Julia2

Madame Giry denied again that there was a man living in her house. She bristled at my questions and seemed quite taken aback when I said I had met her son the previous night. I hadn't realized she was so protective of him, sheltering him, it seemed.

"Erik Kire," I insisted as though my words would perhaps jar her memory.

As she and her daughter stood in their garden I saw movement through the upper window.

"He's not—"

"Mother," Meg whispered.

Meg was always reserved. I hoped to invite her into my home for tea one afternoon and inquire about her brother. However, because she and her mother were close, I imagined Meg would tell Madame that I had asked. It was all rather peculiar.

"I saw him while he took his walk. He's a very nice man, your son," I commented.

"You will be tardy for morning church services," Madame Giry snapped. "As a good Christian woman with a daughter to raise, I trust you will make haste."

There was nothing else to say. Excusing myself, I walked into my kitchen, feeling Erik keeping watch until I closed and locked the door.

A week after our first encounter I asked my neighbor, Camille, if she would stay with Lisette for a while. Old and deaf, she asked few questions and agreed to sit in the parlor until I returned.

"I will only be a moment," I said before I left, though I doubt she heard. Perhaps Lisette at the age of five was better off watching Camille.

Dressed in my black frock, I pulled a shawl tight around my shoulders and stepped outside. I had timed Monsieur Kire's walks so perfectly that I knew nearly down to the minute when he would turn the corner.

I don't remember the exact words we exchanged, as it didn't seem to matter. He declined my second invitation.

"I see," I replied, wringing my hands.

Without looking at me, Erik mumbled that he had too many compositions promised and could not expend his time elsewhere.

Not even for the company of a woman making herself readily available.

"Another time," I said, knowing there would not be another time. He'd refused my invitation twice now, making his intentions perfectly clear.

"Yes," he answered. "Another time, Madame Seuratti. My apologies," he said with a tip of his hat. I was beginning to wonder if he were mocking me in his arrogance.

With a shrug, I turned away. "If I should see you again," I replied over my shoulder and left him on the street, feeling somewhat brighter about my position. Even if it was only for the moment I felt powerful, as though this relationship—or lack there of—was my decision.

My choice took months to cultivate into something concrete. I walked past my windows and looked for him, and when I saw the light on in his room, I would often see him glance outside. This was how we communicated, risking glances but nothing more. Our safety lay in the distance between his home and mine. I was beginning to think it would always be this way.

In late October—five months nearly to the day of when we first met—Erik finally agreed to spending an evening in my home. I admit it took more than a little coaxing on my part, and the poor man appeared frightened to death when I approached him yet again.

"How are you?" I asked.

He nodded, his head bowed, his face hidden. "It's cold."

"It is October," I replied, which garnered his attention. Suddenly I felt rude and I shifted uncomfortably, looking away from his white-masked face and piercing gaze. With a forced chuckle, I added, "It's normally cold in October."

From the corner of my eye I saw him nod and I turned to face him. We stared at one another. His eyes appeared red, his lips a thin, straight line. This was not the same man I had encountered five months ago. That man was reserved but quiet, this man looked exhausted. For a man of his height he was terribly thin.

"Are you under the weather?" I asked.

Another silent nod. It was a form of torture that he wouldn't now entertain me with his voice, as he had unknowingly done for years.

"I could make you some tea," I offered, my heart leaping into my throat.

"Perhaps tomorrow," he said. Even his voice, which was always deep and rich, sounded fatigued.

My heart sank. Another day of waiting. Another day for another excuse. I didn't understand why I needed this so much and why he continued to hold off another moment. Most men would have nodded and eagerly followed me to my door, no questions asked. However, with Lisette inside and my elderly neighbor undoubtedly peering through the window at us, perhaps it was for the best.

"Alexandre is not well," he said. He released a heavy sigh. "My son."

"Yes, I've seen him many times. He's very handsome."

Again he stared at me, though this time with a different expression at the mention of his son.

"Nothing serious, I hope."

Alex had played with Lisette on several occasions. He was quite animated, his arms and mouth constantly moving. With such long eyelashes and a pleasant smile he looked like a doll, a perfect little angel. God knows what could have plagued this child. I had no idea whether his mother had died while she gave birth to him or if she had passed away some time later. Secretly I wondered if perhaps October the 21st was an anniversary. Erik looked as though he weren't so much sick as in mourning.

"A slight fever," Erik answered. "He should be fine by tomorrow evening."

"Oh, good. Nothing is more upsetting than a sick child," I replied. "What time would you like to come over? If, of course, Alexandre is feeling well."

He stared at me a moment. "I walk the same time each night," he replied.

Yes, I knew this well. At a quarter to midnight he rounded the corner on his way home.

"Your yard connects to mine. If you come through the fence I will you meet you in the garden. Is that acceptable?"

By his expression he didn't appear overly anxious regarding my invitation. In fact, it seemed he thought my request was quite common, which alarmed me, as I was not a woman who made a habit of inviting men into my home in the middle of the night. I wanted to correct his insinuations, but he didn't allow me the opportunity.

He nodded one last time. "Good night, Madame," Erik said before he tipped his hat, turned and walked away.

-o-

Prior to Erik's arrival I was beside myself. One moment I was elated, the next terrified because I was inviting a stranger into my home. Yet no more a stranger than Louis, I thought to myself as I tucked Lisette into bed. If he'd wanted us dead he would have claimed all of our lives that night, yet he had not.

I wondered why.

As I kissed Lissy goodnight I swore I saw a thousand questions in her eyes. I felt guilty, but I wanted something just for myself. Perhaps in a week or in a year I would be ashamed of myself, but for this night I had only one quest. Or rather, one conquest. I wanted to know what his hands felt like beneath those black gloves. Were they as skilled on a woman's body as they were on a violin? What would his voice sound like when he asked if I would be more comfortable elsewhere?

I brushed my hair and looked in the mirror. Would he be the first man who made love to me, I wondered? My fingers trailed down my neck and traced the memories of where Louis had held me by the throat. For a long time I sat and stared at my reflection, wondering if tonight would lead me from one dark dream to another, or if I would finally wake at peace.

"A tryst," I murmured to myself. "Only a tryst."

It would be easier this way. This was a man concerned about his son and his music. He wasn't dedicating himself to a woman, at least not for longer than an evening. It was as though I craved him, needing a mere taste before I could close the box of sweets and walk away.

No, I wasn't able to fool myself completely. I knew that I would keep this box open until there was nothing remaining inside. I was merely tormenting myself into believing otherwise.

When Erik finally arrived—an hour late, no less—I mustered my courage and went to the door. He was a man of few words. Perhaps he would allow his passion to speak on his behalf.

"I made crumpets," I said as I showed him into the parlor.

As I expected, he merely nodded.