Kitabı oku: «The Girl Who Couldn'T See Rainbows», sayfa 2
In my room, an hour later, sitting comfortably in bed, with my head resting on the pillows, I opened the book and started reading. I was already terrified when I reached the second page, and foolishly so, considering it was just a book.
In spite of my common sense, of which, in theory, I was well-supplied, the atmosphere in the room became suffocating, and I felt the need to get a breath of fresh air.
I walked barefoot through the darkened room and opened the window. I sat on the windowsill, soaking in the warm, late summer night; the silence was broken only by the chirping of the crickets and by the call of an owl. It was pleasant to be far away from the frenzy of London, from its fast rhythms, always on the brink of hysteria. The night was a black quilt, apart from a few white stars here and there. I liked the night, and I idly thought that I would’ve liked to be a night creature. Darkness was my ally. Without light everything is black, and my genetic inability to
distinguish colours was meaningless. At night my eyes were the same as those of any another person. For a few hours I didn’t feel different. A temporary relief, of course, but it was as refreshing as cool water on warm skin.
The next morning I woke up to the sound of the alarm clock, and stayed in bed for a few minutes, bemused. Following my initial confusion, I remembered what happened the day before, and I recognized the room.
Once dressed, I went downstairs, almost frightened by the deep silence around me. The sight of Millicent Mc Millian, cheerful and loquacious as ever, dissolved the fog and brought peace to my turbulent mind.
“Did you sleep well, Miss Bruno?” She began.
“I’ve never slept better,” I said, surprised to realize that it was true. For years, I hadn’t abandoned myself so serenely to sleep; I had set aside my negative thoughts for at least a few hours.
“Do you want coffee or tea?”
“Tea, please,” I accepted, sitting at the kitchen table.
“Go to the living room, I'll serve it in there.”
“I'd rather have breakfast with you,” I said, stifling a yawn.
The woman seemed pleased and began to bustle around the stove. She resumed her usual chatter, and I was free to think of Monique. I wondered what she was doing at that hour. Had she already prepared breakfast? The thought of my sister again put the weight on my thin shoulders, and I gladly welcomed the arrival of my cup of tea.
“Thank you, Mrs Mc Millian.” I happily sipped the warm and pleasantly perfumed drink, while the housekeeper served toast and a series of little jars full of various inviting jams.
“Try the raspberry jam. It's fabulous.”
I reached towards the tray; my heart was already in fibrillation. My diversity came back to bury me. Why me? Were there others like me in the world? Or was I an isolated anomaly, a wacky joke of nature?
I randomly grabbed a jar, hoping that the old woman would be too busy to notice my mistake. There were five different jams, so I had a chance in five, two out of ten, twenty per cent to pick the right one at my first attempt.
She hurried to correct me, less distracted than I thought. “No, Miss. That's orange.” She smiled, not at all conscious of the agitation that was mounting in me, and of my sweaty forehead. She passed me a jar. “Here, it's easy to confuse it with the strawberry jam.”
She didn’t notice my forced smile, and resumed telling me of her love story with a young Florentine who in the end left her for a South American girl.
I ate half-heartedly, still nervous because of the incident, and I already regretted not having accepted to eat alone. That way I would have had no problems. Avoiding potentially critical situations was my mantra. It always had been. I had to make sure that the delightful atmosphere of the house wouldn’t make me act recklessly and forget the necessary prudence. Mrs Mc Millian seemed to be a smart, intelligent and thoughtful woman, but she talked too much. I couldn’t count on her discretion.
She paused to drink her tea, and I decided to ask her some questions. “Have you been working for Mr Mc Laine for many years?”
She brightened, happy to be able to tell me new stories. “I've been here for fifteen years. I arrived a few months after Mr Mc Laine’s accident. The one in which... Well, you understand. All the previous servants had been sent away. It seems that Mr Mc Laine was a very cheerful man, who loved life and was always happy. Unfortunately, now things have changed.”
“How did it happen? I mean... The accident? That is... please forgive my curiosity, it’s inexcusable.” I bit my lip, fearful of being misunderstood.
She shook her head. “It's normal to ask questions; it's part of human nature. I don’t know exactly what happened. At the village I was told that Mr Mc Laine was to be married the day after the car accident and of course the wedding was called off. Some say he was drunk, but I think that it’s just an unsubstantiated rumour. What we know for sure is that he went off the road to avoid a child.”
My curiosity was aroused, fuelled by her words. “A Child? I read on the internet that the accident happened at night.”
She shrugged. “Right, it seems that it was the grocer’s son. He had run away from home because he decided to join the circus company which was on tour in the area.”
I dwelled on that news. This explained Mr Mc Laine’s sudden mood changes, his constant bad mood, and his unhappiness.
It was understandable. His world had crumbled, broken into pieces, as a result of a wretched fate. A young, wealthy, handsome man; a successful writer, about to fulfil his dream of love... And in a matter of seconds he had lost almost all he had. I would probably never experience such bad luck, but I could imagine it. You can’t miss what you don’t have. My only companion had always been Nothingness.
A quick glance at my wristwatch confirmed that it was time to go. It was my first day of work. My heart beat faster, and in a glimmer of rationality I wondered if it depended on the new job or on the mysterious master of that house.
I climbed the stairs two by two, irrationally afraid of being late. In the hallway I crossed Kyle, the nurse-handyman. “Good morning”.
I slowed down, embarrassed because he caught me rushing. He must have thought that I was insecure, or worse yet, rash.
“Good morning”.
“It’s Miss Bruno, isn’t it? Can I call you by your name? After all we’re in the same boat, at the mercy of a crazy lunatic.” The harsh and brutal ruthlessness of his words surprized me.
“I know, I'm disrespectful to my employer, and so on. You’ll soon learn to agree with me. What's your name?”
“Melisande”.
He bent in an awkward bow. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, red-haired Melisande. Your name is really unusual, it's not Scottish... Even though you look more Scottish than I do.”
I smiled politely, and tried to move past him, still fearing to be late. But he blocked my way, standing on the landing with his legs stretched out. The timely intervention of a third person cleared the situation.
“Miss Bruno! I won’t tolerate any delays!” The cry undoubtedly came from my new employer, and it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Kyle moved out of the way immediately, allowing me to pass. “Good luck, red-haired Melisande. You’ll need it.”
I gave him a fierce look, and ran to the door at the far end of the hallway. It was half closed, and a smoke ring was coming out of it.
Sebastian Mc Laine was sitting behind the desk, like the previous day, holding a cigar between his fingers, and his face was unyielding.
“Close the door, please. And then sit down. I've already wasted enough time while you socialized with the rest of the staff.” His tone was harsh and insulting.
An act of rebellion pushed me to answer, like a reckless lamb in front of a wolf.
“It was just normal courtesy. Or would you prefer a rude secretary? In that case I can leave. Immediately.”
My impulsive response took him by surprise. His face lit up with amazement, the same that probably was reflected on mine. I had never been so daring.
“And here I had already labelled you as a toothless dog... That was hasty of me... Really too hasty.”
I sat in front of him; my legs no longer supported me, regretting my irresponsible frankness. I was terrified of the potential explosive consequences.
My employer didn’t seem offended, indeed. He smiled. “What’s your name, Miss Bruno?”
“Melisande,” I replied automatically.
“Debussy, I guess. Did your parents love music? Maybe they were performers?”
“My dad was a miner,” I confessed reluctantly.
“Melisande... A pretentious name for the daughter of a miner,” he remarked, his voice vibrant with a restrained laugh. He was playing with me, and in spite of my decision of the day before, I wasn’t sure I wanted to let him do it. It would surely become his favourite diversion.
I straightened my shoulders, trying to recover my lost composure. “And why Sebastian? From Saint Sebastian, maybe? A very inappropriate choice.”
He absorbed the blow, wrinkling his nose for an infinitesimal moment. “Hide your claws, Melisande Bruno. I'm not in war with you. If I were, you’d have no hope to win. Never. Not even in your most daring dreams.”
“I never dream, sir,” I answered with as much dignity as possible.
He seemed impressed by my answer, sensing that it was extremely honest. “You're lucky then. Dreams are always a scam. If you have nightmares they upset your sleep. If you have pleasant dreams, the awakening will be doubly bitter. It’s best not to dream, after all.” His eyes didn’t leave mine, they were captivating. “You're an interesting
character, Melisande. A little slip of a thing, but funny” he added teasingly.
“I’m glad that I have the necessary requirements for this job, then,” I said, ironically.
I tortured my lower lip with my teeth, overwhelmed by repentance. What was happening to me? I had never reacted with such deplorable impulsiveness. I had to stop it before I lost my control completely.
His smile now went from ear to ear, amused beyond words. “Indeed you do. I'm sure we’ll get along well. A secretary who has no dreams, like her boss. There’s a special affinity between us, Melisande. In a certain sense, between our souls. Apart from the fact that one of us has no longer had one for a long time now...”
Before I could make sense of his ambiguous words, he returned serious, his eyes were again inscrutable, distant and lifeless.
“You must send a fax of the first chapters of the book to my publisher. Do you know how to do it?”
I nodded, and with a pang I realized that I already missed our verbal joust. I wished it would last forever. I had drawn from that exchange as if it were a miraculous source, filling me with vitality and an exceptional energy.
The next two hours flew by. I sent several faxes, opened the mail, wrote letters of refusal for various invitations, and sorted out the desk. He silently wrote on the computer; his forehead corrugated, his lips narrow, his white, elegant hands flying on the keyboard. Toward lunch time, he caught my attention with a wave of his hand.
“You can take a break, Melisande. If you like you may eat something, or take a walk.”
“Thank you sir”.
“Did you start reading my book, the one that I gave you?” His face was still far remote, immobile, but a flash of good humour showed in his black eyes.
“You were right, sir. It's not exactly my kind of literature,” I said sincerely.
His lips curled slightly, in an oblique smile, able to penetrate the armour of my defences. An armour that I thought was stronger than steel.
“I don’t doubt it. I bet you prefer Romeo and Juliet.”
There was no irony in his voice; he was just making a statement.
“No, sir.” Controversy became natural to me, as if we had known each other forever, and I could be myself, fully, without deceptions or masks. “I just love stories with a happy ending. Life is already too bitter, I’d hate to make things worse with a book. If I'm not allowed to dream at night, I’d like to do it at least by day. If I'm not allowed to dream in life, I want to do it at least with a book.”
He carefully considered my words, for such a long time that I thought he wouldn’t answer. When I was about to leave he stopped me.
“Did Mrs Mc Millian explain the name of this house?”
“She may have done it,” I admitted with a half-smile. “I fear, however, that I only listened to her half-heartedly.”
“Good for you, I get lost after the tenth word,” he complimented her without sarcasm. “I’ve never had a generous spirit. I'm selfish.”
“Sometimes you have to be,” I said without thinking. “Or else other people’s expectations will crush you. And you’ll end up living the life that others have decided for you.”
“Very wise, Melisande Bruno. You’ve found the key to spiritual peacefulness and you’re only twenty-two years old. Not many people manage to succeed in doing so.”
“Peacefulness?” I repeated bitterly. “No, the wisdom of knowing something doesn’t necessarily mean you accept it. Wisdom is born in our minds; our heart follows its own path independently, although dangerous. And it tends to make fatal deviations.”
He moved his wheelchair, and came to my side of the desk, his eyes probing. “Well? Are you curious to learn the reason for the name Midnight Rose? Or aren’t you?”
“Midnight Rose” I translated, struggling against the emotion of having him so close. I had avoided male company for a long time, since my first and only date. It had been so disastrous to mark me forever.
“Right. In this region there is a legend of centuries, or perhaps thousands of years ago, according to which if we witness the blossoming of a rose at midnight, our greatest and secret wish will magically come true. Even if it’s an obscure and cursed wish.”
He clenched his hands, almost challenging me with his eyes.
“If a person wishes something that will make him happy, it's never obscure and cursed,” I said calmly.
He looked at me carefully, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. A devilish laughter escaped him. I felt a chill run down my back.
“Very wise, Melisande Bruno. I’ll admit that. Those words are scandalous for a girl who couldn’t kill a mosquito without crying.”
“A fly maybe. With a mosquito I wouldn’t have any problems,” I said bluntly.
Again he became alert, a dim flame warming the frost of those dark eyes. “How much valuable information I’ve learned about you, Miss Bruno. In a few hours, I’ve found out that you’re the daughter of a former miner with a passion for Debussy; you can’t dream and you hate mosquitoes. I wonder why. What did those poor creatures ever do to you?” I heard the amusement in his voice.
“Poor my foot,” I replied promptly. “They are parasites; they feed on people’s blood. They are useless insects, unlike bees, and not even as pleasant as flies are.”
He hit his hand on his thigh, laughing out. “Flies are pleasant? You're very strange Melisande, and very funny, maybe too much so.”
As unpredictable as the weather in March, his mood changed abruptly. His laughter choked into a cough, and he stared at me again. “Mosquitoes suck blood because they have no other choice, my dear. It’s their only source of livelihood, can you blame them? They have refined tastes, unlike the praised flies that are used to wallowing in human waste.”
I gazed at the desktop, cluttered with papers, uncomfortable under his cold stare.
“What would you do if you were a mosquito, Melisande? Would you give up eating? Would you starve to death so you wouldn’t be labelled as a parasite?” His tone was unrelenting, as if he required an answer.
I contented him. “Probably not. But I'm not sure. I would have to be in a mosquito’s place, to be sure of it. I like to believe that I could find an alternative.” I carefully kept my gaze off of him.
“We don’t always have an alternative, Melisande.” For a moment his voice trembled, under the burden of a pain that I knew nothing of and that he had come to terms with every day for the past fifteen years. “See you at two o’clock, Miss Bruno. Be on time.”
When I turned to him, he had already turned the wheelchair, hiding his face.
The awareness of having made a mistake crushed my heart in a vice, but I couldn’t make it up to him in any way.
Silently, I left the room.
Chapter three
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?”
