The first thing I notice about this quaking slip of a girl is her gloves. They are supple black kidskin. I imagine they feel butter soft, but I am left without a sensory confirmation because she has the good manners to refrain from laying hands on me. The air is crisp, but far too warm still for such accessories.
"I'm sorry, Miss. I fear you've mistaken me for someone else"
She tugs nervously at the ends of her long sleeves. The blouse is white silk, expensive, with a high, button closure neckline. She looks quite fetching, if a bit anachronistic among the tank-top and Capri tourist crowd.
"We haven't met, but I know very well who you are, Doctor."
She extends a shaking hand, and I curl my fingers around hers, raising it to my lips. The leather smells even better than it feels. Lovely.
"Alexandra de Winter."
I lower my hand, but don't relinquish her hand.
"Alexandra. You're trembling."
She attempts to snatch back her hand, more out of reflex than intent, but I tighten my grip and hold her fast. She has the acquired flinch of a dog that has been struck once to many times. I'm tempted to backhand her rosy cheek to see her reaction, but the crowd around us elicits my composure. Perhaps there will be time later.
"Forgive me. I seem to have taken a chill."
She speaks strangely, like the heroine from a Victorian novel. I suppose she thinks it passes for good breeding. To a casual observer, she might pass for a young woman of means. But even the fragrance of her fine leather gloves and silk blouse can't hide the commonality that permeates her pores. She's the dressed up daughter of janitor, posing for a family portrait in the sweaty photography studio of a small town department store. I give her glove a little tug, and glimpse the smooth, shiny reflection of an old scar circling her fragile wrist.
"Funny, you don't feel cold."
"Neither do you."
I raise an eyebrow, and give her a twisted smile. Her shaking seems to subside a bit.
"I was just about to indulge in a post prandial stroll Miss de Winter. Would you care to join me?"
"Perhaps we could go somewhere more private."
Bold girl. For all your trembling there's sterner stuff hiding behind those storm-gray eyes. It would be quite a thing to get to know you in private life.
"I'm staying close to here. A rented cottage."
I lean in closer to her, my voice barely audible as I whisper in her ear.
"Of course, I can't take you there, and let you leave."
And then oddly, she seems to grow entirely at ease, as a wave of confidence colors her features.
"You mean you can't let me leave alive, Doctor."
She slides her hand into the crook of my arm, and waits for my lead. Without further ado, I set off at a brisk pace. She heels very nicely.
"I'm sorry, Miss. I fear you've mistaken me for someone else"
She tugs nervously at the ends of her long sleeves. The blouse is white silk, expensive, with a high, button closure neckline. She looks quite fetching, if a bit anachronistic among the tank-top and Capri tourist crowd.
"We haven't met, but I know very well who you are, Doctor."
She extends a shaking hand, and I curl my fingers around hers, raising it to my lips. The leather smells even better than it feels. Lovely.
"Alexandra de Winter."
I lower my hand, but don't relinquish her hand.
"Alexandra. You're trembling."
She attempts to snatch back her hand, more out of reflex than intent, but I tighten my grip and hold her fast. She has the acquired flinch of a dog that has been struck once to many times. I'm tempted to backhand her rosy cheek to see her reaction, but the crowd around us elicits my composure. Perhaps there will be time later.
"Forgive me. I seem to have taken a chill."
She speaks strangely, like the heroine from a Victorian novel. I suppose she thinks it passes for good breeding. To a casual observer, she might pass for a young woman of means. But even the fragrance of her fine leather gloves and silk blouse can't hide the commonality that permeates her pores. She's the dressed up daughter of janitor, posing for a family portrait in the sweaty photography studio of a small town department store. I give her glove a little tug, and glimpse the smooth, shiny reflection of an old scar circling her fragile wrist.
"Funny, you don't feel cold."
"Neither do you."
I raise an eyebrow, and give her a twisted smile. Her shaking seems to subside a bit.
"I was just about to indulge in a post prandial stroll Miss de Winter. Would you care to join me?"
"Perhaps we could go somewhere more private."
Bold girl. For all your trembling there's sterner stuff hiding behind those storm-gray eyes. It would be quite a thing to get to know you in private life.
"I'm staying close to here. A rented cottage."
I lean in closer to her, my voice barely audible as I whisper in her ear.
"Of course, I can't take you there, and let you leave."
And then oddly, she seems to grow entirely at ease, as a wave of confidence colors her features.
"You mean you can't let me leave alive, Doctor."
She slides her hand into the crook of my arm, and waits for my lead. Without further ado, I set off at a brisk pace. She heels very nicely.