never made. “Do you mind bringing me a cup of tea?”
I clung to his words, as if they were a rope thrown to a person who was drowning. “I’ll go right away.”
“Will you be able to manage on your own, this time?” His irony was almost pleasant after the scary look he had given me earlier.
“I'll try,” I replied, playing along with him.
This time I didn’t meet Kyle, and I was relieved. I moved through the kitchen with greater ease than I had in the garden. Since I ate all my meals there, in the company of Mrs Mc Millian, I had learned all her hiding places. I easily found the kettle in the cabinet beside the fridge, and the tea bags in a tin can in another one. I went upstairs with the tray in my hands.
Mc Laine didn’t look up when he heard me come in. Evidently his ears, like radar antennas, had already understood that I was alone.
“I brought both sugar and honey, not knowing which one you prefer. And milk.”
He sneeringly looked at the tray. “Wasn’t it too heavy for you?”
“I managed,” I said with all the dignity I could muster. Defending myself from his verbal jokes was becoming an exceptional habit; certainly preferable to the terrible expression he had a few minutes earlier.
“Sir...” It was time to tackle an important issue.
He gave me a smile full of frank kindness, like an amenable monarch towards a loyal vassal. “Yes, Melisande Bruno?”
“I’d like to know when I’ll have a day off,” I asked breathlessly, gathering all my courage.
He opened his arms and stretched out, voluptuously, before answering. “Day off? You've just arrived and you already want to get rid of me?”
I stood on one foot and then on the other while I watched him pour a drop of milk and a tablespoon of sugar in his tea, and then sipped it slowly. “Today is Sunday, sir. Mrs Mc Millian's day off. And the day after tomorrow will be exactly one week from my arrival. Maybe we should talk about it, sir.” It seemed like he didn’t want to give me any day off.
“Melisande Bruno, do you think that I don’t want to give you a day off?” He asked mockingly, as if he had read my mind.
I was already mumbling that no, I wouldn’t have dreamed of thinking such an absurd thing, when he added. “...because you would be perfectly right.”
“I don’t understand you, sir. Is this another of your jokes?” I asked in a thin voice, in the effort to control it.
“What if it’s not?” He replied, his eyes as unfathomable as the ocean.
I stared at him with my mouth open. “But Mrs Mc Millian...”
“Kyle doesn’t have a day off, either,” he reminded me with a sly smile. I had the distinct feeling that he was having fun.
“He doesn’t have fixed hours like mine,” I said dryly. I longed to explore the village and the neighbourhoods around the house, and I was annoyed that I had to fight for my rights.
He didn’t even blink. “Anyhow he’s always at my availability.”
“Then when should I go out?” I asked, raising my voice. “At night maybe? I'm free from dusk to dawn... Should I go out instead of sleeping? Unlike Kyle I live here, I don’t go home in the evening.”
“Don’t you dare go out at night. It's dangerous.”
His soft words set in my conscience, causing a shiver of fury. “Then we're at an impasse,” I said, my voice as cold as his. “I want to visit the area, but you don’t want to give me a day off. On the other hand, however, you ordered me not to go out at night, saying it was dangerous. What else can I do?”
“You're even more beautiful when you’re angry, Melisande Bruno,” he said. “Anger turns your cheeks a lovely pink colour.”
I basked in the joy of that compliment for a delightful moment, then I was overwhelmed by anger. “Well? Will I have a day off or not?”
He smiled wryly, and my fury disappeared, replaced by a different and absurd excitement.
“Okay, you can have Sunday off” he finally granted.
“Sunday?” He had given in so fast it stunned me. He was so quick in his decisions to make me doubt I’d be able to follow him. “But that’s also Mrs Mc Millian's day off... Are you sure...?”
“Millicent is off only in the morning. You can have the afternoon.”
I nodded, unconvinced. For the moment it had to be enough. “Agreed.”
He pointed to the tray. “Would you bring it to the kitchen, please?”
I had already reached the door when a thought struck me, with the impact of a meteorite. “Why Sunday?”
I turned to look at him. He had the expression of a rattle snake, and in a flash I understood everything.
“Because today is Sunday, and I'll have to wait seven more days.” Therefore mine was just a Pyrrhic victory. I was so furious that I was tempted to throw the tray at him.
“They’ll go by in a hurry,” he said amusedly. “Oh, don’t bang the door, on your way out.”
I was tempted to do so, but I was hindered by the tray. I would have had to put the tray on the floor, so I gave up. He probably would have enjoyed it even more.
That night, for the first time in my life, I dreamed.
Chapter five
I looked like a ghost, eerie in my nightgown which was blowing in the invisible wind. Sebastian Mc Laine kindly stretched out his hand. “Would you like to dance with me, Melisande Bruno?”
He stood still at the foot of my bed. No wheelchair. His figure flickered, faded, and it had the same consistency as dreams. I covered the distance between us, as fast as a comet. He gave me a lovely smile; the smile of a man who doesn’t doubt your happiness, because it reflects his.
“Mr Mc Laine... you can walk...” My voice was naive, and sounded like that of a little girl.
He returned my smile, his eyes dark and sad. “At least in your dreams, yes. Why don’t you call me Sebastian, Melisande? If only in the dream?”
I was embarrassed, reluctant to abandon the formalities, even in that fantastic and unrealistic situation.
“All right... Sebastian.”
His arms circled my waist in a strong and playful embrace. “Can you dance, Melisande?”
“No”.
“Then let me guide you. Will you allow me to do it?” He stared at me sceptically now.
“I don’t think I can,” I admitted sincerely.
He nodded, in no way disturbed by my sincerity. “Not even in a dream?”
“I never dream,” I said incredulously. Yet I was dreaming. It was an undeniable fact, right? It couldn’t be real. I was in his arms in my nightgown; I could see the sweetness of his gaze and the absence of a wheelchair.
“I hope you won’t be disappointed when you wake up,” he said thoughtfully.
“Why should I?” I objected.
“I’ll be the object of the first dream of your life. Are you disappointed?” He stared at me with a serious and doubtful expression.
He was pulling back now, and I planted my fingers in his arms, fierce as claws. “No, stay with me. Please.”
“Do you really want me in your dream?”
“I wouldn’t want anyone else in it,” I said boldly. I was dreaming,