Gracie pushed the door to Papa's room open. The sight of the empty bed brought a wrench of anguish. In the dim light of dawn, she quickly viewed the room. It was deserted. She turned around and stood on top of the staircase of the small summerhouse, where she had a look of the sitting room. It was empty as well. She ran downstairs and into the kitchen. No one. She hurried out to the terrace. One of Papa's books was lying on the low table, by the chaises longues. She ran down the steps that separated the terrace from the garden, crossed it, and headed down the path that led to the small inlet. She came to the pebbly shore, but it was also deserted. She called out to him.

"Papa!"

Only then she spotted the heap of clothes a few yards from her. She rushed towards them. They were his. A folded towel lay on top of them. She turned towards the sea. He was nowhere to be seen. Her call turned into a wild cry.

"Papa! Papa! Papa!"

"Gracie?"

She dashed away the tears that filled her eyes and finally picked out his head among the waves. Then his voice reached her again, comforting, enveloping her as if he wasn't speaking from a distance, but close to her.

"It's all right, Gracie, I'm coming."

She saw him start swimming towards the shore, his long arms sliding gracefully through the waves. After a while, he spoke again.

"Turn around and sit down, Gracie. Look at the house. Tell me if you can see Uncle Nadir."

She guessed he didn't want her watching him coming out of the sea. She obeyed.

"He's not out yet, Papa," she said.

"Do you see him?" he asked.

He hadn't heard her, for she had spoken while looking away from him. But she was not going to turn around if it made him uncomfortable. She shook his head. He chuckled.

"He must still be snoring away, the old gaffer."

His voice held a naughty undertone. It made her smile. Then she heard the light crunch of the pebbles as he came close. She sensed him bending down to pick up the towel. She must have moved, for he spoke again and this time he couldn't hide a tone of urgency.

"Don't turn around yet."

She waited patiently, watching, out of the corner of her eye, how his hand let the towel fall and picked up, first the mask, then his clothes: the loose fitting pants, the long sleeved undershirt, the wide, richly embroidered robe. Finally, he let himself fall beside her. She looked up at him, trying to smile. Papa's eyes were filled with concern.

"What was it, tot?"

She turned around to face the sea again, and inched closer to him. His arm circled her, protectively, and she let out a sigh, finally feeling safe and at ease.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

She shook her head.

"What happened, then?"

"I thought. . . I couldn't find you."

"I was having a swim."

"I saw your clothes, but. . . I didn't see you. I thought. . . I thought you were gone," she whispered.

She edged closer. His hand rubbed her back tracing gentle, soothing circles.

"I'm not going anywhere, love. I promise."

She looked up, trying to find reassurance in his eyes. He hugged her closer.

"You won't faint again?"

He shook his head.

"I'm strong, now. I'm doing fine. And if you don't believe me. . ." he said, poking her ribs lightly with his index finger. "I know you were eavesdropping last time doctor Albaret visited. You heard what he said, you little urchin."

Gracie laughed under his attack, and it encouraged him to tickle her with both hands. She tried to writhe out of his reach, but she only managed to squirm a few feet away. She laughed until her stomach was hurting.

"No more, no more, Papa, please. . ." she begged.

He stopped, flashing a smile, and leant back on one elbow. He looked over the sea, his eyes taking in the vast expanse, the cloudless sky.

"It's beautiful out here, isn't it, Gracie," he whispered, contented.

She nodded, and took in his lean, elegant figure, easily reclined on the pebbles of the shore.

Papa had laughed heartily when Uncle Nadir had presented him with a set of Persian clothes the day they had arrived to the little summerhouse. Papa had asked if the clothes were a requirement to gain admittance to Nadir's summer abode, and had seized every opportunity to make fun of Uncle Nadir's nostalgic dressing code, as he had called it. But he seemed more comfortable in those clothes than in the starched shirts, well fitting waistcoats and perfectly pressed pants he normally wore. His back and shoulders were not so tense, and he would often lie back on one of the chaises longues in the terrace or on the grass in the garden, just like he was doing now on the shore.

Gracie's eyes fell on the thick, crooked white lines around his wrists. Absentmindedly, one of her fingers traced one on his left wrist. Papa shivered and shrank back. He sat up.

"Aren't you hungry? It's already time for breakfast."

With swift movements, he gathered his towel and slid his feet in the sandals. He stood up and held out a hand. Gracie grabbed it and in no time she was gently pulled to her feet.

"Darius made halva yesterday evening," he said, almost casually.

Gracie knew he had been waiting to see her reaction when she looked up delighted, and he snickered.


That night, Gracie had been sent to bed too early for her liking. She tossed and turned in bed for a while, but when sleep refused to come, she slipped into the landing of the stairs. She huddled on the first step and looked through the bars that supported the handrail. Papa and Uncle Nadir were sitting by the fire, playing chess.

". . . cannot take care of two households anymore, Erik," Uncle Nadir was saying.

"He doesn't have to," huffed Papa.

He was in a bad mood. Gracie could tell from the stiffness of his back and the tightness of his lips.

Uncle Nadir's hand reached out and hovered over one of the white towers. It remained there for a second before he moved it.

"You know that's not entirely true, my friend."

"He can do the shopping. I will take care of everything else, just like before."

"There's no need to overburden yourself," countered Uncle Nadir.

Papa glared at that.

"I am not overburdening myself," he stated, stressing every word.

Uncle Nadir's eyes darted away, towards the fireplace. Papa focused on the chessboard. There was a tense silence. At last, Papa moved one of his pawns and leant back. Uncle Nadir was still staring at the flames.

"It's your move," Papa spoke at last.

Uncle Nadir contemplated the chessboard for a long time. Then he moved his tower back. He looked at Papa openly.

"Look, my friend. I know you're perfectly capable of caring for yourself and Gracie but. . ."

"But what?"

"What would happen if you had another heart attack?"

Gracie watched, with wonder and growing alarm, how Papa averted his gaze and stared at the pieces on the board.

"That's not going to happen," he replied, but his voice was hushed, not so firm anymore.

"Erik, she came to my apartment in her nightgown and slippers, in the middle of winter. She was alone, in the streets, in her nightgown. She's only nine. How do you. . ."

"I know. I know!" snapped Papa.

Uncle Nadir fell silent. Papa moved his bishop, but Uncle Nadir didn't notice. He was watching Papa from underneath his thick eyebrows.

"You wouldn't have to worry about anything. I would put the ad in the newspaper, interview the candidates. . ."

"I will not allow a stranger in my home. I'm still a wanted man."

"I know that. I would check the references thoroughly. I was not born yesterday."

Uncle Nadir's voice had an ironic edge. Papa's words were derisive in turn:

"And how exactly would you know whom to trust, Daroga? Have you now turned into a mind reader?"

"I'm not a bad judge of character. You're proof of that, after all."

"Of what? That I was a wicked scoundrel in desperate need of a conscience? Yes, Daroga. You could have hardly picked up a more hopeless case," Papa sneered bitterly.

Uncle Nadir winced and leant forward to hide it. He moved his queen.

"I'm not your conscience, Erik. By now I expected you to consider me your friend. And I wasn't wrong in choosing you as a friend."

Papa remained silent, body taut, face unyielding, a strange blink in his eyes. He lingered long over the board and at last, with a slightly quivering hand he moved one of his pieces.

"Check."

Uncle Nadir studied the board carefully. He moved his queen forward again.

"A servant would also be able to take Gracie to school, you know," he commented casually.

Papa gave out a scoffing laugh.

"Gracie doesn't need to go to school. I've already taught her more than what any of those educators will ever know."

"She still needs to meet other people."

Papa killed Uncle Nadir's tower.

"Check."

Uncle Nadir covered his king with his horse. Papa backed his bishop. Uncle Nadir used his queen to block out Papa's bishop.

"And she needs to learn the principles of her faith."

"What is it with you and faith Nadir? Why so obsessed?"

Uncle Nadir sighed.

"She needs to learn the ways of the world, Erik. That includes religion."

Papa killed Uncle Nadir's queen.

"Check."

Uncle Nadir threatened Papa's queen with his tower.

"She will grow up one day, Erik, and she will have to live in society. You don't want to turn her into a recluse. Do you?"

Papa moved his queen and killed one of Uncle Nadir's pawns in the process.

"Check mate."

Uncle Nadir didn't seem to have heard him. He looked at Papa evenly.

"Do you?" he repeated.

"Check mate," Papa stubbornly replied.

Without casting a look at the board, Uncle Nadir toppled his king.

"Do you?"

Papa glowered at him, jaw tightly clenched, eyes flaring. Uncle Nadir raised one of his eyebrows in a questioning look. The air got thicker with tension, and Gracie held her breath, waiting for the outburst of Papa's temper. He would stand up in rage, pace the room and rant at Uncle Nadir in hissed and venomous tones which were more terrifying than loud screams.

The storm never came. Instead, Papa drew a sharp breath and lowered his eyes. Gracie was stunned. She'd never seen him so. . . worn out, so defeated.

"Look Nadir: just. . ."

His hand wavered emptily in front of him. He leant on the arm of the chair and stood up, shoulders slouched.

"Just let me be," he breathed wearily.

Gracie retreated back into the shadows, afraid he would lift his eyes and discover her, but he turned on his heels and walked out of the house. Gracie stood up silently and made her way into her room and towards the window. She wanted to keep an eye on him.

He was standing on the terrace, by the balustrade. For a long time, he stood there, facing the ocean, his back towards the house. Then he untied the mask. He put it down on the balustrade.

Its whiteness was bright against the stone. The leather mask Uncle Nadir had ordered for him would blend with the grey surface in the summer twilight, Gracie thought. Papa had worn it in their journey south, first in the private compartment in the train and then in the closed carriage that had picked them at the station. He had been pleased with that new mask. It was less conspicuous than the porcelain one and it allowed him to travel even during daylight. At a passing glance, it blended perfectly with the other side of his face. But although it was lighter than the porcelain one, its lining made it also stuffier, so he didn't wear it in the summerhouse, where he was well hidden from prying eyes.

When Gracie's eyes lifted from the mask towards his back again, she was stunned. Papa had lifted his right hand and was brushing the ravaged side of his face. She had never seen him touch it before, just as she had never seen him gaze into a mirror. Minutes trickled by as his fingers traced the ridges and scars on his forehead. At last, his shoulders heaved and his left hand reached for the mask. With a quick movement he slid it on and tied the laces. He turned around and Gracie drew a step back, so he wouldn't catch sight of her white nightgown, which also glowed in the twilight.


Author's notes: Hugs and kisses to everyone that's posted a review! Please write some more! Tell me whether you've liked the story so far... Virtual chocolate-chip cookies for every review!