have been pathetic and predictable of me to fall into the net stretched by the handsome writer. He was just my employer, and I didn’t want to end up like millions of other secretaries who fell in love with their bosses. Wheelchair or not, Sebastian Mc Laine was out of my reach.
Undeniably so.
“I’ll go upstairs,” I said. “How long do the visits last, usually?”
The housekeeper laughed cheerfully. “Longer than Mr Mc Laine can bear.” She started a series of tales about the doctors’ examinations. I broke her off immediately, with the firm conviction that if I hadn’t interrupted her in time I would still be there the following Tuesday, listening to her tales.
When I reached the landing, my steps noiseless on the soft carpet, I saw Kyle emerge from a bedroom. It seemed to me to be the one of our employer.
He noticed me and winked confidentially. I kept to myself and refused to play along with him. Mrs Mc Millian was right, I thought as he reached me; there was something deeply disturbing about him.
“Every Tuesday the same story. I wish Mc Intosh would end these unnecessary visits. The result is always the same. As soon as he goes away, I’ll suffer his patient’s bad mood.” His smile widened. “As you will.”
I shrugged. “It's our job, isn’t it? Aren’t we paid for that, too?”
“Maybe not enough. He's really unbearable.” I was stunned by such a disrespectful tone. I wasn’t sure if it was just the frankness of country people, genuine in their ruthless judgments. There was more to it, like a feeling of envy towards whoever could afford not to work, but to live out their hobbies, like Mc Laine. To envy him, although he was relegated to a wheelchair, imprisoned in his house, was preposterous.
“You shouldn’t speak like that” I admonished him, lowering my voice. “What if he heard you?”
“It's not easy to find employees around here. It would be difficult for him to replace me.” He said it as a fact, condescendingly, as if he were doing him a favour. Those words were the same of those of Mc Laine, and I realized their intrinsic truth.
“Here there are no opportunities to have fun,” he continued, in a more insinuating tone now. Casually, at least apparently, he moved a lock of hair from my forehead. I suddenly moved backwards, annoyed by his warm breath on my face.
“Perhaps the next time I touch you, you’ll appreciate it more,” he said, not at all offended.
The confidence with which he spoke sparked my fury. “There won’t be a next time,” I hissed. “I’m not seeking for distractions, and certainly not of this kind.”
“Sure, sure. For the moment.”
I remained silent, even though I would have liked to give him a kick in the shin, or a slap on his unpleasant face.
I marched down the hallway, ignoring his quiet laughter.
I was already opening the door to my room, when Mr Mc Laine’s door sprung open, and I could clearly hear his voice, no longer stifled.
“Get out of this house, Mc Intosh! And if you really want to do me a favour, don’t come back anymore.”
The doctor's response was calm, as if he were used to those bursts of anger.
“I'll be back, Sebastian, at the same time next Tuesday. Oh, and I'm glad to find you as healthy as a fish. Your appearance and your body can compete with those of a twenty year old boy.”
“What good news, Mc Intosh.” The voice of the other was ironic. “I’ll go out to celebrate. Maybe I'll also go dancing.”
The doctor closed the door without answering. As he turned, he saw me and gave me a tired smile. “You’ll get used to his dancing moods. He’s quite pleasant when he wants to be. That is, very rarely.”
I loyally ran in defence of my boss. “Anyone in his place...”
Mc Intosh kept smiling. “Not anyone. Everyone reacts in his own way, Miss. Keep that in mind. After fifteen years he should have at least accepted it. But I'm afraid Sebastian doesn’t know the meaning of this word. He's so...” He had a slight hesitation. “…passionate. In the broadest sense of the word. He’s impetuous, volcanic, and stubborn. It’s a terrible tragedy that this happened to him of all people.” He shook his head, as if the divine retributions seemed unfathomable to him, then he briefly bid me farewell and left.
At that point I didn’t know what to do. I looked at the door to my room. I was tempted to run inside and hide. I was afraid to face Mc Laine after his recent anger. Even though it wasn’t addressed to me. Once again the decision was made for me.
“Miss Bruno! Come here right now!”
To be heard through that thick oak door, he had to shout out loud. This was too much for my shaken nerves. I opened his door; my feet moved by force of inertia.
It was the first time I entered his bedroom, but the furniture left me indifferent. My eyes were instantly attracted to the figure lying on the bed.
“Where's Kyle?” He asked me sharply. “He’s the laziest person I've ever known.”
“I'll go look for him,” I offered, happy to have a plausible excuse to escape from that room, that man and that moment.
He shocked me with the strength of his cold look. “Later. Now come in.”
Somehow the fear I felt subsided enough to let me to enter his room with a high head.
“Can I do something for you?”
“And what could you do?” An ironic smile quivered on his full lips. “Give me your legs? Would you do it, if it was possible Melisande Bruno? How much are your legs worth? One, two, three million pounds?”
“I would never do it for money,” I said impulsively.
“He levered his weight on his elbows, and stared at me.” What about love? Would you do it for love, Melisande Bruno?”
He was teasing me, as usual, I told myself. Yet, for a few moments, I had the impression that invisible wind gusts were pushing me in his arms. The momentary moment of madness passed and I recovered, recalling that this was an unknown stranger in front of me, and not the sparkling prince in shining armour that I couldn’t dream of. And certainly not a man who could fall in love with me. Under normal circumstances I would never have been in that room, sharing his most intimate moments. A moment in which he wore no mask, bereft of any defences, stripped of any formality imposed by the outside world.
“I’ve never loved anyone, sir,” I said thoughtfully. “Therefore I don’t know what I would do in that case. Would I make such a sacrifice for my loved one? I don’t know. Really.”
His eyes didn’t leave me, as if they were unable to do so. Or maybe I was just imagining it, because that was how I felt at that moment.
“It's a purely hypothetical question, Melisande. Do you think that if you really fell in love with someone... you would give him your legs, or your soul?” His expression was unreadable.
“Would you do it, sir?”
At this point, he laughed. A laugh that echoed in the room, unexpected and fresh as spring wind.
“I would, Melisande. Maybe because I’ve loved, and I know what it feels like.” He glanced at me, as if he expected me to make some questions, but I didn’t. I didn’t know what to say. He could talk about wine or astronomy, and the result would’ve been the same. I wasn’t able to debate about love. Because, in fact, I had no idea of what it was.
“Bring the wheelchair nearer,” he said finally, in a commanding tone.
Pleased to fulfil a task I was prepared for, I obeyed. His arms struggled in the effort, and he slipped into his torture device with a consummate ability. It was so hated, but necessary and precious.
“I understand how you feel,”