Good Morning, Miss Australia
Chapter 9: The Interview
The Portland city bus turned into Commercial Street and crawled towards the bus stop, avoiding the shiny spots where ice had nestled on the tarmac. The windshield wipers were working on overtime, but still the driver was having difficulty seeing through the flurry of snow raging around his bus.
The petite woman in the back almost toppled over when he suddenly slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding the black Cadillac parked on the side of the road.
"Sorry!" He called, and was relieved that the friendly young woman who always got out of the bus on Commercial Street only smiled and waved at him before she carefully stepped on the pavement.
Belle thanked herself for choosing to wear her warm UGG wedge boots. She'd bought them in a bid to meet her father's pleas about sensible shoes and she had to admit they were a lot more comfortable and warm than high heels this time of year. Upon a very vicious gust of cold wind, she pulled her cute beanie further over her head and ducked into her woollen scarf as she readied herself to cross the last few meters to Ary's front door.
With only two weeks before Christmas, seasonal decorations lit up the darkened Commercial Street and Belle's dejected heart was lifted by the prospect of glancing at her favorite window displays, knowing that more Christmas decorations would have been added since the last time she saw it.
So distracted by the festive lights, Belle didn't notice the large black car parked nearby.
Squinting her eyes against the stinging cold wind and the snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes, Belle carefully she began to move forward, huddled in her coat until she'd almost reached the gentleman's clothing store underneath Ariel's apartment.
Ary had practically demanded that she'd come for girl's night this evening, though it wasn't even Friday. For the first time, Belle wasn't looking forward to it. Over the past few days Ary had constantly tried to breach the subject of Mr. Scotsman with Belle but Belle had dodged her efforts every time.
She had the feeling that there would be no avoiding the subject this evening.
Belle turned her head toward the window display when the door was suddenly opened and a man she recognised as the owner of the business stepped outside, his hands filled with several suit bags. He crossed the pavement and now Belle saw what the bus had been blocking from view: a black Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham d'Elégance. She froze.
Mr. Gold.
No one in the greater Portland area owned this type of car except for one man who now stepped out of the clothes store. Belle's heart began to hammer in her chest when she recognised him. Slender hands in dark leather gloves carefully held on the gold handle of his cane and he was wearing a red scarf to complement his smartly cut coat.
Mr. Gold.
Despite the cold Belle's tongue suddenly was parched to her mouth and the blood started to thunder through her veins as she watched him cross the pavement. His expression was unsmiling. His dark, wide-set eyes were fixed intently on the street before him, in an attempt to avoid slipping in the snow with his perfectly unsuitable dress shoes.
Mr. Gold.
For days she'd tried to forget about him and his alter ego Mr. Scotsman but her resolve suddenly broke at the mere sight of the pawnbroker. He reached inside his pocket and Belle watched with tears brimming behind her eyes as he opened the car from a distance.
The owner of the clothes store had followed his customer. They exchanged a brief conversation as he carefully placed the purchases in the back of the Cadillac.
Belle crept a little closer in an attempt to catch the sound of the pawnbroker's voice, but his words were drowned out by a group of carol singers passing by. The next moment he'd stepped into the car and the backlights flashed up bright red.
A hollow feeling settled in Belle's stomach as she watched the car sweep away from the kerb.
"Miss?"
Belle didn't know if it was the stinging wind, which caused the tears to finally escape from her eyes as her gaze stayed fixed on the disappearing car.
"Excuse me, Miss? Are you all right?"
Belle startled from her stupor and looked up at the light touch on her arm.
"Don't I know you? You're always interested in the window display, aren't you?"
Belle nodded numbly at the older man who was watching her worriedly. His silver hair gleamed in the light of the street lights and despite the concern in his eyes there was a playful twinkle in his eyes. He tapped his sharp nose.
"Perhaps you'd like to come inside for a cup of tea? You look like you need one."
With difficulty Belle managed a smile. "I'm all right, thank you. I'm going to visit my friend. She lives in the apartment over the store."
"Nonsense." The man shook his head. "I insist. You look half frozen and besides, it's high time you took a look at the shop from the inside. I've seen you looking at the window display so many times."
He gave Belle a look from over his gold trimmed glasses and handed her a delicate handkerchief before he gently steered her inside the gentlemen's clothes store.
The shop owner kept his word. After a nice warm cup of tea he showed Belle around as if she were visiting a museum. Under different circumstances, she would have been absolutely delighted at being able to see the classic interior and the absolutely magnificent Christmas tree in the centre of the shop. At the moment however Mr. Gold invaded her thoughts. Had he fitted one of these suits? Which of these ties could have been held before him to see if it was to his liking?
"You know. I couldn't help but notice that you seemed upset by one of our customers."
"Up... upset?"
Belle chanced a sideways glance but the shop owner kept his features unreadable as he straightened a pocket square on display.
She sighed and looked at the ground. "It's just… We know each other. That's all."
"Ah." The shop owner politely ignored the tremble in her voice.
"That's quite remarkable, if I may say so. Not many people can say they know Mr. Gold. Even the many years I've had the honor of his patronage to this shop, I've come to understand his refined taste in clothing but little more. He's very much a closed book to most people."
The salesman raised his eyebrows as Belle smiled with some pleasant surprise. She hadn't looked at this way.
"He's rather self-contained," she agreed. "But he's really kind and gentle. I…"
Her voice broke.
"I believe he's my friend," she then added softly.
The older man gave her a sympathetic look as she swallowed away the lump in her throat.
"Well, in that case – "
He ducked underneath the counter and pulled out a carton box, festively wrapped with a red and gold ribbon, which Belle saw contained three slender candlesticks.
"Mr. Gold forgot to take these. They're a small promotion gift for Christmas. Real beeswax. Perhaps you'd like to give them to him?"
Belle opened her mouth and closed it again upon seeing the shop owner's expectant gaze. Finally she nodded, defeated.
She had no idea how to keep her promise, but admitting how she felt about Mr. Sco – no, Mr. Gold (to a complete stranger no less) surprisingly awoke something inside that made her close her gloved fingers around the box.
"I will."
This earned her an approving smile from the shop owner who courteously began to steer her toward the front door. It was well past closing time.
"Please give Mr. Gold my best regards. Young Master Gold too."
"Baelfire?" Belle let slip before she could contain herself and the older man smiled indulgently.
"You know him, too? I already thought you would. A very well behaved young man, if I may say so."
He leaned forward slightly and added conspiratorially, "It wasn't your imagination, Miss French. It was Mr. Gold you saw through the window that day. You do know that Mr. Gold's looking for a new librarian in Storybrooke, don't you?"
Now Belle's mouth fell open. "Yes, but how – "
"I'm a shop owner," he meaningfully cut her off and smiled enigmatically. "I may not know everything but there's a lot I do know. Now, you make sure Mr. Gold gets his candles. A very Merry Christmas, my dear child to you… and your loved ones."
The next moment Belle was back on the street with her eyes wide and a box of candles clasped in her arms. For Mr. Gold.
"Belle! Where were you? I was getting worried! Come in, you look awfully cold."
Ariel pulled her friend inside her flat and started plucking the beanie and scarf from her head and neck.
"I was in the fashion store below," Belle replied almost absentmindedly.
"Really? Why? Did you want to try something on?" Ary joked as she peeled Belle's coat from her while Belle held on to her box of candles. Even when Ariel tried to pry the box from her fingers she did not budge.
Ariel looked up in surprise and Belle smiled apologetically and hastily put them in her pocket.
"What's that?"
It took Belle only a second to know that she didn't feel like hiding the truth from her friend. "Candles. For Mr. Gold."
Ariel's eyes widened. "Belle, I have been meaning to talk to you about Mr. Gold but…"
She stopped mid-sentence when Belle gave her an hollow look. Ariel suddenly noticed how drawn her friend looked as the librarian went into Ary's tiny living room and plumped down on the sofa.
"I know, Ary, I know. I should forget about him. He's no good for me," Belle groaned in a rare display of annoyance. "You don't have to repeat it every time we see each other."
She looked up when the redhead positioned herself in front of her, arms crossed as she looked down sternly on the professional bookworm.
"If you hadn't tried to constantly avoid my attempts to talk to you about this, you would have learned that's not what I wanted to say."
Confused Belle narrowed her eyes. "It's not?"
Ariel shook her copper locks and sat down on the rickety chair next to her, legs tugged underneath her.
"Bells, look. I'm sorry. I thought I was doing a good thing by warning you about Mr. Gold. But as it turns out -"
Impatiently she blew away her bangs. "- I was wrong."
Belle blinked a few times as she put on the thoughtful face that always indicated she was prepared to examine something down to the last detail.
"In what way exactly?"
The archivist sighed and looked away.
"As in – Mr. Gold didn't kill his wife," she admitted.
Belle seemed to process this before nodding slowly.
"Ah. Well, that's nice to know," she commented flatly and looked around. "What's for dinner?"
Ariel frowned. "Belle – " she started, but Belle just wearily shook her head and sighed, "I appreciate you telling me this, Ary. I really do. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't change that I betrayed his trust in me."
For a moment Ariel watched her friend, then set her jaw. "Which means that you're planning to withdraw from the selection procedure in Storybrooke, am I right?"
Belle was nothing if not rigorous in everything she did.
"Exactly," Belle nodded, gladdened that Ary understood her so quickly. A stubborn glare hardened Ariel's blue eyes. "I'm sorry but I can't let you do that, Belle. You have to go."
With narrowed eyes Belle inclined her head.
"What will you do when I refuse? Drag me to Storybrooke and plant me in that chair?"
"If I have to."
The librarian threw her friend a doubtful look and grabbed the half full glass of wine from the table, downing it in a big gulp. The liquid burned down her throat and she sputtered and coughed.
"That was my wine," Ariel commented dryly as she handed her friend a paper towel. "Would you like some too?"
The goofy grin on Belle's still pained features was enough to start the nervous giggle that always indicated the end of a heavy conversation between the two friends.
A comfortable silence descended between them as Ariel went to get another glass and the bottle from the refrigerator while Belle admired the crowded little Christmas tree next to the television set. Unlike Belle who loved classic Christmas decorations, Ariel had a penchant for putting unconventional objects in her tree, like a set of brightly coloured Chinese enamelled fish.
"You know, I don't understand why you're so hot on me going to that interview. You were the one who advised against me writing an application in the first place," Belle frowned as Ariel placed the glass before her and poured her some wine.
Silently they toasted and Belle brought the glass to her lips to take a small sip this time.
The archivist shot her a dark look. "That's because I've spoken to Baelfire – No, my poor carpet!"
In a reflex Ariel's hand shot out, but she was too late. With a dull thump the wineglass fell from Belle's grasp as she burst into another coughing fit.
"Wha- What…" She tried to communicate in between coughs as the tears streamed down her cheeks. "What did you do?"
"I went to see Baelfire. Last week. I spoke with him after his soccer game," Ariel sighed as she stood up and went into the kitchen.
The sound of streaming water vaguely reached Belle's ears until she blinked against a glass of water being held out to her.
"No more wine for you this evening, Bells or you'll drench this whole apartment in alcohol."
With shaking hands Belle took the glass and took a few sips that required a monumental effort to swallow around her rapidly tightening throat.
"Baelfire." She closed her eyes. "How is he?"
Ariel's eyes softened. It was just Belle to inquire about the boy's wellbeing first when everybody else would have jumped to know what he had said.
"He's fine. He won his game. I went to see it with Emma, the Sheriff's cute little girl. She loves to go see Baelfire's soccer games."
"You kidnapped the Sheriff's daughter so you had a reason to see Mr. Gold's son?" Belle asked with a little a bit of horror but Ariel only gave her an incredibly goofy, self-satisfied look.
"I certainly did. Though technically it isn't kidnapping if the parents give their consent and she wouldn't go to bed otherwise."
Belle chuckled amusedly but then her expression turned tense. "So, erm… What did he say?"
Ariel took her hands. "Bells, he practically begged me to persuade you not to withdraw from the selection procedure."
A lonely tear appeared in the corner of Belle's eyes. "Did he?"
Ariel nodded vigorously. "You have to believe me. Baelfire couldn't have been clearer about this. And you know, Bells, I told him your name. He knows who you are."
Somewhere inside of Belle, in the pool of darkness engulfing her for the past weeks, a sparkle of hope was ignited, bringing a weak, but real smile to her lips.
"Really?" She asked hoarsely and Ariel nodded sympathetically.
"The whole Library restoration in Storybrooke was devised solely to find you, Belle," she intoned gently. "Now you have to give Mr. Scotsman the chance to do that."
It was an early Thursday evening when Mr. Gold's elegant black car turned up the driveway. The Cadillac's stern, square headlights reflected the harsh snowflakes blinding the pawnbroker's vision as he pulled up before the front porch. The sound of the tires creaking in the freshly fallen snow died away as he established that his salmon house was covered in darkness, but for a weak light coming from the small basement window.
For a moment his dark eyes rested on the unusual sight with an unreadable expression before he took his cane and got out of the car.
It was with some wariness in his movements that the Scot opened his front door and looked around in the shady vestibule.
Carefully he switched on the lights and called, "Bae? Are you home?"
There was no answer and Gold pursed his lips as he removed his coat and scarf and closed the door behind him. Feeling that it was a bit chilly in the house he turned up the thermostat he had installed when he bought the old residence.
He looked up the dark stairs. "Bae?" He called again. Again no response came. His eye fell on the door to the basement.
It was slightly ajar. Narrowing his eyes, Mr Gold opened it and warily followed the worn stairs down, with no care for the snow dripping from his dress shoes.
Descending down the stairs his ears had already picked up the familiar whirring sound, and his eyes grew wide in disbelief; it was Baelfire, sitting behind his father's spinning wheel, spinning.
Gold felt awestruck. He couldn't remember ever teaching his son the techniques of the ancient art or even that the boy had ever showed any interest in his father's obscure hobby.
His heart began to swell with pride and suddenly he wished Miss Australia were on the phone so he could share the moment with her. The moment that she had predicted would come; when he would know that the alienation between him and his son had ended. He had never suspected though it would be at the sight of his son using his spinning wheel.
But Miss Australia was gone, and at this point he didn't expect he'd ever find her, despite Bae's conviction that she was among the librarians invited for an interview. It was a bitter realization that only added to his wistful feeling to hear her sweet voice again. But it also made his heart go out even more to the one person he had left, treasuring the restoration of their relationship.
With a wry smile, Gold quietly approached his son from behind. Not wanting to interrupt but wishing to remove his son from the chilly basement, he crept silently, knowing that Baelfire was in for a scare. A smirk played around his lips as he crossed the basement with Baelfire still unaware of his father's presence.
Mr. Gold reached out, ready to touch his son's shoulder.
At that moment Baelfire broke into such a violent coughing fit that his thread broke between his fingers. Startled, Gold yanked back his hand and immediately squatted, ignoring the screaming pain that shot through his ankle.
Gently he rubbed his son's back, attempting to soothe him.
"Easy, Bae. Try to breathe calmly," he instructed the boy, trying to heed his own advice as he watched in growing panic how coughs kept ripping through his teenage body.
"Pa-," Baelfire tried but his attempt was cut short by the unrelenting coughing fit.
Gold pushed his son away and a shock went through him when he noticed the feverish glow in his son's eyes.
"Bae," he whispered hoarsely. "What's wrong?"
Helplessly the boy looked up at him and shook his head, indicating that he couldn't talk between coughs. He tried to stand but swayed and only his father's arms kept him from falling.
With weak knees Baelfire sank back on the stool as Gold watched him go with growing fear and desperation.
"I cannae carry ye, Bae." Rising panic drove his voice to higher pitches as he looked at his son pleadingly. He fought off the pain in his ankle, cursing his predicament for the first time in a long time.
"... Ok, Papa…" Baelfire coughed. "Thread…"
"Don't worry about that, Bae. That's not important right now. We have to get you upstairs."
He took Baelfire's fevered cheek and turned his face toward him. The boy merely looked at him with a vacant expression in his eyes. Battling down the fear that threatened to rise to dangerous levels inside him, he said with emphasis, "Now listen, Bae. Here's how we're going to do it. You just lean on me – "
Gold hooked his shoulder under Baelfire's limp arm and prayed that his cane would hold the added weight. "- And up we go!""
Ten minutes later Gold softly closed the door to Baelfire's bedroom and with drained, grim features hobbled down the stairs. He picked up the horn of the old-fashioned, Bakelite phone and dialled a number from memory.
His voice filled the quiet hallway. "Dr. Whale? It's Mr. Gold speaking. I need you to come over immediately."
Gold lowered the horn when his eye fell on the blood red flower on the dining table, which wasn't there this morning. An Amaryllis, one of the few types of flowers flower shops had still on sale during the darkest days of the year. It matched the Christmas decoration on the mantelpiece quite nicely. Bae must have bought it somewhere today.
It was then that he realized. There was no flower shop in Storybrooke.
"Belle, would you be a darling and fetch that last bucket of roses for me?"
"Of course, Dad."
It was a week after Belle had been invited in the gentlemen's clothing store and the last day before the holidays would start.
Belle pulled the hood of her warm coat over her head and ventured out into the snow as Moe French continued to close his flower stall for the night. She'd just finished at the library and had crossed the street to lend her father a helping hand as she'd done for years.
And would be doing for many more to come but she didn't want to think about that.
"The strangest thing happened today," Moe drawled in his characteristic Australian accent when his daughter returned with the heavy bucket in her arms. A layer of ice had formed on the water inside and small clouds were escaping from her lips. He was glad it would be Christmas soon so they would have at least a day in which they could stay out of the cold.
"What's that, Dad?" Belle asked while putting the roses with the other flowers.
"A boy came by at the flower stand, said he wanted to buy flowers for his father, so I helped him select an Amaryllis. He asked about my accent."
"Everyone does that, Dad. Your accent is hardly inconspicuous," Belle responded a little absentmindedly as she turned to get the next bucket.
"Yes, I know, but somehow he almost seemed shocked when he noticed. And he kept throwing gazes at the library. His own accent wasn't from here, either, it sounded like a weird mix of Irish and Scottish. You know, back when we were still in Mount Eliza we had these neighbours with exactly the same accent. Perhaps you remember them? They returned to…"
Belle froze. "How old was he?" She asked as her heart suddenly pounded in her chest.
Her father took off his worn baseball cap and scratched his head. "About fourteen years old, I would think. There's no telling with kids, these days, if you ask me."
Moe French went on with his business, not noticing that Belle had frozen in place. She processed what her father had said as she stared into the distance with unseeing eyes. Her father had met Baelfire.
"Did he say anything else?"
Moe was carrying a large basket of poinsettias into his flower stand and didn't hear the strange tone in her voice.
"Not much," he huffed as he placed the poinsettias next to the Christmas roses. "He wanted to know what time the library would close. I told him and that was the last I saw of him. Perhaps your colleagues have seen him wandering about the library with an Amaryllis in his arms?"
"Perhaps," Belle agreed, wishing that someone had told her about it. Her eyes wandered to the bus stop, one of many on the long route to Storybrooke.
"Dad?"
"Yes, dear?"
"I think I changed my mind on this job interview. I think I will be going after all."
"A bilateral pneumonia. A very severe bilateral pneumonia."
Dr. Whale put his hands in the pockets of his doctor's coat as he told Mr. Gold the bad news.
The pawnbroker's eyes widened and for the first time since the doctor had known the man, he saw genuine fear behind the dark gaze.
"Pneumonia? But how…?"
"According to Baelfire, he was out in the fields after a soccer game without a coat on. His coach was quite upset about it but Baelfire wouldn't tell me why he hadn't been more careful."
The look of distress was apparent now on Gold's features and though Dr. Whale didn't like the man very much, like most of the townspeople, his features softened somewhat. At this moment Mr. Gold was only a worried parent who needed guidance from his doctor.
"Baelfire needs absolute rest and must be kept out of the cold for at least one week. I highly recommend closely monitoring his condition over the next few days; if there's no improvement to his lungs, hospitalization may become necessary."
Mr. Gold nodded wordlessly and took the carton box containing Bae's medication from the physician. Normally he wouldn't think about abandoning business but worry about Bae's condition consumed him to the point where everything else seemed irrelevant now.
"This also means he's not playing Portland this week," emphasized the doctor, giving the pawnbroker a warning look.
Mr. Gold only responded with an empty gaze.
"Excuse me, I have to check on my son," he said coldly and turned around.
He was already halfway up the stairs when Dr. Whale pulled the front door closed behind him.
Christmas passed quietly for Belle and her father. Moe spent the day in his armchair enjoying reruns of classic Christmas films, while Belle curl up on the sofa nearby and prepared for the job interview.
Belle had done her best to concoct a festive Christmas supper within the boundaries of their tiny kitchen. Though her father was a man of few words, his grateful look told her he loved the effort she'd put into it.
Occasionally, Belle would receive a message from Ary that drew a small smile to her lips. The archivist and her fiancé had gone to spend the Christmas holidays with her father and six sisters, an event Ary had anxiously anticipated for weeks. Apart from Eric being a bit overwhelmed by all of the extra female attention, things seemed to be going pretty well for them. Belle giggled at a shot of all of them wearing matching tacky Christmas sweaters by a roaring fire.
Her thoughts drifted then to another family, and she silently hoped they were also celebrating.
Belle couldn't help but pause from her preparations and let her thoughts wander back to Mr Scotsman, and wonder what his reaction would be when she opened her mouth and her Australian accent rolled off her tongue. She felt her heart pound in equal parts excitement and fear; everything depended on what Baelfire had told his father about her, and his responses would tell her how much it exactly would be.
Baelfire had told Ary that the search had been devised solely to find her and in the most romantic of her wandering mind she imagined the surprise on his face when she faced the committee. Like the exalted surprise of a prince when he placed a glass slipper on a peasant girl's foot and found his princess.
Belle sighed to herself. A girl could dream, right? She let her thoughts slide to what she would be wearing to the interview.
It may still be Christmas but in Belle's head January had already arrived.
Eventually January did announce itself with fireworks and countdown clocks, Moe opened up shop again and then the day of the interview arrived.
Belle was surprised at how quick time had passed when she studied her appearance in the mirror. She was moderately pleased with what she saw.
For the occasion she had bought a woman's suit (the skirt a tad bit closer to the knee than her normal attire) made of fine wool in a deep dark blue that brought out her eyes. Underneath she wore a silk blouse in a delicate winter white. An embroidered leather belt softened the formal attire. Elegant heels in the same blue colour as her suit and lined with a subtle scalloped edge in white completed her appearance.
Belle lifted her hands and pulled her hair into a loose knot, nodded to herself, took up her leather bag and turned to leave.
In the living room she found her father waiting for her. With slight worry in his watery eyes that he couldn't completely succeed in hiding, he gave his daughter a clumsy hug.
"It's going to be all right, Dad," Belle whispered as she freed one hand and patted him on his balding head. "Things are going to change for the better, Dad. I feel it."
"If you say so, child. Just be careful. I know your mother would be proud of you."
An emphatic smile touched Belle's lips and she lightly squeezed her father before she stepped back.
"I'll see you tonight, Dad."
"Don't forget your coat," he murmured and bowed his head when she pressed a kiss on his forehead.
"I love you, Dad," Belle told him tenderly and with her coat in her arms she left home, on her way to Storybrooke. And on her way to Mr. Scotsman.
After the longest two hour drive in her life, Belle finally passed the 'Welcome to Storybrooke' sign and her heart gave an odd leap when her eyes registered the words.
It was happening. It was really happening. She was going to meet Mr. Gold and speak with him and establish for once and for all that he was the mysterious Mr. Scotsman to whom her heart belonged.
She cast a small look at the front seat beside her. Next to her bag laid the box of beeswax candles. She'd gone back to the shop to ask for advice on a good woman's suit and the shop owner had been more than helpful with tips, pointing her to a store that met his approval.
Now she hoped she would be able to give the candles to Mr. Gold before the end of the day, having put something inside the box she suspected he would be very pleased with.
The prospect only disappeared to the back of her mind when she entered the small seaside town.
Nervousness slightly raised Belle's heartbeat as she carefully parked her father's car outside a stately building she suspected must be the mayor's residence. It was a stately building with a classicist façade.
Belle took a deep breath and got out of the car.
"Good afternoon. You must be Miss Belle French?"
Belle looked up from her papers to see a young woman standing before her. She had a sweet face and short, glowing black hair. The expectant look on her face almost immediately drew a smile to Belle's lips and she stood up.
"Yes. Yes I am. Pleased to meet you."
The other woman smiled back and shook her hand. "I'm Mary Margaret Nolan. You can follow me when you're ready."
"Thank you." Belle took her bag.
"So, have I understood correctly that you're friends with Ariel, Eric Grimsby's fiancée?"
Mary Margaret cast a look over her shoulder as Belle followed her through a long hallway. Their heels clicked softly against the precious marble as they went.
"That's right. We went to college together and now we work fairly close by in Portland," Belle smiled. "She told me about you. You're a school teacher, right?"
Mary Margaret nodded friendly. "That's right. You're actually the only applicant who's relatively from this area. It's nice to know you're already familiar with this town."
She gave Belle a motherly smile and opened a door. Belle's heart skipped a bit.
This was it. It had all come down to this moment. This was the moment Mr. Scotsman had had in mind when he devised this selection procedure for a new town librarian.
Oh, she desperately hoped that he still wasn't mad with her despite Ary's reassurance. In a few short moments, she would know for sure.
"Here we are. Please take a seat. There's coffee, tea and water if you like."
Mary Margaret pointed at a little desk in front of a larger desk behind which a man was sitting, studying her with slight boredom in his dark, somewhat melancholy eyes. As if to demonstrate, his slender hand went to the glass sitting in front of him and he took a sip as Mary Margaret sat down next to him.
Belle's eyes went from one to the other and a sinking feeling came over her as she looked down on her invitation in confusion.
Then Mary Margaret's voice confirmed on an automatic tone what Belle's misgivings already screamed inside her head.
"Before we start I'm sorry to inform you that Mr. Gold, who's listed as part of the selection committee in the letter you received, is unable to be here due to family matters. Before you are Mr. Sidney Glass and Mrs. Mary Margaret Nolan and we will…"
He wasn't there.
Belle's throat thickened.
"So, how did it go?"
Belle leaned her head against the head rest and closed her eyes.
"He wasn't there, Ary," she said with a small voice. On the other side of the mobile line it became quiet. "We did the whole interview without him."
"Did they say why?" Ary sounded subdued after a moment of silence.
"Family matters," Belle whispered. All of a sudden she felt so very tired as she said it.
"Do you believe that explanation?"
"What does it matter whether I believe it or not," Belle couldn't hold back the sob escaping with her words. "Fact is that he wasn't there, Ary, whatever explanation they'll give for his absence."
"Bells…"
"It's all right, Ary. At least now I know to stop hoping. I'm coming back to Portland now and that's the end of it."
"Bells…"
"Please, Ary. It's all right," Belle cut off her friend.
"But are you fit for driving? Otherwise, I'll call Eric to come and…"
"I'm all right, Ary," Belle repeated automatically, hoping that the tears brimming in her eyes wouldn't hinder her view on the road too much. She felt she was acting irresponsibly now but somehow she couldn't bring herself to care.
"I'll call you when I'm home, OK?"
Belle didn't await Ary's response but hung up and started her Dad's car. With a wheezy cough the engine revved up.
On auto pilot Belle steered the car towards the main road, not paying attention to the darkness in Mr. Gold's shop as she drove past the premise, dejectedness filling her heart.
If she'd been honest with herself, she'd felt that this was about to happen Deep down she knew that she had gotten in his black books the moment he'd heard Ary question his son's name on the phone. But hope had let her cling to the promise of a teenage boy that all would be fine. And this was where her foolish hope had gotten her.
Pursing her lips in a thin line Belle grimly stared at the road, registering only faintly whatever scenery she passed. Therefore it took her a second more to realise when she approached an old villa, painted in a pinkish colour and with a familiar black car parked in front of it.
Despite her miserable state Belle's heart leaped up and subconsciously she lifted her foot from the gas pedal. There was no mistake about it. It was his car. As she slowed down, she looked up at the Queen Anne villa. The strange colour scheme faded in the murky evening twilight that had already set in.
It was a house fit for a man like Mr. Gold, who would appreciate its singular beauty. Belle squinted her eyes. Net curtains ordained all but one of the villa's many windows, which featured only roller blinds and something she recognised as a soccer scarf. A shadow was moving about in the dimly lit room. Hesitantly, she opened the car door and without giving it a second thought she reached for the box of Christmas candles. Her eyes remained glued to the window across the street.
Belle's breath caught when the silhouette of a man appeared before the window to close the curtains against the obtrusive street light. Her eyes started to water and she blinked viciously to remain a clear view on the man she knew was Mr. Scotsman behind the window. He was wearing all but the jacket of his suit and the light lit up his half long hair as he reached for the curtain on his left. He gazed outwards and suddenly his movements stilled. The locks framing his face veiled his expression but Belle knew that he had noticed her standing across his street.
She swallowed hard and her nails dug into the palms of her balled hands as their eyes locked.
Belle didn't register when her hand let go of the car door and it slowly closed behind her, nor did she notice that her feet hesitantly started the long way to cross the street. All she saw was Mr. Scotsman being so terribly close that she began to shiver all over her body.
The first time her phone rang she simply didn't hear it as her feet carried her across the street. The only thing she noticed was the gaze of the man at the window following her every step. He had let go of the curtain and had shifted somewhat so that the curtain hid half of his body.
The second time she blamed the blood pounding in her ears for causing the ringing sound.
The man at the window kept watching her intently as suddenly a feeling of foreboding washed over her.
She reached for her mobile phone and blindly found the swipe button on the touch screen. Slowly she lifted the phone to her ear as she reached the driveway to the Queen Anne villa, silently cursing the caller's horrible timing.
"Hello?"
For a split second she hoped that the one answering her would be him but her hopes were crushed immediately when she recognized the voice.
"Belle?"
It was Ariel and her voice sounded upset.
"Where are you? You have to come home immediately! It's your father…"
Belle froze. "What's the matter with him?"
"His flower booth caught fire, Belle. With him in it."
Belle's knees suddenly gave out underneath her.
"No…" she whispered wordlessly.
"Belle, he's in the hospital. He survived, but he breathed in a lot of smoke and his right arm is scorched. You've got to come home. Where are you?"
The box of candles fell from her hands and landed in the snow.
"No," Belle whispered. "I… I'm still in Storybrooke."
"You have to come home, Belle."
The librarian nodded viciously in the darkness as she fought back the bile rising in her throat.
"I will. I will," she responded automatically and she turned around.
"I will wait for you at the hospital," Ary said softly. "And Belle, there's one other thing. It was Gaston who set the fire. The police are chasing him now."
It had started to snow again when the front door to the Queen Anne villa opened a minute after Belle's car had disappeared around the corner.
Mr. Gold carefully chose his steps through the snow-covered garden until he reached the box laying abandoned in the snow. With an unreadable expression he picked it up, turned around and it took it with him back into the house.
A/N: I would like to thank my very patient beta Delintthedarkone. She's the best.
