Fynch smiled. ‘Bread is a rare treat in whichever form it is given to me. Thank you.’
Josse pointed to a basin nearby and heard the sound of Fynch washing his hands as he opened the door to young Turc, who brought in two bowls of stew, vapour rising enthusiastically from the brew, and bread still so warm he could smell its escaping steam. A chunk of butter he knew had been churned only the previous day was scattered with salt flakes.
His guest was taking an inordinately long time to dry his hands and Josse realised Fynch did not want to be seen.
‘Leave the tray, Turc. Thank you, lad. I can take it from here.’
FOUR
Gabe had half an hour to kill before Reynard arrived. He paused at the sideboard where the swan quill sat in its box and traced a finger over the feather, watching the individual spines part and then flick back into a soldierly line.
He remembered that Angelina had a sweet tooth and realised he had time to nip out and grab some simple fruit pastries drizzled with white icing, plus a new bag of his favourite coffee beans. He liked a strong roast that hinted of chocolate and licorice, and having invested in a 15bar Italian coffee machine, he enjoyed the ritual of making his coffee to order.
He thought again about Angelina and Reynard’s peculiar possessiveness about her. And then he remembered the note. Hell! He’d left the café yesterday and hurried back to the shop, only to get sucked into a black hole of new stock and paperwork, and had forgotten about Angelina’s piece of paper, which she’d pushed into his hand surreptitiously.
As soon as he was back at the apartment he threw down his packets from the bakery and dipped into the pocket where the note had been stuffed. He smoothed it out on the kitchen table and read it.
Don’t trust him! He is lying to you! Trust only me and what I say!
The three exclamations made her warning look desperate. So her fear was about the physician. He is lying to you! Why would Reynard lie? Lying about what? He presumed he was soon to find out more.
He set out the pastries and put some background music on very softly. It was melodic guitar music, nothing too Latin and upbeat but nothing melancholy either.
At just a minute or so to eleven he heard the security buzzer sound.
‘Reynard … Angelina?’
‘Good morning, Gabriel,’ Reynard’s disconnected voice said through the loudspeaker. ‘Thank you for your emailed directions.’
‘Just push the door,’ Gabe replied and hit the button to let them enter. He walked outside his flat to the landing, where he’d put a chair for Reynard. It was cold and, even though it felt churlish, he didn’t care. He was not permitting the physician inside while he was assessing Angelina. He leaned over the elegant wrought-iron railing that twisted serpentine-like around the shallow white marble stairs between floors and heard the lift crank into use. The lift took its time in its creaky ascent but finally it opened and there they were, the oddest couple.
Reynard was dressed in his habitual pinstripe suit while Angelina looked wan in a short skirt, ankle boots, thick tights, a duffel coat, scarf, gloves, beanie … it was as though she was a child being dressed by a protective grandmother against the elements.
‘Hello again, Monsieur Reynard, Angelina,’ he said warmly to both, but looking at her.
They stepped out of the lift.
‘So how do we do this?’ Reynard asked. He looked nervous.
‘I’ve put a chair here,’ Gabe said, gesturing toward the landing’s window. ‘It’s cold but you’re well wrapped up, I see. Did you bring a book?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Reynard replied. ‘How long?’
‘I’d say we need at least forty-five minutes undisturbed.’ He gave a sympathetic grin but his tone was firm. ‘I can offer you coffee?’
‘I understand. And no, but thank you. I’ve recently had one,’ Reynard said.
‘Angelina, will you follow me, please?’ Gabe offered. She nodded.
Reynard touched his arm. ‘Be careful, Gabriel. Remember my warning,’ he whispered.
Gabe looked over his shoulder with a quizzical frown. ‘We’ll be fine,’ he assured Reynard. He closed the door on the physician and turned to the young woman. ‘It’s warm in here so feel free to take off your coat and put it down over there,’ he said, pointing to the sofa. He left it entirely to her. But it pleased him to see that she began peeling off her heavy garments. It was a good start. He turned away. ‘Now, how about a decent coffee?’
She shook her head, dark eyes regarding him far from suspiciously. In fact, he’d describe her look as hungry but not for food. He convinced himself he was imagining it and decided that she was probably relieved to be away from Reynard’s supervision.
‘This is not jar coffee,’ he insisted, mock offended.
Angelina’s face broke momentarily into a grin. She pulled off her beanie and shook out her hair; again, he had the desire to touch it. Without her bulky coat on she looked so vulnerable.
Helena, a female colleague at university during his PhD, was doing her thesis on personality types with regard to romance and/or sex. She had used Gabe as one of her test subjects and had surprised him with a summary of the sort of woman he was most attracted to. He’d argued it, of course, and he’d seen many women since who didn’t fit that bill, but, curiously, Angelina ticked many of the boxes: small, dark, not a chatterbox, someone who seemed slightly remote from the mainstream. She would have to be very pretty, Helena had assured him with a wry smile, but not traditionally so. How thoroughly annoying, he thought now, as he looked at Angelina, that Helena could have been so accurate … or more to the point, that he could be so predictable. He cleared his throat as Angelina stepped closer.
‘I don’t like caffeine in any form,’ she said, and there was lightness in her tone that he had not heard before. He took a private pleasure in thinking that Reynard had probably never heard her voice.
‘Don’t like caffeine?’ he repeated with feigned despair. ‘How do you cope?’
‘I manage,’ she murmured, almost playfully. She ran a hand over the coffee machine. Her nails were trimmed blunt, but neatly, with perfect half-moons above the cuticles. They were free of varnish but still they shone. He was one of those people who noticed. Unbitten, trimmed, buffed and well-kept nails spoke droves.
‘You have lovely hands, Angelina,’ he said, before he could censure himself.
‘I’m not vain but I do take care of them,’ she said, looking at her nails briefly. She gave a rueful laugh that sounded like a soft sigh. She walked away from the coffee machine and him.
‘Are you warm enough?’ he asked solicitously.
She nodded over her shoulder. He didn’t want this time to drift into awkwardness. They’d begun well and he needed to keep that positive energy bouncing between them if he was to make progress with her.
’finish this. ‘Angelina, today we’re just going to talk. Like a couple of old friends, having coffee and,’ he pointed to the small table, ‘sharing some pastries.’
She looked so small and alone he felt an urge to hug her as extra reassurance. It was obvious the young woman was starved of affection, but it was not his role to provide it. Instead he opened his palms to her. ‘Can I get you a soft drink? Mineral water?’
She eyed him gravely. ‘I’m fine, really. Do you want me to sit down?’
He nodded and looked at the comfy chairs by the window. ‘I’ll just
She turned away but paused at the sideboard to look at his boxed quill. ‘This is very lovely,’ she said. ‘May I touch it?’
‘Be my guest,’ he said over the sound of grinding the beans. He watched her pick up the quill and weigh it in her hand before she held it out to admire it in the light. ‘It’s old.’
‘Antique, apparently,’ he replied.
‘Older,’ he thought she said.
‘It’s from a swan, can you believe?’ he called over the noise of the machine gathering steam. He tamped down the coffee and locked the bar handle into place, then p
ressed the button. The machine responded with its routine noises as the pump now wound up the pressure. He walked away from the groans and grinds for a few seconds so he could hear her properly.
‘Only scriveners are given the swan quill.’
Gabe was astonished by her remark.
‘How would you know that?’ he said with a smile as he returned to the machine to test that it was ready to froth the milk. A burst of steam wheezed. ‘Oh, Reynard, of course,’ he said, before she could reply. It made sense that Reynard would have told her about the quill.
Gabe glanced over and noticed her short skirt ease higher up her stockinged thighs as she sat and stared out of the window. Angelina had a far more voluptuous body than he’d imagined beneath all those layers.
‘Voilà,’ he murmured to himself as he poured the milk into the shot of coffee.
Gabe sipped as he moved to join her, and sighed as he finally seated himself opposite. He put the coffee on the table between them before he leaned back and nonchalantly crossed a leg. It was a series of deliberate actions to make her feel comfortable, to show that he was relaxed and that she should feel the same. At the same time he was thinking how she was beautiful in an almost ethereal way.
‘It wasn’t Reynard,’ she said, brushing some invisible lint from her skirt.
‘Sorry?’ He wasn’t sure what she meant.
‘The swan quill. It wasn’t Reynard who told me. Everyone knows a scrivener needs the quill of a swan,’ she said airily, as though it was of no further interest to her. ‘It’s nice here. How long have you been in this apartment?’
Everyone? He didn’t. But she’d moved on, he could tell. He would think on the quill later. Gabe looked around the apartment. ‘Er … let’s see … it must be coming up to four years. I’m glad you like it. I enjoy living here.’
‘You obviously live alone.’
‘I do. Not even a goldfish for company.’
He thought she might have smiled but her gaze only became more intense. ‘Do you get lonely?’
‘I suppose I should, but I choose this lifestyle. I’m perfectly happy living alone with my coffee machine and working in a bookshop. How about you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Would you like to have a family, friends, a home?’
‘No,’ she murmured.
That surprised him. His gaze narrowed. ‘You want to change your current situation though, I’m sure.’
‘Is that a question?’
He smiled at her dry tone. ‘Do you remember anything about your life before the hospitals?’
‘I remember everything. I just don’t want to share it with doctors.’
Gabe realised too late that he’d reacted far too obviously in sitting forward with a confused expression. Angelina had the grace to look away … far away out of the window.
‘Do you have a family?’ he asked, unable to help the question. The accepted rule was to avoid such directness at the outset, to approach all probing as obliquely as possible. He was so rusty.
‘No,’ she said, unfazed.
Well, if she was happy to answer … ‘So where is home?’
‘A long way from here.’
Before the session had begun, Gabe had not had any intention of going beyond winning her trust. But now he wanted to know everything about her; she was as intriguing as she was seductive. The more he looked and listened to her the more he realised that Angelina was needful, but not needy. It was physical help she was after, he now suspected. She wanted his help to get away from Reynard and the doctors, otherwise she’d never have allowed him to know she was not mute.
She was, however, disarmingly charming and desirable and he was vaguely embarrassed at how she aroused him.
He cleared his throat again. ‘Angelina —’
‘My friends call me by a different name.’
Gabe was ready for her this time. He didn’t react. ‘Tell me about them?’
‘They’re elsewhere.’
‘Have you a plan to return to them?’
Her eyes blazed. His question had fired some hidden desire deep within.
‘Yes,’ she replied, and for the first time since he’d set eyes on Angelina, she gave him her complete attention. Suddenly, it was as if no-one else existed in the world, just the two of them. ‘Are you going to help me?’ she asked.
He realised he was nodding. He hadn’t meant to make any commitment beyond this single hour. But now he was under her spell.
‘Will you tell me why you’re scared of Reynard?’
There it was, the question he’d promised himself he wouldn’t ask. His task was to give Angelina’s doctors a glimpse into the world in which she lived, not explore her fears in this opening session.
Again, she felt none of his unease and replied with candour. ‘I know you think he cares about me, but he doesn’t.’
‘What do mean by that?’
‘I mean that you’re putting your trust in the wrong person. He’s trying to stop me getting home.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Because he’s scared of me.’
‘Why should he fear you?’
‘His fear is for you.’
Gabe had to repeat that in his mind. Fears for me? he said silently with incredulity.
He had to backtrack. ‘Firstly, why do you scare him?’
‘Because of what I can offer.’
The meaning of her response was clouded, but it was also highly suggestive.
‘And what is it that you offer?’
‘Eternity,’ she replied, a little dreamily.
He didn’t show his irritation at her response but decided to refocus her and deliberately reached forward to pick up his coffee. He sipped slowly, saying nothing, waiting for her attention to return. It tasted terrible. He was off his game. As he knew it would, his silence won her notice.
She blinked, looked at him. ‘What?’ she asked, sounding as though she had missed what he’d said.
‘You wrote me a note. I have it here,’ he said, putting his glass down and digging in his pocket.
‘I know what it says.’
‘Will you explain it to me? Let’s return to the beginning. I mean, why you’re so frightened.’
‘I’m not when I’m here with you.’
‘Good. Why is that?’
‘Perhaps you’ve noticed how he watches my every move? He doesn’t let me out of his sight.’
Gabe shrugged. ‘Well, that’s because he’s your physician and responsible for —’
‘No, Gabe. Can I call you Gabe?’ He wasn’t sure what to say but she’d taken his hesitation as permission. ‘He’s frightened of me leaving.’
‘Leaving?’ He frowned. ‘Paris?’
Angelina threw out her arms. ‘No, here.’
‘My apartment,’ he qualified.
She smiled as though he was simple. ‘This world.’
He deliberately paused, allowing her comment to float around them for a few moments so that she could explain herself.
‘Are you surprised?’ she asked.
‘You demanded that Reynard not accuse you of being delusional. I have to wonder how you think you sound when you say something like you just did.’
‘I realise what I say is hard to grasp. It doesn’t mean I am delusional,’ she replied without hesitation. Her gaze was unswerving. ‘I’m far more sane than Reynard, who, by the way, is out of his mind with fear. Especially today because I am now closer to my goal than I have been in a very long time.’
‘Your goal. To leave Earth, you mean?’ he said, working at sounding reasonable. Yes, indeed, his skills definitely needed brushing up. This sort of interested tone used to come so easily.
‘Not Earth, Gabe. This world,’ she corrected.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘So your goal is to reach a point where you can exit this plane,’ he offered, believing that sounded catchy but also succinct.
‘Not reach a point, but the person who would take me away.’
<
br /> ‘Pardon,’ he said, more confused.
‘I’ve been looking for someone.’
‘And?’
‘I’ve found who I’ve searched for.’
‘Oh, good.’ Now he just sounded patronising. He wasn’t ready to dive back in like this. It made him feel and sound amateurish.
‘You don’t understand, do you?’
‘Explain it to me,’ he encouraged.
‘I’ve been looking for you, Gabe.’
He blinked with consternation. ‘For me?’ She nodded slowly. ‘But until yesterday you didn’t know me.’
‘When we met I knew it was you I had been seeking.’
‘Angelina, forgive me, but do you realise how odd this seems and why people are concerned about you?’
‘I cannot help that.’
‘Yes, but people like Reynard are trying to help.’
‘He’s using you.’
‘Why would that be?’
She smiled and just for a blink he sensed an old cunning.
‘Angelina?’ he prompted, waiting for her to explain.
She glanced toward the door. ‘Reynard is becoming impatient.’
He frowned. ‘I told him to wait.’
‘Any moment the phone will —’
The phone began to ring.
He looked at it startled, then back at Angelina, who was staring out of the window again as if lost in deep thought. He resisted answering it and finally the machine whirred into action. He listened to his automated message being politely trotted out, waited for the caller to speak. The line went dead.
‘He won’t let it be,’ she warned dreamily.
Gabe felt his mobile phone vibrate against his thigh. He ignored it. The main phone rang again. It sounded even more shrill, demanding his attention with an I know you’re in there! screech.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. He stood up and grabbed the receiver. ‘Hello?’ he said, sounding irritated.
‘Gabriel, this is Reynard.’
She turned to give him a slight ‘told you so’ glance and then immediately looked away.
‘Er, yes, Reynard. I thought we had an arrangement about being left quietly.’
The Scrivener's Tale Page 6
