“That would make for quite the image,” I agreed.
“Have you been in Ireland long?” I could feel those assessing eyes turn to land on me.
“Brand new actually, I just got in last week,” I responded as I met his eyes.
“And how are you adjusting?” He strolled to a small collection of Pre-Raphaelite paintings. They weren’t necessarily my favorite genre, but I had studied the style and was familiar with some of the pieces.
“Very well, although, I’ve hardly had much of a chance to explore the area.”
I was pretty sure he was listening, but his attention was focused on the paintings. He eventually stopped as his eyes landed on a piece with which I was familiar. He studied it for a good while and I started to think our conversation was over, but just before I started to back away, he spoke again.
“Look at her confidence, her passion. That at least, Sandys got right. That and the timing, but I’m sure that was more luck than anything else,” he said with a glint of amusement in his eyes.
He was referring to a work entitled Morgan le Fay painted by Frederick Sandys in 1864. The work was not particularly large, about twenty-four by sixteen inches encased in an ornate gold frame. The woman depicted had pale skin, typical of that era, with long curling brown hair and she was draped in leopard skin and silks while in the throes of concocting a spell over a burning fire.
“Are you referring to the Asian silks and symbols? If I recall correctly, the orient was popular at the time Sandys painted the piece. The elements were included in the painting even though they would not have been present during the time the Arthurian legends purportedly occurred.”
“Indeed,” he said almost as a lament as his good humor seemed to turn to something similar to grief and I was suddenly extremely uncomfortable.
I wasn’t even touchy-feely with family, so I certainly wasn’t interested in consoling a random stranger—that was way out of my comfort zone.
“Well, I’d better get back to work, I hope you enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”
He eyed me with an intensity that made me pause. “Rebecca, it was very good to see you, please do be careful while you’re here.” He gave a slight bow of his head and abruptly walked away.
I floundered in confusion at what had just happened. Had I given him my name? I examined my blouse, wondering if I had worn a nametag and forgotten about it, or perhaps he knew Fergus and was told about my employment. Yes, that had to be it. But then, why had he said good to see you and not good to meet you, as if we had met before? I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being pranked, as if men with cameras would jump out at any moment to tell me I was part of an elaborate setup. This country was full of unusual characters and I begrudgingly admitted that it would at least keep things interesting.
When I finished touring the museum, it was nearly six o'clock. After checking in with Fergus, I packed my things and wrapped up the first day of work at my new job. I reveled in a sense of rightness as I began my walk home, confident that I had made the right decision to come to Belfast. I was certain Fergus was going to be an amazing boss and the museum was even better than I had expected.
While I was never particularly gifted in creating art, it never seemed to diminish my love for the arts. And if I couldn’t create it, then I wanted to do the next best thing and be a part of a museum to help honor and share great works of art with the world. Having the opportunity to do that was what I had been working toward for years and I was positively giddy to finally be achieving my goals. The city had been more than I could have imagined and added in large part to the happiness of my new situation. Although I wasn’t sure exactly how I knew, I was certain, this was where I belonged.
4
When I left the museum that evening, I stopped at Medinah’s Groceries and picked up ingredients to make a celebratory dinner commemorating my first day at the museum. I loved the process of creating a meal—preparing fresh ingredients and exploring new recipes and flavors were one of my favorite pastimes. My love stemmed from the years my mom and I spent cooking together in the kitchen. I loved to put on some good music, have a glass of wine, and get lost in the kitchen creating a new dish.
Fortunately, the grocery wasn’t much of a detour on my walk home. There were corner food markets, hair salons, restaurants and drugstores at convenient locations all over the city. At some point I would think about buying a car so that I could venture outside of the city, but for now, I was focused on my job and getting settled in my new home.
Even though it was still nearly two months from the middle of winter, early November in Belfast meant the daylight hours were already limited. The sun set at about four-thirty, so my evening commute home would be in the dark. The evenly spaced lampposts cast enough light over the sidewalk that I didn’t feel particularly unsafe, but I certainly wasn’t going to take any longer than necessary out on the streets. With that thought in mind and my head tucked against the misty, cool air, I wound my way toward the market. There were a few people headed to and from evening activities, so the streets and sidewalks had the occasional passer-by but nothing compared to the claustrophobia of a New York City sidewalk. Lost in my thoughts, I almost didn’t notice when a voice called out from the street just to my right.
“Do I know you?” called a deep voice in a slow Irish drawl.
While I might not have been a New Yorker born and bred, I had been there long enough to know that you do not under any circumstances talk to or make eye contact with strangers. However, this voice was so commanding, so compelling that my steps faltered and despite my better judgment, I turned to its source.
My lungs forgot how to work as I took in the gorgeous man leaning against a sleek black sports car. He was tall with broad shoulders under his finely tailored dark grey suit. With his arms folded across his chest, I could see his biceps threaten the strength of the suit fabric—not to say he was a muscle-head, more like he had just the right amount of bulk to make other guys envious and women throw themselves at him. His blond hair was cut short and neatly kept. His strong jaw line covered in a thin layer of scruff, more out of convenience than a style choice. I was pretty sure, despite the darkness surrounding him, that beneath his furrowed brows, his assessing eyes were a deep blue.
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, dumbly. Apparently, that was the best I could do in front of this Adonis.
“I don’t believe I stuttered. Do. I. Know. You?” he repeated evenly and stood to his full height but didn’t approach.
Well over six feet, and Lord Almighty was he rude. Why were the hot ones always assholes? That or gay.
“No, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. Should I know you?” Mirroring his stance, I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes. We held each other’s glare until his eyes, devoid of all emotion, slowly raked down my body and back up leaving my skin seared in their wake.
“You have no idea who I am?” he asked as his eyes once again met mine.
“Good grief! If you couldn’t tell from my accent, I’m not from here and I have only been in the country for less than a week, so no, I have no idea who you are.” My voice raised as my frustrations grew. I was cold and hungry and a bit freaked out so I was definitely less patient than my mother raised me to be, sorry Mom.
He approached and with every measured step closer, my breaths became more shallow and I could feel a tendril of fear unfurl in my chest. “How did you get here?”
Countering his advance, I took a step back toward the vacant storefront, keeping my eyes locked on his. Not that I could read his intent, his face was a mask giving nothing away. With such an attractive face, he didn’t seem like he should be dangerous, or perhaps I just didn’t want him to be, yet my skin crawled and adrenaline started coursing through me, making my palms sweat and my head pulse.
“I flew American,” I said, lifting my chin in a pathetic attempt to assert myself.
Sneering, he leaned in so close that his face was just inches from mine. “You think y
ou can toy with me?” His warm breath ghosted across my cheek. “Be very careful. If you play games with me, we will play by my rules, and I doubt you’ll like them,” he growled at me in a deep rumble.
I wasn't sure if I was more terrified of him or frustrated with myself, because despite his intimidation and massive size, my stomach flurried in awareness of him. My brain was a mess of contradictions, fluttering from one thought to the next. Is he going to kill me? Kiss me? Would I scream if he did? Was he insane. Did I care?
Eventually, my cautious side won out and in a shaking breath, I tried to extract myself from the hold his eyes had over me. “I have absolutely no idea what you mean and I think we’re done here.” I tried to slip away from him but he grabbed my arm in his firm grip before I could get far.
“Don’t run from me. If you do, I’ll catch you, it’s what I do.”
“Please let me go.” My voice shook as fear trumped everything else. My eyes darted around to see if anyone else was witnessing our exchange and could possibly help me but the immediate area was surprisingly empty.
“I’ll make you a deal, tell me your name, and you can go … for now,” he conceded in a husky tone. I told myself that if he wanted to hurt me, he would have done it by now and having my first name wouldn’t give him anything substantial so, if it would speed this along…
“Rebecca.” My voice was practically a whisper.
His hand slowly released my arm and as soon as I was through his grasp, I quickly fled in the direction of the food store.
Almost too quietly to hear, the low timbers of his voice had me securing my coat around my middle. “We are most certainly not done here.”
But once I had stopped to venture a glance back, he was already sliding into his car and with startling speed, he pulled away from the curb and was gone.
As much as I wanted this job and as excited as I had been about this amazing opportunity, if I met one more strange man in this country, I was going to have to tuck tail and run back to the States. What was wrong with these people?
Was it me? Did I attract the crazies?
Prior to arriving in Ireland, I hadn’t noticed a particular abundance of lunatics being drawn to me, and living in New York City there was plenty of opportunity. Just a couple of days in Ireland and I was a veritable Pied Piper luring every whack-job in the city.
I’d had three long-term boyfriends, each relationship fizzling out naturally with little drama or angst. The men I’d dated were good guys; however, for one reason or another, none had been quite the right fit for me to think of as a forever kind of thing. The first was a high school sweetheart who didn’t survive the move to college.
There was Matt, the art major at Williams College and Justin the investment banker in New York. I enjoyed my time with each of them, but my interest waned and as a testament to their quality of character and our lackluster relationships, I was able to remain friends with both of them.
At no point in my past, that I could recall, did I find myself surrounded by the number of lunatics that seemed to be flocking to me since arriving in Belfast.
I did my best to explain away the incidents as coincidence and continued on my errand. I picked up the supplies that I needed for chicken piccata, one of my favorites, along with a bottle of wine and some fresh cookies from the bakery next door. I had a sizable sweet tooth and was adamant that every good meal be topped off with a treat. Fortunately, my metabolism and the large amount of walking I did each day had always kept the calories from being a problem. I’ve always been a firm believer that you never know what tomorrow brings, if presented with the choice, you should always eat dessert.
As I left the store I tucked my chin into my coat collar and my body curled in against the cold. Most of my jobs back in New York had required me to be on my feet, and I never had a car in the city so I wasn’t totally unprepared for my day of walking the museum, but the subsiding adrenaline rush from my confrontation had left me feeling drained. I headed home, excited to catch up with Ashley and relax with my best friend.
Back at the apartment, I put away the groceries, changed into lounge pants and a soft t-shirt, and poured myself a glass of wine. Ash had not returned from the tourist activities she had planned for the day, so I was able to have some quiet time to start preparing dinner. I shuffled one of my Spotify playlists and sliced the chicken into fillets as the first strains of Kaleo’s Way Down We Go started to play.
The song’s lyrics sent my mind back to that dark sidewalk thinking about the strange, beautiful man. He didn’t seem particularly crazy except for the fact that he kept insisting we knew each other. If he had been remotely light hearted about it, I would have believed it was a pickup line, but there was no mistaking his intentions and they were not remotely romantic. If anything, he seemed puzzled or annoyed, from what little I could tell of his stoic expression. Maybe I had a doppelganger running around Belfast somewhere. If so, I hoped the crazies would start chasing her instead.
I wondered what he had meant by we are most certainly not done here. Whatever it was, it made me want to buy pepper spray. In the meantime, I focused on my task as the next song played and I tried to rid my mind of those haunting eyes.
Not long after, Ash came into the apartment, beaming. “How was your first day? Tell me all about it!” She threw down her coat and bags, making her way to the wine bottle on the counter.
“It was great. Fergus was just the same in person as he had been on the phone.” I gave Ash a rundown of my first day at work as I continued cooking our dinner.
“Bec, I’m so happy for you! I can’t believe that just a couple weeks ago you were taking orders in a no-name restaurant and now, look at you. You’re a part of a museum and doing work that you love.” She had pulled over a dining chair and sat with pride on her face as her eyes became suspiciously glassy.
“Don’t you dare start crying on me, you know I hate that watery stuff. Tell me about your day.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said on a laugh. “Let’s see, I took a guided tour in a taxi of all these amazing murals around the city—it’s right up your alley, you definitely have to do it once you have a chance. Then, I visited the Titanic Belfast and let me tell you how cool this place was.” She launched into a description of not only the exhibits inside the Titanic, but also the building itself, which was reportedly a structural work of art. While she talked, I set the tiny table, which barely fit two people, but that was all I needed and it was the perfect setting to catch up with my bestie. After we had both recounted all of the new artwork, exhibits, and sites we had seen that day, I decided to mention the two odd encounters from earlier.
“On a different note, I met two more delightful Irishmen today. Not as creepy as Airport Man, but I’m thinking the men here may not be all there in the head.”
“Do go on, this sounds intriguing.” She sat back in her chair with wide eyes, as if I had just told her I had met the man of my dreams and eloped during lunch.
“Well, it’s not all that exciting, just had this strange guy start talking to me at the museum. Then on the way home, this gorgeous man who I swear to God could have just walked off a movie set, seriously swoon-worthy, starts shooting me with questions and the whole thing was disturbingly odd.”
“First, a man talking to random people nearby doesn’t sound so odd, pretty sure my Gramps talks to everyone he sees,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“That’s not what made it weird, it was more what he said and how he just walked away. Plus your Gramps is old, this guy was maybe forty—it was hard to tell.”
“What did he say before he took off?”
I described the man and recounted our discussion of the artwork and his parting words. “I swear the guy was not in the room when I first walked up to the exhibit and then just as quickly, he was gone. I have no idea how he knew my name and I can’t tell if I’m reading into his good to see you or if that’s just how people talk here.”
“Hunh, and what about Mr. Gorgeous, tel
l me about him.” Her eyebrows shot up and down indicating she was hoping this was going to be juicy.
“It’s not what you’re thinking, you hussy.”
“Whatever, let me be the judge of that.”
I shook my head at her good humoredly. Again, I gave her the bullet points of my conversation while she listened intently.
“You sure he wasn’t hitting on you?”
“Definitely not. It wasn’t so much a pickup line as it was an accusation. Like something Angry Arnold would do, but this guy wore an expensive suit and was leaning up against a fancy car so he wasn’t a crazy, homeless person or anything.”
“I wonder why he was so confident that you guys knew each other,” she puzzled while sitting forward with her brows pinched together in concern.
“I have absolutely no idea.”
“So, did you just walk away?”
“He said if I told him my name he would let me go.”
“You told him?” She balked in astonishment.
“Ash, what else was I supposed to do? I only gave him my first name and then I basically told him the conversation was over, and get this, as I’m walking away, he says, this is most certainly not over, and then he gets in his car and drives off. Now tell me what the hell that means?” I asked, feeling the rush of that moment all over again.
“It means you need to stop talking to crazies on the street.”
“No kidding, that was my thought exactly. That and I need to go buy some pepper spray.”
“I can’t believe you don’t have any already.”
“I haven’t had time and you know I couldn’t bring over the one I had, they don’t allow you to ship that stuff.”
Ash stood up and said with a yawn, “I have got to wash off the grime of the day, you okay getting the dishes? I swear I’ll get them next time.”
I playfully rolled my eyes. The kitchen was not Ash’s favorite place and it was not the first time I did the cooking and also got stuck cleaning up after. “No problem, go ahead and shower, I’ll take the next one when I’m done here,” I said as I gathered the dishes and took them to the sink, which was in a dark corner of the room now that the sun had gone down. The single light bulb in the room was not a problem during the day when the windows let in plenty of light, but evenings were another matter.
Shadow Play_A Dark Fantasy Novel Page 3
