Bedelia DuMaurier was no stranger to discomfort. Ever since her attack, she experienced a constant, low-level anxiety no matter what she did. When she encountered Hannibal, it spiked in a way that made her almost unable to breathe.
He was the only person with whom she had regular contact, and for that, she appreciated him. He was the only person to converse with her, to demonstrate concern, to take care of her. He was the only person who had demonstrated to her such profound fascination. She felt herself reciprocating his feelings. Still, his eyes filled her with a deep sense of fear.
She considered herself a fairly perceptive person, but anyone who had extended conversations with Lecter-especially if they were personal in nature-could see very quickly what he was. What was he? He connected with things intensely and emphatically; there were times in his life that he deeply regretted; he held disdain for half the human race; the other half, he cared for passionately. He wasn't a psychopath; he wasn't a sociopath. He was certainly a narcissist, but he was much more complicated than that. He was a murderer-that much was clear-and probably something else, as well. He didn't attempt to hide what he was from her. He was reticent, cautious-but at times, astonishingly candid. While it seemed that he was quite closed, she had the feeling that he had never been more honest with someone in his entire life.
And that flattered her.
It also placed her in the most uncomfortable position. She had made it clear she would deny any attempt at intimacy; whenever he invited her to dinner, she respectfully declined, citing her agoraphobia. At first, he had been very understanding, but at some point, he began-correctly-to suspect a different reason behind her denials. She began to worry. And then he brought her the veal.
It wasn't a pleasant surprise, but she treated it as such. It wasn't calf, and she didn't treat it as such. His unrelenting eyes bore into her skull until she could no longer take it, and she ate the entire meal in front of her. It was delicious. She was sick for hours after he left. He would be coming back next week. She was looking forward to it. She had nothing else to look forward to.