The Girl Who Couldn'T See Rainbows

Chapter nine

Chapter nine

“Melisande Bruno!” He threw my name in the air like a dagger.

I went into the office without knocking. To spare time.

“Excuse me sir. I'm late, I know... The fact is...”

“I already know everything. Mc Intosh didn’t call to talk to the staff, don’t you think?” His expression was unyielding, like a safe that needed to be forced.

“Has the news upset you?” I inquired.

He looked towards the sky. “I already told you what I was thought of Davenport. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I didn’t grow wings overnight. It will never happen. My opinion of him remains the same. He deserved to die. Yesterday or in a month, what's the difference?”

I bent my lips in a grimace, dissatisfied. “It’s one thing to die in your bed, but another... Well, don’t you feel any pity?”

His smile worked its usual magic, and all my feelings for him grew to a greater extent, flooding my mind and heart with sunshine.

“Don’t try to redeem me, Melisande. But you can feel pity for him. I’ll grant you that.” His smile became tolerant. “Oh, and to answer your question: no, I don’t feel any pity.”

His tone was conclusive and sharp, like nails scratching the flesh. I stared at him, convinced that he was lying, so as to not reveal his weaknesses. It had to be, I told myself. Nevertheless, I shivered, as though I had just been exposed to the worst weather.

“It's time to get to work,” he said impatiently. He pointed to the shelves. “Finish putting them in order. I will be busy writing for a few hours.”

I nodded reluctantly. His hardness jeopardized the image I had of him. How could I love such a man, who was ruthless with himself and with others? A man who didn’t know how to be lenient nor forgiving? I felt a wave of anger at the idea that he wasn’t worthy of my love, that I had saved it for so long just to give it to a person who didn’t know what to do with it... It was frustrating, as well as painful. I had to let the words out before they choked or poisoned me.

“Okay, so this Davenport turned out to be a bad person...”

He looked up at me, almost surprised to hear me speak.

“... or maybe he disappointed you. I understand what you feel, but... Isn’t there a bit of sorrow in your heart? For God’s sake... he was torn apart by a beast... his death was terrible... can’t you forgive him after his death?”

Now his face was no longer unreadable. He stared at me. As if I was crazy. One of those people you lock up in an asylum, and throw away the key. But he didn’t say it. Maybe in his heart there was no room for pity, but there was for good manners.

“Melisande... The subject is closed... Davenport senior deserved to die. As I do. Like everybody does. If we’re mortal there is a reason, don’t you think? Aren’t you the one who believes in God’s fatalistic designs?” His mocking was tender, intimate and familiar.

“Can we forget this unpleasant episode and move on? I'm not interested in talking about him. It's a dead and buried story, like he will be in a short while. Didn’t I ask you to do something?”

I nodded again, without talking. I didn’t trust my voice.

“Then please hurry up. Let's stop wasting time.”

He didn’t speak to me all morning, nor did I speak to him. My heart was a bloody cluster, as if it had fallen down a steep staircase for meters and meters. I was suffering in silence, as if I had no more sounds to emit. My heart was moaning for me. So loud it was breaking my eardrums. My voice was just a silent scream.

“What do you think of my garden, Miss Bruno?”

Mrs Mc Millian was cutting away with her shears, wearing a straw hat on her head, with a big smile on her face. As the days passed, Davenport's death had left her thoughts and she had almost forgotten her distress. I felt a pinch of envy for her. In her place I wouldn’t be able get rid of the sorrow so easily... Perhaps, I realized, superficiality is the true gift of God, not beauty, nor money.

“It's beautiful, ma'am,” I said honestly.

She nodded, as if my homage was expected.

A voice scared us, and both of us turned towards the open gate. A tall, well-planted man with light hair was standing there. Behind him, more reluctant to come forward, was a woman, more or less the same age, between thirty and forty.

“Mr Davenport! What a surprise!” Mrs Mc Millian welcomed him with a smile.

The man returned it warmly. “Hi Millicent. Your roses are the most pampered in Scotland.”

“You’ve discovered my secret... I hope you’ll keep it to yourself...” The housekeeper jokingly threatened him with the shears.

He laughed, with the playful expression of a minx. “How much will you pay me?”

My attention was attracted to his companion. Her eyes wandered persistently around the garden, and then they focused on the house. Her face looked like that of a person facing a death sentence.

The man turned to call her. “Coralie, come say hello to Mrs Mc Millian.”

The woman named Coralie smiled slightly almost annoyed that she had been dragged into the discussion. “Good morning, ma'am. Your roses are magnificent. You’re probably tired of hearing it.”

The housekeeper exploded in a big laugh. “Compliments are never too many. They’re our lifeblood...”

The man stared at me and gave me an apologetic smile. “Do excuse me, Miss, I didn’t notice you. It’s unforgivable, of me, I know.” He pointed to my hair. “And unexplainable, considering the fire on your head.”

His companion stood aside, and now she gazed at me, without the man’s friendly smile.

“My name is Ben Davenport,” he said, shaking my hand. “And this is my wife Coralie.”

She didn’t pretend to be interested in me, and didn’t answer my timid greeting. Her husband gazed at her thoughtfully, and then he put his arm around her.

“Coralie is still upset because of Daddy's death,” he explained seriously.

The housekeeper threw the shears on the ground, and joined her hands, as if in prayer. “And who isn’t? Your father was a good man, correct, honest... He didn’t deserve to die like that...”

“No one deserves it,” he observed in a vague tone, as if he wanted to cut the subject short. But Mrs Mc Millian had other intentions. “Do you have any news? Did they find the animal?”

“If it was an animal,” he said, distractedly. He seemed to want to change the subject, like his wife.

She surprised me, turning to me. “You’re the new secretary, aren’t you? Melissa...”

“Melisande,” I corrected her. “My name is Melisande.” At first I was surprised that the woman, haughty and detached as she was, knew who I was and then I met Mrs Mc Millian's guilty eyes. She was an incorrigible gossip. Evidently there was someone who, unlike me, listened to her.

“Do you like it here? I hope you like our town,” Ben asked me thoughtfully.

“I haven’t seen it yet,” I confessed.

“Typical of Sebastian to ignore the needs of those around him,” Ben observed with a smile. “He is a terrible workaholic, as you’ve probably already understood.”

“Mr Mc Laine writes all day long!” The housekeeper’s voice was proud, as if the credit was her own. “He’s creative, original and tireless. His books have been translated all over the world.”

“I’ve bought them all, Millicent,” Ben said, glancing briefly at his wife. “Sebastian is a master of horror stories.”

“Sooner or later he’ll write a love story. You'll see,” she insisted, her voice full of certainty.

“May I see him, Millicent?” He asked anxiously.

Her smile faded. “He doesn’t receive visitors, except for Dr Mc Intosh. I'm sorry that the answer to your question is always the same, but...”

He stepped towards her, his eyes burning. “Let me in, Millicent. You can say that I gave you no choice and...”

She sighed, pondering. “He would fire me without thinking twice.” While she said that, I didn’t doubt for a moment that he would do just that.

Ben tightened his fists and jaw. “Tell him I came by, anyhow.”

“I always do,” she assured him.

He took his wife by the arm, and gave us a last greeting.

“Thank you, Millicent. See you, Melisande. I hope you enjoy your stay at Midnight Rose.”

Before I could thank him he went out the gate, holding his wife close.

“Coralie Reed is an odd woman,” Mrs Mc Millian snorted, picking up the shears. Of course the word odd was not the one she wanted to use.

“She’s very beautiful,” I whispered. I wasn’t able to determine the colour of her hair and eyes, but her looks, her features, were flawless, exquisite and perfect.

The woman’s eyes squinted in the sun and resumed her work. “She’s beautiful, alright. Too bad she has no soul.”

“That’s a harsh judgment,” I said with surprise.

Her response was immediate. “Coralie Reed was Mr Mc Laine's girlfriend before the accident. They had already set the date of the wedding. As soon as she discovered that he was paralyzed, she left him. It’s shameful, don’t you think?”

My eyes fixed on a bird that, with a beating of wings, passed over our heads to sit on a tree close by. I wonder if its feathers are colourful, I thought downheartedly. I would’ve never known it.

“Maybe they already had problems before the accident,” I suggested. I searched in my memory, in my past, although it was painful. I had suffered a lot, yet nothing I had gone through had been as bad as this. Now I had the mathematic certainty that Sebastian Mc Laine could never fall in love with me. Coralie Reed was not just lovely but she was also perfect. I, compared to her, was graceful, ma certainly no one would take a second glance at me. Mc Laine's legs might not work, but his eyes did.

“He adored her. He was a daredevil at the time, but for her he would have jumped into flames. He devoured her with his eyes when they were together. No, believe me, they had no problems.”

I kept silent, my gaze still on the bird. It was cleaning its feathers with quick blows of his beak. It was beautiful, even without colours.

“The accident... how did it happen?” I immediately regretted making that question. I didn’t want to know. It was too late. Mrs Mc Millian was already answering.

“That night was his bachelor’s party. You know how young bachelors are... A few too many glasses and...” She shook her head, saddened. “Before coming back home, he made a detour to Miss Reed's home.” Again her voice grew hard, as if Coralie was the only culprit of Sebastian's disability. “He couldn’t stay away from her... Anyhow he came back home, tipsy, but not drunk. And in order to avoid the grocer's son...”

The bird flew away again, diving in the air. My thoughts also flew up high, wildly. The information was increasingly shocking. Poor Sebastian. Discovering to be paralytic in the fullness of his youth, and losing his love in a single blow... I wouldn’t have survived. I lacked his energy, his passion and his fire.

“Maybe he pushed her away... He’s capable of doing such a thing” I supposed.

“Have you ever been in love, Miss Bruno?”

A month earlier I would have given her a different answer “Yes.”

“Then you must know that it’s powerful, magical, a spell that goes beyond reason. Mr Mc Laine still has their pictures. I found them in his room, while I was dusting.”

I felt my eyes sting. A love that had become an obsession. Unable to stay by him in his hard times, she left him, preferring to marry another, and he tortured himself with their memories.

“And then she married his best friend” I finished for her.

She grimaced, manoeuvring the shears with a murderous look. “Exactly. He had always loved her, but he couldn’t compete with Mr Mc Laine... He just jumped at the chance to have the woman he loved. Anyone would have done so.”

“He’ll never forgive them, will he?” I asked, lifting my eyes towards the office window.

She laughed, joylessly. “He is a moody, unpredictable and passionate man, but he’s as stubborn as a mule. He’d come back to life if he would leave the past behind him, but he doesn’t even want to try.”

Sebastian Mc Laine basked in his habits, like me. His boldness was fictitious, built for the benefit of others. There was no way to reach his heart. It wasn’t exposed like mine was, but protected by steel armour, and walls covered with barbed wire.

“Let’s go back inside. It’s stifling hot today,” she said cheerfully.

I didn’t agree. I was cold.

For me, it was already winter.

“Where are you, Miss Bruno? In Paris, in Rome or in America?”

His gaze cut through me, and his sudden smile left me breathless.

“I was just distracted for a moment,” I replied, defensively.

He chuckled. “You call that a moment! I tried to bring you back to the present for the past ten minutes!”

I was searching for an appropriate answer, but he interrupted me as soon as I opened my mouth. “Can you send this letter to the publisher by fax?”

I grabbed the sheet and went to the fax machine. I felt his gaze on me, light as a caress. His mood was oddly charming that morning, and I decided to test the water.

“I met some friends of yours yesterday. They came to visit you,” I said, turning to look at him.

His face was impenetrable, like a sealed letter. “I have no friends.” He gave me a wicked smile.

“Ex friends then. Coralie and Ben Davenport.” I don’t know why I chose to tell him, perhaps to shake him as he had done with me.

“I don’t want those names to be pronounced in this house.” His voice scratched the air, and my skin.

“If that could erase your memories...”

He lost his temper. “Melisande Bruno, I remind you of your position in this house.”

“Do I need to quit in order to be free to express my opinion?” I asked ironically.

“You’re going too far...” he threatened with a terrifying expression.

“If they don’t mean anything to you anymore, why do you get so upset when you hear their names?” I objected with a patient smile.

“Enough! Stop it right away or else...”

I smiled again. “Or what? Will you fire me?” Suddenly I was sure he wouldn’t do it. I was acting as irritably as he was. Most of the time I was aware that I didn’t count a dry fig to him and that I was wasting my time and heart in an impossible love. The rest of the time I had the crazy conviction that I was essential to him.

“Maybe I should really send you away,” he said grimly.

As furious as a hydrophobic dog, he threw a stack of photocopying paper and the pen holder to the floor. Everything scattered on the rug, in a wild chaos. He seemed to sober at that sight, and he passed his hand through his hair.

“Pick everything up, please,” he said flatly.

I didn’t move.

“What are you doing? Move it, Melisande!” There was a warning in his eyes.

I crossed my arms. “I don’t know if I'm still your employee, sir. Didn’t you fire me?”

For five long seconds I thought I had exaggerated, and passed the point of no return, but his laughter swept away any doubt.

“You’re more necessary to me than the computer is, Melisande Bruno. Pick everything up, please.”

I did it immediately. My galloping heart was cutting the finish line first. Victory was sweet, infinitely sweet.

I went back to the fax machine without looking at him.

“Oh, Melisande? Don’t make me repeat my orders anymore, will you?” I could almost feel his good mood.

That evening, at dinner, Mrs Mc Millian told me that all the pictures of Coralie Reed were gone, and that she had seen ashes in the fireplace in Mr Mc Laine’s bedroom. It was strange given the summer temperatures, wasn’t it? She seemed delighted.

I ordered my unruly heart not to get its hopes high.