Mirage Beyond Flames (Coriola)

A Melinda De Ross Book

Mirage Beyond Flames

Copyright © November 2013, Author Melinda De Ross

Cover
Design: Classy Designs:
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Formatting: Ionut-Augustin
Coliolu

First
Copyright e-Publication: November 2013

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

Melinda De Ross

Mirage Beyond Flames

Coriola – Book One

To my dreams. Don’t ever leave me. Don’t ever disappoint me.

Part One – Revelation of L
ove

Chapter One

First, he was intrigued by her sunglasses. The big dark lenses completely hid her eyes and that caught his attention at once.

Outside
, the London sun was scorching; waves of heat distorted the images of buildings and streets. A few pedestrians moved like through dense syrup, wilting under the weight of a truly torrid day. Even traffic appeared as in a slow-motion picture - a fluid volatile mirage.

However, in
side the cool room colorful shutters attenuated and tamed the light, creating a diffuse glow. That, along with the air conditioning’s hum, created an almost domestic ambience.

Gerard
remained a silent spectator, studying from the doorway the woman who dominated the tableau. She was dressed in white, seemingly personifying an angel of mercy, whose messenger she’d actually been in the past three years, since the opening of HOPE – a center of research and treatment for children’s cancer.

Her
suit, consisting of pants and a sleeveless blouse, was wrinkled, thanks to the little ones who had gathered around her, holding toys and sweets, ever-present gifts from her visits. One of the children had managed to climb onto her lap. Gerard was surprised to notice she held and caressed him with maternal affection, not displaying the impersonal air of some celebrity who considered charity just another promotion gig.

Her hair was
long, almost reaching her waist, a blend of light brown and blond, similar to the color of his own short cut hair. It was gathered in a ponytail, falling carelessly on her shoulder. This look emphasized her somewhat aristocratic face, with elegant, well-defined cheekbones and sensual lips. She wore a pair of tiny diamond earrings.

Maybe the shades
are meant to make her appear mysterious or fend off unwanted interlocutors
, he thought cynically.

He knew her name was
Linda Coriola and she was an artist, a sculptress or something like that. Periodically, she made large donations to the clinic where he spent precious time researching experimental treatments against cancer.

She must have felt his stare, for
she turned her head toward him, remaining still for a heartbeat. He was aware of the figure he cut as he stood indolently propped in the doorway, with his tall, perfectly proportioned frame, his shoulders almost blocking the entry. He usually dressed simply in jeans and a dark shirt; today was no exception.

He
was often told his best feature were his eyes – bluish-green, highlighted by tanned and most often unshaven skin. A more poetic ex-girlfriend had once declaimed she could see an entire ocean in their depths, though he wasn’t inclined to notice anything exceptional in his appearance.

However, he was very observant
. Analyzing her face, he could almost read her reaction to his presence. He’d swear she was seized by the same strange symphony of emotions mirroring his, that same inexplicably powerful attraction. Judging by her expression, he sensed it was somewhat in contrast to the distant cautiousness people said she’d adopted since the unpleasant experience of her divorce, about a year before.

G
uessing her dilemma, he moved pleasantly forward, sending a warm smile to the children, who let out exclamations of joy seeing him. They formed an untidy circle around the two. He stretched out a hand in greeting.

“Bonjour!” he said
in his deep, slightly abrasive voice, spiced with a subtle French accent. “I am Gerard Leon.”

She looked
for a moment at his stretched hand, then returned the gesture.

“Linda Coriola. I
t’s nice meeting you, Mr. Leon.”

“Gerard,”
he corrected with half a smile. “We’ve never met before, but I’ve heard about you.”

She r
aised an eyebrow.

“I’m a biologist, I work here,”
he went on.

Heavy footsteps sounded on
the corridor and a plump nurse appeared in the doorway.

“Hello, Mr. Leon, Ms. Coriola! I’m here to take the children to lunch. Come on, sweethearts, wash your h
ands, food is waiting for you!” she addressed the group of children, who were already heading noisily to the door, saying goodbye to the adults.

After the children had left, Gerard
re-focused his attention on Linda, trying to find a conversation topic. Before he could open his mouth, he noticed the tip of her nose was red. From behind the dark lenses, a tear was sadly sliding down her smooth cheek.

He crouched in front of her
and, lifting her chin until their eyes were at the same level, asked worriedly:

“What’s wrong? Don’t you feel well? Do
you want me to call somebody, bring you a glass of water or something else?”

She
shook her head in denial, trying to turn her face away, but he was gently cupping her jaw between strong fingers, watching her interrogatively.

“No,”
she finally said, “I’m fine, it’s just that…”

She twisted again and again
a ring on her finger, as though trying to find a proper way to express herself without opening her heart too much in front of a stranger.

“Every
time I come here I get enormously sad, seeing their pale faces, the effects of chemotherapy and other horrible treatments, their eyes… Some still have hope, but others know or believe themselves to be doomed. I can see it in their shadowed eyes. It upsets me terribly I can’t help them more, I can’t give them what truly matters, meaning health and a normal life.”

While saying this
, Linda took a tissue out of her bag. Before she could protest, he took it from her hand. Slowly taking off her sunglasses, he wiped her tears himself with gentle, almost tender movements. He was vaguely wondering what had urged him to make such a bold gesture.

When she
opened her eyes, they looked at each other for the first time without any physical barrier between them.
Blue
was a much too banal description for her almond shaped eyes, which, although framed by red-rimmed eyelids and wet eyelashes, without any cosmetics applied, were stunning.

He had never felt such absurd disconcertedness as when
he found himself kneeling in front of the most attractive woman he’d ever met, having no clue about what to say or do next. After a few moments, he said:

“T
hese poor children’s fate is terrible, but don’t think for a moment you’re not helping them. On the contrary, your donations contribute enormously to expenses for research, treatments, medication, to ensure a pleasant environment for them.”

Without realizing, he took her hand in his.

“You and I both fight in our own way for the same cause. It makes a difference, you know. For them it’s vital there are still people who care. Most of the others prefer hiding behind an insensitive wall of ignorance.”

Linda smiled,
seemingly warmed by what he was saying and by his palms cupping hers.

“I know you’re right, Mr. Leon,
but in cases like this it’s never enough. Anyway, what you’re doing for them is much more important. I gathered you’re experimenting a new vaccine or serum, which has already given promising results. A single saved life means more than all the money I could offer.”

“Without the money you offer there wouldn’t be research laboratories, equipment, resources,
nothing,” he replied, getting to his feet. “And please stop addressing me as
Mister
Leon, I feel like a decrepit old man,” he went on smiling. “I don’t think I’m
that
much older than you. I know it’s not polite to ask a lady how old she is, so I’ll tell you I’m thirty-six, you calculate the difference and if you’d like, you can share it with me.”

She laughed softly,
appearing amazed by the spontaneity of this sound she rarely heard between these walls. And hopefully because the stranger in front of her had managed to amuse, perhaps even comfort her after only a few word exchanges.

“I’m not yet at the age women get se
nsitive regarding this subject,” she finally answered. “I’m twenty-eight.”

“Hmm,
so the age difference is ideal,” he replied watching her meditatively.

“Ideal for what?”

“To drink a coffee together.”

He
stretched out a hand to help her rise. Detecting a shadow of hesitation, he added:

“I want to tell you about the project I’m working on. I think it w
ould be in your best interest to know what happens to the money you work so hard for. Don’t you agree?”

Clearly r
ecognizing the bait for what it was, but probably unable to resist the famous French charm and her own curiosity, Linda got up, straightening her clothes.

“If you replac
e the coffee with ice cream, your offer gets even more tempting. Where do you suppose we could go in this heat?”

O
pening the door for her, he touched her elbow slightly, saying:

“There’s a cafeteria close from here, I go there from time to time with s
ome of my little patients. The good news is we don’t have to walk in the sun, the whole street is shadowed by trees and buildings. You’ll like it.”

Chapter Two

As soon as they left the clinic’s cool oasis, the afternoon air became almost unbreathable, hot and dry – a rarely encountered phenomena in London. Gerard indicated the way to the cafeteria which, fortunately, was indeed nearby. He went on holding her arm, barely touching it.

The street was deserted, except for a few pedestrian
s walking drowsily, hurrying toward cool refuges. When they reached the cafeteria, its gliding doors opened and a wave of chilly air enveloped them at the entry. An appetizing smell of sweets, pastries and other delicacies spiced the air.

The cafeteria was qu
ite large, done in pastels, having wooden floors and walls covered in beige wallpaper. From the ceiling swayed old-fashioned chandeliers, which perfectly completed the ambient, conferring it a slightly archaic air, along with the sculptured wooden tables and chairs. The only modern-looking sector was the refrigerated display cases area, revealing shelves filled with culinary masterpieces: cakes, cookies, ice cream, pastries, plus a variety of sodas and fruit juice, more or less natural.

After a meticulous inspect
ion, Linda chose vanilla ice cream and two éclairs. Gerard followed her example, a gesture she found oddly gallant.

They sat at a far-corner table, next to a huge ficus tree
, whose shiny leafs stood proof that living in semi-shadow and sweet smell highly benefited the plant.

Gerard pulled a chair for her before he sat at the round table.

“Hmm!” she exclaimed when the first spoon of flavored ice cream deliciously melted on her tongue. ”I haven’t eaten ice cream this good since childhood. Those disguised chemicals they sell in our days can’t compare with this!”

Gerard
’s eyes rested on her in a way that hinted he was savoring both the ice cream and her company.

“I gather you haven’t been in a cafeteria in a long time
, am I right?” he asked, approaching the éclairs.

“I haven’t, in a very long time. Unfortunately, lately I’ve been working too hard and forgot to enjoy the small pleasures of life.”

“Would I seem indiscreet if I asked why?”

She
looked at him a bit surprised, then answered amused:

“Are you always so straight-
forward?”

“Yes, although some people call me
nosy
. Is it because of your divorce? I heard something at the clinic. If you don’t wanna talk about it, you can just tell me to mind my own business. I hear that all the time, but it doesn’t stop me from asking questions.”