“It’s beautiful here.”
The crisp, yet intoxicating mountain air gently caressed Agatha’s skin, pampered by the skilled hands of top cosmetologists. A soft breeze tugged at her vibrant, almost exotic dress—unusual for the local vacationers—and reminded her that it was already August, not July, for instance.
Not that Agatha would know what the temperature here was like in July.
It was nothing short of a miracle, almost unbelievable, that this Hollywood darling had somehow ended up in the Carpathian Mountains instead of some exorbitantly priced, world-renowned resort. Usually, “expensive” and “famous” go hand in hand, often inseparably so. Perhaps that’s precisely why such places draw in celebrities and business tycoons of all stripes.
Agatha, however, was hard to impress with vacations on all those islands where everything felt familiar, predictable, and even the exotic had lost its charm. Staying there felt like crashing at the villa of one of her countless acquaintances. Invitations to various resorts piled up on the desk in her ex-husband’s office, and Agatha had nearly resigned herself to the idea that finding something truly unique—something that would spark her interest or captivate her—was no longer possible.
And then, out of the blue, the Carpathians.
“Think of this stay as an experiment, a chance to refine your own character. Wow, listen to me! Or rather, listen to my thoughts. Too bad no one else can hear them.”
Even if someone had overheard these philosophical musings, they’d hardly attribute them to Agatha. For far too long, she’d been known for her frivolity, even shallowness, and she’d gone out of her way not to disappoint those who saw her that way. Which was most people. Including Nedan.
“Forget about him. Playing the brainy type is far too heavy a burden, Agatha.”
That’s what she told herself whenever the urge to jump into an intellectual conversation crept up. Lately, Agatha had been avoiding overly erudite crowds and academic events altogether. And especially people who knew she held a master’s degree in psychology.
“Agatha, you’re on vacation. Breathe deeply and let those neural connections finally recover.”
She opened her eyes and, through the dark lenses of her sunglasses, gazed at the sky—white clouds, emerald treetops, and swallows circling everywhere she looked. She’d never seen so many swallows gathered in one place. Or maybe she’d just never noticed before? Or perhaps her attention had always been diverted by someone else—usually of the male persuasion?
And why not? She was still young—by Hollywood standards, if not local ones—to ignore or fail to react to a well-sculpted male physique. If only there were a few wise thoughts in their heads as well…
But for the past few years, luck hadn’t been on Agatha’s side in that department.
She yawned. Soon, she’d have to head to lunch—if she didn’t change her mind about eating. Figure and all that. But she wouldn’t say no to a drink right now.
“Fanny, I’d like some lemonade!” she called out loudly, ensuring her voice carried into the living room of the deluxe suite at the guesthouse named “Hutsulka K.” Who this Hutsulka was, and what her real name might be, remained a mystery for now. Agatha planned to ask the host about it over dinner that evening. She needed something to talk about with a near-stranger, after all.
“There’s Coke,” her personal secretary of ten years replied matter-of-factly.
“That’s hardly original. What do the locals call it? Is there any of that fruit drink left—uzvar, was it?”
“Agatha, dear, it’s just boiled apples. A bit of pear and some dried plums thrown in,” Fanny remarked—a balding man of indeterminate age and height, utterly unremarkable from any angle, which was quite convenient for both him and Agatha.
“I don’t need the recipe. Just bring me some uzvar, if you’d be so kind.”
“I’d argue that’s the least original choice, but…”
“Bring it, I said. Don’t make me get up from this chair. I’ve gotten so cozy, practically melted like butter on toast, that I don’t even want to move.”
“Did you put on sunscreen?”
“You’re insulting me.”
“I’m on my way.”
Tired of globetrotting, Agatha had returned to her homeland. She didn’t plan to stay long—just a short visit with some new acquaintances. A charming elderly couple had built a small hotel in this picturesque spot and wanted to thank Agatha for her charitable contribution to a local dog shelter. The shelter was run by the guesthouse’s hostess, who had once reached out for help via Instagram. A short video caught Agatha’s eye and touched her heart. That same day, the shelter’s account received a generous donation, and in gratitude, the owners of “Hutsulka K” sent Agatha an invitation to stay at their guesthouse—or “manor,” as they called it here.
Agatha had completely forgotten about the invitation. But when Fanny was sorting through her pile of invites in her presence, discarding the expired ones, the vivid image on the card caught her boss’s attention. Maybe she just felt a pull to her native land? Who knows? Agatha preferred to chalk it up to boredom.
Lately, that feeling had turned her life into an endless string of identical days. Charity events, shows where she was invited as a judge or guest of honor, cruises, and even her ever-present personal secretary Fanny had become tiresome to the point of irritation. Agatha had even started mulling over the idea of taking up some kind of work—nothing too demanding or messy, of course, and something that would leave plenty of time for shopping, reading, and lounging.
Agatha didn’t want to admit it publicly, but in private, she had to concede that Rudy, her long-deceased husband, had been right—she wasn’t cut out for the acting life. She undeniably had some talent, as even Rudolph had acknowledged, but hard work and perseverance were never her strong suits, not even in her younger years. Unfortunately, without those qualities, it’s impossible to keep up with the competition. Every day, hundreds of new talents flocked to Hollywood—arriving by car, plane, boat, or any means possible—with unique, attractive, and highly photogenic faces, some of them genuinely gifted.
Agatha’s first film, where she played a supporting role and won a Golden Bear, remained her only one. Sometimes, after yet another glamorous gala or bohemian party, when she returned home half-dead from too much drink and couldn’t sleep—a strange reaction to alcohol—Agatha regretted not continuing to act.
Having married Rudy right after her debut film, naive Agatha spent some time daydreaming about a long and successful acting career. But things turned out quite the opposite. Her husband categorically refused to cast her in any roles and forbade her from accepting offers from other directors. The old playboy wanted his young wife by his side and dragged her along on his travels around the world.
Agatha didn’t come to terms with it right away, but eventually, she did. Perhaps because she was so young, and Rudolph became not just a husband but a father figure to her. More likely, she was simply afraid of being left without support or money in a vast, foreign country, far from her roots. Agatha had left her small provincial town full of confidence that she’d never return.
She hadn’t entirely consciously married a director forty years her senior, yet she stayed with him until the end. Rudy was ill for a long, grueling time, exhausting for everyone around him. Agatha cared for him personally, entrusting him to a nurse only in the most extreme circumstances—not because she was after a hefty inheritance, but out of gratitude and a special kind of affection.
It wasn’t her fault that relatives she’d never even heard of swooped in to claim their share, only to leave with next to nothing. How they despised her! They probably still do. The things she heard, both to her face and behind her back! Agatha endured the vicious gossip and nasty tabloid articles with resilience, holed up in one of her now-owned country estates. For a while, she rarely ventured beyond its gates. She genuinely mourned her husband, though almost no one believed her. Not even Nedan.
But everything in life eventually comes to an end. The harassment stopped too. After some time, the young widow began receiving invitations to events again. She was even offered a role in a popular TV series, but Agatha declined.
She wanted to leave the past behind. Now, Agatha was worth millions and a welcome guest wherever she wished to go—or might wish to go in the future.
So what had she forgotten at this provincial resort, far from good roads, airports, and celebrities? Hard to say. Today, only one thing became clear—she was bored again.
What to do? Pack up and jet off somewhere else? But where?
Making a new choice felt like the last thing she wanted to do.