Читать книгу The Girl Who Couldn'T See Rainbows - Rosette - Страница 7

At two o'clock, I entered the office. Kyle was leaving, carrying an intact tray, with the air of a person who wants to drop everything and everyone and move to the other end of the world.

“He’s in a foul mood, and he refused to eat anything,” he mumbled.

The thought of being the involuntary cause of his state of mind struck me deeply in every fibre of my being, in every single cell. I had never hurt anyone, almost walking on the tips of my toes, so as to not disturb, mindful of every word I uttered so that I wouldn’t hurt anyone.

I stepped over the threshold, one hand leaning against the frame of the door left open by Kyle. At my entrance his eyes lifted. “Oh, it’s you. Come in, Miss Bruno. Hurry up, please.”

I hurriedly obeyed.

He pushed some sheets on the desk written with a male calligraphy towards me. “Send these letters. One goes to the manager of my bank, and the others to the addresses on the bottom.”

“Right away, Mr Mc Laine,” I replied reverently.

When I raised my eyes on his face I joyfully noticed that he was smiling again.

“How formal, Miss Bruno. There’s no hurry. These letters aren’t that important. It’s not a matter of life and death. I've been a living dead person for many years now.”

In spite of the rawness of his statement, he seemed to be in a good mood again. His smile was contagious, and it warmed my turbulent soul. Luckily, he never stayed angry for too long, even though his anger was frightening and violent.

“Can you drive, Melisande? I need to send you to pick some books up for me at the local library. You know, for research.” The smile was replaced by a grimace. “Of course I can’t go,” he explained.

Embarrassed, I squeezed the sheets in my hands, risking creasing them. “I don’t have a license, sir,” I apologized.

Surprise altered his beautiful features. “I thought that today's youth was in a hurry to grow up exclusively to have the right to drive. Usually, they secretly do it before then.”

“I'm different, sir,” I said laconically. And I really was. I was almost an alien in my diversity.

He looked at me with those black eyes that pierced through me like radar. I held his gaze, inventing a plausible excuse then and there.

“I'm afraid of driving, and therefore, I’d probably end up causing some disaster,” I explained quickly, smoothing out the wrinkles from the sheets that I had crumpled.

“After all the sincerity on your part, I smell a lie,” he chanted.

“It's the truth. I could really...” I lost my voice for a long moment, and then I tried again. “I could really kill someone.”

“Death is the lesser evil,” he whispered. He lowered his eyes on his legs, and he clutched his jaw.

I mentally cursed myself. Again. I was really a troublemaker, even without a steering wheel between my hands. I proved to be a menace, unforgivably insensitive and only capable of making mistakes.

“Did I offend you, Mr Mc Laine?” I asked anxiously, and he snapped out of his slumber.

“Melisande Bruno, a young woman from who knows where, as weird and funny as a cartoon... How can this girl offend the great horror novelist, the devilish and depraved Sebastian Mc Laine?” His voice was flat, compared to the harshness of his sentences.

I twisted my hands, as nervous as I was at our first encounter. “You’re right, sir. I am nobody. And...”

His eyes thinned, threateningly. “Indeed. You aren’t a nobody. You are Melisande Bruno. Therefore you are someone. Never allow anyone to humiliate you, not even me.”

“I should learn to be quiet. I managed to do so very well before coming to this house,” I murmured gloomily, my head bent.

“Midnight rose has the power to bring out the worst of you, Melisande Bruno? Or am I the one who possesses such an incredible ability?” He offered me a kind smile, with the generosity of a king.

I happily accepted that silent peace offer, and found my smile again. “I think it depends on you, sir,” I admitted in a low voice, as if I were confessing a capital sin.

“I already knew that I was a devil,” he said solemnly. “But am I that bad? You leave me speechless...”

“If you want I could get you a vocabulary,” I said humorously. The atmosphere was lighter, and so was my heart.

“I think you’re the real devil, Melisande Bruno,” he continued to tease me. “Satan in person must have sent you here, to disturb my peacefulness.”

“Peacefulness? Are you sure you’re it wasn’t boredom?” I asked.

“If it was, with you here, I’ll never experience it again, that's for sure. Perhaps, as time goes by, I'll end up regretting it,” he said with emphasis.

We were both laughing, on the same wavelength, when someone knocked three times on the door.

“Mrs Mc Millian,” he anticipated, without looking away from my face.

I reluctantly looked away from him to welcome the housekeeper.

“Dr Mc Intosh is here, sir,” said the good lady, with a hint of anxiety in her voice.

The writer instantly got upset. “Is it Tuesday already?”

“Of course, sir. Do you want me to show him to your room?” She asked kindly.

“All right. Call Kyle,” he ordered, with a harsh voice. He spoke to me in a tone that was even more severe. “See you later, Miss Bruno.”

I followed the housekeeper down the stairs. She answered my unexpressed question. “Dr Mc Intosh is the local doctor. Every Tuesday he comes to visit Mr Mc Laine. Apart from his paralysis, he's as healthy as a fish, but his visits have become a habit, and also a precaution.”

“Is his...” I hesitated, trying to choose the right words “...condition irreversible?”

“Unfortunately yes, there are no hopes” was her sad confirmation.

At the foot of the stairs a man waited, dangling the briefcase with his instruments.

“Well Millicent? Did he forget about my examination again?” The man winked at me, trying to involve me. “You must be the new secretary, right? Then you’ll have to remind him of his future appointments. Every Tuesday, at three o’clock in the afternoon.“ He held out his hand with a friendly smile. “I'm the local doctor. John McIntosh”.

He was a tall man, almost like Kyle, but older, perhaps between sixty and seventy years old.

“And I'm Melisande Bruno,” I said, shaking his hand.

“An exotic name for a beauty worthy of Scottish women.” The admiration in his eyes was eloquent. I smiled gratefully. Before arriving in that village that wasn’t even marked on the maps, I was considered pretty, at the most graceful, but most often just acceptable. Never beautiful.

Mrs Mc Millian was delighted by that compliment, as if she were my mother and I the daughter to be married. Luckily, the doctor was elderly and married, judging by the big wedding ring on his finger, or else she would probably start matchmaking to organize a beautiful marriage in the idyllic frame of Midnight Rose.

Once she ushered him upstairs, she came back to me, with a mischievous expression on her thin face. “It's a pity he's married. He would be a wonderful catch for you.”

Too bad he’s old; I would have liked to add. I stopped myself just in time when I remembered that Mrs Mc Millian was at least fifty years old and that she probably found the doctor attractive and desirable.

“I’m not looking for a boyfriend,” I reminded her firmly. “I hope you won’t start trying to set me up with Kyle.”

She shook her head. “He’s also married. I mean... He’s separated, which is uncommon around here. Anyhow, I don’t like him. There’s something unsettling and lascivious about him.”

I was about to argue on the point that I was the one who was supposed to like him in the first place, then I thought better of it. Mainly because I didn’t like Kyle either. He wasn’t exactly the type of man I would ever dream of, if I could. No, I was being unfair. The truth was that having met the enigmatic and complicated Sebastian Mc Laine, it was difficult to find someone who could measure up to him. I mentally scowled myself. It would have been pathetic and predictable of me to fall into the net stretched by the handsome writer. He was just my employer, and I didn’t want to end up like millions of other secretaries who fell in love with their bosses. Wheelchair or not, Sebastian Mc Laine was out of my reach.

Undeniably so.

“I’ll go upstairs,” I said. “How long do the visits last, usually?”

The housekeeper laughed cheerfully. “Longer than Mr Mc Laine can bear.” She started a series of tales about the doctors’ examinations. I broke her off immediately, with the firm conviction that if I hadn’t interrupted her in time I would still be there the following Tuesday, listening to her tales.

When I reached the landing, my steps noiseless on the soft carpet, I saw Kyle emerge from a bedroom. It seemed to me to be the one of our employer.

He noticed me and winked confidentially. I kept to myself and refused to play along with him. Mrs Mc Millian was right, I thought as he reached me; there was something deeply disturbing about him.

“Every Tuesday the same story. I wish Mc Intosh would end these unnecessary visits. The result is always the same. As soon as he goes away, I’ll suffer his patient’s bad mood.” His smile widened. “As you will.”

I shrugged. “It's our job, isn’t it? Aren’t we paid for that, too?”

“Maybe not enough. He's really unbearable.” I was stunned by such a disrespectful tone. I wasn’t sure if it was just the frankness of country people, genuine in their ruthless judgments. There was more to it, like a feeling of envy towards whoever could afford not to work, but to live out their hobbies, like Mc Laine. To envy him, although he was relegated to a wheelchair, imprisoned in his house, was preposterous.

“You shouldn’t speak like that” I admonished him, lowering my voice. “What if he heard you?”

“It's not easy to find employees around here. It would be difficult for him to replace me.” He said it as a fact, condescendingly, as if he were doing him a favour. Those words were the same of those of Mc Laine, and I realized their intrinsic truth.

“Here there are no opportunities to have fun,” he continued, in a more insinuating tone now. Casually, at least apparently, he moved a lock of hair from my forehead. I suddenly moved backwards, annoyed by his warm breath on my face.

“Perhaps the next time I touch you, you’ll appreciate it more,” he said, not at all offended.

The confidence with which he spoke sparked my fury. “There won’t be a next time,” I hissed. “I’m not seeking for distractions, and certainly not of this kind.”

“Sure, sure. For the moment.”

I remained silent, even though I would have liked to give him a kick in the shin, or a slap on his unpleasant face.

I marched down the hallway, ignoring his quiet laughter.

I was already opening the door to my room, when Mr Mc Laine’s door sprung open, and I could clearly hear his voice, no longer stifled.

“Get out of this house, Mc Intosh! And if you really want to do me a favour, don’t come back anymore.”

The doctor's response was calm, as if he were used to those bursts of anger.

“I'll be back, Sebastian, at the same time next Tuesday. Oh, and I'm glad to find you as healthy as a fish. Your appearance and your body can compete with those of a twenty year old boy.”

“What good news, Mc Intosh.” The voice of the other was ironic. “I’ll go out to celebrate. Maybe I'll also go dancing.”

The doctor closed the door without answering. As he turned, he saw me and gave me a tired smile. “You’ll get used to his dancing moods. He’s quite pleasant when he wants to be. That is, very rarely.”

I loyally ran in defence of my boss. “Anyone in his place...”

Mc Intosh kept smiling. “Not anyone. Everyone reacts in his own way, Miss. Keep that in mind. After fifteen years he should have at least accepted it. But I'm afraid Sebastian doesn’t know the meaning of this word. He's so...” He had a slight hesitation. “…passionate. In the broadest sense of the word. He’s impetuous, volcanic, and stubborn. It’s a terrible tragedy that this happened to him of all people.” He shook his head, as if the divine retributions seemed unfathomable to him, then he briefly bid me farewell and left.

At that point I didn’t know what to do. I looked at the door to my room. I was tempted to run inside and hide. I was afraid to face Mc Laine after his recent anger. Even though it wasn’t addressed to me. Once again the decision was made for me.

“Miss Bruno! Come here right now!”

To be heard through that thick oak door, he had to shout out loud. This was too much for my shaken nerves. I opened his door; my feet moved by force of inertia.

It was the first time I entered his bedroom, but the furniture left me indifferent. My eyes were instantly attracted to the figure lying on the bed.

“Where's Kyle?” He asked me sharply. “He’s the laziest person I've ever known.”

“I'll go look for him,” I offered, happy to have a plausible excuse to escape from that room, that man and that moment.

He shocked me with the strength of his cold look. “Later. Now come in.”

Somehow the fear I felt subsided enough to let me to enter his room with a high head.

“Can I do something for you?”

“And what could you do?” An ironic smile quivered on his full lips. “Give me your legs? Would you do it, if it was possible Melisande Bruno? How much are your legs worth? One, two, three million pounds?”

“I would never do it for money,” I said impulsively.

“He levered his weight on his elbows, and stared at me.” What about love? Would you do it for love, Melisande Bruno?”

He was teasing me, as usual, I told myself. Yet, for a few moments, I had the impression that invisible wind gusts were pushing me in his arms. The momentary moment of madness passed and I recovered, recalling that this was an unknown stranger in front of me, and not the sparkling prince in shining armour that I couldn’t dream of. And certainly not a man who could fall in love with me. Under normal circumstances I would never have been in that room, sharing his most intimate moments. A moment in which he wore no mask, bereft of any defences, stripped of any formality imposed by the outside world.

“I’ve never loved anyone, sir,” I said thoughtfully. “Therefore I don’t know what I would do in that case. Would I make such a sacrifice for my loved one? I don’t know. Really.”

His eyes didn’t leave me, as if they were unable to do so. Or maybe I was just imagining it, because that was how I felt at that moment.

“It's a purely hypothetical question, Melisande. Do you think that if you really fell in love with someone... you would give him your legs, or your soul?” His expression was unreadable.

“Would you do it, sir?”

At this point, he laughed. A laugh that echoed in the room, unexpected and fresh as spring wind.

“I would, Melisande. Maybe because I’ve loved, and I know what it feels like.” He glanced at me, as if he expected me to make some questions, but I didn’t. I didn’t know what to say. He could talk about wine or astronomy, and the result would’ve been the same. I wasn’t able to debate about love. Because, in fact, I had no idea of what it was.

“Bring the wheelchair nearer,” he said finally, in a commanding tone.

Pleased to fulfil a task I was prepared for, I obeyed. His arms struggled in the effort, and he slipped into his torture device with a consummate ability. It was so hated, but necessary and precious.

“I understand how you feel,” I said compassionately.

He looked up at me. A vein pulsed in his right temple, triggered by my comment.

“You have no idea how I feel,” he said succinctly. “I’m different. Different, do you understand?”

“I’ve been different since I was born, sir. I can understand you, believe me,” I weakly defended myself.

He tried to catch my gaze, but I didn’t allow him.

There was a knock on the door, and I welcomed Kyle’s arrival, who walked in with a blank expression.

“Do you need me, Mr Mc Laine?”

The writer made a gesture of anger. “Where have you been, you lazy bum?”

A flash of rebellion flickered in the assistant’s eyes, but he didn’t comment.

“Wait for me in the study, Miss Bruno,” Mc Laine told me, his voice still trembling with repressed violence.

I didn’t look back as I left.