Scrivener’s Tale. Fiona McIntosh

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      FOUR

      Gabe had half an hour to kill before Reynard arrived. He paused at the sideboard where the swan quill sat in its box and traced a finger over the feather, watching the individual spines part and then flick back into a soldierly line.

      He remembered that Angelina had a sweet tooth and realised he had time to nip out and grab some simple fruit pastries drizzled with white icing, plus a new bag of his favourite coffee beans. He liked a strong roast that hinted of chocolate and licorice, and having invested in a 15bar Italian coffee machine, he enjoyed the ritual of making his coffee to order.

      He thought again about Angelina and Reynard’s peculiar possessiveness about her. And then he remembered the note. Hell! He’d left the café yesterday and hurried back to the shop, only to get sucked into a black hole of new stock and paperwork, and had forgotten about Angelina’s piece of paper, which she’d pushed into his hand surreptitiously.

      As soon as he was back at the apartment he threw down his packets from the bakery and dipped into the pocket where the note had been stuffed. He smoothed it out on the kitchen table and read it.

       Don’t trust him! He is lying to you! Trust only me and what I say!

      The three exclamations made her warning look desperate. So her fear was about the physician. He is lying to you! Why would Reynard lie? Lying about what? He presumed he was soon to find out more.

      He set out the pastries and put some background music on very softly. It was melodic guitar music, nothing too Latin and upbeat but nothing melancholy either.

      At just a minute or so to eleven he heard the security buzzer sound.

      ‘Reynard … Angelina?’

      ‘Good morning, Gabriel,’ Reynard’s disconnected voice said through the loudspeaker. ‘Thank you for your emailed directions.’

      ‘Just push the door,’ Gabe replied and hit the button to let them enter. He walked outside his flat to the landing, where he’d put a chair for Reynard. It was cold and, even though it felt churlish, he didn’t care. He was not permitting the physician inside while he was assessing Angelina. He leaned over the elegant wrought-iron railing that twisted serpentine-like around the shallow white marble stairs between floors and heard the lift crank into use. The lift took its time in its creaky ascent but finally it opened and there they were, the oddest couple.

      Reynard was dressed in his habitual pinstripe suit while Angelina looked wan in a short skirt, ankle boots, thick tights, a duffel coat, scarf, gloves, beanie … it was as though she was a child being dressed by a protective grandmother against the elements.

      ‘Hello again, Monsieur Reynard, Angelina,’ he said warmly to both, but looking at her.

      They stepped out of the lift.

      ‘So how do we do this?’ Reynard asked. He looked nervous.

      ‘I’ve put a chair here,’ Gabe said, gesturing toward the landing’s window. ‘It’s cold but you’re well wrapped up, I see. Did you bring a book?’

      ‘I’ll be fine,’ Reynard replied. ‘How long?’

      ‘I’d say we need at least forty-five minutes undisturbed.’ He gave a sympathetic grin but his tone was firm. ‘I can offer you coffee?’

      ‘I understand. And no, but thank you. I’ve recently had one,’ Reynard said.

      ‘Angelina, will you follow me, please?’ Gabe offered. She nodded.

      Reynard touched his arm. ‘Be careful, Gabriel. Remember my warning,’ he whispered.

      Gabe looked over his shoulder with a quizzical frown. ‘We’ll be fine,’ he assured Reynard. He closed the door on the physician and turned to the young woman. ‘It’s warm in here so feel free to take off your coat and put it down over there,’ he said, pointing to the sofa. He left it entirely to her. But it pleased him to see that she began peeling off her heavy garments. It was a good start. He turned away. ‘Now, how about a decent coffee?’

      She shook her head, dark eyes regarding him far from suspiciously. In fact, he’d describe her look as hungry but not for food. He convinced himself he was imagining it and decided that she was probably relieved to be away from Reynard’s supervision.

      ‘This is not jar coffee,’ he insisted, mock offended.

      Angelina’s face broke momentarily into a grin. She pulled off her beanie and shook out her hair; again, he had the desire to touch it. Without her bulky coat on she looked so vulnerable.

      Helena, a female colleague at university during his PhD, was doing her thesis on personality types with regard to romance and/or sex. She had used Gabe as one of her test subjects and had surprised him with a summary of the sort of woman he was most attracted to. He’d argued it, of course, and he’d seen many women since who didn’t fit that bill, but, curiously, Angelina ticked many of the boxes: small, dark, not a chatterbox, someone who seemed slightly remote from the mainstream. She would have to be very pretty, Helena had assured him with a wry smile, but not traditionally so. How thoroughly annoying, he thought now, as he looked at Angelina, that Helena could have been so accurate … or more to the point, that he could be so predictable. He cleared his throat as Angelina stepped closer.

      ‘I don’t like caffeine in any form,’ she said, and there was lightness in her tone that he had not heard before. He took a private pleasure in thinking that Reynard had probably never heard her voice.

      ‘Don’t like caffeine?’ he repeated with feigned despair. ‘How do you cope?’

      ‘I manage,’ she murmured, almost playfully. She ran a hand over the coffee machine. Her nails were trimmed blunt, but neatly, with perfect half-moons above the cuticles. They were free of varnish but still they shone. He was one of those people who noticed. Unbitten, trimmed, buffed and well-kept nails spoke droves.

      ‘You have lovely hands, Angelina,’ he said, before he could censure himself.

      ‘I’m not vain but I do take care of them,’ she said, looking at her nails briefly. She gave a rueful laugh that sounded like a soft sigh. She walked away from the coffee machine and him.

      ‘Are you warm enough?’ he asked solicitously.

      She nodded over her shoulder. He didn’t want this time to drift into awkwardness. They’d begun well and he needed to keep that positive energy bouncing between them if he was to make progress with her.

      ’finish this. ‘Angelina, today we’re just going to talk. Like a couple of old friends, having coffee and,’ he pointed to the small table, ‘sharing some pastries.’

      She looked so small and alone he felt an urge to hug her as extra СКАЧАТЬ