"Since you refuse invitations to my dinner table, this is the only way I could cook for you."
It was a test. The remains of a young girl Hannibal had grieved for like a daughter, now charred to perfection and served elegantly on Bedelia's plate. He claimed it was veal. She brought the fork to her lips when he noticed she wasn't eating, and chewed the meat slowly, as though savoring its undeniably delectable, smoldering flavor. It made her feel sick to do so.
"Controversial dish, veal."
"Those who denounce of veal often cite the young age at which the animals are killed, when they are in fact older than many pigs going to slaughter."
This conversation, like usual, was filled with unsaid words and meanings hidden in plain sight.
Bedelia recalled those sessions when Hannibal spoke of a desire to protect Abigail Hobbs and help Will Graham, who he considered a friend. He did not speak of his true actions, only his good intentions. He really couldn't see what he was doing to both of them. Perhaps the tears he shed for Abigail were genuine; in Hannibal's mind he had no choice but to kill her.
She didn't know Will Graham, except that he was an innocent man. It also seemed she didn't know Hannibal Lecter either.
It had taken her an embarrassingly long time to put all the pieces together. Bedelia's first glimpse behind that impeccable human veil of his was during her attack when Hannibal saved her life. In his eyes there was...a terrible curiosity and darkness. She wanted to blame it on the head wound, but now that Bedelia knew what to look for, she could always see it just beneath his charming veneer.
I feel protective of you, he'd said once. He'd felt protective of Abigail Hobbs, too. Bedelia imagined what she might look like arranged beautifully on a plate and served with a glass of the finest red wine. Hannibal could easily succeed where her former patient failed to kill her.
She did not tell Jack Crawford what she knew because Bedelia Du Maurier was a survivor.
She could only watch Hannibal's madness.
"You have to be careful, Hannibal. They're starting to see your pattern."
"What pattern would that be?"
"You develop relationships with patients who are prone to violence. That pattern. Under scrutiny, Jack Crawford's beliefs about you might start to...unravel."
"Tell me, Dr. Du Maurier," Hannibal said, looking at her with the intensity of a bonfire, "Have your beliefs about me begun to unravel?"
"No, Hannibal," Bedelia replied, but not too quickly. She took another bite of meat and sipped her wine. "I have no doubts whatsoever concerning who you are."
"Good." He smiled. "You know, I would like to cook for you properly sometime, at my home."
"I don't think that's the best idea. As your psychiatrist I must keep some boundaries between us. I am also happy to advise you as a colleague, but anything more would be...unprofessional."
"I would not suggest crossing professional lines," he said. "But you rarely leave this house since your attack. Agoraphobia is common after a traumatic event such as what you experienced. I admit, I feel somehow responsible."
"I appreciate your concern, Hannibal, but my mental health is not your responsibility. It's mine."
He had shifted the topic of conversation from himself to a subject which he knew was difficult for Bedelia. She would not let it get to her. If she had to be trapped, she would retain some measure of power.
