Dance with the Devil

anytime from 1920 to the present, with but a few minor changes in dress and hairstyle to conform with the dictates of each decade.
        “I prefer Katherine,” she said, “though everyone thinks I must be a snob or something when I say that.”
        “Not at all,” Alex said. “I think Katherine is a lovely name.”
        “I do too,” Lydia said. “And I can see at a glance that you're certainly not a 'snob,' my dear.”
        “Thank you,” she said.
        Lydia clapped her hands together now and said, “But you must be starved by now!”
        “The drive in used up a lot of energy,” Katherine admitted. “I was on the edge of my car seat the whole way-not to mention the tension in the Land Rover with Mr. Harrison.”
        “He didn't show-off too badly, did he?” Alex asked.
        She detected a distinct note of disdain in Alex's voice when he spoke of Harrison, though he presented the same outward appearance of mild curiosity and friendly interest.
        “The waitress at the cafe in town rounded him up for me,” she said. “She warned him to be on his best behavior.”
        “Sometimes,” Alex said, “he drives that thing like a child on a toy of some sort. He can be downright dangerous.”
        “Don't exaggerate, Alex,” Lydia said. “I think Mike is a fine young man.”
        “You think everyone's fine,” Alex said without rancor.
        “Well,” Lydia said, “the nearest bath is straight down the corridor the way you came, under the grand staircase, if you'd like to wash up for dinner. We can show you your room afterwards, if that's all right.”
        “Fine,” Katherine said.
        “The dining room is at the far end of the corridor, beyond the stairs. We'll wait for you there.”
        
        The bathroom under the staircase surprised Katherine, for she had thought of it in terms of a simple powder room. More than anything else so far, it gave her a sense of being among the very wealthy, for it was terribly lavish, though in good taste. It included a shower stall, a sunken, marble tub, thick, red shag carpet, a double sink, a revolving mirror between the sinks, a television set in a wall recess and a case of bath oils, perfumes and powders. It was nearly as large as the average living room.
        By contrast, she was surprised at how small the dining room was, for it was no larger than the bath, with a table to seat four, buffets along two walls, two out-sized oils on the other walls, and just enough room to sit down and eat and be served in comfort. When she commented on what appeared to be an architectural mistake or eccentricity, she elicited smiles from both Lydia and Alex.
        “It's the smallest of three dining rooms in Owlsden,” Lydia told her.
        “Three?”
        “They were never meant to be used simultaneously, though,” Alex said, grinning.
        Lydia said, “This is the intimate room for small dinners, while the dining area across the hall is meant to service anywhere from eight to twenty. Upstairs, on the second level, a grand dining room for large affairs has not been used in a great many years. It can comfortably seat a hundred people, a hundred and twenty in a pinch. But I'm not much for entertaining. In fact, I'm not really that crazy for Owlsden itself. I thought it was a monstrosity of poor taste when I was a little girl, and I've never changed my opinion. I am, however, fond of the place, since so much of my life and the meaning of my life has been formed in these rooms.”
        As the dinner was served-beef stroganoff over rice, a salad and two kinds of wine, as Lydia said, “to help you taste the food more completely"-she was introduced to Mason and Patricia Keene, a middle-aged couple who took care of the kitchen, meals, serving and all related household chores. The woman was slim and attractive with large, round eyes like circles of soft gray velvet, while the husband was balding and somewhat like a stereotyped high school English teacher. Both seemed quiet and even withdrawn, though very polite and efficient.
        The conversation flitted from topic to topic as they ate and was never marked by an embarrassing silence. Indeed, Katherine thought, it was almost as if the three of them had known each other for years and were accustomed to spending many evenings together immersed in conversation.
        Dinner finished, they retired to the drawing room again where they were served coffee by Mason Keene and