, still slightly bewildered.
“Please,” she laughed. “I care very little for formality. You may call me Porphyria, Mr Sellars.”
“Then I might also allow you to call me Vyvyan.”
“Perhaps I shall,” she murmured.
She let her gaze fall from Vyvyan’s face and averted her eyes to the sea.
“Tell me, Vyvyan…have you ever though about the possibility of immortality?”
Once again, she had surprised him completely. “No; indeed, I have not. But I suppose I would care to learn more.”
“Would you?” she said, with a rich, seductive smile. He nodded. “Then perhaps you shall learn more, in time. Good-bye, Mr Sellars.”
With those enigmatic words, she seemed to disappear into the evening crowd, leaving Vyvyan alone on the pier once more, wondering if what he had just seen and heard had been little more than a trick of the evening light.
He looked up, and she was there. Framed by the smouldering embers of the setting sun, the Contessa was standing almost at his shoulder, looking out, with him, over the sea. Surprised, he guessed that he was seeing an illusion, until she sat down upon the bench next to him and greeted him.
“Good evening, Mr Sellars,” she said, taking his hand she had done three nights previously.
“Good evening, Contessa…your ladyship,” he stammered back, still slightly bewildered.
“Please,” she laughed. “I care very little for formality. You may call me Porphyria, Mr Sellars.”
“Then I might also allow you to call me Vyvyan.”
“Perhaps I shall,” she murmured.
She let her gaze fall from Vyvyan’s face and averted her eyes to the sea.
“Tell me, Vyvyan…have you ever though about the possibility of immortality?”
Once again, she had surprised him completely. “No; indeed, I have not. But I suppose I would care to learn more.”
“Would you?” she said, with a rich, seductive smile. He nodded. “Then perhaps you shall learn more, in time. Good-bye, Mr Sellars.”
With those enigmatic words, she seemed to disappear into the evening crowd, leaving Vyvyan alone on the pier once more, wondering if what he had just seen and heard had been little more than a trick of the evening light.