Chapter Nineteen
"What do want me to sing for you today, Erik," she'd asked him, "one of your songs?"
As she leaned forward to look at the music, a single curl fell loose from her comb and lay against the slope of her neck. He reached up and twisted the curl around his long finger.
Then he rose and closed the piano.
"Forget rehearsals, Christine. We'll have our picnic here."
He almost laughed at the surprise in her bright eyes. He and Sam had always been very strict about rehearsals.
"Go, unpack the basket," he said, pushing two tables out of the way to make room. He unfolded a tablecloth with a shake and spread it on the floor.
As she knelt down near him, she glanced up at the large window and the stormy sky beyond. Her garnet earrings sparkled in the gray light as she turned back to him.
"Erik," she said quietly, "I'm glad it's raining."
He set down the wine glass and touched her face, letting his fingers trail slowly from her temple to the corner of her mouth. He pulled her closer, one hand around her slim waist, the other still tracing the contour of her smooth cheek.
He let his forehead rest against hers for a mment, then he kissed her. As his lips brushed hers lightly, he felt her arms winding around his shoulders.
"Come, Christine, open your lips...open them for me."
It was both a command and a plea as he tightened his hold on her.
Shyly, she did as he asked and he tasted her for the first time, his tongue probing the sweetness of her mouth as she clung to him.
When he broke away at last, they were both breathless and he heard her whisper his name as he held in his arms.
Erik, I love you.
"Good evening, M'zieur. Would you like some company tonight?"
He looked up and saw a woman standing over him, one of the many whores that worked Casablanca's streets. There were so many of them now...native girls sold by their familys, refugee women who sold themselves in desperation.
She was a pretty thing, a tawdry young Frenchwoman. She smiled at him hopefully.
He rose and patted her painted cheek.
"Not tonight, little one."
She was a stranger to him...he had from time to time looked for a few hour's forgetfulness with the women in the brothels. Women who would, for a price, ignore his mask.
But never with these sad girls on the streets.
He turned to go, but then he stopped and looked back at the prostitute.
Be thankful, then, that Christine has found someone to look after her...she, too, could have ended up like this poor thing...at least, Christine was spared that fate. .
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few francs.
"Did you change your mind, M'zieur?"
He pressed the money into her hand and walked away.
Of all the torments they had inflicted on him, perhaps this one was the worst...they had not killed him, they had made a mistake and given him the chance to escape...to escape and live to see the woman he loved lost to another man...lost forever.