The Girl Who Couldn'T See Rainbows

Chapter eight-1

Chapter eight

The door swung open, and Mrs Mc Millian broke into the house, soaking wet. In the few moments that passed before she closed the door, I saw a black sky and the driveway shining with rain.

I froze on the marble staircase, my hand on the handrail.

The woman raised her head and saw me. “Miss Bruno! Look at this weather! Rain every day... The worst summer of all times...”

I felt my stomach twist. “Goodbye to my day off.” I moaned.

The woman took her wet sweater off. “I doubt that it will stop soon,” she admitted. “The air is electric, and it's not a classic summer storm. Nothing prevents you from enjoying your afternoon off, though. Why not relax with a good book? I was about to prepare some hot tea. Do you want one, too?”

My expression was determined. “No way, I'll get the tea ready. You go change. You’re soaking wet, and you’ll catch a bad cold.”

She smiled at me gratefully, and disappeared down the corridor. I turned towards the kitchen, troubled by thoughts that were darker than the sky. My long-awaited for afternoon off had gone out the window... I had anxiously waited for Sunday to explore my surroundings, and the disappointment took my breath away. I sighed. Bad luck always follows the same people, as if it didn’t have enough imagination to choose someone else from the deck.

The tea was ready when Mc Millian came in, wearing dry clothes.

She dropped to the chair, sighing. “My God! This weather is worthy of March! There is no predicting how the day will go! Meteorologists should change their jobs...”

I took the cup to my lips and sadly sipped the hot liquid. Actually I didn’t particularly like tea, but the British seemed unable to live without it and in order to find a point of contact, I found myself joining them.

“How was your morning?” I asked. I didn’t want to make conversation, and the best way to avoid it, was to push Mrs Mc Millian to open the dances first. At that point her solo was inevitable.

“Very well, Miss. I visited some friends, Mrs Davenport and her sister. They are delightful and good-hearted women, committed to several charitable works. And we went to church together,” she said with a smile. “In fact, I found out that a person I know is severely ill, and this has upset me.” She made the sign of the cross.

“I'm sorry,” I said uncomfortably. It seemed hypocritical of me to express regret for the illness of a stranger, and insensitive not to do so.

“So am I,” the woman exclaimed. She seemed dismayed. “But I'm afraid one can’t escape death. Death is determined and democratic, and it doesn’t spare anyone.” She stood up.

Accustomed to her endless conversations, I watched curiously. “Where are you going? Are you going to rest?”

She struggled to smile. “I want to give Mr Mc Laine the news. In the past he and this person were very good friends.” Her voice trembled.

“May I do something for you?” As I pronounced those words, I realized the uselessness of the question.

My fingers closed feebly around the cup while I listened to the woman's response. “No, I'll go alone. Mr Mc Laine hasn’t seen him for years, but I know he’d like to be informed.“ With a last smile, the woman left the room, clutching her dark shawl. I wondered if it was black, as a sign of mourning, an early homage towards the sick, or another colour. Something told me that the woman dressed exclusively in black. I often pretended to pick up the colours, relying on the personality of the wearer. Of course, there was no way of confirming the truth of my idea.

Once I rinsed the cups, I went upstairs, undecided on what to do. On the landing I almost collided with a dark and tall shape: Kyle, whose swollen eyes moved me.

“Do you feel better?” I asked.

“I don’t want your pity,” he said harshly. His voice was rough, and he almost left me dumbfounded. I had spoken kindly, without the intention to pity him, and I had achieved the opposite result.

He passed by me without a glace. I stood in the corridor; a statue of salt, like the biblical Lot. Then, I forced myself to move my feet and I reached my room.

I went to the window, and I watched the raging storm, similar to the one that had devastated my mind for so long. I was better, almost free, thanks to the confession that Mr Mc Laine had forced me to make. There was something savage, primitive and scary about him, and at the same time he seemed an old friend, capable of understanding me without judging. I didn’t want to fall in love with him because it would have been suicide, but I didn’t know how to avoid it. What I had always taken for self-control was a totally different thing: a mixture of fear, stubbornness and lethargy. Nothing that could defend me from my new, burdensome secret. My feelings for Sebastian were already born; their seeds were impossible to eradicate, and I could already feel that the roots of the plants would grow soon.

I squeezed my hands so hard they hurt, and I prayed to elude the suffering that would result from that impossible and ruthless love. Nobody answered me, of course. The only answer came from my heart: it was already too late. What I wanted to avoid had already happened, and nothing would stop it. Perhaps not even a stronger will than mine could succeed in the purpose. Strangely, this reassured me a bit.

I wandered through the room, touching the odd objects, to pass the time, in the intolerable silence of my solitude. I thought of Mrs Mc Millian and our common employer. She had brought him the sad news of the illness and imminent death of a friend in trouble. She wondered how he felt at the moment. Desperate? Helpless? Sad and upset? Trapped in that damned chair that prevented him from moving freely?

I decided to go to him, even though I had promised not to. The sky was still black and threatening, and I couldn’t enjoy my hours of freedom because of it. I might as well carry out one of my wishes.

I opened the closet and pulled out a clean dress. I dreamily changed. Then I reached the study. All was silent inside, and I leaned my head against the door. Feeling ridiculous, I was about to forget about it. First of all I was not sure Mr Mc Laine would appreciate my company, and Kyle's harsh comment was a warning to keep in mind.

Second, it was my afternoon off, granted after a tight and fought negotiation. Wouldn’t my facing him be admitting my defeat and my feelings? This thought made me decide. I turned and decided to go back to my room. I almost stumbled, and only by miracle I didn’t fall badly to the ground.

Sebastian Mc Laine stared at me, frowning as usual, from his wheelchair. Or rather his throne, seeing his regal expression.

I staggered and, in order not to fall, I put my hand on the wall behind me. My first thought was that I hadn’t heard any noise behind me, to alert me of his arrival. Then my eyes noticed the thick carpets that covered the corridor. They obviously had stifled the noise of the wheels.

“Were you coming to pay me a visit, Miss Bruno? What an honour... I thought you were already in the village, enjoying your time off in the company of the grocer and parish priest. Believe me: apart from the emporium and the church, there isn’t much to see.” His tone as was corrosive as acid, but almost common to my ears.

I tried to move, but his chair blocked my way. “How did you...?” I stopped short when I realized that I might offend him, and there was no gentle way to say it, without reminding him of his infirmity.

“There’s a lift in this house, Miss Bruno, you aren’t very observant.” His voice didn’t betray his mood. “They wanted to forbid me to build it, claiming that I would’ve ruined a historic building, but I don’t take orders from anyone. This house is mine, and I can even break it if I want to.”

I held my hands behind my back, against the wall, and they were already numb. I was about to get out of his way. He skilfully maneuvered the big wheels, and moved half a meter back.

“Excuse me, Miss Bruno, but I've lost my good manners on the way here,” he said coldly. “It happens when you never see anyone.”

“What about the friends you had before the accident...” I stopped, realizing that I knew nothing of his past, and I was afraid I might hurt him.

He didn’t move a muscle. “I’ve removed them from my life, one at a time.” He gave me his usual ironic smile. “In a figurative sense, of course. They treated me differently after the accident, but I didn’t feel different.

My legs didn’t work anymore, but my personality was still the same.”

“You could call them...” I said weakly.

“They were relieved when I made the decision for them. My infirmity frightened them, as if it were contagious.” His expression was disdainful. “And you, Melisande Bruno? Do you feel intimidated? Do I make you uncomfortable? Do you consider me different?”

“I definitely do,” I said boldly. “You purposefully try to make me uncomfortable and intimidated.”

“I’m glad you’re finally sincere with me, Melisande. I hope you’ll do it always, from now on.”

There was an unmistakable note of bitter triumph in his voice, as if I had complimented him. I was surprised by him, and I struggled to follow his mental contortions. Trying to understand him would drive me crazy, I thought.

“Why were you looking for me?” He constantly passed from my first name to my full name. Since I had met him, I had more serious problems than seeing in black and white. My world was now perpetually in precarious balance over an abyss.

“Mrs Mc Millian told me that one of your friends...” I began uncertainly.

He gave me a sardonic smile. “And you came to console the poor distressed writer... Is it part of your contractual duties, by chance?”

“I was sure you would laugh about me. Therefore I could take your mind off of it...” I replied daringly. I tried to control my impatience. Mr Mc Laine pulled out the worst in me, as easily as he demanded and received my best.

“That’s a good one,” he said, as inscrutable as ever. “I'm amused. Well done. But there was no need to distract me. I'm not overwhelmed by the news, as you can see.”

He motioned for me to open the door to his office and to enter. I waited for him to go in, and I closed it as he sat behind his desk.

The space between the wall and the table was so small that I was amazed by the extraordinary ability with which he could pass through it, without ever getting stuck. With a pang, I realized what a great workout he had behind him. Fifteen years. It was hard to believe. He looked younger than me.

“Mrs Mc Millian thought you would be worried about your friend...

Maybe he wasn’t a dear friend of yours,” I added, sitting in front of him.

He smiled wickedly. “He was like a brother for my father, they grew up together. And his son was my best friend.”

I opened my mouth, and then I reclosed it. When I found my voice again, I said, “Maybe many years have passed since...”

He waved his hand as if to interrupt me. “That’s not the reason. Let's say I don’t care about it at all. In fact, I believe he deserves it.”

He wasn’t making it any easier for me to understand him, I thought crossly. “What? Did I hear correctly?”

“He's a worthless a man. To be honest, he deserved to die a long time ago, but who am I to judge the Lord's inscrutable retributions?”

Amazement surrounded me, like a wall of foam, with very high, violent waves that slapped me and threatened my life.

“You shouldn’t speak in such a blasphemous manner,” I said, honestly horrified. The guilt I felt for Paul's death came back and it resumed in all its brutality and took my breath away.