It was an old envelope, that was evident from first glance. Presumably it had once been white but not for some while. It didn’t look expensive, this was no heavy-bond, self-monogrammed, promise-of-an-invite-to-a-delightful-evening kind of envelope. In the envelope world, this one would not have been an alpha envelope, more some kind of working/serving kind of sorry-sir-sorry-I-caught-your-notice kind of envelope.
So why was it framed above the mantelpiece in Bella Swann’s penthouse? Yes, you heard me. Bella Swann. I know! You’re impressed I can tell. But don’t be. You wouldn’t be if you met me. Quite ordinary and nothing remarkable are tags I feel floating in front of me wherever I go. I tag myself before anyone else can.
I have been coming to Bella’s penthouse apartment myself for some years now. I can imagine that impresses you, but it shouldn’t. I’m not one of her exciting, frightening lovers. I’m not even one of her exciting, lightening friends. I’m just Sarah, her plain and rather boring niece. Bella is the much younger, much prettier and all round more fantastic sister of my quite ordinary Mum. She likes to keep it real however, and hence I come here most Tuesdays and Fridays after school.
It took me a while before I noticed the envelope. Believe me, you would have been the same, I mean between the art (and we’re talking real art - not just limited edition prints but bona fide originals) and the wardrobe (the wardrobe!!!!) and the photos (Nelson Mandela - smiling with Bella, Brad and Angelina – sharing a private joke with Bella, Former President Clinton – looking a tad inappropriately at Bella), well you get the picture. It took a while before I noticed the simple rectangle of sepia in the gilt frame but now I can’t take my eyes off it.
I’m supposed to be ‘assisting’ Bella but quite frankly this is a tough job to get in on. There are many people ahead of me in the queue, her manager, her assistant, her assistant’s assistant, her manager’s assistant and then the beauty maffia. Her hairdresser, her massueur, her nail technician, her tanner and don’t get me started on the waxing brigade, it is hard to find time to speak to my Aunt, let alone assist her in god knows what it is that she thinks I can assist her in. Nobody notices a slightly geeky, quite ugly teenager without a brush or a pad to her name.
I’m determined today though. I know that she isn’t due a dye or a wax and that a lot of her staff are undergoing colour therapy training. It’s a prime time to find out about that envelope.
Bella is pleased to see me, honestly, I think she forgets that I am there most of the time. She also seems amused by my questioning. She won’t tell me about it though, wants me to find out by myself. She says, if I’m asking then its time to show me.
So here I am, frame down from the mantel and already opened, I hold the envelope in my hands. I almost can’t open it, but finally I do and then I understand. It is from her Dad, my Grandad. "To Isobel" it reads. Before she was Bella, before she was anyone, it speaks of his love, and of the first person to call her beautiful.
Copyright © 2008 Rob Richardson. All Rights Reserved.