Chapter Four

As the months passed and winter dissolved into spring, we became, as I'd predicted, quite friendly and comfortable with one another. We were two people, coexisting in one home, our daily lives intermingling only occassionally, namely at meals, and when they did, it was pleasant and cordial. Initially Christine must have thought there was a seperate table for her to eat at, but in the flat there was only one dining area, and when I asked her to join me, she seemed shocked, yet at the same time, a bit flattered.

Trying my best not to laugh at her expression, I'd gently told her this was the only table in the house, so she should naturally eat there. She'd turned a deep crimson.

For the first few weeks we ate our meals with no conversation, save my compliments to her on the meal (she was a decent cook). In time, however, we began to make small talk as we ate, discussing our likes and dislikes, our days, our dreams, even our pasts. She eventually drew it out of me that I'd come here after my wife's and son's simultaneous deaths.

"Oh, monsieur," she'd said, her eyes growing misty. "I'm so sorry."

"So am I, my dear, so am I."

The remainder of my day was spent composing, reading, and taking care of dealings with my contracting business. Luckily I could do much of the work from my home, writing letters to clients and stuffing envelopes with salaries, then giving everything to Christine to mail or deliver directly to the office. Only about once a month would I be required to make an appearance.

If the mask continued to bother Christine, she said nothing of it. The only question she asked of it was the nature of the accident. I'd fabricated a rather gory tale of violence to explain the horrible mishap. She'd seemed satisfied.

As June gave way, I took to walking in the late afternoons, early evening, figuring a nightly stretch of my legs would do me well. However, during these times, my mind wandered free, and it usually chose to visit memories of my family. I could not think of them, not even yet. I simply could not take it, could not revisit the loss.

To distract me I soon asked if Christine woudl join me on these strolls; she readily agreed. Our walks were sometimes spent in deep, comfortable silences, other times they hosted our most in-depth and interesting discussions. I believe by this time we both were beginning to realize I not only wanted a maid, but a companion, a friend to talk with me and keep me company. I'd become lonely, so very lonely after becoming used to family life. It had changed me, even after I'd been alone for so long. In this respect I enjoyed having Christine under my roof, even when we were not together. Simply knowing someone was there gave me comfort.

She helped me avoid the past, the memories; instead of embracing them and accepting that they would never again be, I ignored them and they crystalized around me, making me grow more and more distant each day. Even if she noticed, there was nothing she could do. Although we got along nicely, she was still my servant. But I knew all this running would catch up with me eventually; it always had before.

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Months later I was returning from a business meeting. I'd wanted to get it over with before the holidays commenced. It was only mid-December and already the men were acting far too jolly. I simply did not understand it, but then, how could I? The only years I'd celebrated Christmas were those spent with Amelie, and later, Georges. Otherwise, when I was alone, the holiday went unnoticed. Which is why I was so surprised to return home and find a wreath upon the door to my flat. That was only the beginning.

I stepped inside to find Christine decorating a small evergreen tree, her back to me. When I closed the door she turned to me, her cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. "Merry Christmas, monsieur!" she exclaimed, rushing to the door to greet me with a curtsey. "I just thought the house needed some decorations, monsieur, I hope you like it."

Gazing around the flat I found the tree wasn't all she'd done. On the mantel piece were new candles which burned a warm, cinnamon scent, accompanied by sprigs of holly. Above my head hung a bit of mistletoe. My first instinct was to be angry with her for doing such things to the house without my permission, but I simply couldn't be. She was only trying to bring a bit of cheer to the otherwise largely gloomy flat.

My silence had prodded her to continue talking. "Of course, I can always take everything down if it doesn't please you, monsieur. I just thought that perhaps if you were planning to entertain this season..." She trailed off, her confidence shaken as I began to laugh.

"Me? Entertain guests? What a notion, my dear!" She did not seem to know whether to smile or be ashamed.

"How have you paid for all this?" I asked after my laughter had subsided.

"Out of my own salary, monsieur," she replied hastily.

"You will be reimbursed, then. I appreciate your efforts." I heard her sigh quietly in relief. "But I must tell you, I do not usually celebrate any holiday."

She seemed stricken. "Oh, I am so sorry, monsieur! I was so naive to assume." She looked to the ground, cheeks burning with shame.

"Oh, Christine, do not worry yourself about it," I said raising her chin so she looked at me once more. "I only ignored it because I was by myself, and saw no reason for all the trouble of the holidays. But now, since I have a companion, I suppose we'll have a nice little holiday season. Won't that be nice?"

She grinned, grateful to me for saving her from embarrassment. "Yes, it will be, monsieur." My hand fell away and we were silent for a moment, before she asked, "You'll not be having guests then, monsieur?" Curious, not mocking.

"No, I'm afraid it will only be the pair of us. I am acquainted with no one else in this city."

"I can take the mistletoe down, then," she said to herself more than to me. "I always thought it to be a bit silly, anyway." More silence.

And then I was on the outside looking in, as my body, of its own accord, leaned itself down and placed a light, almost paternal kiss on Christine's forehead. Then it took control of the vocal chords, forcing me to say, "I do hope you will enjoy your Christmas here."

Christine gazed back up at me, and suddenly I was drawn back into my body, left to deal with the consequences of so bold an act. Her blue eyes were wide and intense, filled with surprise, happiness and something else I could not quite read. I knew not if I had frightened her, intimidated her, or pleased her. Did she accept this behavior as normal? I hope she read into it no further than as a man's expression of fondness for his young ward, fondness, friendship, nothing more...

"I will, monsieur," she whispered tremulously. "Of course I will."