Scrivener’s Tale. Fiona McIntosh

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      He nodded and looked at the comfy chairs by the window. ‘I’ll just

      She turned away but paused at the sideboard to look at his boxed quill. ‘This is very lovely,’ she said. ‘May I touch it?’

      ‘Be my guest,’ he said over the sound of grinding the beans. He watched her pick up the quill and weigh it in her hand before she held it out to admire it in the light. ‘It’s old.’

      ‘Antique, apparently,’ he replied.

      ‘Older,’ he thought she said.

      ‘It’s from a swan, can you believe?’ he called over the noise of the machine gathering steam. He tamped down the coffee and locked the bar handle into place, then pressed the button. The machine responded with its routine noises as the pump now wound up the pressure. He walked away from the groans and grinds for a few seconds so he could hear her properly.

      ‘Only scriveners are given the swan quill.’

      Gabe was astonished by her remark.

      ‘How would you know that?’ he said with a smile as he returned to the machine to test that it was ready to froth the milk. A burst of steam wheezed. ‘Oh, Reynard, of course,’ he said, before she could reply. It made sense that Reynard would have told her about the quill.

      Gabe glanced over and noticed her short skirt ease higher up her stockinged thighs as she sat and stared out of the window. Angelina had a far more voluptuous body than he’d imagined beneath all those layers.

      ‘Voilà,’ he murmured to himself as he poured the milk into the shot of coffee.

      Gabe sipped as he moved to join her, and sighed as he finally seated himself opposite. He put the coffee on the table between them before he leaned back and nonchalantly crossed a leg. It was a series of deliberate actions to make her feel comfortable, to show that he was relaxed and that she should feel the same. At the same time he was thinking how she was beautiful in an almost ethereal way.

      ‘It wasn’t Reynard,’ she said, brushing some invisible lint from her skirt.

      ‘Sorry?’ He wasn’t sure what she meant.

      ‘The swan quill. It wasn’t Reynard who told me. Everyone knows a scrivener needs the quill of a swan,’ she said airily, as though it was of no further interest to her. ‘It’s nice here. How long have you been in this apartment?’

      Everyone? He didn’t. But she’d moved on, he could tell. He would think on the quill later. Gabe looked around the apartment. ‘Er … let’s see … it must be coming up to four years. I’m glad you like it. I enjoy living here.’

      ‘You obviously live alone.’

      ‘I do. Not even a goldfish for company.’

      He thought she might have smiled but her gaze only became more intense. ‘Do you get lonely?’

      ‘I suppose I should, but I choose this lifestyle. I’m perfectly happy living alone with my coffee machine and working in a bookshop. How about you?’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Would you like to have a family, friends, a home?’

      ‘No,’ she murmured.

      That surprised him. His gaze narrowed. ‘You want to change your current situation though, I’m sure.’

      ‘Is that a question?’

      He smiled at her dry tone. ‘Do you remember anything about your life before the hospitals?’

      ‘I remember everything. I just don’t want to share it with doctors.’

      Gabe realised too late that he’d reacted far too obviously in sitting forward with a confused expression. Angelina had the grace to look away … far away out of the window.

      ‘Do you have a family?’ he asked, unable to help the question. The accepted rule was to avoid such directness at the outset, to approach all probing as obliquely as possible. He was so rusty.

      ‘No,’ she said, unfazed.

      Well, if she was happy to answer … ‘So where is home?’

      ‘A long way from here.’

      Before the session had begun, Gabe had not had any intention of going beyond winning her trust. But now he wanted to know everything about her; she was as intriguing as she was seductive. The more he looked and listened to her the more he realised that Angelina was needful, but not needy. It was physical help she was after, he now suspected. She wanted his help to get away from Reynard and the doctors, otherwise she’d never have allowed him to know she was not mute.

      She was, however, disarmingly charming and desirable and he was vaguely embarrassed at how she aroused him.

      He cleared his throat again. ‘Angelina —’

      ‘My friends call me by a different name.’

      Gabe was ready for her this time. He didn’t react. ‘Tell me about them?’

      ‘They’re elsewhere.’

      ‘Have you a plan to return to them?’

      Her eyes blazed. His question had fired some hidden desire deep within.

      ‘Yes,’ she replied, and for the first time since he’d set eyes on Angelina, she gave him her complete attention. Suddenly, it was as if no-one else existed in the world, just the two of them. ‘Are you going to help me?’ she asked.

      He realised he was nodding. He hadn’t meant to make any commitment beyond this single hour. But now he was under her spell.

      ‘Will you tell me why you’re scared of Reynard?’

      There it was, the question he’d promised himself he wouldn’t ask. His task was to give Angelina’s doctors a glimpse into the world in which she lived, not explore her fears in this opening session.

      Again, she felt none of his unease and replied with candour. ‘I know you think he cares about me, but he doesn’t.’

      ‘What do mean by that?’

      ‘I mean that you’re putting your trust in the wrong person. He’s trying to stop me getting home.’

      ‘Why would he do that?’

      ‘Because he’s scared of me.’

      ‘Why should he fear you?’

      ‘His fear is for you.’

      Gabe had to repeat that in his mind. Fears for me? he said silently with incredulity.

      He had to backtrack. ‘Firstly, why do you scare him?’

      ‘Because of what I can offer.’

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