Flirtations of Temptation

Chapter 2

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Soon, Brando was dressed and H.P had finished her prayers. Together, in their own way, they were ready to face the day; no matter what it brought. Brando was content to follow H.P around at her heel. He scuttled after her, almost like a curious lizard in the wake of a marching child. H.P did her best to maintain some semblance of normalcy despite the intrusion upon her.

With him on her heel, H.P wandered the halls and wounded up at the doorframe which framed the kitchen. H.P murmured to herself so that Brando could catch what their duties were.

'So, let's see… today is Monday, the Monday chores for me would be cleaning the kitchen and so the other Sisters are free to prepare our meals. Tomorrow, they will clean so I… we, may prepare our food.'

'Fabulous.' Brando agreed. 'I'll just watch, I don't want to be in your way.'

H.P turned around. Brando placed his arm on the doorframe. He tried to appear larger, cockier than he were but failed given that there was quite the height difference between them; a whole head. H.P frowned and pinched his ear, like a child but she supposed that being older than him, he was.

'No, you are going to stay here, you will abide by our rooms. Guest or not. Do not complain. It is simple work, Brando.' H.P said.

Brando frowned. He straightened himself and glared at H.P.

'I am a man who does as he pleases. Plebeian tasks are beneath me.' Brando's voice was threateningly low.

'You do not intimidate me, Brando. So long as you are beneath the roof of our Almighty Father, you must behave as such. I do not know from where you have come but basic decency ought to be expected of you regardless. If I say you clean, you clean.' H.P replied. Her voice was flat, neutral.

Brando grinned. His lips peeled back and his teeth seemed unnaturally sharp. His grin seemed unnaturally large as well; extending past where it should have but with a blink, the illusion of such menace disappeared. H.P's heart wavered as a result. She was losing faith in her own senses now. But she would maintain grace and poise regardless. She would bend Brando to her bidding.

'Brando.' she began, her tongue as pointed towards him as thought it were a knife to his neck.

'Diego.' he said, interrupting her.

'Excuse me?' H.P replied, aghast.

'Or Dio. I don't like this "Brando" business. It's not my name after all. Don't you get sick of it… Felicity?' he rambled.

H.P tensed up. How had they even deviated this far from their original conversation?

Worse yet, he wasn't wrong. He was very close to the vicinity of being "correct" even. Secretly, she did loathe the secrecy of names and vows. She missed being… H.P. Just… H.P. The name "Felicity" weighed to heavy on her back some days. Most days. Today.

'Oh? Strike a nerve, did I?' Brando impishly inquired.

'Yes. You did.' H.P replied.

'Fascinating.'

H.P's hands clenched together by her side. She clenched them together so hard, it felt as though her palm and her fingers may fuse. She licked her lips.

'Now, Diego,' she spoke tersely, 'will you please assist me with the cleaning? After that, you will be free to do as you please… so long as it isn't illegal and is in my presence. Many hands lighten the load and the kitchen is already quite clean from yesterday. It won't be that difficult, so stop being a child and help me.'

Diego smiled a normal smile. 'I would be delighted, Felicity.'

There was a flicker of his tongue and the words were spoken with such venom that H.P was reviled at the sound of her own name. She detested it but she could not voice it. Instead, she huffed and began to show Diego around the kitchen. What was theirs, was his or so she reasoned. That was the policy of fairness, supposedly.

Diego took an unusual interest in where the knives and the like were kept.

H.P was surprised that once forced, Diego could be a hard worker. He was also a quiet one. He made no chit-chat or japes as he worked. She had been expecting to do the most work between them but it split quite evenly. It was even possible that he had done more work. What he cleaned, seemed to be left in perfect condition. Dulled knives and forks shone after being cleaned by him. It was odd.

He was an odd person.

After the clunk of the last bits of cutlery being put away and the cleaning supplies returned to the closet adjacent, H.P spoke up.

'I'll give you a hint.'

'A hint towards what?' Diego asked as he cast aside a dishcloth in the sink, not caring where it landed.

'This morning.' H.P said awkwardly. 'And even now. You were curious, remember? About my real name. I'll give you a hint.'

'Do tell.' Diego encouraged her.

'The hint is "H.P".'

'That's all? You're initials, presumably?'

'Perhaps, if you behave, by the end of the week and when your charges are cleared, I might give you another hint. Or, perhaps, the whole of it. So long as you swear you never tell a soul.'

'I swear on my eyeball, I would never tell a soul.' Diego promised.

Most people, would cross themselves from their forehead to mid-way down their chest and then over their shoulders. Diego was not like most people. Instead, he created four points over his left eye.

He had such enchanting eyes, H.P would admit to that. His pupils were thin, black slits and the irises themselves were a gorgeous blue. Dark, deep, and swirling but right now, they seemed to pale and become electric. Cyan. He smiled. He had noticed her staring. H.P. averted her gaze.

'I try to think the best of people,' she lied, 'but I have strong doubts that you will have appeased me by then to earn such knowledge.'

'Well, now, that I have something truly interesting to gain from behaving myself, I truly do swear to it. You fascinate me… H.P. I have a strong resentment of humanity but you… you I do not detest as much as others.'

'That's not a very virtuous viewpoint to hold.' H.P said. 'But it is, strangely enough, one that I can appreciate.'

Diego did not add anything onto that train of thought. Nothing except a tap of his lower lip with his hands. Hands that were free of imperfections; no pruned fingertips or other harshness to mar the smoothness of them. How peculiar. Earlier H.P had noted that his hands were quite scaly. Another instance in which her eyes were lying to her?

'Well, do we have free time or not?' Diego asked.

H.P hoped that she hadn't been spacing out.

'Yes, we have free time. But not much, lunch will start soon then we will have to do the dishes but afterwards, we are free until dinner, until we have to do the dishes once more.' H.P. murmured.

'How quaint.' Diego said.

Before they could continue conversing, the sound of footsteps over stony floors entered the air. They looked up from where they were talking by the counter and towards the doorframe with no door. Two of the elderly Sisters had filed into the room. They bore terse expressions which implied no trust - of both Diego and H.P.

'Thank you, Sister Felicity and Mr. Brando.' Sister Agatha said.

'The kitchen… it looks brand new.' gasped Sister Bridgette.

'It is thanks to Di- Mr Brando's hard work. He is sincere in his word when he says he wants to show us gratitude for giving him asylum until he is cleared as being a murder suspect in his father's death.' H.P said.

'Yes, exactly.' Diego piped up.

'I'm glad. Sloth is a sin after all.' Sister Agatha said.

'We're probably going to take a little longer than usual. Old bones and all - plus, we have an extra mouth to feed, how unusual.' Sister Bridgette chattered.

'We don't desire to overcrowd you. We shall be in the parlour, if you need us, you may collect us from there.' H.P said. 'Now if you excuse us.'

'You are excused.' Sister Agatha said.

Diego noted that the atmosphere between H.P and her mentor sisters was stiff and rugged. They didn't seem to like each other. He wondered if there was reason for it, or better yet, good reason for. It would appear that he was getting attached to a very remarkable woman.

H.P led Diego to the parlour. It was towards the front of the convent but away from the attached Church. It was quiet. Austere and very brown. The chairs had no pillows and the tables had no doilies. A vase of wilting flowers sat upon one of the small tables present. A bare bookshelf hovered towards the doorframe with no door and opposite it, was a window. It bore no gregarious depictions of religious events so he could see through to the drowned garden.

Diego laid down upon one of the chairs as though it were a lounge. He was an extravagant man. H.P. sat down next to him and the chair she chose, creaked. He smiled, hummed, and tilted his head so his greasy hair fell to one side of his face.

'What do you normally do for fun around here?' he asked.

'Read.' H.P replied. 'Say my prayers, perhaps instruct a children's liturgy if there is interest. It depends.'

'None of is exactly what I would call… appealing.' Diego replied.

'How do you idle time then?'

'I devote most my time to the study of my craft. But, from merely scanning that pathetic bookshelf, I can see that there are no books that would interest me.'

'What's your craft?'

'Horse riding.'

'Truly?'

'Truly.' Diego paused. 'Why, do I not look the type?'

'Well, I suppose you are small enough. I just… didn't think you were the type to have respect for animals, I suppose I shall put it.'

Diego could tell by H.P's tone of voice that she meant no harm by her comment. Nevertheless a cruel smile split over Diego's dry lips. His teeth were bared and a shiver ran down H.P.'s spine.

'I have more respect for animals than I do for my fellow mankind.'

H.P was not, in whole, surprised by Diego's retort. It still made her feel unsettled though; her skin prickled, bubbled, and she had to shift how she sat upon her chair.

'I have an idea.' Diego said, his voice lightened and he proceeded to abruptly change the topic of conversation. 'Why don't we play two truths and a lie. We ought to get to know each other, don't think? Perhaps fun facts on the side. After all, we're going to spend a lot of time together this week, we may as well try and get along… find out what we have… in common.'

'I don't disagree but I don't believe that is the best game to play with a holy woman. Lying is a sin after all.'

'But I'm giving you permission to lie to you, besides… don't you need something to talk about with Padre at your next confession? As a nun, you ought to be the paragon of goodness yet you go to confession regularly which arises an interesting idea, does it not? Either you talk about nothing or you talk about something. Which is it, my dearest Sister Felicity?'

H.P straightened up and glared down Diego. 'I have told you before, that is business between myself and God. Father John is merely the middle man. It is not an affair you need to concern yourself with.'

Diego harrumphed. He didn't seem to care at all so H.P had reason to believe that she ought to expect further prying. Diego grew restless. He sprawled out and kicked up his feet. He smiled, almost airy.

'How about I start?' Diego suggested. There was a brightness in his eyes which seemed to be vile, at least in H.P's opinion. He continued despite her protest. 'I have been married, my favourite type of bird is the pigeon, and I enjoy steak sandwiches.'

H.P gazed into his eyes; trying to decipher which was the lie among the three. The first two seemed questionable but the third seemed the likeliest true. After all, steak sandwiches were a popular snack at the races and, assuming he wasn't lying about being a professional jockey, then that would make sense.

He had mentioned lovers earlier. He was young too; younger than her. It seemed extraordinarily unlikely a stud like him would have tied the knot so early and H.P was ready to assume, or believe, that Diego had likely divorced by now. A sin, by the way.

Then there was his comment about pigeons. Why pigeons? Hot Pants couldn't think of a thing to connect Diego and pigeons. So, she decided, that had to be the lie. She wet her lips then spoke.

'I believe,' she began, 'that the lie would be the pigeons.'

'In-co-rrect.' Diego teased her. He waggled his finger at H.P's face. 'None of them were lies. I thought I would take pity on the fact that you, a holy woman, cannot lie. So, instead, I named three facts about myself.'

'Oh? Then I believe some elaborations are necessary.' H.P taunted.

'How does one explain why something as arbitrary as "favourite species of bird" or "favourite type of food"? But, if you really must know, I am misanthropic at heart. I believe that pigeons have a more functioning society than that of humans. And I just truly enjoy the sensation of tearing apart firm, red meat with my teeth.' Diego replied. 'As for the anecdote about my love life… I am a widower. My wife passed away early last year. A shame but, she was getting old. It was… natural causes.'

H.P's palms sweated. Her fingers curled in and her nails pierced into her palm, but she felt no pain. She did not know why but she became very nervous at the hearing of Diego's wife. And the fact that he had to specify "natural causes" made her uneasy. Was it possible that Diego was no stranger to be suspected of murder?

'Now, come, dear Sister Felicity. I believe it is your turn to the play the game.' Diego said, invitingly.

H.P replied with a huff, 'Unlike you, I will respect the rules of the game. I shall present you with two truths and a lie, just as the game calls for.'

'I look forward to this.' Diego smiled a smile razor sharp.

He was also eager. Of course, he was eager. He had finally enticed the nun into sinning; the true objective to his little game.

As she gathered her thoughts, H.P struggled. She felt something slow and heavy push through her veins. She didn't know what she could and couldn't share with him. She was uncertain as to what her mouth and her heart would allow her to say. Yet, she presented her facts and her fiction regardless.

'My mother's maiden name was "Brown", my father's name is James, and as a little girl, I used to play with the neighbour's horse which was named "Gets Up".' H.P replied.

She held onto the hem of her dress. Bile rose to the back of her mouth. She felt as though her lie had clogged her lungs. She felt as though she couldn't breathe; as though she were choking but she tried to ignore it. She tried to overpower it with her will to remain neutral and impartial. So, her back straightened and her eyes watered as she tried not to drown in her words. Her simple, little lie.

Diego scratched his chin and he mused over what H.P had said. She waited pointedly to say something. Anything. That smile of his shrank.

'You were,' he began, 'incredulous when I said I was a professional jockey.'

'I was.' H.P confirmed.

'And you regard names in the highest order, so I find it suspicious that you would reveal to me your mother's maiden name and your father's name. However, they are common names.' Diego continued.

'Correct.' H.P replied.

'But,' he smirked, 'you have a tell; a little quirk which you cannot control that has allowed me to detect your lie.'

'And what might that be?' H.P inquired, almost facetiously.

'Your eyes widen, and your breaths become jumbled, you clutch onto your dress. There are too many to name and I saw them all.' Diego said as he licked his lips. 'You, my dear, are honest to a fault.'

'Or, perhaps, I've already told too many lies and I have no trickery left to spare.' H.P countered.

Diego smiled. It was more than apparent to H.P that he thought her to be fascinating. She's never held attention like this. People generally tend to be repulsed by her but he, he was attracted to her. Compelled by her, as though they were supposed to be together. Not necessarily romantically, but in a way that atoms are with other, likeable atoms.

'You never played with a neighbour's horse named Gets Up.' Diego said.

'You would be correct.' H.P replied.

She breathed a sigh of relief. No longer, did she feel as though air was no longer able to penetrate her mouth. She felt as though something thick and clumpy had been drained from her lungs. She was free from her telling lies.

'Gets Up was my family's horse. In my youth, he was my closest companion.' H.P continued, pointlessly so.

'Aw, how sweet.' Diego replied but he made a face in direct contradiction to the sentiment of his words.

There was a lull in conversation. It became apparent to them both that they were both extremely private parties. Fortunately, they heard footsteps in the hall and soon a face to match. Darling and docile Sister Josephine approached.

She held her hands and a weak smile. 'Lunch is ready.'

'Fabulous, I was feeling a touched famished anyway.' Diego said.

With his nose in the air, he got up and H.P joined him. Sister Josephine then led them through to the kitchen. Diego, ever the mockery of a gentleman, stepped ahead of them both once they reached the kitchen and got to the table first. He pulled up seats for both H.P and Sister Josephine and made sure to tuck them both in. As he sat himself down, across from H.P, Sister Josephine chuckled. She seemed unused to such flattering attention. H.P was wary as she was aware of the duality in his behaviour.

Soon, Father John joined them by sitting at the head of the table. The other Sisters, Bridgette and Agatha, placed the last of the bowl of soup on the table. Diego inspected it from where he sat, craning his neck. He looked displeased to say the least. It was meagre; a pauper's pathetic meal.

H.P threw him a glare and he sat up straight; hands together on the edge of the table. The remaining sisters sat down and there was a pause.

'Now, to say grace.' Sister Agatha said.

Diego watched, in disgust, as hands linked around the table. Sister Bridgette eyed him.

'You will be joining us, won't you, Mr Brando?' she asked, terse of voice.

'Er… Of course.'

He relented only after facing H.P's glare. He hesitantly spread his hands and Father John latched onto one and Sister Agatha.

There was another pause, and then they began their prayer. Diego mumbled in echo of the others at the table. They bowed their heads, closed their eyes, and opened their hearts to their God above, sincerely thanking Him for the meal. Their recital of the prayer was impeccable; each knew every line without flounder. Diego found no agreement in the sentiments but, his voice was his façade in this most and he would continue playing along dumbly to their wishes as their guest.

There was a pause. Diego's fumbled words came to a halt. Another pause.

'Amen.' said Father John.

'Amen.' everyone else replied; even Diego.

There was no conversation at the dinner table. It only took mere looks among these people to convey simple words. A look, a glance, a nod: it all had such diverse meaning. Everything from pass the salt and pepper to hollowed sentiments regarding the taste of the meal.

Diego detested it. It was bland and watery. It was a broth soup suitable only for dogs, and yet they ate regardless. If Diego did not know the value of starvation, he would have rejected it. Instead, he made sure to drink every last drop that was served into his commoner bowl.

H.P had been ready to intervene the moment Diego placed the spoon in his mouth. She had been certain he would hate it and yet, he had graciously eaten it. She still noted the twinges of outrage in his eyes whenever he swallowed but he swallowed regardless. He didn't complain. He didn't drop the façade, like she had been expecting.

Lunch was quiet. After all, no one spoke. Then, once the pot of soup was emptied, Sister Agatha smiled curtly and looked towards H.P. H.P was unsettled by the look in Sister Agatha's hazel brown eyes.

'Thank you for this meal.' she said. 'Now, it is Sister Felicity and Mr Brando's chore to wash-up. Would you prefer if we handed all our plates to you, or to Mr Brando?'

'To me, thank you. Mr Brando can take the pot over.' H.P replied.

'No, no,' Diego interjected, 'allow me. It would be unfair of me to allow Sister Felicity the brunt of work.'

'Well, we shall leave you to it.' Sister Bridgette said.

'Yes, thank you for your cooperation and hard work.' Father John added.

The elders of the room slowly got up. It was painful, watching their rickety bodies move but eventually, they all left. Retreated into their private quarters or returned to chores of their own. H.P sighed.

'There's no need.' she told Diego.

'Damn right.' he replied. 'Now, chop, chop.'

H.P huffed. 'You are helping me, whether you like it or not.' She couldn't believe he had already reverted to that bratty stubbornness again.

'I'm going to starve here, Felicity!' he moaned. 'Starve!'

'I can assure you, we will keep you well fed so long as you obey our rules.' H.P said.

Diego growled at her. He refused to stand up and instead, sank further into his wooden chair like a petulant child. H.P rolled her eyes and she got up. She collected the plates and cutlery. She glared at Diego.

'Brando.' she said.

'Ugh, fine.' he relented. 'Just promise me, the quality of the food will pick up.'

'We are poor.' H.P replied. 'We cannot afford good food.'

'Oh please.' Diego snorted. 'Compared to the life I led as a child, you are living the lap of luxury and if I could still eat delicious food, when sleeping in a manager like your little Lord Jesus, then surely I can eat good food here.'

'If you can bear it until this evening, it will be our turn to cook. When you have reign of the kitchen, you may feast as you please.'

Diego bore a snarly smile. 'Oh, I can assure you. I will feast very soon.'

He sounded positively bestial. H.P tried to ignore him, but it unsettled her, regardless. It resounded in her ears and sent chills down her spine.

'Here.' she said, near robotically. 'Fill the pot with water. Scrape out what's left.'

Diego obeyed her. He helped her out as he could. When he put his mind to it, he revealed a hidden talent for the domestic. He was wasted with his petulance and obstinance. Once more, they worked silently. Stepping around each other as they went about their business.

Scrub, scrub, wipe. Scrub, scrub, wipe. H.P would scrub down and Diego would wipe. They stood side by side; shoulders brushing against each other. It was a good system that helped them finish their task easily. Once more, what Diego had cleaned, was polished to a standard of newness.

Diego put away the last plate. He turned to H.P and smiled. He did not necessarily smile sweetly but this was a smile that offered pleasantry rather than evoke anything else, like the other smiles he had worn before.

'Well?' he asked.

'Yes. We are finished.' H.P confirmed.

'So, how should we spend the remainder of our afternoon? Until supper. My God.' Diego huffed. 'What a menial existence this is. Just existing and eating. I can't stand it.'

'Our way is not for everyone. We understand. I'm sure you will adjust. It's only five days, nearly four now.' H.P said. She paused, mused. 'The flowers in the parlour are wilted. Perhaps we could replace them. After last night's storm, I think we ought to check for damages to our garden, too.'

'Alright, show me the way.' Diego said.

He went to latch onto H.P's arm but she moved off without him. She hadn't even noticed that he had attempted to touch her. Unperturbed, he followed along behind her. He watched as she walked. She carried herself she as though she were an authority. It was odd. As he studied her movements, he did further thinking on her. He had been doing some thinking anyway about what "H.P" could possibly stand for and in this solemn establishment, there was plenty of time and space to think.

The back garden was drowned and not how Diego had expected. Unlike the rest of the convent, which was plain and austere, the garden showed life. Had it not rained as viciously as it had last night, this garden would have been vivid and bright. Flowers bloomed among shrubs. Mud congregated along stone slab paths. Tomatoes grew on a vine, overseeing plantations of potatoes and other vegetables. There was an apple tree resting along the furthest fence.

Diego wandered idly. H.P, however, did not stroll. She was purposefully checking the condition on the plants nestled in the garden. Diego admired; she examined. Still, it was peaceful. It was more entertaining than idling themselves in the parlour or cleaning the kitchen.

The backyard was somewhat large. It was large enough to contain both a functional vegetable patch, a garden, and Diego discovered, a gazebo. The gazebo was in a state of disrepair; cobwebs and cracks but it was nice. He wondered, briefly, why it was seemingly unused. It was in a good position, opposite the apple tree and tucked behind the roses and poinsettias. It would be a lovely place to enjoy reading and a spot of tea. A musing cut short when he noticed that a fat, white rat was scrabbling about.

He smirked. Perhaps, he wasn't going to starve today as well.

'Diego!' Hot Pants yelled, upon realising that he was in a different part of the backyard to him.

She looked around and, in the absence of her gaze, he managed to reappear behind her with a debonair smile. His somewhat white teeth, revealed from behind peeling lips, appeared to be stained scarlet.

'Hello.' he replied with a cough.

H.P glared. 'Frog in your throat?' she asked.

He laughed. 'No. A rat.'

'I'm quite certain the phrase is "frog in your throat".' H.P insisted.

'No, no. I'm quite certain it is… a rat.' Diego corrected her.

'Anyways.' H.P huffed. Unamused, she gave up on that particular thread of conversation. 'Stay with me. I know it's a small yard, but still.'

'I understand. Don't want me… escaping.' Diego replied, and his eyes flashed. 'Anyways, I think I've guessed your name.'

'Hm, you think so, do you?' she asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

'Yes.' Diego nodded. 'Yes, indeed, my dear Henrietta Poinsettia.'

If H.P were not a serious woman, she would have laughed.

'You would be incorrect, Mr…' her voice trailed off as she tried to pick a surname. Who was Dario? 'Mr, er, um…'

'How about you just wait until my father's obituary is published before you try and guess my father's surname? A surname I do not identify with.' Diego said.

'Your father mustn't frequent Church often,' H.P mused, 'or else, I would know of him better.'

'Yes, well, I'm surprised my father managed to live as long as he did without his wife: the maid and cook he didn't have to pay for.' Diego said, bitterly. He huffed. 'Well, if you are not Henriette Poinsettia, I must keep looking for names for you?'

'Or, you could wait for my obituary.' H.P joked in dry taste.

Diego chuckled. 'I won't.'

Inspired by being called "Henrietta Poinsettia", H.P collected poinsettias from the garden to replace the wilting roses in the parlour. Soon after, she and Diego returned to idling their time in the parlour. At least now, they had fresh flowers to admire in the otherwise dull room.

The rest of the day passed without incident. Though, Diego did take some offence to the five o'clock supper and the eight o'clock bedtime but, H.P wrangled him eventually.