“You have been working harder than all of us, Sandy. So, go home, and get back to your books.”
“The boss would fire me, Giana. This is the third night in the last week. But I can’t help it. I need this job too! And I don’t think she would approve of you doing the home delivery.”
“Ah, fellow serfs!” interrupted Annabel jovially, hooking an arm each around their shoulders. “Let’s split the work. The tyrant need not know.”
“But we can’t go like this!” complained Giana, rolling her eyes at their appearance. “I don’t think anyone would appreciate fairies at their doorsteps with dinner packs!”
“And men wearing tights!” muttered Sandy, shuddering at the prospect. “Fortunately, I brought my own clothes!” He walked away to the men’s washroom.
“We don’t need to change!” declared Annabel, deftly removing her wings, holding it away from Toby’s hands.
“I can’t get this off!” cried Giana, trying to reach behind her own gown for the pins.
Annabel tried to help. The sound of ripping fabric from Giana’s shoulder made them gasp and a jagged tear appeared on the attached area.
“It is stuck at two places,” said Annabel, carefully setting it back. “You will have to remove the wings with the dress after reaching home.”
Giana had no choice but to keep her wings on, much to the delight of Toby who plucked the feathers one by one and tasted them like a connoisseur.
“He will be puking feathers by night!” Annabel distracted him with a candy soldier in her pocket and Toby fell for it.
“He would have no teeth if you keep giving him that sugary thing to pacify him!” scolded Giana.
“Don’t come between aunt and nephew,” threw back Annabel with a snort. “Aww...look he is so happy!”
Toby squealed in delight clutching his prize and promptly sucked at the soldier’s head.
Giana shrugged with a smile. She would have to brush his teeth and keep some healthy options the next time. This had been his big outing from his home environment. Usually, Giana kept him in a small cozy room in the backyard of the cafe, away from the bustle of the place, with a maid to take care of him in the daytime. It was a convenient arrangement since she could keep an eye on him whenever she was free from the bakery. Unfortunately, there was no one to take care of him at home tonight. Carol loved Toby but disapproved of him being let loose in the cafe. Giana felt sad at the thought that sometimes she had to sacrifice Toby’s needs, especially when he was sick or irritable.
She paid the decorators and dismissed the rest of her team outside the hotel lobby.
Sandy returned from the washroom, checked the list of delivery addresses, and divided the task, according to the ones that lay en route their homes. They picked up the deliveries from the cafe and went into different directions. Carol was told that they had to visit another client for a party planning so she was none the wiser that the sisters were helping Sandy.
Giana delivered the packets on her bicycle with Toby accompanying her. She was surprised to see the last address on her list, where the food was to be delivered only after eight in the evening. It was the house next door to hers, which she had been curious about the other night.
The narrow lane was deserted by the time she reached the wrought-iron gates. The ornate, nameplate showed the dull gleam of the name, Villa ‘Jardin d’Eden’ painted in stylized words.
Toby was still sucking on his candy soldier, strapped to Giana’s bicycle seat in front. He had been hanging on the handle bars, singing his own garbled song as his mother had gone from house to house delivering the food. The distant ocean waves murmured in a hushed tone and the cacophony of insects rose in the scrub on either side of the path. The climber-laden gates were ajar. Giana rolled the bicycle towards the portico. She was a little apprehensive now, wondering if it was a good idea at all to enter a darkened house.
There was no light anywhere. The portico was so large that some parts of it were shrouded in darkness. She stood still, her nervousness increasing. If there was anyone inside the house, they should have had lights on!
The sensation of being watched was disturbing. Giana stopped abruptly. Toby, who was susceptible to her every mood, began to whimper, raising his little arms to clutch at her.
In a hurry to leave, she was about to turn the bicycle around when a deep voice startled her.
“Are you leaving without granting me a wish?” The voice was vaguely familiar. The tone, definitely slurred.
Giana was struck dumb, shrinking in fear for seconds as her eyes became accustomed to the figure who sat in the shadows. Her hands gripped the handlebars and Toby whimpered again.
“You had placed an order at our cafe...for food delivery,” she blurted, before she could lose her nerve. The gates were not too far. She could escape if she tried.
But the figure didn’t move. “Yes, I did.”
Giana brought out the warm packet and held it out to him as though it had grown teeth to bite her.
“Ah yes...And they sent an angel for door-to-door delivery? Or is it a fairy?”
“Mamma favy!” chirped Toby as if on cue, employing his newly learned word.
A deeply amused chuckle burst from the shadowed figure. “Accompanied by...an elf?”
“To-by eff!” piped Toby, showing off his repertoire again. He promptly plucked a feather from Giana’s frayed, fairy wings, and waved it cheerily before blowing it away with a vigorous ‘foo’.
“Elf, it is!” drawled the shadow again.
Giana didn’t blink or smile, keeping her eyes on the motionless figure. She had quietly heard various comments from customers all evening, some amusing, and some downright silly. Fortunately, they were her regular customers.
She shoved aside her misgivings and spoke up, firmly, “Here’s the bill.”
“Hmm...Switch on the light on the pillar to your left, please, dear fairy!”
Ignoring the faintly mocking tone, Giana looked up at the column of white pillar and reached for the outline of a switch. Instantly, the portico was bathed in bright yellow from an overhead lamp. Toby blinked and gurgled in delight.
Awestruck for moments, Giana stared at the man in front of her. Maximillian Alexis Martineau sat sprawled in the armchair with all the ease of a lounging black panther. The errant buttons of his black shirt, left open to his waist, revealed a muscled chest and sleek abs that moved with every breath he took. His ruffled, dark hair flopped over his forehead, some sticking up endearingly as if he had been running his hands through them. But there was nothing endearing about the lithe frame that stretched out powerful legs, encased in black trousers in front of him in a casual stance.
He was disturbingly male and so was his appraisal of her. A bottle of liquor held negligently in his hand, he slid to one side to get a better look at the apparition of the woman with the little boy.
“Hello...Giana?” questioned Max with a sloping, beautiful smile. But the utter bleakness in his dark, chocolate eyes was terrible to behold.
Giana could not breathe for long moments as they assessed each other. She knew what she was looking at. She saw it in her own reflection in the mirror at times. The grief that was etched on his face seemed to dilute the fear in her. His pain snagged at Giana’s heart as if it were her own. Her chest felt suddenly constricted by the way his intense look was hooked on her. No doubt he was drunk to the brim but the sense of awareness that hummed between them was more pronounced tonight than the other night. And he remembered her name!
“So...you are doubling up as a fairy tonight? Doesn’t your husband mind you going out alone, delivering food to strangers?” asked Max in a slurred tone.
The tilt of her chin went higher, noted Max, as Giana answered a tad haughtily, “We are divorced.”
Max stared at her, stupefied and relieved to hear that bit of information! What sane man would relinquish such an exquisite creature? She looked so young! And to be a mother at that age seemed like a big responsibility on her del
icate shoulders. Shoulders that were now defensively stiffening with resentment in response to his personal question. Max knew that he had overstepped the line. But it was irresistible. He was too much of a man, not to have noticed how beautiful she was.
He leaned forward to retrieve his wallet from his pocket, picked out two crisp notes, and held them out to her.
“Come closer.”
The command was soft and Giana was seriously worried now. Nevertheless, she stood the bicycle on the stand and stepped on the smooth tiles to take the money and hand over the packet with the bill.
She hadn’t seen him at the cafe since the unpleasant scene with Carol and had strangely regretted it. Some part of her had wanted to apologise for her mother’s churlish behaviour. She couldn’t let go of this opportunity.
“I wanted to apologise to you...about the other day, Mr. Martineau!” she stated, softly, tucking away the money in her purse with trembling hands. Instead of looking at him, her eyes remained stuck to his booted feet.
“What for, dear fairy?” he asked, smiling in lazy assessment of her curvaceous figure, slowly raising the bottle of whiskey to his mouth and taking a deep swallow.
“My mother was rude to you. She didn’t mean it though. It wasn’t about you Mr. Martineau...” her words faded away awkwardly.
“I know what it was all about. Don’t let her bully you!” He leaned forward slightly. “And you can call me Max…fairy!” he pronounced, standing up unsteadily, taking another swig from the bottle.
“Mak favy!” piped Toby, in reply to that request.
Alarmed by the sudden movement from the man who stood up to his intimidating height, Giana took several steps backwards. But she realised that Max wasn’t looking at her now but at Toby. She whirled around to find her son nearly toppling out of the cycle basket in his effort to reach for the bit of candy soldier that had fallen to the ground. She rushed to hold him and was unnerved to see that Max had followed her.
Fright made her stay rooted to the ground. However, Max’s attention was riveted to Toby. He reached out to touch the child’s face, gently kissing the top of his curly head. Toby touched Max’s stubbly cheek in return, pinching a bit of skin between his tiny forefinger and thumb. Unlike his mother, he seemed quite thrilled and curious by the sudden appearance of the big stranger in front of him.
With sticky hands, Toby offered a shiny feather to Max who accepted it with grave humility. Giana could not control the inexplicable lump in her throat. The contradictory mix of tenderness and some nameless grief cut Max’s beautiful face into harsh lines.
He turned to Giana abruptly. Something flashed in his eyes. They stared at each other as if bound by threads, tenable and steely. As if in a trance, Max raised his hand to the wisps of curly hair that brushed her cheek. He marvelled at its texture, sliding his fingers down her cheek with the cluster of hair against it. It was as though he couldn’t believe that she was real.
Giana stood frozen in shock at the violation of her personal space. The touch of his fingers on her skin was like fire. But she couldn’t move. Max seemed to sense her terror, suddenly becoming aware of his actions. Tucking the strands behind her ear, he stepped back abruptly.
Jarred by the unbearable exquisiteness of the gesture, Giana began to tremble. She stepped away skittishly and turned the bicycle, clambering upon it in clumsy haste. “Goodnight, Mr. Martineau!” she called breathlessly, without looking back as she rode away.
“Goodnight, dear fairy!” growled Max under his breath, almost to himself.
To which Toby chirped back, “Bu-bye, Mak favy!”
*
Watching Giana cycle away in fright, Max stood turned to stone. He had been binge drinking as usual, sitting in the dark when the fairy and the elf had appeared in front of the portico. He was sure that he had begun to hallucinate when something familiar about the woman’s figure tugged at his brain. The blue gown and the tatty wings were somehow so astonishingly incongruous. Yet, the state of mind he was in, it seemed perfectly all right to have a fairy walk into his life to grant a wish. A death wish or anything to obliterate his pain.
When the lights had been switched on, he had recognized her instantly. The reaction from his body had been visceral, even as he calmed himself to sit still. He saw recognition reflected in Giana’s face too. And to his utter astonishment, the fear had been replaced by open compassion on her transparent countenance. He had foundered under the onslaught of some nameless emotion that lashed at him, exposing his jugular. He had wanted to hide from Giana’s open scrutiny. From the empathy in those lustrous eyes of hers. He had come to this town to lick his wounds in private. He had never expected anyone to understand his agony. Let alone a complete stranger. And in that split second of recognition, his soul had meshed with hers. He had broken the tenuous contact deliberately to dislodge her interest.
The wicked devil in Max had provoked him to tease her. Loosened by the inordinate amount of whiskey that he had swallowed on an empty stomach, he had aimed for a reaction from her. But she had been serene just like an angel, even though uncertain and afraid, begging him for forgiveness for the mistake she had not committed.
Max looked at the vacated spot where Giana had stood trembling when he had touched her cheek. It had been electrifying...that moment...somehow he hadn’t felt this alive in years. As if everything from the balmy night, the gentle breeze that swished through the palm fronds and the rustle of her blue dress had conspired to bind them together. The curly hair framing her angelic face, Toby’s singsong voice and the hushed silence that had enveloped Giana, had become magnified to several levels of acute awareness in him.
She was beautiful and he was a hungry man. Far too hungry! But for much more than just a woman’s body. And he loathed that about himself. Well, at least she was not married as he had presumed earlier. But it still felt wrong! It would have been easier if it was merely lust. He could not bring himself to believe that it had been only lust aroused by the scent of a woman or the useless liquor that had addled his brains. Maybe it was the liquor. The memory of Eva and Joey was a festering wound. It better be! For he must be punished for his sins. Maybe God was punishing him by sending temptation to break him down to bits.
Maybe it was all an illusion after all. But it wasn’t. He saw the food packet kept on the armchair and the crumpled bill fluttering feebly. He raised his fist and opened his palm to stare at the little feather that Toby had bestowed upon him. It flew away lightly, sailing on a whiff of sea breeze.
Just as insubstantial as everything else in life.
A gust of ill wind could blow away carefully constructed lives and reality would become memories. Some accurate, some distorted by time...
Suddenly his appetite had disappeared. He couldn’t eat, feeling sick as the alcohol churned in his guts. Turning away towards the overgrown thatch of thorny weeds, Max was royally sick, retching out the foul contents of his stomach. He didn’t know whether it was his stomach that was sick or his soul. Gripping the pillar for support, he sagged against the wall, his big body limp with the despair that washed over him. He spat the bile, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste and collapsed on the steps of the portico in an inglorious heap.
*
The next few days were so busy at the cafe that Giana had no time to think about Max. She did think about him at night though, now that she was awfully aware of the fact that he was living right next door. What quirk of fate had landed him as her neighbour and then taken her to his doorstep for food delivery, a task that was usually delegated to the delivery boys? She had promptly gone to bed after that fateful meeting, and refused to examine the deeper ramifications of the astonishing encounter with Max...so different from the stiff and formal man whom she had met at the cafe. She was better off not seeing him again, thought Giana, disturbed by too many unwanted emotions that had lain safely buried before she had met him.
However, the next Saturday toppled her firm decision when she was brought face to face with Max again o
n their way to church for a meeting. The three Francois women and little Toby were piled into their rickety old van along with the old priest, Fr Basil Da’Cunha, who had dropped in for lunch at their house. The van, christened as Junker Francois by Annabel, also doubled up as goods carrier for the cafe. Having led a busy life, lugging cafe paraphernalia for nearly ten years, it groaned like an old man, gargled a bit of steam and gave up right in the middle of the road amidst the incessantly flowing traffic, only a few meters from home.
After several attempts to start the engine, and ignoring the passing vehicles hooting at them at the bottleneck they were causing, Giana threw up her hands in exasperation. “Can’t start it! We have to push it to the kerb.”
“I told you to send it for servicing last week, didn’t I?” complained her mother, picking up a shrieking Toby, who wailed to be let loose at the steering wheel.
“I wanted to, but it was a very busy week.”
“Why can’t you just stay at the cafe instead of looking for more work that you know you can’t handle,” muttered Carol, giving vent to her irritation.
Fr Da’Cunha clicked his tongue at Carol’s censorious tone. “You have to be a little patient with the child, Carol! She is a hardworking girl. Come! Let’s push the vehicle out of the traffic.”
He trotted to the back of the car alongside Annabel and lifted his habit to his knees enthusiastically, revealing faded, checked trousers beneath. He flexed his gnarled wrists, ready for physical labour. They pushed the van laboriously to the roadside as Carol tried to soothe a squirming Toby.
Giana opened the bonnet to peer inside but obviously couldn’t do much. Fr Da’Cunha tapped at everything with an enquiring finger and pronounced dolefully that he was ignorant about machines but that he could look inside people’s hearts and see what ails them. They tried to flag down a taxi while Giana made frantic calls to the garage she frequented.
FLAWLESS Page 3
