Summary : An exchange of views in a civilised manner

Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Clarice Starling and other characters contained in these posts were created by and are the intellectual property of Thomas Harris. They are used herein without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit whatsoever is made by the owner, creators, moderators, members or contributors of this site.

Dr Lecter, aware of her unease, didn't linger in the car.

He ushered her through a heavy metal connecting door, without touching her into a corridor with a terrazzo floor and heavy panelled doors to right and left with elaborately curved iron handles. Through another heavy door into a small courtyard open to the night sky and with a fountain in the middle splashing placidly and surrounded by ferns, thick scented jasmine and frangipani. There was a large curved stone staircase at one side of the courtyard leading to a mezzanine level and a covered balcony which ran all around the inside of the building. This second level was discreetly lit with uplighters at intervals. They cast an amber glow which spilled out over the balcony into the courtyard below. Clarice felt as if she had stepped into an advertisement for an exclusive hotel.

Dr. Lecter directed her towards the staircase. Clarice allowed her hand to run along the balustrade – solid, polished stone. It was cool and comforting.

He went ahead of her at the top of the stairway with a murmured apology and led her along the balcony to a corner room. He opened the door and stood to one side.

"Please make yourself comfortable. There is an en suite bathroom. You will find some clothes in the wardrobe and in the armoire. Please take your time. I will be in the garden room – it leads off the courtyard, underneath this room" He gave her another bland smile and then stood to one side, with his hands together, motionless, watching. He wanted to examine her reaction as she entered the room.

Clarice removed her shoes and stepped carefully over the threshold onto a silkily buffed dark wood floor. It was like stepping into a pool of oil. There was a large double bed with curled mahogany head and foot boards made up with thick linen sheets and covered with a crushed velvet bedspread the colour of an old burgundy. There were lamps on beaten brass bases strategically placed around the room throwing arcs of ivory coloured light against the lime washed walls. The other furniture was sparse – a wardrobe, a low armoire, a dressing table with a tilting mirror and a bedside table all in variations of lustrous dark wood with coiled wrought iron handles. Her feet buried themselves into a rug of fine, bleached sisal. It felt reassuringly rustic against the soles of her feet – something rough in this smooth and polished room.

She turned to him. "Thank you. I will get cleaned up and change. I feel …. like I just stepped out of a Sears catalogue" She looked down at her shoes at the threshold of the room as she said this. There was some honest embarrassment in her voice.

Dr Lecter appreciated that she felt out of her ground and acknowledged the fact that she had admitted as much. "I had very little time to purchase what you might feel comfortable with. I hope you will find it all acceptable." Without further comment he withdrew. He had seen enough. She was a natural traveller. She had walked into the room without any hesitation, shoulders back, looking and smelling with an honest, alert curiosity. Dr Lecter was optimistic as he retired to the ground floor.

Clarice opened the wardrobe doors first – half full with casual stuff but of a quality she had never been able to afford. She could tell just by feeling the weight and the smoothness of the fabrics and the finish. Linen, silk, pima cotton – a couple of sleeveless shift dresses, slacks, loose fit shirts. In the armoire was a selection of the finest silk underwear she had ever seen wrapped in cream tissue paper.

She smiled. 'Oh yeeaaah ? and where do you think this is going to get you Doctor Lecter ?' There was something reassuring about all these arrangements – that for all his preternatural skills and overweening arrogance, he was still resorting to fine old bribery to gain …. what ? trust ? Clarice Starling willingly between silk sheets ? She almost laughed out loud. It was all so … predictable.

The bathroom was tiled in white, blue and yellow with intricate Moorish designs around the mirror and bath. The ceiling was a dark midnight blue with minute gold stars embossed over its entire expanse. The bath was deep with glowing brass taps and the largest shower head Clarice had ever seen. Clarice spent 5 minutes opening a row of indigo coloured cut glass bottles with silver caps and enjoying the contents – bath oils, gels, salts, perfumes.

She stripped and left her clothes in the middle of the white and midnight blue tiled floor and stepped under a stream of steaming hot water. This was the first decent shower she had taken in 3 weeks. She put her hands against the wall and just let the water pound over her back - excoriating. She soaped liberally with one of the gels and lathered her hair twice in the hope that some of the blonde streaks would fade away. It was a relief to just luxuriate for a while with the smells of the soap and the steam.

She buried her face into an impossibly soft towel. She put on a heavy white bath robe and padded into the bedroom. The bedside table had a hairdryer secreted behind its inlaid mahogany door and she found a collection of ivory handled brushes on the dressing table. She carefully moved the towelling away from her neck to look at the bruise on her shoulder. She felt a flare of anger. 'I'm not your fucking property, doctor.'

Half an hour later she was slowly descending the winding stairway into the dim courtyard with the sound of water splashing in the centre. She felt brand new; a tabula rasa; unknown even to herself. She had chosen some loose linen slacks and a matching shirt. Her shoes were soft loafers in a fine kid. The silk underwear next to her skin made her feel almost reckless. If he was willing to spend his money on her then why shouldn't Clarice Starling take advantage of it?

Dr. Lecter was sitting in a cane chair reading, by an open window looking out into a garden covered in darkness. The air in the room was filled with dewy evening scents. The room itself was about 20' square with a pair of long windows opening into the garden and a tiled floor covered in a chaotic array of rugs. The furniture was either cane or leather and looked as if it had been collected by an expansive traveller over many years. There were two or three table lamps illuminating different corners of the room, leaving the ceiling partly obscured by a purple dusk.

Dr. Lecter rose silently from his chair as soon as she entered and admired his choice of clothes. Clarice was aware of his minute observation but was damned if she was going to turn herself into some sort of gauche courtesan. Dr. Lecter observed her back stiffening and the tightening around the lips and jaw. "May I complement you on your choice Clarice – cool and casual. Armani suits you. Something to drink ?" before she could reply.

"Scotch please. Neat"

Dr. Lecter moved to a large cherry wood sideboard with an array of winking bottles, cut glass decanters and silver trays. He poured the amber liquid for Clarice into a heavy cut glass tumbler and refilled his own glass from a slim green bottle in a wine cooler.

Clarice made herself comfortable on a low sofa by the open window and took some slow deep breaths, enjoying the smell of damp vegetation. It had started to rain very lightly. The light from the room illuminated the drops, turning them into fine silver chaff.

Dr. Lecter handed her the glass and settled himself into his chair again. He didn't think a toast would be appropriate at this point. Her hair fell across her right cheek as she turned to look into the garden. He imagined what it would be like to sweep it away from her neck with his fingers. He remembered from before.

She turned sharply. "How did you know I was in Buenos Aires and how in hell did you know I would fetch up here ?"

He found the second part of the question almost ludicrous. Her tone was borderline aggressive.

"As soon as my gardener mentioned that an angel with a scorched soul and with hair the colour of a chestnut brood mare had moved into his mother's apartment. At first I thought you were part of a search party from the FBI – fresh bait" His teeth flashed for an instant. "But then it became apparent that you had stumbled into much more treacherous territory"

He paused

"As for the second part of your question … it seemed inevitable, given your circumstances"

Clarice coloured with anger. Dr Lecter admired the blush and the spark in her eyes.

She looked out at the soft rain – incongruous considering how she felt. The Scotch was taking effect. She laid her head back on the sofa and concentrated her mind on her predicament. No gun, no passport, no ID – all in her bag dropped in the gutter and the embassy staff fed some fairy story by Jose. So maybe she should short circuit the local mafia and call Washington direct ? What time was it there ? she looked at her watch. Midnight. If Jose had got to the duty officer at the embassy Bernie or one of the others would have already called Washington. Anyways, she didn't know anyone in the organisation. She felt completely empty.

Dr Lecter watched as bleak reality began to register. Here was something he could work with – the crack in the dam.

"Why the DEA Clarice ?"

His question jerked her back to the present. She answered almost without thinking.

"It was a job. It was set up for me. I didn't need to think. I was tired of thinking"

It sounded like a poor excuse, which it was. After the debacle by the Chesapeake, as part of her defence she had become a somnambulist. This job had promised a bruising experience to stun her awake, aside from the need to whip her demons into some semblance of order.

" That does you no justice Clarice."

"I know"

She paused for a moment.

"Also it was a test"

"A test of what Clarice ?"

"Endurance"

"Testing your strength Clarice ? Why bother when you must be the strongest person you know"

She looked at him sharply. His face remained as bland and smooth as a saucer of milk. No hint of mockery.

"I need to make contact with someone in the States to let them know what's happened" Clarice stirred in her seat with impatience.

"Why ?" This was more a statement than a question, from the Doctor

Clarice paused and stared at him. "Because I need to lay down a marker before I disappear into the night"

"As you wish. I do have a broad band connection here or a phone"

Clarice pondered her options. Pearsall perhaps ? he of the resigned expression and wilted collar tips. He had at least believed her when she had let loose in Noonan's office. He knew that she had no time for bullshit, that she told things as she saw them.

So, what to tell him ? – yes the whole caboose of Jose and his crew - that he would believe – not that he would be able to do anything. Then what ? that she had accepted hospitality from Dr Lecter ? Ridiculous. She could ask him to wire her some money, possibly, for a new identity. Would he do that much for her ? Unlikely. So … it would have to be the DEA in Washington, someone high enough up the pecking order to be relatively immune to Bernie's or whoever's blandishments. And what would they say ? – go to the local office in Buenos Aires and talk to the people there – any protests on her part and she would be branded as an hysterical female – in a job beyond her capabilities. She knew this. She had seen it before.

Round and round in circles like a rat on a wheel. She could feel the Gordian knot tightening in her gut.

Dr Lecter carefully modulated his voice. "May I suggest that you get a good night's rest before making any career defining decisions regarding your future"

The thought of the huge double bed with crisp white sheets, waiting for her upstairs weighed on Clarice's body like a Kevlar blanket. She concentrated.

"Before I forget my manners in the morning Dr. Lecter, I would like to thank you for your hospitality and for …." Clarice paused searching for the right words "being here …. right now." The words came out stiffer than she intended. She was grateful, almost pathetically grateful for a safe haven.

Dr. Lecter merely inclined his head. "The pleasure, I can assure you, is all mine, and if it makes you feel easier, I view our meeting very much as happenstance rather than part of any grand design on my part" He stared into his wine. "In general I prefer events to occur spontaneously – there are more surprises that way" He looked at her over the top of his glass, eyes intent now and with a smile that she remembered from Baltimore.

" I've had enough surprises for one night thank you Doctor Lecter" She said this almost sourly. She took another sip of her Scotch. It was very good. Smoky and as smooth as mountain honey.

"I have a housekeeper who comes in the morning. Shall I ask her to bring your breakfast to your room?"

Her fatigue and the scotch were weighing her down. The simplest answer seemed to be 'Yes'

He rose smoothly out of his chair and escorted her to the base of the stone stairway.

"Sleep well Clarice. We will talk some more on the morrow"

Clarice wasn't too sure how to take the last comment – as an invitation or a threat.

'Be careful, Clarice. Don't relax, don't let him fool you' But Clarice couldn't be bothered to listen right now.