The rain poured down like it was never going to stop, and Anita pulled the curtains of her suite closed with a sigh. The weather had been like this often lately, and she could only hope it would clear up soon. However, this was perhaps too much to ask for. The downpour pounding on the roof drowned out almost everything else.
So, really, it was almost a miracle that she heard the knock on the back door.
She blinked, turning her head toward the sound. Just as she thought she might be imagining it, it came again: a firm rapping on the hardwood door.
"Mahoja," she called softly, and her subordinate and friend stuck her head through the inner doorway. "I think we have a guest."
"I'll go see who it is, Mistress," the large woman said immediately. Anita smiled warmly at her unwavering faithfulness. It amazed her sometimes.
The back entrance was at the end of the hall that Anita's rooms branched off of, so the black-haired woman took half a step out into the corridor to greet the new arrival if it was anyone of importance. She was wearing a light silk robe over her sleeping gown since it was late at night, but she didn't really mind talking to people in what some might consider an indecent state of dress. After all, she owned a brothel; this was hardly indecent, to her.
Mahoja opened the door slightly, careful to keep her body between the rain and the expensive Asian carpet. "Who's there?" she demanded.
"Ah, Mahoja, looking as womanly as ever," a deep voice responded.
Anita's breath caught in her throat. That voice was exactly as she remembered it: carefree, indifferent, and self-assured. She knew only one man with a voice like that.
"Mahoja," she said quietly, resting an elegant hand on the sturdy woman's arm. Mahoja looked at her worriedly, but moved out of the way nonetheless.
In the heavy rain stood a tall, slim figure, seemingly unaffected by the downpour. His waist-length hair (she knew it was a vibrant red, even though it was now dark and wet) was plastered to his shoulders and his hands were in the pockets of his long coat.
Anita carefully kept her expression smooth, but inside she was seething. How dare he show up now? The time for visits had long passed. Her hand tightened its grip on Mahoja's arm, and her servant gave her a startled look.
"Anita." He greeted her with just her name, as if he hadn't been away for over six years. This time she couldn't keep quite all of the anger out of her eyes, but if she couldn't make him out clearly through the sheets of rain, he wouldn't be able to see her either. Although it was hard to tell with a man like him.
The three stayed where they were, motionless, Anita's pale hand keeping her serving woman in place, for a few more seconds.
"Anita," he repeated, "I can't say that I mind the rain too much, but it's hard to smoke out here."
She knew that was all she was going to get by way of a greeting. Black hair stirring slightly, she let go of Mahoja's bicep and moved back into the hallway.
"Enter, Cross Marian."