V
Hannibal Lecter's well-appointed kitchen was in a state of absolute chaos. Clarice stood beside one of the three stainless steel sinks washing flour off of her face and out of her hair. She was having difficulties recalling how exactly the flour go to be where it currently was. Perhaps it lodged itself in the midst of one of her small tantrums. The snapper itself had been easy, she'd sliced it into two strips and put the bones and trimmings into a pot of boiling salty water and fish stock. The sauce of butter oil, onions, tomatoes, bay leaf and thyme had also been a success; in fact, she hadn't stuck a problem until creativity reared its unpredictable head. Upon opening the fridge she had discovered a bowl of fresh scallops. She'd watched Ardelia make battered scallops into an appetiser once and the temptation was too great. She had become overwhelmed with inspiration to repeat the procedure.
Unfortunately, Woman's Day couldn't help her out with the batter making, and sure as the sun rises, Hannibal would not have a spare copy lying around for idle entertainment. The problem wasn't so much the ingredients, she had decided, it was the prepping and beating and stirring. How the hell thick was it supposed to be anyway? One minute it's too watery, the next there's floury lumps everywhere. One minute the mixture is in the bowl, the next it isn't. Luckily the walls of the kitchen near the stove and sink were tiled, the mess was easily wiped, the teak shelves however, remained covered in half an inch of white powder.
Vivacious chatter from above brought her back to the present. One and a half hours later and he still hadn't been down to check on her. Must have been a record for him, she thought. She pictured him sitting on the terrace, smiling and nodding and making the occasional appropriate comment, all the while madly wondering about the state of his beloved wife and kitchen. She hadn't made any excessive noise that might draw concerned attention to her activities. But he knew her, and she knew him.
Looking over to the pot of boiling fish carcass, Clarice was reminded of The Picasso. She could hardly stomach gutting a fish, what would it take to skin a human? What point was desperately trying to free itself for speculation? The most common motive in felons attacking socially elite circles was jealousy, envy and vengeance.
What were you thinking when you painted with their organs? Do you consider that art?
A sticky thump forced her thoughts aside for the moment. She laughed when she saw one of the snapper fillets plastered onto the marble tiles. She used an egg flip to pick it up. It's odd how the simple things can divert the most complex of thoughts. For the while, she was back on task, small profanities sounding as she finally gave in to the thick yellowish concoction. She threw the raw-battered scallops into the frying pan rather hastily causing hot oil to spit back at her bare hands and neckline.
"Damnit!" She fought to conceal her frustration from growing into a full-fledged scream.
All was quiet above her until she heard the scraping of chairs across their terracotta terrace. In a tense rush, she attempted to clean up her mess. The last thing she needed was orders from her husband.
*~*~*
Andres' home was impeccable. Everything had its place, and that place always looked elegant. Compared to her own grand home, this was something else. Upon arriving, her first thoughts were that of pride. The exterior her home was of similar magnitude and upkeep, yet inside, the walls here had memories and the atmosphere was lively. No match for the dead echo of a life that her and Marco shared.
In preparation for her evening out, Annette had spent three hours dressing and primping. She had elected a royal blue silk outfit, accessorising with an excess of rose-gold. In her mind, she was focusing on a competition. She knew that Andres' wife was much younger, and probably prettier and firmer than she, so she decided she would outdo the woman with style and elegance, something her mother had taught her very well. It was important to Annette that she was the focal point in a room, and on this particular night, Mrs. Torres would not overshadow her.
A younger woman greeted them on arrival, the hired help presumably. A local girl, her hair and skin was dark, and her eyes were a incredible shade of green, even in her humdrum uniform she looked quite the beauty. Was Mrs Torres even more stunning? Annette denied that she was obsessing over it, yet she kept thinking about her, about this woman that Andres was so clearly in love with.
Her breath had caught in her throat when she first laid eyes on him. He sat, relaxed yet remarkably composed with a bottle of vintage Château d'Yquem resting on the brass setting beside him. When he looked at her, she knew he appreciated the effort she had gone to. He looked at her like Marco used to, intensely and favourably.
He'd gone well out of his way to settle them. The terrace had a beautiful view of the lit city below, he'd arranged their chairs next to his, facing the pleasantly dark evening. The pleasantries were exchanged, and she commented on his flawless attire. It did not bother that he failed to mention hers. Andres and Marco got on well, much to Annette's surprise. Perhaps she had wished for a little jealousy on behalf of them both, though she was trying not to be overly fussy. Demands weren't popular with the male populace.
The absence of Mrs Torres had gone unnoticed up until he mentioned that she would be accompanying them shortly. Annette's obsession with the woman seemingly dwindled in the presence of Andres. He had that effect on her, his eyes took her places she'd never been and evoked emotions she thought belonged exclusively to youth.
Sara.
His eyes changed when he said her name though. She saw something dark and forbidden, as if the mere mention of her name set up a fortress of passion around his heart. It was possession in its truest form, impenetrable and undeniable.
He filled the air with light chatter, deterring suspicion of his wandering thoughts, but Annette noticed, she always did. She wanted to hold his attention like Sara did. She interrupted her husband and her co-worker, their laughter begin to die as she spoke.
"Excuse me Andres, would you show me to the restroom?"
"Most certainly." He said, rising steadily to direct her inside.
They walked in silence through the broad hallways, weaving through the marvellous second story of his home. She wanted to use this time wisely.
"Please don't feel compelled to entertain Marco, he knows we're here to discuss work-related matters" Her voice was feeble in the midst of such opulence.
"It's a pleasure to have the company. I do not feel compelled, I assure you." He offered a brief smile and nodded to the last door at the end of the hallway. "You'll find all you need in there." She nodded as he continued. "I'm going to check on the cook, I trust you can find your way back to the terrace." He turned and left her watching his retreat. Even in the semi-dark, his figure was admirable.
"Yes." She whispered, doubting her heard her.
She watched the last of his shadow disappear down the stairs before turning to the end of the hall. The last door, as he had indicated, led to one of the bathrooms. Glossy peach tiles lined the floor, symmetrical in shape and pattern. Inside, to the left, was an elevated spa-bath, constructed with crème marble and framed with antique-washed copper. Parallel to one luxury stood another: the four-basin wash bench supporting a mirror engraved with intricate ivy vines at the outermost edges.
A few minutes of amateur detective work told Annette that this bathroom was specifically designed for guests. The bench drawers where mostly empty, a few bars of sweetly scented soap at the top, progressing to body lotions and other hygiene items in the lower drawers. There was nothing personal, no cologne or perfume or contraceptives. Annette wondered if they had ever used this bathroom.
Have they made love in that tub?
One look into the mirror before her confirmed the absolute envy in her eyes. She shook her head, running her hands through her hair. She held a fingertip to her eyelid to even out the dark eyeliner. She unzipped her evening bag, royal blue to match her outfit, and pulled out a small jar of cover-up. She made an additional effort and applied a shade of deep crimson lipstick before making an exit.
There were five other doors in that particular hallway; she went to each, ready to nose about in their affairs. She wanted to know more, she needed to see more of their life. She found every single door, other than the one she had come from, locked. It stuck her as peculiar, though the frustration at being kept in the dark was overpowering. So they had secrets did they? She wanted to know them all.
It was tempting to venture upstairs but the noise below her startled her into retreat. Andres was laughing. She heard a woman's voice too.
Sara.
Annette quietly slipped down the stairs, keeping her figure and shadow in the dark, until she reached a favourable position opposing the kitchen. The vision she came to upset the rhythm of her heart.
*~*~*
"I could eat you right now." He growled when he saw his flour-coated wife nursing her wounds in front of their stove.
Clarice spun to meet her husband's mischievous gaze. He stood several feet behind her, resting his right side on the counter. He wanted to play. There was nothing she could do to stop herself from smiling.
" I'm holding those thoughts, remember?" She grinned, tempted to poke her tongue out at him. "Besides, can't you see that I'm extremely busy?"
" I can see that you've made an extremely large mess of my kitchen." His tone was neutral; sometimes she wondered how far removed wit was from earnest comments.
She narrowed her eyes, unamused by his comment.
"I don't want your help Hannibal, and I certainly don't need your ridicule." She turned back to the stove, dishing out the fried scallops into a large serving dish.
"Perhaps my intentions weren't clear enough, Sara" Evidently they were back to using their aliases for the night. He moved over to stand behind her, pressing his warm body into her own much smaller one. She felt his excitement nudge the small of her back.
Well hello there! Someone's happy to see me
She fell back onto him and groaned as his hands tugged the blouse out of her pants and tracked their way up her toned, smooth flesh. The batter was forgotten when he leant down and took her earlobe in his mouth. His warm tongue traced the framework of her ear, both hands now inside of her shirt.
"I really need to finish this…" She protested, almost without breath.
"Oh, I agree." His chest rumbled with laughter.
"Cooking! I meant I have to…"He halted further complaint as he lightly kicked in her knees, held her in his arms and swung her up onto the bench beside the stove. His excited eyes met hers and she knew she was powerless to stop him.
Behind his radiantly glowing wife, Hannibal Lecter discreetly summed up her progress. He smirked inwardly. He'd have to get her out of the kitchen if they planned on feeding their guests.
One of her small hands escaped his grasp and travelled down his chest to lightly brush the front of his trousers. He crushed himself against her chest as she pulled him closer between outstretched legs. It was hard to know who initiated the kiss; their mouths were attacking each other in desperation, like lovers who had reunited after years of being apart. Caught up in his desire, Dr. Lecter braced both arms against the bench, knocking down a full packet of flour. It hit the marble with such force, that the packet combusted, shooting a cloud of white powered up into the kitchen.
"Who's makin' the mess now?" She grinned into his mouth, watching as he peered to the side, careful not to move his mouth away from hers.
Either he hadn't heard her, or he was doing a very good job at ignoring the extend of his own blunder. He pulled at the zipper on her pants, bringing his eyes back to hers. Desire had ambushed his thoughts; he hadn't felt her body tense, but he could see the sudden alarm in her beautiful eyes.
"What is it, my dear?" He made no attempt to turn, or remove his hands from within her pants.
"We had an audience." She swallowed, immensely annoyed at the intrusion.
She saw a spark of anger ignite in his eyes before he rotated his body away from hers. Both of them caught a glimpse of a royal blue evening gown swishing against the balustrade supporting the flight of stairs.