Chapter 9
In the weeks Angelique stayed with them, she blossomed. She hated being so dependent on them, but an excursion out of doors proved that she was still terrified of male strangers. Poirot employed her as an assistant for Miss Lemon, and the older woman became more than just a friend to her young protegee. Angelique herself proved to be a quick study, learning the finer points of Miss Lemon's filing system more efficiently than many thought possible. She helped with some of the household duties, keen to please and quick to learn. One afternoon she was alone in the flat, curled in her favourite chair with a copy of Jane Austen. She was so engrossed in the story she didn't hear the door open, signalling Hastings' return from lunch. As she turned the page, a rectangular package, tied with a silver ribbon landed in her lap. Startled she looked up. "Arthur! I didn't hear you come in. Shall I make you some tea?"
"Certainly not – I'll do that. You stay where you are and open your present." She dropped the package and eyed it suspiciously.
"So that's it. Make me feel safe and happy and then spring this on me? Buy me a present so now I owe you something? I thought I could trust you. Well, I was - am grateful, so I guess you should take what you want." Hasting was staring at her. He couldn't believe they were taking this massive step backward over such a little thing as a present. Slowly realisation dawned.
"Has no-one ever bought you a present before?"
"James did sometimes. But there was always an expectation. Presents were conditional on me being…grateful."
Hastings was utterly appalled. He thought she had begun to think for herself by now, but she still believed the poison he had filled her head with. "Angelique, it really is just a present. No catches, no conditions, I promise you. I saw it in a shop and I thought you might like it. It's nothing fancy, you deserve to be given gold and rubies and diamonds, hell you deserve the world. But this is just a little thing I thought would suit you. Please open it." I held it out to her. Still looking at it as though it might bite her, she opened the box. Inside was a delicate silver chain, suspended from which was a silver rose, decorated with yellow enamel. She held it up, admiring it in the light. He took it from her and walked her over to a mirror. She lifted her hair while he fastened it around her slender neck. Beating back the urge to kiss her nape, he moved back and leant on the door frame. "I knew it would suit you. There's a language of flowers you know." She looked at him in the mirror, clearly surprised. "Red roses are for love, white roses are for innocence and purity, and yellow ones are for friendship and devotion."
"No body ever bought me flowers before. I like having one that will last forever. It's beautiful, thank you." She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek and danced off into the kitchen. He followed her and set about brewing some coffee. While it brewed, he watched Angelique. She moved around the room with the grace of a dancer. As she reached up to the top of a cabinet, she overstretched her small frame. Hastings saw her begin to fall and managed to catch her in time to prevent her head from hitting the floor. He held her, as he had often done, breathing hard. He straightened up and set her on her feet, his hands lingering on her waist. Her hands were on his shoulders and neither could tear their eyes from the other. His arms tightened around her, and her hands slid up into his hair. He tried to make the kiss gentle and tender, but she had been so starved of love she couldn't help herself. Her passionate French blood coursed through her and into that one kiss she poured desperation and need. A kiss so full of fire it could burn down a city. So passionate it consumed them both.
