Mirage Beyond Flames (Coriola) (22 page)

He slowly raised his head, looking
around, aware stronger than ever of all the pressure and responsibility weighing on him. He had spent all morning with the clinic’s manager, as well as a couple of his most trustworthy colleagues, presenting them Jean-Paul’s story and putting together a plan of action.

Suddenly he was seized
by an impulse to get away from all this, to walk away, maybe to run away, even if that made him a coward in his opinion. But it was a choice between taking a break far from everything and losing his physical or mental health – entirely or partially, he didn’t know and didn’t want to find out.

He stood abruptly. W
ithout a backward glance, he got out, slamming the door behind him.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Linda took another sip from the whisky glass on the counter, staring alongside Pirata at the diamond rising from the tiny velvet box placed right in front of her. After another swallow, she grimaced in disgust. She didn’t like alcohol and had never gotten drunk in her life, but now she was doing her best. She didn’t manage to pass the first glass. However, it was only six o’clock in the evening. She had all the time in the world.

She took a deep breath and grabbed the glass firmly
, trying to suppress another involuntary grimace, when the shrill of her new phone broke the silence. She looked at the display and winced. It was Giovanni.

No matter how much she adored her brother, this was probably the only time in her life when she didn’t want to speak to him, or anybody else
, for that matter. Knowing he’d worry if she didn’t answer, she sighed and put the phone to her ear.

“Hello.”

“Hey, sis, how are you?” he asked cheerfully. “I tried to call you last night, but couldn’t. I was beginning to worry.”

“Uh, my old phone broke
. Fortunately, I managed to save my card and kept my phone number. How are you,
fratello mio
?” she asked, trying to conjure or at least fake a good disposition.

Giovanni wasn’t easy to fool though. He
knew his sister too well. Even with a few thousand miles between them, he immediately felt something was wrong.

“What happened?” he asked her, this time in a dead serious tone.

After a few moments of silence, Linda lowered her head on the counter, whispering:

“Oh, my darling brother, I’d give anything to have you here with me, to hold me…”

“Talk to your brother, baby, tell me what’s wrong,” he pleaded, attempting in vain to transmit her all the spiritual warmth which could be emanated only by his voice in the receiver.

She
took another swallow of whisky, then said, with a deep sigh:

“I’m a wre
ck, darling. I had a wonderful man, but I’ve ruined everything. Now I doubt he even wants to know I exist. And he’s damned right, I have extremely bad luck in every relationship. I’ve come to think love is just not for me. Maybe I’m too much of an idiot to deserve something so beautiful.”

Giovanni remained quiet while his sister told him about Gerard, about their relationship and the way it had ended. After she fell silent, he said:

“You’re right in one regard, sis. It pains me to say it, but you’re a little idiot.”

Although she had made that statement earlier, Linda protested defensively.

“You would have reacted just the same if you’d seen what I’d seen and you know it, Giovanni. If you’d see your girl mouth to mouth with another man, the first thing you’d do wouldn’t be to stop and ask yourself if there’s a logical explanation.”

“True,” he consented, “but that’s not what I was referring to when I called you a little idiot.”

“What then, if you’d care to explain?” she demanded. Then she took another mouth full of whisky, pouring herself another glass.

“The fact that, after the man explained what happened and he took out
the ring asking you to marry him, instead of begging him to forgive you and say
I Do
a thousand times, you let him walk away thinking you didn’t love him enough to marry him. Don’t you think this is a stupidity demonstration?”

“I’ve no idea. Is it?” she asked Pira
ta, rubbing her nose against the cat’s pink one, surrounded by white whiskers. She burst out laughing, finding this scene utterly hilarious.

“Linda, what the hell are you doing?” her brother snapped, alarmed by her strange behavior.

“Ah, nothing, I’m just drinking a glass of… whisky. I was thinking I might try to get drunk and I believe I’m on my way,” she giggled. “It tastes horribly, but it’s the… the-ra-peu-tic,” she carefully emphasized each syllable.

“Linda,” Giovanni told her in his most serious tone, the one he used with unsatisfying employees. “Stop drinking this instant! You have my word that if you don’t
stop, I’m taking the first plane to London and I’m gonna give you the mother of all beatings. Stop it right now!”

She stopped, her glass on the way to her mouth, then she put it on the floor.

Pirata jumped down to inspect it, whiskers twitching, but he immediately withdrew, shaking himself in cat-ish disgust.

“Alright, alright, I’ve put it down. The glass, I mean. I don’t like whisky anyway, it burns
my throat. It’s a sensation which rather resembles Gerard’s kisses, when he’s unshaven,” she went on dreamily.

Giovanni sighed and she could visualize him banging his head against the nearest wall. She began laughing once more at this supremely amusing image.

“Listen to me carefully,” he ordered, accentuating each word. “Go and sleep. In your bedroom, in your bed. Not on the floor, not on the stairs. Tomorrow when you’ll wake up you’ll feel horribly, but you deserve it. After you restore yourself with a cold shower and two Aspirins, go and see Gerard. Tell him how much you love him, for Heaven’s sake, tell him everything you’ve told me. Ask him to forgive you for doubting him, for letting your past and your complexes stand in the way of your relationship. Do you wanna marry him, Linda?” he asked, knowing that, generally, alcohol brought to surface truths hidden deep in drunk people’s subconscious.

“Yes. Yes, Giovanni, I do, with all my he
art. My life simply has no purpose without him. Not even my work, nothing brings me joy if he’s not there to lighten my life,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.

“Then tell him that,” he urged. “Not now,” he added quickly, “I don’t think it’s prudent at all to drive or speak to someone at the moment. But tomorrow, when your mind will be clear, go and look for him, tell him you want to marry him. And then call me. Got that?”

“Yes. Thank you, my darling, I wish so much you’d be here…”

“I will be, at your wedding,” he pledged. “Now go and sleep. Promise?”

“Promise,” she replied with a deep sigh. “I love you,
mio fratello
.”

“I love you too,
cara mia
. Sleep well.”

She
put down the phone, then got up slowly. The counter’s triangular surface seemed to rotate, to transform itself in amusingly abstract ways. Supporting herself against every object of furniture and laughing while tears trailed down her cheeks, she drudgingly climbed the stairs to her bedroom, falling face down on the bed. Her last more or less coherent thought was that her sheets still wore Gerard’s perfume.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Linda wasn’t sure what had awakened her - the strong light coming through her windows or the dull pain threatening to split her forehead in two. She opened a cautious eye, rolled it with dizzying pain to the nightstand clock, noting it was past lunchtime. She was still face down on the bed, fully clothed. At first, she wasn’t capable to remember even her own name, but slowly her awareness installed and with it, her memory.

When she reconstituted all
– or nearly all – facts of the past night, she groaned and tried to grab a pillow to bury her head underneath it.

Pirata, who was
probably stalking her for hours, took advantage of this miraculous moment of lucidity and started meowing insistently, as if he intended to break her eardrums.

“Hush…” she told him, wishing badly to simply dissolve in the mattress. She
lifted her head with a deliberation as agonizing as the vertiginous pain in it. She prayed for that object to slide off her shoulders at once and roll under the bed.

The sense of responsibility prevailed
. Moving with the same cautiousness, she dragged herself to the kitchen and fed the cat, who was meowing accusingly, then managed to get back in the bedroom. She undressed, swallowed a couple of Aspirin tablets and crawled under the shower, letting the almost cold water to bring her body in a functioning state using shock therapy.

After a half an hour of alternating cold and hot water, she got out of the bathroom feeling considerably better. The Aspirin took effect over her headache, but over her stomach as w
ell, so she ate a croissant with sour orange jam.

She returned to the bedroom and stopped in front of the mirror, studying her fac
e carefully. The blue eyes staring back at her were reddened and shadowed, an unpleasant contrast with her pale tired skin. Her lower lip hadn’t healed, still having a red, ugly mark.

She lowered her gaze to the jewelry box, straying among her cosmetics. For the first time,
she took out the ring and, in a reverential gesture, she slowly slid it on her left hand’s fourth finger. It fit perfectly, that fine gold circle, centering a perfectly proportioned diamond. Gerard knew so well each inch of her body. He had probably measured her finger discretely when she was unaware.

Tears threatened to flood her eyes a
gain, but she blinked them back. She took a deep breath and began aligning her makeup kits. She didn’t stand a chance to succeed what she’d set her mind to do looking like this.

She carefully applied makeup, covering as much as possibl
e the traces of a drunken night – an experience she wasn’t going to repeat or tell anyone about. Then she brushed her hair, letting it fall in soft shiny waves on her back, the way Gerard liked it.

She glanced through the window. Contrary to her first impression, the light was in fact weak, and the sky covered with dark clouds. A storm was announcing its oppressive presence.

She went to the closet and put on a white, knee-length dress. Over it, she pulled on a white sweater, knitted like a fine cobweb.

C
onsulting her watch and noting it was two o’clock, she grabbed her keys and handbag, hurrying to her car.

She drove to the clinic, her pulse accelerated and butterflies in her stomach. To her surprise, Carolina – astonished to see her there – informed her that Gerard hadn’t come to work, but had announced he’d taken a few days off.

Perplexed, Linda paused for a moment, hands on the steering wheel, then put the car into reverse and headed to his apartment. Was there something wrong? Gerard wasn’t the man to take time off, especially when he had such an important project on a roll. She thought remorsefully she hadn’t even asked Carolina about the children, about the progress of Gerard’s treatment and about the new treatment for which they had been to Romania.

She was going to make it up to them, she was going to ask him to tell her everything. The important thing was that he should be safe, that nothing bad should have happened.

She reached his building, parked the car, occupying with her usual carelessness two parking slots, then nearly ran up the stairs to his apartment.

She took a few calming breaths
, feeling her pulse beating rapidly, like an invisible hammer, in every point of her body, even in her earlobes. She knocked softly. No one answered, so she knocked again, this time louder. She pressed the doorbell several times, with no results.

Overly worried, she took out her phone wanting to call his cell, but just then
, she noticed an old man who was getting out of a joining apartment. The old man spotted her too. Analyzing her from head to toe, he asked:

“Are you looking for someone, Miss?”

“Yes, I’m looking for Mister Gerard Leon.” As if it wasn’t obvious, since she was knocking at his door. “Do you, by chance, know where he is?”

“Yes, in fact, I saw him just this morning
,” replied the old gentleman, shifting an umbrella from hand to hand. “He said he was going to visit Stonehenge, but I advised him to stay home, considering the weather conditions. You see, it’s not prudent to sit in an open space or field during a storm, because…”

“Stonehenge?” she interrupted. “He went to Stonehenge?”

“Indeed, I was just saying so, Miss. In spite of my advice, he told me he was determined to visit Stonehenge, though I kept trying to convince him. He has all the time in the world to go see that place, in a nice weather. Not now, when it’s obvious we’ll have a nasty storm and…”

“Thank you very much for the information,” she interrupted again and flew down the stairs, already calculating the time it would take to get there.

She started the engine and the GPS, hoping this time technology would be her friend, not her enemy.