by Shenda Paul
"I've made a mess of your kitchen," she apologizes, waving a graceful hand around.
"Our kitchen, Darling, and I don't care what you do to it. I'm concerned that you've taken on too much, though. We could have eaten out or ordered in."
"I like cooking, and I wanted to do everything myself; well, almost everything. Your mom dropped off one of her cheesecakes."
I run my finger down her flushed cheek. "I'll change and then help you."
She tries to protest, but I cut her off her off with a kiss. "I love getting domestic with you; besides, food preparation could prove very stimulating," I tease, sensuously circling a nipple with my forefinger, and then smile when she blushes.
"What time’s Mandi and Josh arriving?" I ask.
"Around four-thirty."
I check my watch. It's nearly three. "Well, depending on what we still have to do, we might have time to shower together before they arrive." Her cheeks flush pink, but she holds my gaze. It thrills me to see her growing in confidence.
"Possibly, Mr. Thorne. How good are you at rinsing salad ingredients?"
"I excel at rinsing. It seems that I have to refresh your memory," I reply, only half-jesting. I'd like nothing more than for us to get lost in each other, forget what I need to tell her, but I can't. I need to get it over with, and then, I'm hoping her friends’ presence will take her mind off it for the rest of the night.
"Let me get out of this suit so you can put me to work. " I suggest, and then, kissing her lightly on the mouth, race upstairs.
"So, what’s for dinner?" I ask on my return.
"Roasted lemon and rosemary chicken, smashed roasted potatoes and a green salad, and, of course, cheesecake for dessert. Flynn will probably have ice cream."
"Sounds very fancy, but what on earth are smashed potatoes? Don't you mean mashed; or is it another obscure Irish dish like colcannon?" I tease.
"It's not fancy at all. Your mom helped me with what she’s promised is a foolproof menu. She even helped me joint the chicken. It's marinating in Dijon mustard, rosemary, parsley, lemon rind and olive oil," she says proudly. "And for your information, Mr. Smarty Pants, colcannon isn’t obscure, it’s a widely known dish. And it is smashed potatoes, parboiled in their skins and then smashed lightly with a rolling pin or mallet, drizzled with olive oil and baked until crisp and golden." She giggles, making me smile.
"I love that sound…" I lean over to kiss the tip of her nose. "Okay, so it's smashed potatoes, but you're wrong about colcannon being well known; Ireland is, after all, a nation of less than seven million."
"Again, Smarty Pants, it's estimated that around eighteen percent of the American population is of Irish descent. And did you know that nearly sixty percent of Americans celebrate St Patrick's Day?"
"I should know better than to challenge Rory Bain’s daughter about anything Irish," I admit, laughing. "You make a worthy opponent, Miss Bain."
"Don't you forget it, Mr. Thorne," she retorts, feigning seriousness.
"You conquer me in all things, Miss Bain." Angelique smiles at my response, little realizing the truth in my statement. She has vanquished me—in ways I hadn’t thought possible.
Having finished preparations, including parboiling and ‘smashing’ the potatoes ready for the oven, I lead Angelique upstairs and wait until we’re comfortably seated on the bedroom sofa before taking her hand in mine. "I have something I need to tell you," I say, opening the dreaded conversation. She instantly becomes apprehensive.
"Nothing bad's happened. I just need to tell you about a revelation of Ingrid Svenska's," I reassure her by caressing her cheek.
"You listened to everyone's testimonies?"
"Just hers," I clarify. "Do you remember the argument you overheard Quandt and Ingrid having in Leipzig?"
"Umm… yes?"
"Did you hear what they said?"
"I know they were arguing about me. He was mad that she let me see Luke; he said it interfered with his plans for me, but I didn't stay to hear more. Why?"
"He said more than that, Darling. Ingrid found out why he followed you to that park, and she learned why he was so anxious for you to join the Quandt Academy."
"It wasn't because I’d be a good dancer?" she asks, her tone laced with confusion and hurt.
"It was that, " I assure her. "But there was also another reason," I continue, reaching for her hand. "He had a little sister who died when she was twelve. He told Ingrid that you looked like her."
"Oh, how sad! How did she die?"
"He didn't say, but Ingrid told Jodi that Quandt has a brother, and she luckily remembered the name of the small town where the Quandt family lived. Jodi’s trying to contact his brother, and we hope to know more by tonight or tomorrow morning."
"Why would Jodi want to find his brother?" Angelique asks, and, then, a look of dread passes over her face. "Did something bad happen to his sister?"
"According to Ingrid, yes." I squeeze her hand gently.
"Just tell me, Adam, please?" she implores, and I take a deep breath before responding.
"It seems that Quandt not only raped Ingrid but also had a sexual relationship with his sister."
"Ingrid? And his sister—but…but you said she died when she was twelve. How…Oh God!" She exclaims, her face turning ashen. I pull her into my arms.
"There's no reason to assume he was responsible for his sister's death. The only things we do know is that Dieter Quandt, by his own admission according to Ingrid, behaved inappropriately with his sister and admitted to having been in love with her. In terms of the trial, Ingrid’s information, adds credibility to our assertion that his obsession with you runs deep, and that he's a serial offender and a potential danger to other young girls."
"That poor girl… and Ingrid—and he wanted to do that to me too…"
"The important thing is that he didn't. It doesn't negate what he's done to you, but we can all be thankful he failed; if he meant to harm you in that way."
"I don't want to see him," she whispers.
"If I could spare you that, I would, but I can’t. You’re going to have to face him, unfortunately, Darling; but I'll be there, and so will your friends and our family. I'll move heaven and earth to ensure he doesn't get near you again, ever, Angelique; this is nearly over, and then we can get on with our life together. I love you," I tell her, tipping her face up to place a tender kiss on her mouth.
"Let's go and have that shower. Mandi will be here soon."
Later that night, I watch Angelique with her friends. In reality, they’re so much more because other than Grace, Mandi and Samuel are the closest she's had to family since her father and stepfather’s deaths. Her relationship with Mandi is much like mine with Cait, and I’ll be eternally grateful that Samuel came into her life when he did.
She needed someone strong and determined to see her through her long and painful physical therapy and the emotional turmoil that accompanied it. Angelique credits his determination and rejection of her medical prognosis for being able to walk without a permanent limp and has grown to love him like a brother. My gratitude goes beyond that, however, because who knows what might have happened to her if Samuel hadn't been there when Quandt found her in Florida.
The sight that most warms my heart, though, is the one I'm looking at right now. Angelique's sitting cross-legged on the floor with little Flynn on her lap, listening as he relates some story about his friend Chris. In Flynn's place, I picture a little boy or girl with Angelique’s large, honey-colored eyes. I can't wait.
.
.
The next morning, Samuel and Matt arrive to accompany us to the courthouse. The scene that greets us on arrival is, as I feared, pure bedlam. Samuel, who rode beside the driver, and Matt, who sat in the back with Angelique and me, exit first to make their way around to the door we’re about to alight from. They station themselves to face the swooping media pack, affor
ding us a few moments of privacy. I give Angelique a reassuring kiss before alighting and then, reaching back, assist her from the car.
"Ready"? I ask before pulling her into the protective circle of my arm. She nods mutely, eyes wide and panicked. "Just look down and keep moving, I'll guide you," I say calmly, and then, with a nod at Samuel, guide Angelique forward. Samuel and Matt fall into step behind us as we slowly navigate our way through the melee. I extend my free arm in front of us to shield Angelique from the intrusive cameras and try my damnedest to ignore the shouted questions. Some, however, are hard to disregard.
"Was Dieter Quandt a client of yours, Angelique?" a male calls out snidely, and I forcibly have to fight the urge to respond. Most of the questions are equally offensive or inane, and Angelique’s visibly upset by the time we finally make it inside. Mom and Cait are waiting and whisk her off to the restroom. I try to follow, but Mom stops me by saying they’ll look after her.
"How are you feeling?" I ask Angelique anxiously when they return.
"I’m fine; ready to get this over and done with," she says, looking much more composed. "Really," she adds, placing a reassuring hand on my chest.
"I’m proud of you," I tell her, lifting her hand to kiss her palm.
Later, as I file in with my family to sit directly behind Jodi, I feel distinctly out of place. Despite it never having been a possibility, I can’t help wishing, once again, that I were prosecuting. I remind myself that I’m here to support Angelique, but she’s not here right now, and that fact leaves me feeling even more unsettled.
As a witness, she’s prohibited from entering court until after she's testified. I hate that we've been separated, even for this relatively short time, but take solace in the fact that Samuel and Mandi are with her. I wanted to remain with her, of course, but she insisted that she'd be fine.
"Please, m'fhíorghrá, I need to walk in on my own," she implored. I understood her need to show Quandt, and others, who may have already made assumptions and judged her, that she isn’t cowed. So, despite my reluctance, I agreed, fast realizing that I'm unable to refuse Angelique anything.
Frank Purcell and his second chair are quietly conversing at the defense table when Quandt arrives. He scans the room eagerly as he’s led forward. A look of disappointment suffuses his face when his eyes land on our small group; he’d clearly expected to see Angelique. I feel a malicious sense of satisfaction that he’s been denied. Cold, blue eyes meet mine. I hold Quandt’s gaze, making sure he sees the threat in mine.
"Ugh! He's creepy," Cait mutters as he walks past.
"He's dangerous," I sign.
Court is called to order and proceedings get underway. Jodi’s speech, when she rises to make her opening address, is passionate and compelling.
"Dieter Quandt first approached Ms. Bain when she was a little girl, looking forward to celebrating her seventh birthday with her friends. She should have been able to enjoy that momentous occasion without it being destroyed by the evil intent of a man old enough to be her father. Children have a right to their innocence; they should be able to enjoy it for as long as they can and should be protected from and remain oblivious to the ugliness in this world. Dieter Quandt robbed Ms. Bain of that right. From the moment he first set eyes on her, he stalked her. He capitalized on her father's incapacity, delved into the details of her family's circumstances, and used what information he gained to ingratiate his way into their lives.
"Over the course of this trial, you will learn about the extreme effort he made to achieve his sinister objective. I have little doubt, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, that you will conclude, as the Commonwealth has, that Dieter Quandt poses a danger to Ms. Bain. You will decide that he is guilty of violating the protection order granted by the court to protect her and that he is guilty of the charges of harassment and stalking," she finishes confidently.
Defense is called on, and Purcell takes to his feet to extol the virtues of his client. He details his stellar career as the musical director of a respected ballet company and tells how the love of dance he discovered then, inspired him to start the Quandt Academy. I feel like gagging when he describes the successes of the school and how his benevolent client introduced a scholarship program enabling those less fortunate to follow their dreams. He denies that Dieter Quandt set out to target Angelique, claiming instead, that he witnessed her natural grace and realized, instantly, that she’d make an excellent ballerina. He tells how Quandt accidently overheard two neighbors lament the misfortune that had befallen the Bain family, and how he felt the need to help the little girl with the potential for greatness. He tells the court that his client had been devastated for Angelique after her fall and then, learning of her mother's accident, sought her out to offer his help. She misunderstood Quandt’s concern, he claims.
Purcell, as we predicted he would, alludes to Angelique’s association with Liaison.
"My client only wanted to help a former student. He felt distressed that someone, who had once had the ballet world at her feet, could stoop to become a prostitute. Dieter Quandt is innocent of the charges brought against him, Your Honor, Ladies, and Gentlemen. He is a respectable man, one who was rebuffed without having been duly heard when all he wanted was to help."
My hand, by the end of his address, is clenched so tight, my knuckles so taut that the white of my bones show. Cait places a calming hand over mine, and I breathe deeply, consoling myself with the reminder that our case against him is strong.
Purcell returns to his seat, and Jodi is asked whether she’s ready to call her first witness.
"We are, Your Honor. The Commonwealth calls Angelique Bain," she replies.
Chapter Twenty-One
Angelique is pale but composed when she makes her entry. Her gaze meets mine and, for one fleeting moment, her armor slips, and I see the vulnerability in her eyes, the slight quiver of her lip. I want so much to take her in my arms and rush her out of here. "I love you," I mouth instead. Her face softens and then the shutter drops once more. She steps into the well, takes the stand and is sworn in.
"Would you state your name please?" Jodi asks.
Angelique looks up at me, and at my encouraging smile, quietly responds. Under Jodi’s guidance, her husky voice wavers only a few times as she relates how Quandt entered her life under the guise of benefactor, and how he ended her dream of becoming a prima ballerina.
No one in the courtroom could possibly remain unaffected as she communicates the fear she felt as a little girl running from a stranger and describes the unease she experienced during every subsequent encounter with him. Her account of Quandt’s conversation on her thirteenth birthday is disturbing. The fact that the man responsible is this close and hasn't once taken his eyes off her magnifies my desire to hurt him a thousand-fold.
Jodi asks Angelique to relate the events of the night of her accident. "In my dressing room, he told me he'd waited eleven years to let me know what he expected from me. He said he wanted me from the moment he first saw me, and that he would have had me two years before if Ingrid hadn't interfered. He said I owed him for introducing me to ballet and for my private education." Her voice catches, and I will her not to lose her composure.
"He told you he wanted you when you were only seven?"
"He did," she replies; her voice more controlled.
"How old were you at the time of this conversation, Ms. Bain?"
"I'd just turned eighteen."
"Dieter Quandt told you he would have had you two years before that; when you were only sixteen?"
"Yes."
"What did you think he meant by that?"
"At first, I couldn't believe what I heard, but he said Ingrid had been in his bed at sixteen. I had no doubt, then, what he meant."
"Was that the night your professional career ended?"
"It was," Angelique says, her voice trembling.
At Jodi's prompting, she tells how he threatene
d her only moments before she was due onstage, how upset she was, and how he then entered an area of the wings forbidden to non-performers and silently intimidated her from there. She explains how he moved just as she was about to make a crucial leap, and how it caused her to misjudge and take that fateful fall.
Jodi presents press reviews lauding Angelique’s spectacular debut. She points to the coverage it received, not only in Germany where the performance took place but also in Paris, London, and New York.
"Ms. Bain, Your Honor, Ladies, and Gentlemen, was poised for a stellar international career, a career that was stolen from her by the actions of the defendant," she declares in a damning tone before asking Angelique to tell about her long and painful recovery.
"When next did you see the defendant?" she asks then, and without belaboring the facts about Grace's accident, Angelique describes how she was home alone, looking over furniture pieces in the garage when Quandt turned up. She describes her fear, and how she threatened to call the police, but that he barred her way. She tells how shocked she was when he admitted to knowing of her mother's accident and how afraid she was when learning that he’d paid someone to find her.
With a catch in her voice, she describes how he once again claimed that she owed him, how he offered to take care of her, and how he leered and touched her face and just how much it repulsed her. "He said Luke took what belonged to him, and that he was there to reclaim it," she says.
"What happened then?" Jodi encourages.
"My friend, Samuel, arrived and made him leave."
"Was that your last encounter with the defendant before he turned up here in Boston?"
"I saw him in New York," she says, and when Jodi asks, relates how she and Grace had moved back to New York, and how she'd been waiting for her friends when she spotted him.
"Did he approach you?"
"No; he stopped in front of the window and just stared. The way he looked at me scared me."
"It scared you enough to eventually leave New York, did it not?"