Chapter 41
Dafne wasn't sure how long she had been sitting in the bath, long enough for the water to cool and she was beginning to shiver. But she had no intention of getting out or leaving the bathroom. She wasn't ready to face the world. She still consumed with facing herself.
Silvio had helped her home. He had supported her the whole way as if she had been physically injured. But there was nothing wrong with her body, except that her mind was a mess and she had not been able to stop crying. She had cried until she could no longer produce anymore tears.
She had washed her face but her eyes were still raw and scratchy as testament. She was only dimly aware of her own discomfort, the irritation of her eyes, the goose pimples on her arms. Her mind was a well of pain and doubt and she had no will to climb out. So she stayed there, with thoughts bouncing off the walls and echoing almost tauntingly.
She had lost Resa. Her friend had turned her back on her and it was her own fault. She had chosen Basta, someone she couldn't fully trust to do the right thing. He was someone who could end up disappointing her as deeply as she had done Resa.
"Stupid," she croaked in her now hoarse voice, soft as a whisper but full of self-condemnation.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, echoed her head.
She hugged her knees tighter to her chest but there was no comfort in the press of her body against itself. It was a reminder of her loneliness. There would be no Resa coming to comfort her, to embrace her, to give her a reassuring smile, a message of hope. No more Resa, not for her.
Silvio had knocked on the door a little while ago, calling her name in concern.
"Just go see the dogs okay," she had said as brightly as she could, like a parent shooing their child out to play. Like a parent who wanted to keep their pain a secret, even though it was a little too late. Silvio had seen it all unfold. But besides delivering her home, he couldn't help her. It wasn't his burden either. He was better off forgetting her and going off to play with the dogs.
"No I'm going to stay," he insisted, "I don't want to leave you here alone."
"I want to be alone so just go," Dafne had said, the frustration making her voice sharp, sharp enough to make him resign his post outside the door.
"Okay," Silvio had said, the hurt in his voice evident despite the barrier between them, "I'll leave you alone."
She regretted her harshness immediately, hearing his tread on the stairs and thinking here was another person she had forced away. But she knew Silvio would forgive her easily, that was the way he was. It would be harder to forgive herself.
There came another knock on the door.
"Dafne," the voice wasn't Silvio's. It was Basta's. It struck her the way he said her name. It was soft and careful and knowing. He knew what had happened. Silvio must have told him everything when he got in, everything from the boy's perspective that was.
She didn't answer. He was the last person she wanted to talk to. He was her problem and she couldn't deal with him right now.
But Basta was persistent. He knocked again, spoke her name again. She didn't answer again.
She heard him sigh.
"Dafne," he said, "I know you're in there."
So what if you do, Dafne thought rebelliously, it doesn't mean I have to answer you or come out. She pressed her lips together more tightly.
He sighed again. She heard the impatience building in it. She expected him to start yelling at her soon.
"Dafne," he said, his voice firm but had not yet risen in anger, "If you don't answer me, I'm going to assume you're drowning and I'm going to break the door down."
Dafne didn't even pause to consider this a bluff.
"No don't come in here!" she cried immediately, her hand scrambling to reach for her towel in case he went ahead with it.
Outside Basta laughed, relief mixed with amusement.
"Good you're alive. You had me worried."
Dafne scowled; annoyed he had gotten her to talk. He also knew what to threaten her with to keep her talking.
"Silvio told me," Basta went on to say, his voice becoming more serious, "He told me what happened with Resa."
"I don't want to talk about it," Dafne snapped, burying her face against her knees, her lank wet hair falling like a curtain.
"That's fine," Basta said soothingly. He probably preferred not to discuss it either, "But Silvio says you've been in there for ages. You should really come out now."
Dafne brushed her hair back off her face angrily,
"No."
"Why not?" Basta said in a calm voice she hated because he sounded rational, "You're going to catch a chill if you don't. You're not a nymph," he chuckled at this reference, "You can't sit in a cold bath all night."
"I can if I want," Dafne retorted, feeling childish, especially when her body chose that aggravating moment to shudder. It was cold. It was uncomfortable. But the alternative was going out and facing Basta.
In the end he decided not to give her any option.
"Let me put it this way," he threatened her pleasantly, "If you don't come out of your own accord, I'll come in and get you myself. It's no burden for me really. I'd like to see naked."
Dafne stood up and wrapped the towel around her both resentfully and quickly,
"It would be the last time if you do," she said to man behind the door who she assumed was grinning, "I can assure you of that."
"So come out then," Basta said cheerfully though he had probably heard her getting up, "Because that would be a shame."
Dafne threw on her dress and dried her hair as best she could. It would have been useful if Basta had a hairdryer but he didn't. So her hair had to stay damp and tangled. But at the moment she didn't care much for her appearance. Her eyes staring back at her the mirror were still red.
Let him see, a part of her said, let him see how wretched you are. What's the point of hiding it? He's supposed to care about you.
She kept this in mind and opened the door. She caught a glimpse of happy anticipation on his face but as soon as he took her in, it changed to one of pity.
"Poor little mouse," he murmured, moving towards her.
She drew back, not ready to have him hold her.
He halted at her retreat,
"I was only..." he trailed off, looking hurt.
He was only trying to comfort her. Dafne understood this but at the same time she pictured Resa's mimicry of him in her head, imaginary knife held up. Her eyes slid to where his real knife was sheathed. How many times today had that knife been waved at an innocent? Perhaps none but the fact was she didn't know and Basta wasn't likely to tell her.
A simple embrace couldn't dispel her fear that Resa was right, that he couldn't change or rather he didn't want to. Yes, he cared about her. But if he couldn't extend this compassion to others there was no point.
"Resa's the one you're fighting with," Basta went on, hurt changing to bitterness in the wake of her silence, "Don't take it out on me."
"She hates me because I'm dating you," Dafne said bitterly.
Basta snorted rather contemptuously,
"I don't see why that's such a big deal to her? Is she jealous or something?"
"Why would she be jealous?" Dafne snapped, "She never liked you."
Basta flinched and Dafne regretted speaking the truth so harshly. He had been in love with Resa after all.
"Thanks for reminding me," he said sarcastically, "I had quite forgotten."
Dafne doubted he would ever forget Resa's rejection. If anyone knew how to keep a grudge, it was him. One only had to look at his feud with Dustfinger.
"Then why did you think she was jealous?" she said.
"I meant jealous of me," Basta growled, "Because I took you away from her."
It struck Dafne that Basta was saying this because he was reading himself into Resa's place. He seemed to have trouble understanding other people's motivations. He couldn't understand that Resa wasn't motivated by pettiness.
"That's not it at all," she told him, "It's because she thinks I've made a mistake."
Basta frowned,
"A mistake?"
"Being with you. She thinks you can't change," Dafne said, "Even though I told her I believed you could."
Basta was quiet for a moment.
"What's it to her," he said finally, dismissively, "Who cares what she thinks."
"I do," Dafne said softly. She wasn't just that she cared what Resa thought, it was that her concerns mirrored her own. The exception was that Resa's viewpoint was wholly pessimistic.
"Well you shouldn't," Basta said, "You should care more what I think."
"And what do you think?" Dafne asked him.
"I think we need to spend more time together," he said, "Alone. Not with the boy and not with the idiots I have to work with. That was what tonight was for, remember?"
"I know," Dafne sighed. She did remember.
"Don't you want to spend time with me?" Basta said sadly.
"I do," Dafne said, "It's just hard because I'm always thinking about what's going to happen at the end."
"You don't need to worry," Basta assured her hastily, "I would never force you to do anything you didn't want to. I didn't mean anything by it when I said I wanted to see you naked before..."
"That's not what I meant," Dafne said with slight embarrassment, "I meant what's going to happen in a month's time."
There could be no misunderstanding. She could only be referring to one thing.
"Oh," Basta said with almost grim realisation, "That."
He sighed heavily.
"It's my decision," he said with a flicker of frustration, "You don't need to think about it."
"Yes it is your decision," Dafne replied, "But unlike me, you don't seem to be thinking about it all."
"How would you know," Basta snapped, indignant at her allegation, "You can't tell what goes on in my head."
"Well you certainly don't act like you want to leave the village," Dafne said.
"That's because I don't," Basta retorted, "The point is I'd be doing it for you, a woman who would rather spend her time worrying than spending it with me."
Dafne felt a pang of guilt. She hadn't really put much effort into their present relationship. Why would he want to leave the village with her if she didn't show any interest in being with him?
"You do want to be with me?" Basta asked, "Don't you?"
She looked into his anxious face, deliberating her answer. She regretted agreeing to the trial. She could have admitted this now. But that wasn't the question. The question was whether she wanted to be with him. The truth was that she did. Why else would she agonise so much about what could happen?
"I do," she said.
"Then act like it," Basta said, not without a trace of annoyance though he mostly looked relieved.
He crossed the gap between them and put a hand on her face,
"Come downstairs and just be with me. Stop fretting about everything for one night."
Dafne nodded, though she doubted her brain could easily be switched off worry mode. But she would try for his sake and for the sake of wanting to be with him.
"Okay."
Basta smiled, his fingers stroking her face. Then he frowned.
"You're so cold," he said scoldingly, alluding to her extended stay in the bath, "And your hair is wet."
Dafne shrugged, noting the abundance of goose bumps on her arms.
"There's not much I can do about that."
Basta shook his head like a reproving parent.
"Wait here," he said, disappearing into the bedroom.
He returned with one of his shirts.
"Here put this on," he ordered her, taking his jacket off and handing that over too, "And this. I don't want you catching a cold and giving it to me."
Dafne rolled her eyes as she drew the jacket around her.
"How thoughtful of you."
"Well I don't want either of us getting sick," he nodded approvingly at the layers, "That's better."
Dafne had to admit she was now considerably warmer.
"Where's Silvio?" she asked once they had gotten downstairs.
"I made him go to bridge like he was supposed to," Basta replied, "He didn't want to but I put my foot down."
Dafne still felt awful for having spoken to the boy the way she had. If he had been there, she would have apologised straight away. But it would have to wait.
It was just the two of them now which is what Basta had wanted.
"See," he said, pointing at the kitchen table, "I got us some nice wine."
Dafne eyed the bottle a little uneasily.
"Where did you get that?" she said.
She really wanted to ask him who he had coerced to obtain it.
"It was given to me," Basta replied.
Dafne raised an eyebrow.
"Oh really?"
Basta scowled at her scepticism.
"Yes really."
"From who?" Dafne pressed him.
"A farmer."
"A farmer just gave you a bottle of wine?"
"Well not me exactly," Basta admitted, "It was part of his tribute to Capricorn. But there was a whole crate so..." he eyed her reproachfully, "Don't start on me. He's been giving us wine for years so it's not as if I went out of my way to make him hand it over. No knife or anything."
Dafne sighed,
"I suppose that's somewhat of a relief," she said.
Basta brightened, taking this as a sign she wasn't going to start lecturing him.
"It's really good," he insisted, "I wanted the best because the first date is important."
"Oh so this is date," Dafne said, amused, "I thought we were having a lesson."
"It can be both can't it?" Basta said, looking at her hopefully.
"It can," Dafne said, pointing at the table which had nothing on it save for the wine, "Except I don't see any paper."
"Paper?" said Basta blankly.
"Yes paper," Dafne said, "I can't teach you how to write without any paper."
Basta looked sheepish.
"Oh yes paper. I forgot."
She wondered if this was the truth. Surely if he had expected them to have a lesson he would have anticipated them needing this fundamental requirement. There was something else missing too.
"And pens," she said, "I don't see any pens."
Basta cringed at this observation.
"I forgot them too."
"I see," Dafne murmured with a note of reproach in her voice.
Basta shifted uncomfortably. He could probably tell that she didn't believe him.
"I'll go get some shall I?"
Dafne smiled,
"That would be nice."
Basta nodded, not looking at all like he particularly wanted to.
"I'll be back soon."
Heading to the door, he glanced back at her hopefully as if she might change her mind. But there no way she was going to do that. He sighed,
"You can open up the wine while you're waiting. Try not to think about where it's come from."
She ended up following his suggestion, pouring two glasses. But she held off drinking until he returned. Instead she began rummaging through his pockets. There was no premeditation in the act, at least that's what she assured herself. She was simply curious. The first items were unsurprising; his cigarettes and his lighter. Next there was a small tin containing peppermint leaves.
So that's why his breath smells the way it does, she thought, why doesn't he just chew gum?
But what she pulled out next eclipsed the curiosity of the tin. It was Basta's beloved keys. The keys entrusted to him by Capricorn. She could barely believe she was holding them. These were the very keys Resa had wanted Dustfinger to steal. She was suddenly gripped with indecision. What should she do now that she had them? She hadn't expected them to fall so easily into her clutches.
Basta was gone. For how long she had no idea. Would she have time to... She closed her hand around the keys, their edges digging into her flesh. Time for what? Take the keys to Dustfinger? He could be anywhere. He could be at the lot but even then Basta could return before she got back. Then she would in deep, deep trouble.
Even in the unlikely event she managed to return before he did, how long would it take him to notice his keys were missing and fly into a panic, sound the alarm? She doubted Dustfinger would have time to steal over to Capricorn's, steal into the house, steal past Orlanda and Mortola and liberate Resa and Netta. Such a plan couldn't be done spur of the moment.
It was frustrating, having the keys in her hand and knowing she couldn't make use of them.
But at least I know where he keeps them, she tried to think optimistically, there's no reason why I couldn't get him to give me his jacket again and...
She frowned. A moment ago she had been committed to spending the evening with Basta, to show that she cared for him. The next she was plotting to steal his keys behind his back and abet an escape. If such an escape succeeded, Basta would take the blame because they were his keys. She would be putting him in danger. How could she consider doing that? On the other hand, if she had an opportunity to help Resa (Netta as well), shouldn't she take it?
She was torn. But there was nothing she could do about it tonight. She stowed the keys and all the rest back in their place. Afterwards she reached for her glass, abandoning restraint for light-headedness.
To be continued...