Linda, who was just sipping some juice, choked and coughed noisily, splattering droplets of juice and panic.
Gerard laughed, gently patting her back.
“Mom, please, stop it! Linda is not used to your… direct approach. Please excuse my mother. She’s used to telling things straight forward and sometimes that’s bothersome.”
“Why should she be bothered, dear?” Chantalle was scandalized. “Or don’t you love my son?”
Linda, who had barely managed to recover her breath just to lose it again groping for a non-incriminating answer, was saved by Sophie, who appeared in the doorway.
Gerard stood and embraced her tightly, exclaiming:
“Auntie, you finally bless us with your presence! Let me introduce someone. Linda, this is my aunt Sophie.”
Linda got to her feet to shake the woman’s hand. She was a suppler brown-haired version of Chantalle’s, wearing a pink apron tied around her waist.
“It’s so good to meet you, Mrs. Sophie. I’m Linda Coriola.”
Sophie took her hands in hers, analyzing her from over the top of her glasses.
“You seem familiar, dear.”
“She’s the sculptress we saw in the paper,” Chantalle intervened. “Don’t you remember admiring one of her statues? The one you said that resembled Gerard.”
“It’s a representation of Apollo,” Linda clarified.
“Oh, I remember now,” Sophie said and her face lit up even more. “I’m so happy to meet you, dear. Welcome to our humble home. But how come you know our boy?”
“She’s his girlfriend,” Chantalle clarified again, before Linda can say a word. “Will you bring that food this year or shall I come and help?”
“No need, I’ll serve lunch right away,” answered Sophie, her hands on the youths’ shoulders, then hurried back to the kitchen.
“An Apollo who looks like me?” Gerard asked, raising an eyebrow.
Linda sighed and shook her head, whispering:
“Drop it…”
“Not a chance. I can’t wait to see the exhibit.”
The meal was excellent, the food simple but very tasty: chicken soup, juicy steak with mashed potatoes and a delicious strawberry pie.
Conversation flowed smoothly. Linda discovered she liked very much the two women, who were energetic, funny, completely indiscrete and always making spicy comments.
Sophie and her husband hadn’t had children because of her incurable sterility. So the woman looked at Gerard as if he was her own son. He seemed perfectly happy to have two mothers: a biological one and a surrogate one, being loved and spoiled by both of them. The women overwhelmed him with questions regarding his work, as well as his personal life.
“Did you finish developing that snake venom treatment?” his mother asked.
“More or less. I’ve already obtained promising results and I have hopes for another treatment. Next week, Linda and I leave for Romania.”
Three pairs of big eyes stared at him in amazement. Two voices exclaimed simultaneously:
“Romania?”
“We?” asked a third voice, accentuating the word. No one took any notice.
“Yep,” he went on. “Remember Jean-Paul Battiste, dad’s friend? He discovered a cure for cancer , made from a plant. We’ll exchange notes. Problem is he lives in Romania and he can’t come here. So I’m going there and I’m taking Linda with me,” he said, putting a hand around her shoulders.
She felt as though steam was ready to come out of her ears.
“We haven’t settled this yet,” she told him on a caustic tone, emphasizing every word.
“Well, it was as good as settled,” he replied jovially. “Tomorrow I’ll make airport reservations.”
Under the curious gazes of the two women, Linda decided it was best to continue her discussion with Gerard in private. She took a deep breath and forced down some more juice.
“Do you want anything else, darlings?” asked Sophie.
When everybody declined graciously praising the food, she rose to clear the table.
“I’ll do it,” said Chantalle, but before she got to her feet, Gerard stood.
“Let me help, auntie, you know how I like to stick my nose in kitchen business. And I recall you saying something about a broken door-knob.”
“Oh, yes,” his mother answered. “It’s true, darling. The back door knob is broken. Maybe you wanna take a look at it.”
Aunt and nephew left loaded with dishes, leaving Chantalle and Linda alone.
“It’s hard without a man in the house,” remarked the older woman. “Seems to me I’ve read something about you having been married?”
“Yes, I was. I divorced almost a year ago.”
“Why?”
Generally, indiscretion got on Linda’s nerves. However, she’d already come to respect the woman in front of her and she realized the questions didn’t come from vulgar curiosity, but from the interest a mother has for her son’s lover.
“We weren’t compatible,” she finally replied. ”He was too jealous, possessive, I lacked patience… I think the most important thing was that we didn’t really love each other.”
Chantalle linked her hands on the table, a gesture habitual for her son as well.
“You’re right. Love is the most important thing in a relationship. It’s essential. All the others are auxiliaries. And now you fear marriage, don’t you?”
Linda measured her words carefully.
“No, I don’t. Nonetheless, I often wonder if it could be that I’m just not made for this kind of commitment.”
“When you love someone, this kind of commitment becomes your biggest wish. To be always with the loved one, to live the present, to build a future together and forget the past. Gerard loves you.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but Chantalle went on:
“I can see you love him too. Don’t deny it. Don’t break his heart because of some ideas without foundation.”
Linda gazed through the window, disconcerted by the woman’s insight and by the simple matter in which she’d put a problem that seemed so complicated to her own mind.
Chantalle rose.
“Will you follow me, please? I’d like to give you something.”
She led her in a sort of dimly-lit hallway, where Linda saw two bookcases loaded with books. From one of the shelves, Chantalle revealed a tiny square box, antique-looking, covered in an ivory-colored textile material. At a closer glance, it seemed hand-knitted.
“This little box is part of my dowry,” the woman said then opened it. Inside was a thin silver necklace, seemingly crafted by a skilful spider. On the silver thread dangled a charm – a white immaculate pearl, encrusted in a simple silver half-moon.
“It is gorgeous,” whispered Linda, impressed both by the jewel’s beauty, as well as by the age and history this shiny little pearl was carrying.
Chantalle handed her the necklace.
“It’s a present for you. I hadn’t decided if I was gonna give it to your or not,” she confessed laughing softly. “I waited to see if I liked you.”
Linda opened her mouth, an automatic protest stopping on her lips when she remembered Gerard’s words. She took the necklace with gentleness and reverence, enclosing it in her hand.
“Thank you very much, Chantalle. It’s the most precious gift I have ever received. I feel extremely honored to accept it.”
“It has a suave, delicate beauty, but strong in the same time, just like you. Turn around, let me put it on,” she urged, then she stood on her tiptoes to lock the necklace around Linda’s neck.
Seized by a strange, unknown emotion, she took Chantalle’s hands in hers. Smiling, she told her:
“Thank you again, for the gift and for your trust. You have a wonderful son. Now I can see from where he’s got all his qualities.”
Chantalle squeezed her hands, saying:
“Pearls and silver represent protection and balance. They suit you. Now, let’s go see what the o
thers are up to.”
Chapter Eleven
It was almost six in the afternoon when they said their goodbyes from the two women, with lots of hugs and promises they would be back soon to visit.
Gerard knew she was pissed, and gave her credit for waiting until they left the driveway to vent her anger.
“We are going to Romania?”
He raised his eyebrows – innocence personified.
“I asked you, don’t you remember?”
“I remember perfectly. I said I’ll think about it.”
“Which is almost equivalent with an affirmative answer.”
Before she could say anything else, he looked at her, all big eyes and an innocent-looking smile.
“Come on, you know you want to go. Who doesn’t want to go to Romania, especially in Transylvania, the enigmatic and exotic territory in the heart of the Carpathians?” he asked theatrically.
As he hoped, she sighed and started laughing, disarmed.
“I can’t believe this! Is there a woman in the world who can resist you?”
“I don’t know, but I doubt that,” he replied, grinning smugly. “In any case, I’m not interested in anybody but you. So, tomorrow I can reserve the plane tickets, right?”
“Fine,” she consented grudgingly. “So we go by plane. And after that what? Will your friend wait for us at the airport?”
“No. The airport is in Bucharest, which is the capital of Romania. Jean-Paul lives in another city called Cluj-Napoca. I thought we could rent a car and drive there. It’s only a few hours. Besides, we have the chance to admire the scenery. I hear this country has splendid landscapes.”
“To be honest, you made me curious. Perhaps it’s indeed going to be an interesting experience.”
“I’m sure of that. I could tell you this city is right in the heart of Transylvania. Maybe we’ll encounter a creature of the night,” he growled with a Dracula accent, then burst out laughing, seeing her cautious expression.
“Don’t worry, beautiful. I’ll be there to protect you from everything. We can even take some silver stakes with us if you like.”
She smiled but before she could reply, he said:
“Tell me about that statue that looks like me.”
Linda bit her lower lip in an attempt to control her laughter.
“You have an ego the size of Russia, haven’t you? There’s nothing to tell, it’s just a coincidence. I sculpted that statue of Apollo long before I met you. Granted, there’s a resemblance with your features.”
“You know I don’t believe in coincidence, right?”
“Then how do you explain this?”
“Well, analyzing things logically, I assume you sculpted that statue from your imagination, inspired by a fantasy man. Correct?”
“Sort of,” she consented suspiciously.
“And after that, you’ve met me. This means I am, literally, the man of your dreams,” he rationalized with faked soberness. “So it’s clearly we were predestined to meet and fall in love with each other.”
For a few moments she remained speechless, her mouth opened without uttering a sound. Then, massaging her forehead, she slowly shook her head and began laughing.
“You are the most arrogant man I have ever come across in my life.”
He grinned, saying nothing.
They sketched a plan for the few days during which they were supposed to be gone, and for the arrangements each had to make. Linda decided asking Mrs. Adams to take Pirata home with her during those three days.
“Breaks my heart to leave him alone, we’ve never been apart,” she complained. “What if he becomes depressed and thinks I won’t come back?”
“Baby, as long as he’ll have food, toys and TV, he’s gonna be dandy. Besides, you told me Mrs. Adams adores him and vice-versa.”
“That’s right,” she admitted, her face lightening a bit. “In the beginning I was a bit jealous on her and all the affection proofs my cat was giving her. Now I’m glad that… Where are we going?” she asked curiously, noticing they’d reached the city, but he was heading the car to a direction other than her house.
“To my apartment,” he replied. “Aren’t you curious to see where I live?”
“Yes, I am. As a matter of fact, I was wondering when you planned to invite me.”
His apartment was situated in the center of London, relatively near Francesco’s gallery. They navigated the crowded streets until they reached the neighborhood of modern buildings. Nearby was an underground garage. Gerard made a hand gesture toward the two guards then parked the car. He opened Linda’s door and helped her get out. Hand in hand, they walked to the garage’s exit then he guided her to a gravel-paved path. This led to the entrance of the coquettish building, painted cream, with four levels and multi-colored flowerpots beaming at every window.
“There are only a few small apartments in this building and one of them is mine,” he explained.
His apartment was located on the second floor, so they took the stairs. He unlocked the door and urged her inside, saying:
“La mia casa è la tua casa!”
Linda turned to him, shocked, hopefully impressed by the correct pronunciation and accent.
“Don’t tell me you can speak Italian!”
He laughed softly looking at his shoes, then confessed:
“No, actually I learned only a few lines, just to impress you.”
“You succeeded,” she congratulated him as they went inside.
The apartment was indeed small, but he liked it that way. It was extremely comfortable and nicely furnished. A big hallway split in three directions: to the left was the kitchen, to the right his single roomy bedroom and straight ahead was the living room.
To simplify matters and suit his own taste, he’d ordered the furniture, drapes, even the floorboards to be done in shades of brown, a blend of dark walnut and sweet , honey-like tones.
What caught Linda’s attention and made her let out a gasp of pleasure or amazement was the huge aquarium. It was placed along one entire wall, facing the ample living-room window.
“Oh, my! They are gorgeous!” she exclaimed, approaching the glass beyond which dozens of multi-colored minuscule fish undulated in the water, among decorations that simulated their natural habitat. Some were more energetic, others lazier, but they all seemed to move in a dance of their own, by a choreography known only by them, intertwining their tiny colored bodies through the rocks and plants artistically arranged for their delight.
He came up behind her and tenderly embraced her, kissing her bare shoulder.
“You like them?”
“They are wonderful! I would like some of these, but I think Pirata would go mad with frustration he couldn’t catch them and the fish would die of stress,” she joked. “I could sit watching them for hours, it’s so relaxing… It’s like I’m transported in their fluid little world, with no worries.”
He smiled and took a box from a shelf.
“Look, this is their food. Take a handful and spread it on top.”
“It looks disgusting!”
“Trust me, they love it.”
Linda took a handful from the granulated mixture and gently sprinkled it in the aquarium, standing on tiptoes to reach the high edge.
Then she started laughing when all the small fish rushed to the surface, greedily devouring the tiny particles.
“Told you. What do you wanna drink?”
“What have you got?”
“Soda, juice, red wine, white wine, beer and coffee,” he enumerated, counting on his fingers.
“I almost never drink coffee. Just today I had to make an exception for an emergency situation”, she said in playful reproach. “Some juice, please.”
“Coming right up. Make yourself at home,” he urged. “The couch is over there, the remote must be around too.”
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”
He left her sitting on his massive couch - typically masculine, in front of his massive
TV - typically masculine. She found the remote under one of the couch’s cushions and began pressing buttons.
He brought the drinks – orange juice for her and a beer for him – and sat next to her.
“Who’s gonna feed your fish while we’re gone?”
“Well, I get along with all my neighbors, I’d trust any one of them. Still, I think I’ll ask Danielle. She’s on top of me,” he explained, indicating the ceiling. “She’s an exotic dancer.”
“What?” she asked, looking ready to choke for the second time that day.
“Yeah, she’s a nice girl. We’re friends and nothing more,” he accentuated when he saw her dark expression.
Then he noticed the pearl-necklace around her neck and smiled.
“Gift from mother? It means she liked you very much if she gave you this. It was her biggest treasure, inherited from grandma. It’s very old.”
“I felt a bit embarrassed. I can’t believe she gave me something so important to her. But you’re wrong. You are her biggest treasure,” Linda told him.
He smiled fondly.
“True. Besides aunt Sophie, I’m all she has in this world. They both adore me and I them.”
“I can see you are used to women’s adoration,” she teased. “And now shut up, I wanna watch the show. It’s one of my favorites.”
“What’s this?” he asked looking at the screen.
“Dynamo, magician impossible. This guy fascinates me. He is not like other illusionists. In fact, I don’t think you could actually call him an illusionist, because I don’t think levitations and other things he does have anything to do with illusion. I probably speak unknowingly, but I think I can say one thing with a fair degree of certainness.”
“What’s that?”
He watched Dynamo slowly coming off the ground, rising in front of an entire crowd next to a huge statue of Jesus.
“I don’t think he’s come to having the abilities he has by practicing yoga. Some advanced masters reach the levitation stage after long periods of intensive training. I don’t think that’s his case though. And I don’t think him to be a fakir either.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked, intrigued by the topic.
Mirage Beyond Flames (Coriola) Page 7