Mirage Beyond Flames (Coriola) (9 page)

“What’s wrong?”

“I just applied my lipstick. I wanna make a good impression to your mom, I didn’t want to wipe…”

She wasn’t able to finish the sentence because
his lips crushed hers in a deep stormy kiss, his arms pressing her close to his body, with untamed passion.

“All nig
ht I’ve dreamed only about this - your lips, your naked body next to mine,” he whispered. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Linda, but I’m addicted to you like air. I want you more than I could imagine it’s possible.”

“I feel the same way,
baby, and you have no idea how much that scares me,” she replied breathless, nestling against his strong chest, where it seemed the very center of her universe had taken residence.

He lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes.

“Why should you be scared of something so wonderful, the feelings we share together?”

She hid
her face again into his chest.

“Because it’s something new, because I’ve never felt this in my life, because I’m afraid…”

“Of what?”

“Not to be hurt. Not to hurt you if
our relationship isn’t gonna work.”

He slightly stepped
back from her.

“
Linda, I understand you were hurt by your ex-husband…”

“It’s not about
that,” she interrupted. “Tony didn’t hurt me, not the way you assume. Now I realize I don’t even think I loved him, not the way I… I never felt for him even a fraction of what I feel for you. It’s just that, I don’t know why, I began to avoid obligations, to cherish the independence which I totally lacked when I was with him.”

Gerard watched her skeptically while sh
e took out a little mirror and lipstick from her purse, trying to apply it with a not-so-steady hand.

“And do you honestly
think having a serious relationship with me would affect your independence?” he asked her in a tone that made the idea seem juvenile and stupid.

She moved her eyes from the mirror to him.

“I don’t know. Maybe not. Gerard, this is not the time to discuss it. What matters is today. Today we’re together and we’re fine. We have all the time in the world to analyze things, to know each other better. Right?”

As though
he deciphered the confusion and plea in her voice, he displayed a slightly forced smile and said:

“You’re right, my love.
Let’s go, I don’t want my mom greeting us with a lecture because we’re late.”

She was in the middle of a deep breath of relief when he added:

“I’ll abandon the subject for a while, but I’ll leave you with one last thought. I’m determined to break down all the barriers standing between us. I want to have you whole, Linda. Not only your body, but your soul as well.”

Chapter Ten

The road became a real pleasure once they passed the sectors where rush hour traffic
was more intense. The Jeep slid smoothly on the highway. From the speakers, Bon Jovi proclaimed his anonymous eternal love in a sensual, abrasive voice.

“I’ve always loved car rides, b
ut only having a flawless driver,” said Linda, looking through the window at the oscillating landscapes, always in motion.

“And
do I qualify?” he teased.

“Yes,”
she answered truthfully. “You’re an amazing driver.”She cleared her voice and went on:

“If you’ve proceeded to… invite me to meet your mother, tell me something about her. What does she do, what kind of person is she? Y
ou didn’t even tell me her name.”

Gerard lowered
the CD player’s volume to facilitate conversation.

“Well, let’s start with the essentials: her name is Chantalle Leon, she was a French te
acher almost all her life. Now she’s retired. She lives in her sister’s house – my aunt Sophie – who was also widowed many years ago. Her husband, an Englishman called Thomas Barry, died in a terrible car crash. Ever since that time, my mother and Sophie are sharing auntie’s house. They’re both fanatical gardeners, they have some huge, impressive gardens and started a small business, selling floral arrangements. Both of them make sachets, and my mother is a true artist at handmade jewelry. She’s always trying to stuff my pockets with stones and other paraphernalia, which are supposed to protect my aura or something…”

She
smiled, smoothing her dress.

“You don’t beli
eve in these things?”

“I believe in the
individual’s self-protection. The rest depends on God, fate, you name it. But, first of all, I think our destiny depends on us.”

“Inte
resting point of view. I agree.”

“In an
y case, if mom gives you a charm or any other thing, accept it, even if it freaks you out and you’ll put it in a dark corner,” he advised. “Otherwise she’ll feel very offended.”

“Thank God you told me!”
she joked. “The last thing I want is to become your mother’s enemy or get on her bad side. Anyway, I’m not so rude as to refuse a gift. You really made me curious. Your mother seems like an extremely interesting woman.”

“You’ll meet her right away,”
he replied focusing his gaze ahead, beyond the windshield. “We’re almost there.”

He took a corner, ge
tting on a road – more like a country path – bordered by trees, at the end of which was a house.

Linda
noticed that, around here, houses were located at three or four miles distance from one another. That gave the entire area an intimate, even isolated appearance.

The building toward
which they were headed was simple, painted white. As they got closer, the house seemed stranded in the middle of a green abyss.

“You weren’t kidding when you said she’
s got some impressive gardens,” she remarked admiringly. “The surrounding property is enormous!”

He smiled, stopping
the car behind another one, parked along the small driveway facing the house.

“The property is not so big. I
t just seems that way compared to the house, which is tiny. It’s got only two bedrooms and, as you can see, one storey.”

“But it’s so pretty,” she said, studying
the white building, with a dark red roof and matching windows and door-frames. “Looks like Snow White’s house!”

Gerard got out of the
car then opened her door. Hand in hand, they headed toward the little house. Linda was throwing curious glances all around, marveling at the sight of shrubs, trees, bushes and floral arrangements – veritable vegetation masterpieces.

The door opened and a woman appeared
smiling widely, exuding an almost palpable energy. She was short, a tad plump, with blonde unruly hair and inquiring brown eyes.

“Welcome, my darlings!” she exclaimed, embracing first her son, then Linda. As she’d expected
, the woman’s eyes watched her with interest, but not in the upsetting, analytical way she was used to. Linda was already starting to like her.

“Mom, this is Linda Coriola. S
he is…”

“I know who you are, dear,” the woman interrupted. “I recognized you right away, I saw your picture in the newspaper a while back. I can see you’re a real beauty!”

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Leon,” Linda replied smiling. “It’s a pleasure meeting you!”

“Call me Chantalle, please, darling. Come on in!”

Inside was cool and a sweet light revealed a somewhat exotic décor. The furniture, the rugs and drapes were old fashioned, but of an excellent taste and quality, just like the traditional chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Paintings and all sorts of decorative objects were strategically placed. Linda was sure Chantalle - perhaps her sister too - had manufactured them.

Chantalle led the couple
to the living room. In front of a window – beyond which laid their vast botanical garden – were two small sofas, a square table between them. This corner seemed to Linda like a piece of Heaven.

Chantalle urged them t
o have a seat, then brought some strawberry juice made by her.

“I’ve never tasted something so delicious,” said Linda sincerely.

“Thank you, darling,” replied the woman, sitting on the other sofa, facing them. “We have a small strawberry plantation. There’s nothing like home-cooked food. Sophie should soon finish preparing lunch. She’ll be joining us in just a moment. Until then, tell me about yourselves. I understand you’ve met at the clinic.”

Linda glanced at Gerard, who buried his nose in the juice glass.

“Yes,” she answered. “I have been making donations there for a while. Since I live in London now, I want to get involved more I try to help in any way I can curing or at least comforting those poor children.”

Chantalle watched her for a moment, then said:

“You have a kind, generous soul. Few rich people think to give away even a penny of their fortune, not to mention do all the good you are doing.”

Linda laughed softly
, tracing the floral pattern on the glass with her finger.

“I’m not that rich, Mrs. Leon –
Chantalle,” she corrected. “I had the luck to be born in a family with a good financial status and the privilege – which few have – to follow my inclination toward sculpture. Art pays pretty well too.”

“Everywhere you see so-called
artists
without any talent who are starving. If you’re paid well, it means you got some real talent there. Besides, I also saw in the newspaper some photos of your sculptures. You have something… special, a style wearing your fingerprint. It’s no wonder my boy has fallen for you.”

Linda, who was just sipping some juice, choked and coughed noisily, splattering droplets of juice and panic.

Gerard laughed, gently patting her back.

“Mom, please, stop it! Linda is not used to your… direct approach. Please excuse my m
other. She’s used to telling things straight forward and sometimes that’s bothersome.”

“Why should she be bothered, dear?” Chantalle was scandalized. “Or don’t you love my son?”

Linda, who had barely managed to recover her breath just to lose it again groping for a non-incriminating answer, was saved by Sophie, who appeared in the doorway.

Gerard stood and embraced her tightly, exclaiming:

“Auntie, you finally bless us with your presence! Let me introduce someone. Linda, this is my aunt Sophie.”

Linda got to her feet to shake the woman’s hand. She was a
suppler brown-haired version of Chantalle’s, wearing a pink apron tied around her waist.

“It’s so good to meet you, Mrs. Sophie. I’m Linda Coriola.”

Sophie took her hands in hers, analyzing her from over the top of her glasses.

“You seem familiar, dear.
”

“She’s the sculptress we saw in the paper,” Chantalle intervened. “Don’t you remem
ber admiring one of her statues? The one you said that resembled Gerard.”

“It’s a representation of Apollo,” Linda clarified.

“Oh, I remember now,” Sophie said and her face lit up even more. “I’m so happy to meet you, dear. Welcome to our humble home. But how come you know our boy?”

“She’s his girlfriend,” Chantalle clarified again, before Linda can say a word. “Will you bring that food this year or shall I come and help?”

“No need, I’ll serve lunch right away,” answered Sophie, her hands on the youths’ shoulders, then hurried back to the kitchen.

“An Apollo who looks like me?” Gerard asked, raising an eyebrow.

Linda sighed and shook her head, whispering:

“Drop it…
”

“Not a chance. I can’t wait to see the exhibit.”

The meal was excellent, the food simple but
very tasty: chicken soup, juicy steak with mashed potatoes and a delicious strawberry pie.

C
onversation flowed smoothly. Linda discovered she liked very much the two women, who were energetic, funny, completely indiscrete and always making spicy comments.

Sophie and her husband hadn’t had children because of her incurable sterility. So the woman looked at Gerard as
if he was her own son. He seemed perfectly happy to have two mothers: a biological one and a surrogate one, being loved and spoiled by both of them. The women overwhelmed him with questions regarding his work, as well as his personal life.

“Did you finish developing that s
nake venom treatment?” his mother asked.

“More or less.
I’ve already obtained promising results and I have hopes for another treatment. Next week, Linda and I leave for Romania.”

Three pairs of big eyes stared at him in amazement
. Two voices exclaimed simultaneously:

“Romania?”

“
We
?” asked a third voice, accentuating the word. No one took any notice.