Holly buried her face in her hands, unable to speak. "I'm -- so --sorry, forgive me," is all she could manage.
"I know why you didn't tell me, Holly," the Dumok said, as softly as rain, leaning towards her. "God bless you for caring about me so much."
“Then just stay here! Don’t leave!" Holly cried. "Do you have to go away? I’ll care for you and Naomi!"
"Yes, my dearest love. I have to go. This town is no good for Naomi, and you know the media will not leave her alone. When the publicity dies down we will be back. Holly nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "Naomi has been through too much. I want to give her a fresh start. But first I will take Naomi to Chicago, where the other half of her heart will be waiting."
It was then that the Dumok pulled a thick cream envelope with gold edges and handed it to her. Holly gingerly took the envelope, confused. "Read it when you are alone," he said. The Dumok walked Holly out to her car where they kissed goodbye.
When the Dumok was gone, Holly drove the long drive to the port near Long Beach. She parked at the wharf where she had once watched the cargo container load the Dumok's Bentley coupé. She stared at the smoke rising from the many stacks. Or was it steam? She'd had the same wondering thoughts the last time. She still didn't know. And now the night ocean air hitting the warm air on land was bringing the fog. Fog and smoke and steam. And now soft rain.
Ethereal.
Indefinite.
Transient.
Alone inside the car, Holly carefully opened the envelope, afraid. There was a card with words in a beautiful script.
Quartier Libre
It was one of the Dumok’s favorite French expressions. It meant ‘free time’. Holly dropped the card and shook her head. "No, no no," she cried, over and over, tears falling again, not understanding.
The Dumok was so elusive, in his presence and in his parting there was no certainty. She was reminded of the story Choi had told her about the two ships. That a woman should be as discreet as two ships passing in the dark night, or the wreckage would go on forever. Well, she thought, forever is not long enough for all her tears to fall.
Utterly drained, she became very still and sat for a long time watching the lights and fog reflecting and dancing on the water.
EPILOGUE - Two years later
Christmas was hot, that year, but Holly had continued the arrangement for a small office with Logan Burg and had worked steadily ever since in the air-conditioned office tower downtown.
The notoriety of the Naomi Lee Linser “Virgin Whore” trial had given her unexpected publicity and she had a thriving legal practice. Holly was more at peace, gradually having come to accept that Naomi could not have survived in the shark-filled waters of Los Angeles.
Then, soundlessly, a tall figure cast a shadow over her desk. She looked up to find Mix, the Dumok’s personal bodyguard, standing over her. Somehow he never seemed to bother with appointments, security, or even reception. Both his hands were carefully holding a red bag.
“Merry Christmas, Miss Holly,” Mix spoke softly, head down. He had always liked her.
“Mix! Oh my!” Holly got up and hugged him and insisted that he sit with her while she got fresh coffee for them. Mix was shy, and he clung tightly to his parcel until Holly came back with the coffee.
“How is he, Mix?” Holly asked softly. She had not heard from the Dumok for a long time, though Mix dropped by a couple of times a year to check up on her.
“The boss man is the same, Miss Holly. He asked me to deliver this to you.” Mix placed the red bag on the table and abruptly left.
Holly stared at the package. Suddenly, her eyes were wet. All the emotions she thought she had moved beyond came flooding back. He had changed her world - then left, telling her to forget him.
Instead, how she had clung to those feelings and memories when there was little else. She had tried to forget him. God knows how hard she tried. But while time had passed, her heart had stood still, like a rock in a river as the water rushed past. A colorless world. The case had ended and he had gone so she placed the files in storage, where they, like her heart and memories, gathered dust.
Holly opened the elegant card first. The familiar pair of words in his un-mistakeable script. ‘Quartier Libre’ – free time. His favorite expression. A tear plopped on the beautiful red box inscribed with the Cartier logo. She opened it absently. Why now? Why so indirectly? What did he want from her after all this time? Did he really think she had waited all this time for him? She hadn't. But she had. Hadn't she? Had she?
It was a spectacular watch. A spiral of small diamonds against a silver satin finished dial, set with brilliant cut diamonds with blued steel, and a black semi-matte alligator strap. It was breathtaking. She slipped it on her wrist and realized instantly that it was part of her. She would never take it off.
Free time. Yes, Holly thought, once upon a time, she had given the Dumok her free time.
Time.
Time.
Time.
Now, he had reappeared. Suddenly, Holly understood.
The Dumok called that night. "I'm in Montréal, on business. Can you join me for a New Year's Eve celebration?" he asked.
Montreal, Canada
The snow was falling. A driver met Holly at the airport and soon they entered the narrow cobblestone streets and they stopped in front of a small hotel.
"We have arrived, madamoiselle," the driver said.
Holly stepped in from the bitter cold. The warm reception room was nothing like a hotel. It had an antique table, lovely water colors on the wall and a roaring wood fire.
The floor was old and made of wide wood planks, and the walls were made of many different colors and shapes of stone, with white mortar holding them together.
"Right this way, please," she was told and shown to a suite comprising of the entire top floor. It was exquisite, with antiques and faded Morrocan rugs and whimsical paintings on the only wall that was not stone.
Holly explored the suite. The Dumok's suits hung in the closet, his things neatly folded in drawers. Holly tiptoed inside to the adjoining bedroom where a soft robe and slippers had been laid out. She took a long hot shower and when she put on the robe she found a note in the pocket, written on a heavy card in his distinct and elegant cursive script.
"Why don't you explore the rue? You'll need a coat. Look in the closet in the black bag."
Holly went to the closet.
"Oh, my," she cried softly. There was a mink coat with a label sewn into the lining that read Maison Fourrures du Québec - and her name embroidered on the label. Holly let the bathrobe fall to the ground and slipped her arms into the satin lining.
"You are perhaps, hungry?" The manager greeted as Holly came down the stairs. Indeed, she was. She hadn't even known.
"Very," she replied.
Holly gobbled down a plate of fruit and the single best ommelette du fromage she had ever had and got up and smiled excitedly. Now it was time to hit the cobblestone streets in the mink coat with her name on the inside.
Oh what a time she had! Each shop or gallery window was more interesting than the last as she marched up and down the winding stone streets soaking in the city with a happy sigh, and enjoying the strong coffee in a sidewalk café.
A window display caught her eye - a poster of a model wearing black lingerie and stockings - and the daintiest mask speckled with crystals and tied with black satin strings. Holly stopped. A tiny voice inside her head beckoned her to go inside. Just to look.
Inside the store, her eyes kept going back to the poster in the window. "May I see that in a size petite, please?" Holly asked, when she mustered the courage to ask.
Do mirrors lie? In the floor to ceiling mirror and soft lighting in the dressing room the outfit flattered her toned body. She silently blessed the endless hours she had spent in the gym. Holly lightly fingered the satin and lace, the feel so soft and delicate to the touch. Holly looked at the time. The Dumok would be done with his meeting soon. Where
had the day gone?
"I'd like this, please," Holly said, blushing and reached for her wallet. The saleslady wrapped the lingerie in tissue in a small rectangle box with a lid studded with crystals and smiled, slipping it across the counter. Holly went excitedly back to the hotel with her treasure.
"Oohh," she exclaimed. There was a large box wrapped with silver ribbon with a card that had not been there when she left.
Please join me at Bonaparte for dinner tonight.
Holly opened the box to find an exquisitely tailored gray jacket and an elegant black pencil skirt. Holly stared at her image with dismay. Oooh, he still sees me as a lawyer! Holly thought, dismayed.
The restaurant was just around the corner, painted in dark red enamel with gray and gold trim. It was dark and exquisite. There was a beautiful curved banquette in a private corner. The Dumok stood, as tall and handsome as ever, only his eyes were peaceful now.
"May I help you with your coat? You'll get it back, I promise," he teased.
"I love it so - may I keep it on for a little while longer, please?" Holly begged prettily, the laughter dissolving any nervousness she felt.
The menu with its small, formal script was extensive, and in French. Holly quickly closed the menu and put it aside.
"Did you ever hear from Nara after the trial?” Holly asked.
“The last I heard she moved to South Africa,” he said.
The Dumok arranged the meal. He sat close and held her hand under the table. Then the main course arrived. Roast duck breast, sliced, with a port and raisin sauce. Baby glazed carrots. The Sommelier brought the next wine, a 1990 Nuit St. Georges. Holly's body melted and her heart was happy. The Dumok was at peace, relaxed, the dark cloud finally gone. He told her stories of the time since he had seen her, the challenges of finding the right doctors and helping Naomi return to the world of the living.
Holly glanced at the other tables. The room buzzed quietly with happy lovers enjoying private moments. Three hours later, the meal ended. Holly could hardly believe it, it had felt like no time at all. "I'll meet you at the door," Holly said, touching the Dumok's arm lightly then disappearing quickly to the ladies room. Inside, she pulled the dainty black mask from her clutch and tied the satin strings behind her head. When the Dumok saw her, he smiled, curious, but said nothing and took her arm.
Then they were outside. It was very cold, but it was a clean fresh cold. She laughed to see their breath in the air. The Dumok wore a beautiful midnight blue cashmere coat and a silk scarf under it. The streets were deserted and utterly silent. Snowflakes began to fall and Holly held the Dumok's arm tightly as she walked on cobblestones in her high heels. In a dark corner she leaned back against an ancient stone wall. "You've been hiding your outfit from me all night," he whispered.
"Not until midnight," she teased.
"It has to be midnight somewhere," he growled. "Let me see you." Holly laughed and pushed him away. She loved the outfit he had bought her, yet it was still in its box on the couch in the suite. Under her fur coat, Holly wore only the lingerie she had purchased that afternoon. She opened the coat for him. She was a vision, the black of her lingerie against her fair skin, framed by the fur coat and the brilliant white of the snow.
"I chose this for you," she whispered, taking his hand and placing it inside the coat against the silk and her warm skin. "Happy new year."
"Very... warm," he murmured and kissed her red mouth softly.
"Shall we go back to the hotel?"
In the suite the Dumok stripped off his coat, then turned to Holly and opened the fur coat and let it drop to the ground.
Behind the mask, she was no longer Holly the lawyer, or the preacher's daughter. She was a new Holly who wanted to be unearthed and have the Dumok tap all that was within her. With one finger, he lightly traced the crystals of the mask. She could see from his eyes that the mask pleased him. He lifted her and carried her into the bedroom and laid her back on the white linens, her pale body and black stockings framed by the softness of the white duvet covering the antique sleigh bed, with a beautiful wrought iron frame.
Behind the mask and the wine and the man Holly found a new sensuality unleashed. In the darkness of the room she reached for him and his mouth found hers releasing her desire, at last. Their bodies locked, entwining, giving, taking, numbing and consuming, at long last.
Quartier libre.
Free time.
Their time.
Holly lost herself in the arms of the Dumok.
The snow fell outside. Holly remembered how astonished she had been as a child when she had learned that each snowflake was different, each as delightful as the next. How she could stare at them forever and never get tired. Holly was not tired. She reached for the Dumok again.
The sun had begun to rise when she was finally spent. She lay back and turned her head towards the window, which somehow had been opened in the night. She could see a perfect line of several inches of fluffy snow on the ledge. She wanted to touch it, but she was so warm in the arms of the Dumok it was impossible to move.
Holly fell asleep. The snow had trapped them in bed together. Wonderful food would somehow be sent up from downstairs, the snow be damned. The hotelier was clever. Maybe they would finally emerge in the spring. Maybe. Holly finally fell happily asleep, at last.
An hour later the Dumok’s tall silhouette loomed over Holly as he stared down at her. He had never been much for sleeping. He tried to fix their time together forever in his heart so that he could visit it whenever he wanted. He could not ruin her world by making her a part of his. It would be selfish. One day she would wake up and feel cheated and he would never forgive himself.
He would never forget Holly. Whenever he needed her, however many thousands of miles away he was, he would be able to summon this night in his memory. The Dumok knelt and softly kissed her cheek, then stood by the window, smoking a cigarette and staring at the snow.
Already his thoughts were with the snowflakes.
Already he was gone.
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The Virgin Whore Trial: A Holly Park Legal Thriller Page 27