Read Online No Return: A Contemporary Phantom Tale by Christine Pope - Free Book Online
Authors: Christine Pope
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grown even wilder and more diverse as the evening progressed. But he sat in a sort of dark eddy away from the crowd, observing but not really a part of it.
“Is there anything else you need?” I asked.
He turned then and looked up at me, and again I could feel my breath catch in my throat. Something about the gleam of those eyes behind the mask made it hard to think straight. But he said only, “If I think of anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
I managed to muster a smile. “You know where to find me.”
“Indeed I do.”
The exchange seemed innocuous enough, but again I found myself searching for a suspicious subtext in his words. Still, it was enough of a dismissal that I could make my escape and go on to tend the other customers at my station. But even as I went about my tasks I could feel his eyes still on me, watchful behind the half-mask that hid everything save what he cared to reveal to the world.
Christine...
He finally was willing to believe in the mercy of God. Finally, tonight he had seen her, spoken with her, even managed to touch her delicate hand as she struggled with the bottle of wine he had ordered.
The photos were nothing, liars that had done nothing to convey the luminosity of her fair skin, the hidden auburn gleam in her dark curls, the subtle dimple at the corner of her cheek. Even less had they been able to convey her quiet wry humor, the gleam of intelligence in her blue-gray eyes, or the pretty lilt of her voice. That he had been able to sit here, conversing with her in the merciful half-darkness of L’Opera , seemed nothing short of a miracle.
He was able to watch her as she bustled about, expertly removing dishes or placing steaming plates of food in front of her patrons, all the while gleaming like a princess in her white and gold gown, ropes of pearls glimmering in the dusky glory of her hair. She reminded him of some of the old fairy tales he’d read when he was a child, of the princess in exile, forced to do menial chores but still retaining her innate nobility and grace.
It was all he could do not to take her from this place, here and now, but of course that was not feasible. No, he could only sit and make himself enjoy the truly excellent wine and quite passable veal, when all the while his true nourishment came from watching her.
He watched as more couples took to the dance floor at the rear of the restaurant. God, what he would give to hold her in his arms, feel her body pressed against his! But that had to be impossible—she was working this evening, and surely that would be a heinous breach of protocol?
She appeared to remove his empty plate, and asked if he would care for dessert or perhaps a cappuccino or espresso?
What he wanted was for her to sit at his table and share the last glass of wine from his bottle, but of course that was even less likely than taking her on to the dance floor. Still, anything to prolong the evening—
“An espresso, and a tiramisu,” he said in response to her question. He actually did not care much for dessert as a rule, but it was a good way to pad the bill.
She took the order and disappeared into the kitchen, collecting a few additional requests for coffee and drink refills along the way. He admired the easy, casual way she was able to work with people, as if it were perfectly natural for a being with the looks and voice of an angel to wait on others like a common serving girl.
More than ever he was convinced that what he planned was the only true, right way for Christine. She was too good for this world, and if fate had been cruel enough to force her into servitude, then it was his place to combat fate and take her where she would be utterly secure and protected, where her enormous gifts could be nurtured and cherished.
In her absence the costume contest commenced, with a man who appeared to be the restaurant owner acting as master of ceremonies. He was dressed as Mephistopheles and certainly looked the part, right
“Is there anything else you need?” I asked.
He turned then and looked up at me, and again I could feel my breath catch in my throat. Something about the gleam of those eyes behind the mask made it hard to think straight. But he said only, “If I think of anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
I managed to muster a smile. “You know where to find me.”
“Indeed I do.”
The exchange seemed innocuous enough, but again I found myself searching for a suspicious subtext in his words. Still, it was enough of a dismissal that I could make my escape and go on to tend the other customers at my station. But even as I went about my tasks I could feel his eyes still on me, watchful behind the half-mask that hid everything save what he cared to reveal to the world.
Christine...
He finally was willing to believe in the mercy of God. Finally, tonight he had seen her, spoken with her, even managed to touch her delicate hand as she struggled with the bottle of wine he had ordered.
The photos were nothing, liars that had done nothing to convey the luminosity of her fair skin, the hidden auburn gleam in her dark curls, the subtle dimple at the corner of her cheek. Even less had they been able to convey her quiet wry humor, the gleam of intelligence in her blue-gray eyes, or the pretty lilt of her voice. That he had been able to sit here, conversing with her in the merciful half-darkness of L’Opera , seemed nothing short of a miracle.
He was able to watch her as she bustled about, expertly removing dishes or placing steaming plates of food in front of her patrons, all the while gleaming like a princess in her white and gold gown, ropes of pearls glimmering in the dusky glory of her hair. She reminded him of some of the old fairy tales he’d read when he was a child, of the princess in exile, forced to do menial chores but still retaining her innate nobility and grace.
It was all he could do not to take her from this place, here and now, but of course that was not feasible. No, he could only sit and make himself enjoy the truly excellent wine and quite passable veal, when all the while his true nourishment came from watching her.
He watched as more couples took to the dance floor at the rear of the restaurant. God, what he would give to hold her in his arms, feel her body pressed against his! But that had to be impossible—she was working this evening, and surely that would be a heinous breach of protocol?
She appeared to remove his empty plate, and asked if he would care for dessert or perhaps a cappuccino or espresso?
What he wanted was for her to sit at his table and share the last glass of wine from his bottle, but of course that was even less likely than taking her on to the dance floor. Still, anything to prolong the evening—
“An espresso, and a tiramisu,” he said in response to her question. He actually did not care much for dessert as a rule, but it was a good way to pad the bill.
She took the order and disappeared into the kitchen, collecting a few additional requests for coffee and drink refills along the way. He admired the easy, casual way she was able to work with people, as if it were perfectly natural for a being with the looks and voice of an angel to wait on others like a common serving girl.
More than ever he was convinced that what he planned was the only true, right way for Christine. She was too good for this world, and if fate had been cruel enough to force her into servitude, then it was his place to combat fate and take her where she would be utterly secure and protected, where her enormous gifts could be nurtured and cherished.
In her absence the costume contest commenced, with a man who appeared to be the restaurant owner acting as master of ceremonies. He was dressed as Mephistopheles and certainly looked the part, right
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