The Scrivener's Tale Page 9

  ‘Merde!’ he growled.

  He heard her gurgle with laughter behind him, guessing at what was happening.

  ‘Idiot!’ he added.

  ‘Let me help,’ she said, gliding over.

  He didn’t want her to touch him, but she was already close enough for him to smell her perfume — violets, he thought. The whole situation of candlelight and blood, pain, comfort: it was all dangerous and wrong.

  Angelina had reached for a tea towel and was pressing it onto the cut.

  ‘It’s not deep,’ she assured him, still amused.

  ‘I’ll look after it now,’ he began, awkwardly reaching to take over.

  ‘No-one’s watching, Gabe. Relax. Let’s just stop the flow of blood,’ she said, preventing him from pulling his hand away.

  ‘You’re very different when René is not around.’

  ‘You haven’t answered me.’

  He remembered her question. ‘Why would you use the word “lover” when most people would say “girlfriend”?’

  She looked up at him now and he felt his throat tighten. ‘It’s clear to me you don’t have a girlfriend,’ she replied with the utmost confidence. ‘Lover strikes me as more accurate.’

  ‘How do you know I don’t have a girlfriend?’

  ‘There’d be signs of her around here. And don’t look at the scented candles — they don’t fool me,’ she giggled.

  Angelina was being witty. Perhaps the slashed thumb was worth it.

  ‘What’s wrong with the word “lover”, anyway?’ she challenged.

  ‘Nothing … it’s just intimate.’

  ‘And that disturbs you?’

  ‘It doesn’t disturb me,’ he defended, hearing the lie in his hollow tone. ‘It’s a confronting word for want of a better description.’

  ‘Confronting?’

  ‘Too direct. It became an impolite question because of it,’ he cautioned.

  She laughed at him. ‘You’re intimidated by a word.’

  ‘I’m not intimidated,’ he replied.

  Angelina smiled. ‘Aren’t you?’ she said. ‘I’m usually good at reading people. My mistake. So answer my question then.’

  He took a breath, feeling vaguely ridiculous as she held his hand. ‘No, I am not romantically involved with anyone at present.’

  She cast a glance over his ingredients. ‘And yet this is such a romantic dinner you’re making for yourself.’

  ‘It’s a risotto.’ He could hear the defensiveness in his tone.

  ‘But risotto is a meal to share, to savour with another. There’s nothing lonely or selfish about a risotto. Risotto is a meal made with love because it takes time; a meal that speaks of love to the person you share it with because you have taken that time over it.’

  Gabe swallowed. Surely it wasn’t that complex?

  ‘Such a tactile dish,’ Angelina continued. ‘Lots of attention,’ she said, mimicking stirring the pot. She rubbed her belly but there was something suggestive in it. ‘And so warming.’ She unwrapped the tea towel from around his hand as she spoke. They both watched as the blood sprang again to the surface and oozed through the cut. It was hardly flowing but it was bright and glossy. ‘Glutinous … sticky … wet,’ she murmured and then shocked him by raising his hand to close her lips around his thumb.

  He could feel her tongue licking at the blood and instantly he felt an erotic rush of blood elsewhere. The risotto was forgotten — as was the bleeding thumb and the still unopened bottle of wine.

  Like a helpless schoolboy his face guided itself to her mouth. He vaguely registered the smell of violets on her breath before drowning in the desire to pull her as close as humanly possible. She was so petite he had to bend to hold her properly. Before he knew it, she had clambered up onto him as a child might, her supple legs wrapped around his hips, her arms around his neck. She was light and tiny, but her body was all woman.

  The kissing was mind-blanking. He was robbed of all thought, all awareness of anything beyond desire. His traitorous fingers began exploring her body. Somewhere deep horror resonated that he was taking advantage of a vulnerable patient, but the patient was now rhythmically moving against him and moaning softly.

  He was supposed to be a man entirely in control and yet here he was … like putty, suddenly incapable of resisting when she made her body so available — soft, compliant, eager. He blamed his new mood to change his life, he blamed the return of the cathedral — his mind palace — back in his thoughts. He wanted to blame the raven that had unnerved him — in fact anything except being a vulnerable man in the presence of an erotic young woman.

  Suddenly they were on his bed and he was pulling off his clothes and hers. Gabe knew he should but he didn’t want to exercise control. He wanted Angelina. He needed this. His inner voice assured him as he pulled at her buttons. She’s adult, she’s consenting … she’s —

  … your patient! reinforced another — René’s — but he ignored that caution.

  Angelina never let go of him. There was always some part of her connected to him — mouth, hand, breast. It was as though she knew that to break the connection was to break the spell.

  And then their bodies joined as one and Gabe was lost to it, riding a wave of unbelievable joy that he had found something he’d not thought possible to ever find since Lauren and Henry had died. It wasn’t love — he knew that. It wasn’t even affection because they’d barely paused to consider any fondness which might exist between them. He couldn’t call it emotional … there hadn’t been time to build this relationship.

  It was purely the physical closeness to another that he’d denied himself for so long. She was unlocking years of pent-up need. There was nothing else but Angelina in his hollow, sterile life. Only her — beneath and above him. She was suddenly his sun, his sky, his earth, his sea. And he travelled with her now, drowning in her depths and soaring to her heights.

  Did it last for eternity or was it just a brief interlude? Gabe lay confused and ashamed. The candles still blinked and guttered softly from a draft somewhere; the bloodstained tea towel still lay on the floor where it had dropped. His thumb had stopped bleeding now but he could see smudges of blood on the sheets. He glanced at the clock next to the bed. It was only just coming up to nine. He’d arrived at his building at around seven-forty he guessed. So he’d lost not even an hour and a half of his life and yet it felt as though he’d been absent for days.

  He turned to gaze at Angelina, sleeping as still as a corpse next to him with her lips parted. There was blood smeared on her cheek where he’d held her face to kiss her, and seeing the blood reminded him of René’s warning. She will bring you harm. He leaned close until he could feel her breath against his lips, smell that curious hint of sweet violets on it. Her skin looked lilac-blue in the low light, except that her cheeks had a small pinch of colour, as though they alone held the memory of their passion. He swung his legs to the floor and held his face.

  ‘Insensé!’ he cursed beneath his breath. ‘Vous êtes fou!’

  She stirred. ‘Who is mad?’ But she rolled over and her mumbling dissipated.

  Gabe watched her for a moment, struck again by her ethereal beauty, the dark almost black hair such a contrast to the pale skin. He smiled in spite of himself — she was irresistible and he could only imagine what René would think if he could see this scene.

  René. There had to be fallout from this. The man so jealously guarding Angelina was hardly going to take this event on the chin and with a grin. Gabe sighed again.

  He padded over to the coffee machine and flicked it on. All he knew was that the myriad sensations of being with Angelina had swept away years of pain. As he ground the coffee beans, heedless of whether it disturbed his guest, he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Turning around, he was alarmed to see the raven sitting on the balcony, backlit by the streetlight so that a halo of gold surrounded its menacing shape. It made no sound. Gabe was speared by its gaze, and Angelina’s arrival into the kitchen area n
early made him yell with fright.

  ‘Hello,’ she said sleepily.

  He snapped his fear-filled attention from the bird to her. ‘Evening,’ he replied, as casually as he could. He glanced back to the window but the raven was gone.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked, yawning.

  ‘Well past nine. Toast? Coffee?’

  She shook her head with a smile. ‘But thank you.’

  ‘Do you ever eat?’

  Angelina laughed. ‘I suppose I’d better go.’

  He wasn’t sure what to say and watched her turn away. He took another worried look at the window. The bird was definitely no longer there but he felt rattled by its presence. Neighbours hadn’t mentioned ravens. He would have to make some enquiries.

  Gabe sipped his espresso before moving after Angelina. She was pulling on her clothes. She’d never looked more desirable than now, half-dressed, her hair tousled and a bit sleepy still.

  ‘You don’t have to leave, you know.’

  Angelina paused. ‘I’ll be missed.’

  ‘You never did tell me how you slipped René’s watch.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I just feel lucky I’ve had this chance to be alone.’ She shrugged.

  ‘Does he lock you up?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve never disobeyed him.’

  ‘I’ve noticed. You’ve had opportunities to slip him even in my presence.’

  ‘No point.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because here is where I want to be.’

  He frowned. Didn’t understand. Angelina was behaving in an obtuse manner.

  ‘Here? But you don’t like Paris, you said you wanted to leave … and go home. A home that was far away.’

  ‘I’m glad you paid attention.’

  ‘You’re hard to ignore.’

  She pulled on her sweater, a small strip of her belly showing at its lower edge. And once again he felt a pulse of desire. Not again, he told himself.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Angelina remarked and sat on the bed to pull on her boots.

  ‘Except what we did was wrong.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked conversationally, not even looking at him.

  ‘I mean, what I did was wrong.’

  Now she gazed up at him. ‘I had some say in it, you know.’

  ‘Yes,’ he sighed, all too aware of how patronising he was sounding. ‘I’m trying to say that the blame is mine, not yours.’

  She looked at him unimpressed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. It looked very much to me like I was seducing you.’

  ‘Yes, but —’

  ‘And men are so predictable in this regard,’ she added, echoing his earlier thought.

  ‘We’re simple creatures,’ he said in mock apology.

  ‘Not you, Gabe,’ she said.

  He gave a low snort. ‘I’m as simple as the next man.’

  Angelina stood and walked over to him. He loved the way she moved. Silent and as though she glided over the surface of his carpet. ‘You underestimate yourself.’

  ‘And you know so much about me,’ he gently rebuked her.

  ‘You’d be surprised how much I do know.’

  ‘Angelina, don’t go.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s late. It’s freezing outside. It’s …’ He paused to glance through the window, half-expecting a raven to leap at him. ‘It’s turning frosty so you could slip on the wet, icy pavement. Not very nice people use the cover of darkness to be abroad.’

  ‘Abroad?’ She laughed. ‘What a quaint phrase. How thoroughly medieval of you.’

  He frowned. ‘Stay. Why don’t we revisit the conversation that René interrupted?’

  ‘Back to psychologist and patient?’

  He didn’t respond immediately. Then sighed. ‘Why not? It’s what we are.’

  ‘Half an hour ago we were something rather different.’

  He felt himself blush. ‘All right, I deserved that. What I mean is that it’s a perfect opportunity for us to talk without René breathing down our necks. Whatever trouble happens, it’s not going to happen for a few more hours. We have time.’

  She nodded and let out a sigh, sank back onto the bed. ‘Ask your questions.’

  Gabe swallowed his coffee, put the small cup down and sat beside her. ‘You feel safe here … in this apartment,’ he began. ‘That’s what you meant by “here”, I take it?’

  ‘I meant with you.’

  ‘You feel safe with me, then.’

  ‘No, I have found what I came to find. You.’

  He gave her a searching look. ‘Let’s leave that for now.’ She smiled and once more he had that sense of an old cunning. ‘You said René is fearful.’

  ‘He’s scared of both of us now, particularly that the two of us might be alone together like this. If he knew this was happening, he would try and kill you.’

  Gabe blinked in astonishment. ‘Well, there’s an overreaction,’ he said, unable to mask the sarcasm.

  She stared back at him. ‘You think I jest?’

  ‘I know you do.’

  ‘Shall we call him and see his reaction?’

  ‘No. I want to know why you believe he is scared of me.’

  ‘Because of what you’re capable of.’

  ‘Can you be more specific?’

  ‘Yes, but you wouldn’t believe me.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘You have the capacity to bring down an empire.’

  ‘An empire?’ He tried not to laugh but the amusement was evident in his expression.

  Angelina’s remained grave. ‘I need you to kill me, Gabe.’

  ‘What?’ he roared.

  She flung her arms around him, staring gravely into his eyes. ‘Kill me. Release us.’

  ‘Stop it,’ he said, trying to unwind her arms, then her legs as they snaked around him.

  ‘Only death will free me.’

  ‘Angelina, where has this come from? You’re acting delusional again.’

  ‘I’m as sane as you. Remember when we were making love? Do you recall seeing anything?’

  He shook his head. ‘My mind was blank.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t, Gabe. Think!’ She kissed him. Her tongue softly licked his lips and stimulated every part of him. He remembered now. The cathedral … from his mind palace. And then he was outside it, looking around for the first time. He could see it belonged to a huge city, but no city that he recognised. Angelina suddenly pulled away.

  ‘I know you saw it. I saw it too. The Great Cathedral of Pearlis.’

  ‘Pearlis?’ he stammered. The word reminded him of the name Reynard had murmured in connection with the quill. Gabe had heard Pearlis, and yet Reynard had quickly adjusted it to Paris.

  Angelina nodded. ‘I know you used to visit it often but only in your mind. I can take you there, Gabe. I can give you the Great Cathedral of Pearlis.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he said, trying again to loosen her arms from his neck.

  ‘I can give you so much, Gabe, but you have to trust me. René is no friend of yours. He is the enemy.’

  ‘Enemy,’ he repeated, lost.

  ‘He wishes only harm. He wants me dead, but he knows he can’t kill me. Not yet anyway, and not here.’

  ‘Angelina, you’re speaking in riddles.’

  ‘The raven. I know it has found you.’

  Gabe choked at the mention of it. She let him loosen her hold on him, and he almost jumped away, running a hand through his unbound hair.

  ‘You’ve seen it too?’ he said, suddenly feeling haggard.

  She shook her head, moving into a kneeling position on the bed, following him with her gaze. She began to undress again. ‘I’ve felt it. The other day when I was here I could feel its taint. I can keep you safe but you have to trust me.’

  ‘Safe.’ He laughed scornfully. ‘I don’t understand any of this.’

  ‘Kiss me again. I want to show you something,’ she said.

  He couldn’t resist her.
He sat down and she moved to encircle him with her arms and legs as he kissed her.

  What Gabe saw shocked him rigid.

  SIX

  Loup led them back toward the priory.

  Leaving the hut hadn’t been difficult. Cassien had been dreaming of this day. Leaving Romaine had been another matter. Fynch had shown him where her nesting burrow was and Cassien had been amazed that her mate — the one he called Flint — permitted them to approach. Even in his wildest dreams Cassien would not have attempted to get past Flint unarmed. But with Fynch present the huge male wolf had sat back on his haunches. Fynch scratched the back of his ears while Cassien stepped forward to hug Romaine farewell.

  ‘I’ll be back when these cubs are grown,’ he promised in a whisper.

  He watched with affection as the four fat, sleepy cubs snuggled closer. Blue eyes would yellow in the coming moon. Three of the cubs were dark like their father but the third, the smallest, resembled her mother. In his mind he called her Felys and, as the name formed and stuck, she stirred and he saw her tiny tongue lick at his finger. His heart swelled and he blew softly on the cub’s face. Cassien was sure it was an old wives’ tale, but he had been told that if you blew into the nostrils of a puppy, the dog it grew into would always be loyal to you and you alone. The baby blinked blindly but he glimpsed her pale blue eyes and smiled. She knew him now. And he already loved her nearly as much as her mother. He turned to Romaine and gave her a kiss on her forehead.

  ‘Thank you for being my friend,’ he whispered and stood.

  Fynch had nodded. ‘Let’s go.’

  The smells had changed as the forest gradually thinned. He was excited but it was nonetheless daunting to know that he was going to be amongst people again. He’d have to teach himself how to integrate, how to converse easily, how to be friendly even if he didn’t feel friendly, how to be polite despite his mood, how to cope with noise.

  The reassuring perfume of the trees, the aroma of the damp earthiness of the forest floor, the daily meal — a soup usually — of vegetables he could forage for, were all comforting smells that would no longer be part of his daily life.

  Initially, these had given way to the intoxicating scent of baking bread and he’d forgotten how heavenly it was and how it made his belly rumble in anticipation. But there were soon other smells that assaulted him — far less pleasant … the metallic, tangy blood of slaughtered animals mixing with the fouler smells of urine and dung from the local tannery. There was a yeasty smell of ale and a vapour of smoked plants that someone was using for healing. However, the all-pervading aroma was of people: sweat, perfumes, cooking …