A/N: Quick hello to the new followers and readers! Glad to have you on-board! And a great big thank you to Maggie1990. Your kind words meant a lot! Hope you'll enjoy the next chapter!
Chapter 13: Anne, 1883
I spend a sleepless night pouring over the sketches of the printing press he has drawn, struggling to devise a plan that will help acquire the material and tools that are needed. What's more, the closer I inspect his drawings, the more determined I become that even he won't succeed in assembling it within a week. And there is only one week left until my family returns. Eventually though I reach the conclusion that there's nothing to be done about that and that we might as well start assembly as soon as possible. In the meantime I will come up with a solution. I hope. Tomorrow I shall overcome my pride and seek out Teodora. She's the only person close enough to resemble a friend and she's also the one who brought me into this predicament in the first place. Perhaps she'll have some idea where to collect the materials from.
As it turns out, asking Teodora for help was the best decision I could've made. She scanned the sketches and their annotations carefully and then assured me that she'd be able to retrieve some of the things herself or at the very least with help of her husband. Unfortunately, several days pass until she has accumulated enough to start work on the outer shell and the deadline of my family's return draws closer much quicker than I had hoped.
It is three days before their arrival that Teodora and her husband appear at the house for the handover. I have convinced Aurelio to stay away again and informed the masked man of their visit so that he may prepare himself to go to work soon after. Nonetheless, it is with a great deal of nervous energy that I welcome Teodora and her husband into the house.
They have piled the materials onto a small cart which they lug into the hallway and leave there for now. I thank them both profusely and eye her husband who has broken out in sweat. I can only imagine how heavy the cart must have been, not to mention the added heat of the sun.
"Would you like some refreshments? I've prepared some sandwiches and cool drinks." I offer with a smile and they both give a grateful nod.
While they take a seat in the sitting room, I head into the kitchen to put everything on a tray and by the time I return they seem to have made themselves comfortable enough.
"Thank you that's very kind," Teodora's husband smiles.
He has a quiet, calm demeanour and kind brown eyes that make him easily likeable.
"I am Lorenzo, by the way."
"Anne," I reply, extending my hand out of courtesy.
He takes it, gives it a light squeeze and then goes about demolishing one of my sandwiches.
"He's had a long day," Teodora chuckles, sipping at her juice, "so you think you'll be able to start building at least?"
"Yes, I'm sure it'll be enough to make a start." I lie.
Despite having studied the sketches thoroughly I can't claim to understand every aspect of the man's design.
"Then you know more than me," Lorenzo chuckles in between bites, "perhaps you should consider a change of career? From a grape picker to a factory worker or mechanic?"
"You give me too much credit," I laugh, "besides, I doubt that women would be able to hold positions in those fields any time soon."
"Well, hopefully your upcoming pamphlet will be somewhat of a step in the right direction….in terms of rectifying this situation." Teodora comments, her eyes twinkling playfully but I only manage a bitter chuckle.
"I doubt it. I have never written anything like that in my life and I am certain Massima and her friends will do anything in their power to undermine me."
"We won't let that happen." She winks. "And really, Anne, have more faith in yourself."
"What are you afraid of?" Lorenzo asks and I direct my eyes towards my hands.
"Failure, I suppose. This cause is very important and since I've been chosen to represent it, I can't afford to disappoint."
"Disappoint who?" he probes carefully while Teodora reprimands him by slapping his arm. "A group of strangers?"
"Yes," I sigh, "pathetic isn't it? But I suppose I'm so used to disappointing my family, I at least want to make someone else proud."
When I lift my head again the chuckle instantly dies on my lips.
"Is everything alright?" Teodora asks worriedly peering towards the spot my eyes have focused on.
My horrified facial expression regrettably doesn't seem to have escaped her.
"Yes!" I reply quickly and probably a little too eagerly but I am terrified that if she turns her head further in the direction of the door she, too, will spot the masked man hovering there.
I am not sure what I'm more shocked about. The fact that he purposefully seems to have made an appearance now – if his smirk is anything to go by – or the power he exudes now that he's on his feet. He really looks deceptively healthy.
"I just can't believe that bit about my family slipped out…again." I continue, forcing a smile. "Surely you're sick of it by now."
"Oh stop apologising!" Teodora replies firmly and I breathe a sigh of relief when she reaches for a sandwich.
My explanation seems to have appeased her sufficiently. When I am certain that her attention is momentarily directed elsewhere I look back at the door but he has disappeared. Nonetheless I continue to feel his presence, and the rest of the meeting with Teodora and Lorenzo becomes a chore, filled with nervous glances and lack of focus.
"What were you thinking?" I confront him later on in the cellar.
He is reclining comfortably on the mattress, my father's shirt hanging loosely on his lean frame.
"Signorina?" he asks innocently but I can see the mirth dancing in his amber eyes.
"Yes! I've told you to stay in the cellar." I hiss.
"But I was under the impression that I was not imprisoned here, Anne." He answers innocently and it is only when I realise that he has addressed me by my name for the first time that I stop and pause.
Whatever annoyance I felt for him a minute ago is suddenly wiped out by the mere sound of his voice. It seems to caress my name, coaxing my body into a sigh that I didn't realise I'd been holding. When I was younger I'd always considered my name much too short and mundane but he bestows such richness to it that it suddenly comes alive. When that strange sensation finally passes, I realise that he seems to be aware of his power, for the corners of his mouth have curled upwards.
I am not certain yet how to feel about this sudden playful mood of his.
"Yet you are an intelligent man and I had assumed you knew when to stay hidden."
"I merely examined the material. I wanted to make sure that you weren't being taken advantage of." He offers, spreading his hands diplomatically and I chuckle.
"So that's why I found you listening near the door rather than hovering near the cart?"
It's almost amusing to watch him struggle to prevent his lips from twitching into a grin.
"You suppose you are that interesting to me?" he asks.
"Apparently," I shrug, "and now that you know my name, it's only polite if you tell me yours."
Instead of supplying me with yet another teasing retort, the amusement in his eyes diminishes. Suddenly he ages, grows weary in front of me and it is with extraordinary simplicity that he finally says: "Erik."
There is something so poignant about the way he confesses it that my heart instantly aches. What must have happened to him that a mere question for his name can cause him such agony?
"Thank you," I reply softly, hoping that my words will sooth him somehow.
But he only nods and inadvertently traps us in a heavy silence.
"Were the materials to your liking then?" I carefully question after a while.
His eyes are dim and unfocused still and it takes him a while to process my question.
"Yes," he finally responds in a voice that doesn't seem to be his own, "that is to say they are of good enough quality for your undertaking. But they're not complete yet, are they?"
"No," I sigh, running a hand through my hair, "that's all they could get for me. All of the little parts you require, the cylinders and such are much too expensive. I haven't figured out yet where to get them from."
"But they could help you, if you had more money?" he questions.
"Yes, I suppose they could. But there's no way I could amass that kind of sum."
"Fetch me pen and paper and I shall see it done."
"No, Erik," I interrupt when I realise the extent of his offer, "that's too much."
"They are only material goods, Signorina and I have sufficient funds. We shan't waste another minute debating the matter." He cuts me off firmly. "Go and do as you're told."
And yet again I find myself following his instructions and trudging around the house like an errand boy. But while I collect the items he's requested it occurs to me that perhaps he didn't give the order out of practicality alone, perhaps it also offered him a way to compose himself in my absence. I might not know very much about him but I have come to realise that he possesses a great deal of pride and I shall grant him that.
When I return to him, not only carrying pen and paper but also a fresh candle, he is indeed sitting up straighter once more.
"I shall require more than that if you'll have me build in this cellar." He points out, takes the candle and lights it near his mattress.
"I will bring more." I reassure him with a hint of impatience. "I just figured with the equipment being so heavy it would be wise to assemble it here where it'll remain permanently."
"Yes, I suppose that's true." He inclines his head and extends his hand for the paper and pen I'm still holding. "Won't your family wonder how it appeared here?"
"Perhaps," I shrug, "but it'd be doubtful they'd ever stumble across it. They don't frequent this place. If Aurelio noticed it, he would never tell and mother? Well, she'd hardly even know what it was."
"And you already have your father's disapproval," he suddenly comments.
I become aware that he is watching me with curiosity now as if he's trying to gauge my reaction.
"Indeed." I nod but refuse to offer more information.
If he wishes to find out more he can ask me directly or eavesdrop again. He accepts my answer with a non-committal hum and then starts writing the letter.
"This will take some time, unfortunately," he says in the meantime, "my correspondent is in France. Perhaps you could persuade your friends to invest their money already so we can continue building. Have no doubts, they shall receive the sum back in full."
"I shall take your word for it." I say, momentarily wondering how I've manoeuvred myself into a position where I am asked to write political statements and place a great deal of trust into a stranger that's tried to kill me.