The Other Side Of Midnight

by Georgia Le Carre

  When I cut into the meat on my plate I realize it is not actually well-done at all, but what I would normally call medium. There is still some pink in the middle, but to my surprise, I am not repulsed by it. I have no inclination to send it back for a little while longer in the pan. I cut a small piece and put it into my mouth. The meat is full of flavor and so tender it almost melts in my mouth. It mixes with the lingering taste of tannin from the wine.

  “How’s your steak?” the Count asks.

  “Delicious.”

  “Good,” he says simply.

  I cut into a buttered whole carrot. It is not the normal variety. It is small and almost maroon. I chew on the perfectly cooked vegetable. It seems to be richer and more flavorsome than any other carrot I have ever eaten. “This carrot is really delicious too.”

  “It should be. It’s a wild South American variety that is grown organically inside a greenhouse. Not a drop of pesticide has been used in its production.”

  My eyebrows rise. “Really? Wow, they’re really serious about food here, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, Francois, the Chef, is meticulous and uncompromising when it comes to the quality of his food.”

  I stare into his cold, luminous eyes and feel that spell swirl around me like a mist. Again, my body fills with desire for him, but he drops his eyelids over his eyes and says, “Eat your food, Autumn.”

  I feel myself blush as I bend my head towards my food. I am behaving like a gawky, silly, infatuated teenager. My irritation with myself makes me say the stupidest, most unsophisticated thing I could possibly have said. I want to kick myself even as the dumb words are pouring out of my mouth. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  His eyes glitter as he gazes at me. “You might want to wait until you’re asked.”

  My face burns. “Well, it’s just good to get it out there.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” he says gravely, but I can tell he is amused by my gaucheness.

  I dig myself deeper into the ground. “Good. As long as both of us understand where we stand.”

  “Of course.”

  I search for a different topic. “Tell me about you.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “I have no need to do anything for a living. I have investment portfolios that are handled by capable managers. My time is my own. I read, I hunt, I swim, I climb mountains, I take long walks, I travel a bit, and I have my own charity.”

  “It sounds very solitary?”

  “It is,” he agrees quietly.

  “Don’t you like people then?” I ask curiously.

  “Not usually.”

  “Why not?”

  “One day I will tell you.”

  “That sounds very mysterious, Count Rossetti,” I whisper, staring into his hypnotic eyes.

  “Call me, Rocco,” he instructs softly, mesmerizingly.

  “Rocco,” I breathe.

  The air around us changes. His pupils grow so large his eyes appear almost black.

  I press my lips together as I try to control the insane reactions inside my body. The way this man looks at me is just crazy. It turns my insides to jelly. No one has ever had this power over me. I literally melt under his gaze.

  He picks up his glass of wine and considers me over the rim. “Where would you like to paint me?”

  When I gave into the overwhelming need to paint him and blurted it out to him I hadn’t properly thought about a plan of how I would accomplish that. I swallow and try to marshal my wayward thoughts. Obviously, I can’t ask him to come to my tiny caravan and there isn’t enough space in the backroom of the shop.

  “Perhaps you can come up to my house,” he suggests silkily.

  I stare at him. Why do I feel as if I have stepped into a trap that he set for me? After all, painting him was my idea.

  He smiles. “I’m not a spider, Autumn. And you’re not a hapless fly I want to eat. Well, not in the traditional sense, anyway.”

  My eyes widen with shock, and between my legs I become wet. Did he just allude to wanting to eat me out?

  Chapter 13

  Rocco

  Even from here, I can scent her arousal. It is so strong and sweet it takes all my control not to lay her on the table, open her legs, and suck her sweet cleave. I pick up the wine glass and inhale the scent of old grapes to distract me from her tantalizing scent.

  I watch the twin spots of color appear in her cheeks. She lays her knife and fork down with trembling fingers. It is as impossible for her to eat as it is for me. I am starving, but not for food, for her. For a taste of her.

  “What do you really want from me, Count Rosse… Rocco?”

  “When someone asks you out to dinner what do they usually want from you?” I parry.

  “It’s usually one of two things. A) They want to go to bed with me. B) They want to go to bed with me.”

  If she only knew. I lean back. “I want more.”

  She leans forward. “You want more than sex? Why do I find that hard to believe?”

  “Why is it so hard to believe?”

  “You are a man of the world. A Count. A man who thinks nothing of spending $100,000 on a painting by an unknown painter. You bought a mountain, then narrowed the roads to stop people going up it, for God’s sake. You must have access to the most beautiful women in the world. What could you possibly want with me? I’m totally unglamorous. Everything I’m wearing today is borrowed because my whole wardrobe is old sweatshirts and jeans. I live in a trailer park, and I’m boring. I spend every moment I’m not working painting.”

  “Perhaps you intrigue me as much as I intrigue you.”

  “You only intrigue me so much as I want to paint you.”

  “Since you are immune to… my charms you have nothing to worry about. Come up to my house and paint me.”

  Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. The delicate skin around it turns white. My stomach clenches and coils with thick need.

  “What are you scared of little Autumn? Me or yourself?”

  She takes the bait beautifully. “I’m not scared of myself,” she denies hotly.

  “Then it is settled. You will come to my house to paint.”

  “How will I get there?” Her acceptance is grudging.

  I smile with satisfaction. “I will send Raoul to pick you up. Just let me know when and where.”

  She licks her lips, her face uncertain. “The thing is I like to paint late into the night… when everyone is asleep.”

  I lift my glass and inhale the fumes of the wine deeply, in the hope it will distract me from the rich scent of her arousal. It’s so strong now, it’s starting to affect me. It’s actually getting hard for me to stay calm and seated.

  “I’m an insomniac so that would be no problem,” I tell her.

  “Uh… tomorrow night Larry is hosting a cheese and wine affair at the gallery for some of his artists and I have to clean up after them, so it’ll be a late night for me, how about the day after? Your man can pick me up from the shop at 8.00 p.m.”

  “8.00 pm Tuesday, it is,” I confirm softly.

  She nods and looks down at her unfinished plate of food. Like me she is unable to eat and the food has gone cold.

  “Would you like some dessert?”

  Keeping her eyes on her plate she shakes her head regretfully. “It is a crime to waste such great food, but I simply don’t seem to have the appetite today.”

  “Would you like the chocolate fudge cake to go?”

  Her body tenses and her head jerks up, her eyes are wide. “How did you know I wanted to have that?”

  I smile at the suspicion in her eyes. “I thought all girls like chocolate. It is our bestseller.”

  “I’m not a girl,” she snaps defiantly. Her eyes are brilliant with emotion. It makes her even more beautiful. The image of her lying amongst tubes of paint and brushes on the floor, a baseball bat rolling next to her, comes back. She’s a fighter. I like that.r />
  I would have liked to have goaded her further, see her fly into a magnificent rage, and then take her while she is kicking and screaming, and turn her into putty in my arms, but there will be time for that later.

  “My apologies. I should have said young ladies,” I concede softly.

  I gesture to the waiter loitering by the door. He jumps to attention and comes out.

  “One chocolate cake to go.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” he says politely and hurries away.

  “Thank you for the cake… and dinner. It really was delicious,” she mumbles awkwardly into the tense silence.

  “The pleasure was all mine.”

  She chews her bottom lip. “I guess I should call for my taxi now.”

  “It’s already taken care of.”

  She nods. “Oh, okay.”

  The waiter comes back carrying a black carrier bag tied with a red ribbon and puts it on the table in front of her.

  “There is a small tub of ice cream so if you are not going to eat it as you get home you should put it in the freezer. Your dessert will be best if you warm up the chocolate sauce first. Seven seconds in a microwave oven will give it the perfect consistency and heat,” he tells her.

  She looks up at him, bestows a sweet smile, and thanks him. He smiles back at her. The smile is tentative and tinged with sexual attraction. He wants her!

  Black fury explodes in my guts. It surges into my veins like poison and curls my hands into fists. She is mine. How dare he even look at her? An animal-like growl spews from deep within me.

  Startled, both of them turn to look at me. With a fearful look at me, he hurries away.

  She opens her mouth, no doubt to question me about the primitive sound, but I stare at her with such intensity that she is sucked into my world and held transfixed by the naked craving for her she sees in my eyes. She forgets her question.

  “Shall we go?” I murmur, standing up.

  Before she can get her senses together, I am around to her side. Confused, she grabs the bag and stands. Her knees wobble slightly. We walk together to the entrance. Not touching, but I am so aware of her, my skin tingles. The hostess comes out with her coat and I take it from her. My hands itch to touch her skin, but I resist the urge. She is so close I can hear her heart beating. Her scent of apricots and rain on freshly mown grass fills my nostrils. As she thrusts her hands through the sleeves, I am so close to the white curve of her neck I feel almost dizzy with the need to dip my head and kiss that smooth skin.

  I slip her coat over her shoulders and take a step back. She turns around to face me. The overhead light falls on her upturned face, turning her eyes into enormous pools of liquid desire.

  “Well, goodnight then,” she whispers.

  Chapter 14

  Autumn

  He doesn’t wish me goodnight. Instead, he moves forward and goes down the steps towards the taxi. Something about the way he moves reminds me of a stalking animal. It is quiet, sleek, and designed not to alarm. But there is hidden power there. A shocking amount of it. Of that I am certain. He walks over to the driver’s side and looks down at him, his aristocratic face stern and proud.

  “Drive carefully,” he instructs.

  The man says something I cannot hear, and he nods and hands him what looks like some folded fifty dollar notes. Then he comes around and opens the back door for me. I’m not used to men opening doors for me. The feminist in me wants to reject the idea, equality and everything, but the romantic in me cannot help but appreciate the gesture. Women should always have doors opened for them. It’s actually a lovely thing.

  “Thank you,” I murmur.

  “Until Tuesday,” he says, and there is something almost courtly about the slight inclination of his head.

  “Until Tuesday,” I repeat and slip into the cab.

  The driver puts the car into motion. I turn back to look at him. He is standing there very tall and straight just looking at the departing car. I have another weird sensation of déjà vu. As if I have already watched him standing alone in the cold night air. Something very cold slithers through me.

  I shiver and the coldness is gone, but it leaves behind its shadow, the feeling that something dark and ominous is waiting to take over my life. As if I’m approaching an end, but strangely, it terrifies and beckons me in equal measure.

  I ask the driver to drop me off at the entrance of the trailer park. As I walk to my caravan, I meet Joe on his way to the bar. He smells of cheap aftershave.

  “Whoa, is that you, Autumn?” he asks, coming to a stop a few feet in front of me.

  “Hi, Joe,” I greet without slowing my steps.

  “You’re looking hot, babe.”

  “Thanks, Joe. Have a nice night.”

  “Sure thing, babe. Sure thing,” he calls as I pass him by.

  For a few seconds, I don’t hear his feet moving on and I can feel his eyes boring into my back, but then gravel under his feet crunch as he heads away from me. I exhale the breath I’m holding. As I get closer to his caravan, I hear his wife sobbing.

  She is a pitiful creature. When I first came to live in this park, I used to try and give her the courage to leave him, but I quickly realized it was no use. She was and presumably still is hopelessly ensnared by him. No matter how many times he betrays her, or beats her up, all he has to do is buy a bunch of flowers and grovel, and she will instantly forget the malice and hurt, and melt into his arms again.

  Once I get into my caravan, I text Larry to say I’ve arrived back safely. Then I get out of my borrowed plumes and into my comfortable clothes. Then put my headphones in and call Sam.

  “About time you called,” she says. “I’ve been waiting to hear the latest about Rocco Whatshisname.”

  “Well, Rocco Whatshisname is actually a Count and he took me out to dinner tonight.”

  “What?” she screams in my ear.

  I wince. “Will you not do that please. I’ve got my headphones on.”

  “Sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “Come on, give me all the gory deets.

  “Well, he took me to the Four Seasons—”

  “Wow!” she breathes, impressed. “Was the food amazing?”

  “Absolutely. I even brought home dessert,” I say as I pull the red ribbon from the handle of the black carrier bag. Inside is another black box.

  “What kind of dessert?”

  “Chocolate fudge cake,” I reply as I open the box. It’s almost like a kit inside. There is the chocolate sauce in a little plastic container, a smaller container of cream, a small bag of chocolate shavings, a thinly sliced strawberry, and a small container of ice cream.

  “Good for you. Now tell me what happened? What was the date like?”

  “Well, it’s hard to say.” I place the chocolate sauce in the microwave oven, snap it closed, turn the dial to seven, and switch it on.

  “Well, the hell kind of answer is that?” she demands impatiently.

  “I mean, I’ve never had a date like that. It’s like surreal. Almost like I dreamed it all.”

  “Have you been drinking, Autumn?”

  I carefully put the slice of cake on a plate. “A little bit. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Larry opened a bottle of champagne this evening and I drank a glass on an empty stomach. Perhaps it’s just that. Yeah, that must be it.”

  “Listen, I’m going to hang up if you don’t tell me what happened. I can’t make heads or tails here.”

  The microwave pings. As I lay the strawberry slices next to the cake, pour the warm chocolate sauce over the cake, sprinkle the chocolate shavings over the cake, and scoop the ice cream on to the side. I try to tell her about my date, but she is right even now I sound jumbled, confused, and incoherent. I take a photo of my cake and send it to her.

  “You sent me a photo,” she says.

  “Yup, my cake.”

  “Very nice,” she comments.

  I take a fork and scoop up one end of the cake.

  “So you like this guy then?
” Sam asks, and my fork freezes in the air.

  The question is like a whisper in my head. It makes me see the truth. No, I don’t ‘like’ him. I want him. No, even that is too tame. I crave him… desperately.

  “Yes, I like him,” I tell Sam. “A lot.”

  I put the morsel of cake in my mouth. It crumbles then melts on my tongue. I close my eyes and I see him. His eyes.

  “Look, I gotta go, I’m supposed to meet Bianca for late night coffee and I’m already late, but I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Have fun,” I say.

  I pull my headphones off my ears and go outside. It is cold and still. I sit on the chair and eat my dessert. It is delicious and utterly decadent. The chocolate is so dark and pure it leaves a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. There is no one around, but the creatures of the night scurrying around quietly, so I lift the plate and lick the last remnants off.

  Like a feral animal.

  Chapter 15

  Rocco

  I stand in the shadows of the trees across the field from her caravan and watch her lick the plate. She is so unspoiled it is almost unbelievable. She puts the plate back on her lap and stares directly in my direction. I know she cannot see me, but it makes the blood in my veins pound harder. I don’t move a muscle. A small raccoon appears in the underbrush close to me. I am so still it walks right past me.

  She stands and goes back into the caravan, and I feel the muscles in my body relax.

  Suddenly I become aware there is someone else in the woods with me. It is the old witch. She is moving slowly in my direction. Usually, when I hear her moving around looking for herbs, roots, and fruit on my mountain I move away.

  I turn towards her and wait. She is carrying a small lamp and I see her light moving slowly through the trees. Finally, she appears.

  “Are you ready to take her?” she asks.

  “No, guard her for me for a little while longer,” I say.

  “I can’t watch her for much longer. Soon they will come.” Then she bends her head and mutters something in Greek about her magic not being able to keep them away.