The Girl Who Couldn'T See Rainbows. Rosette

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      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 you want me to sort out the rest of the shelves?” I asked nervously, avoiding his fixed gaze.

      “Did you sleep well last night, Melisande?”

      The question surprised me. His tone was light, but it had a pressing urgency that pushed me to tell him the truth.

      “Not really.”

      “No dreams?” His voice was light and clear like the water of a mild stream, and I let myself get carried away by that refreshing flow.

      “No, not last night.”

      “Did you want to dream?”

      “Yes,” I said on impulse. Our dialogue was surreal, yet I was ready to continue it forever.

      “Maybe it will happen again. The silence of this place is ideal for dreams,” he said coldly. He turned back to the computer, already forgetting about me.

      Great, I thought, humiliated. He had thrown me a bone like he would with a dog, and I was so idiotic as to grab it as if I was starving. And I really was starving. For our glances, our intense complicity, and his rare smiles.

      I hunched my shoulders and started working again. At that moment I thought of Monique. She managed to turn men’s heads, to allure them into a net of lies and dreams and conquer their attention with consummate expertise. I had asked her once how she had learned the art of seduction. At first she answered. “It’s not something you learn, Melisande. It’s innate; if you don’t have it you can just dream about it.” Then she turned to me, her expression soft. “When you get my age, you’ll know how to do it, you'll see.”

      Now that I was her age, I knew less than I did before. My relationships with men had always been sporadic and short lived. All the men I had met had always asked me the same questions: What’s your name? What do you do in life? What car do you drive? When they learned that I had no driver’s license, they stared at me as if I were a rare beast, as if I was suffering from a terribly contagious disease. And I certainly wasn’t a person who shared her thoughts.

      I passed my hand over a book cover. It was a luxurious edition, in Moroccan leather, of Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen.

      “I bet it's your favourite book.”

      I raised my head. Mr Mc Laine was looking at me from under his lowered eyelids with a dangerous sparkle in the black depths.

      “No,” I said, placing the book on the shelf. “I like it, but it's not my favourite.”

      “Then it has to be Wuthering Heights.” He gave me a breathtakingly unexpected smile.

      My heart leapt, and almost fell into the emptiness. “That’s not it either,” I replied, happy for the firm tone of my voice.

      “It doesn’t have a happy ending. As I’ve already told you, I prefer stories with happy endings.”

      He twirled the wheelchair, and came a few feet away from me, his expression thoughtful. “Persuasion, always by Austen. It has a happy ending, you can’t deny it.” He didn’t hide that he was enjoying himself, and I was also appreciating that game.

      “It's nice, I’ll admit it, but you're still far off. It's a book focused on waiting, and I'm not good at waiting. I’m too impatient. I would end up giving up, or changing my wish.”

      Now my voice was frivolous. Without realizing it, I was flirting with him.

      “Jane Eyre.”

      He didn’t anticipate my laughter, and he looked at me, puzzled.

      Several minutes passed before I could answer him. “Finally! I thought it would take forever...”

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