He shook his head, unusually gallant. “You're too nice to be a busybody, Melisande. No, I... I'm just upset about my divorce.” Only then I noticed that he didn’t have a tissue in his hand, but a crumpled sheet of paper. “She's gone. All my attempts to heal the break have failed.”
I almost laughed. Attempts? And how had he tried to fix things? By coming on to the only young woman in the neighbourhood?
“I'm sorry,” I said uncomfortably.
“Me too.” He took another step forward, coming out of the shadows. His face was full of tears, contradicting the bad opinion I had of him.
I gazed at him uncertainly, in great embarrassment. According to the etiquette, what was one to say to a person who had just divorced? How could you cheer him up? What could you say without hurting him? Of course, when the etiquette was drafted, divorce didn’t exist.
“I'll tell Mr Mc Laine that you're not well,” I said.
He seemed to panic. “No, no. I'm not ready to go back to the civil world and I'm afraid Mc Laine is just looking for an excuse to kick me out of Midnight rose. No, just give me a minute to pull myself back together and I’ll go to him.”
“A minute to pull yourself back together, of course,” I echoed, unconvinced. Kyle looked terrible, his hair dishevelled, his face flushed from his tears, his white uniform wrinkled, as if he had slept in it.
“All right, then. Goodnight,” I said, longing for the shelter of my room. It had been a terribly long day, and I wasn’t in the mood to console anyone, except myself.
He nodded to me as if he didn’t trust his voice.
I went in the kitchen before going upstairs. I didn’t feel like having dinner, and it was only right to inform the kind Mrs Mc Millian. She gave me a radiant smile, and pointed to a pot on the fire. “I'm making soup. I know it's hot, but we can’t just eat salads until September.”
I was overwhelmed by a feeling of guilt. I cowardly changed the answer that was about to come out of my mouth. “I love soup, heat or no heat.”
Before she started with her chatter, I told her about Kyle, leaving out the most embarrassing details.
“He really seems upset about the divorce,” I said, sitting at the table.
She nodded, continuing to mix the soup. “The relationship was destined to end. His wife moved to Edinburgh a few months ago, and they say that she already has another man. You know how unpleasant gossip can be... He's not a shin of a saint, but he's fond of this place and didn’t feel like leaving the village.”
I poured a glass of water from the jug. “Is that why he can’t bring himself to leave?”
The housekeeper served the soup in the dishes, and I started eating eagerly. I was hungrier than I thought.
“Kyle always says that he’s sick and tired of this place, of the house, of Mr Mc Laine, but he wouldn’t leave. Who else would hire him?”
I looked at her over my plate curiously. “Isn’t he a registered nurse?”
Mrs Mc Millian broke a bun in two pieces, meticulously. “Of course he is, but he’s mediocre and lazy. It can’t be said that he works hard here. And often his breath smells of alcohol. I don’t mean to say he’s a drunk, but...” Her voice conveyed her disapproval.
“I love this house,” I said, without reflecting.
The woman was amazed. “Do you really, Miss Bruno?”
I bent my eyes on the plate, my cheeks burning. “I feel at home here,” I explained. And I was honest. Despite the mood changes of my fascinating writer, I was at ease among those walls, far away from the pain of my past.
Mrs Mc Millian began to babble on, and I was relieved when I emptied my plate. My mind ran on deviating and uneven tracks, and the final destination was always, inevitably, Sebastian Mc Laine. I was torn between the uncontrollable need to dream of him again, and the desire to leave any illusion behind me.
Kyle peeped into the kitchen a few minutes later, more annoyed than ever. “I hate Mc Laine,” he began.
The housekeeper stopped her sentence in half to reprimand him. “Shame on you, speaking like that of the person who feeds you.”
“I’d rather starve to death than have to deal with him” was his answer. The venom in his voice made me shudder. He wasn’t a devoted servant, I had already guessed that, but his hatred was almost tangible.
Kyle opened the fridge and pulled out two cans of beer. “Goodnight, dear ladies. I’m going to my room to celebrate my divorce.” A nervous tick made the right corner of his eye twitch.
The housekeeper and I silently looked at each other until he left the room.
“It was really indelicate of him to talk that way about poor Lord Mc Laine” were her first words. Then she stared at me frowning. “Do you think he intends to commit suicide?”
I laughed, before I could hold it back. “He doesn’t seem like he’s the type,” I calmed her.
“That’s true. He’s too shallow to have deep feelings for anyone,” she said disgustedly. Her concern for Kyle disappeared like dew in the sun, and she went on to list the advantages, according to her, of living in the country, compared to the city.
I helped her wash the dishes, and we retired. I went to the first floor, and she to the ground floor, in a room not far from the kitchen.
I tossed and turned for a long time before falling asleep, and then I fell into a restless sleep. In the morning my cheeks were streaked with dried tears that I didn’t remember shedding.
I didn’t dream of Sebastian that night.
The next day was Tuesday, and Mr Mc Laine was already grumpy early in the morning.
“Today, as punctual as a tax collector, Dr Mc Intosh will come,” he said grimly. “I can’t talk him out of coming. I've tried everything. I tried threating and begging him. He seems to be immune to all my attempts. He’s worse than a vulture.”
“Maybe he just wants to make sure you’re in good health,” I remarked, just to say something.
He stared into my eyes, and then he burst into a roaring laugh. “Melisande Bruno, you're a character... Our beloved Dr Mc Intosh comes because he considers it his duty, not because he has a particular affection for me.”
“His duty? I don’t understand... In my opinion, his only purpose is to perform an examination. He must have some interest in you,” I said stubbornly.
Mc Laine grimaced. “My dear... You’re not as naive to really believe that everything is what it seems, are you? Not everything is white or black, there is also grey, so to say.”
I didn’t answer. Anyhow what could I say? That he had realized the truth about me? For me, there really was nothing but white and black, to the point of being nauseated by it.
“Mc Intosh feels guilty about the accident, and he thinks he'll make up for it by coming to visit me regularly, although I don’t like it at all,” he added spitefully.
“Guilty feelings?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”
A flash of lightning lit up the window behind him, followed by a loud sound of thunder. He didn’t turn away, as if he couldn’t pull his eyes away from mine.
“It seems like we’re in for a torrential flood. Perhaps that will distract Mc Intosh from coming today.”
“I doubt it. It's just a summer storm. In an hour it’ll all be over,” I said practically.
He looked at me with such intensity that subtle chills crawled along my spine. He was a strange man, but his charisma cancelled any other flaw.
“Do