after Mass; how quickly he became the brightest star in my dark and empty sky.
Within a few short weeks it seemed to me that I thought of nothing but him and that time was measured by the deadly length of hours which separated our secret assignations. For eight years I had lived like a nun; perhaps it was inevitable that I should fall in love with the first handsome man to look on me once more with desire.
He knew my history, of course. There were only too many eager to relate the grisly details in the hope of sparing a good-looking young man the curse of my kiss. Stubbornly he ignored the warnings of doom and continued to present himself each Sunday at the end of my pew. I would place my hand upon his sleeve and sweep down the nave, displaying haughty indifference and defiance to those who watched with disapproval.
He was younger than I, with firm, well-sculptured features and eyes that were inclined to stare with scorn at people he despised. And he despised most of Boscherville, dismissing its inhabitants as provincial and bigoted. The few patients he had managed to acquire were soon irritated by his arrogant and rather abrasive manner and his association with me ensured that he added no more to his practice. I myself quickly learned to defer to his opinions, finding our time together too precious to be wasted in argument. I lived in constant fear that he would abandon what he referred to as "this tedious little backwater" and return to do research in Paris. His restless intelligence and intolerant impatience were far better suited to the laboratory than the drawing room of a querulous patient. It was only a question of time before he came to accept that himself.
He was insatiably curious about Erik, asking me deep and probing questions and often making notes of my replies. His interest, he assured me, was purely scientific; he wished to build up a case study. Repeatedly he asked to see the child, but that, for many reasons, I would not permit. At the back of my mind an uneasy feeling was growing that he would not hesitate to pin Erik to a dissecting table in order to satisfy his curiosity.
"Madeleine," he chided gently, as I increasingly shied away from his persistent inquiries, "you must not be so suspicious of the scientific mind. I thought you trusted me."
I looked away. I was growing to love the man, but I did not trust the scientist; I feared the lust for knowledge that lurked like a ravening wolf in his cool blue eyes.
Rising from his sofa, I walked away to the window, staring out at the village green and the old church which towered to the sky just beyond.
"You ask too many questions," I murmured.
"Of course!" He tossed the notebook aside and came to stand beside me, throwing off the impersonal, clinical manner like a soiled apron. "Insatiable curiosity is not a very attractive quality I'm afraid. Forgive me, Madeleine."
His hand was insistent on my arm, but I did not turn to look at him.
"Sometimes I think all you want from me is answers." I sighed.
He turned me slowly around until I faced him.
"Not all," he said.
And kissed me.
"Who is that man?" Erik demanded abruptly.
He was waiting for me in the hall as I let myself into the house, and there was a hard accusing look in his eyes as he stared at me.
"Who is that man?" he repeated stonily, when I failed to answer. "Why does he walk with you alone?"
It was almost four months since I first met Etienne, but I had been very careful that Erik should not see us together. Obviously tonight I had not been careful enough.
"If I choose to walk with a man it is no concern of yours!" I retorted angrily.
Hanging up my cloak, I made to walk past him, but he blocked my path to the drawing room and suddenly I knew a moment of intense fear. He stood as high as my shoulder now and was deceptively strong in spite of his skeletal frame.
"Who is he, Mother?"
It was the first time he had ever used that word to address me, and the contempt in his voice was quite
Within a few short weeks it seemed to me that I thought of nothing but him and that time was measured by the deadly length of hours which separated our secret assignations. For eight years I had lived like a nun; perhaps it was inevitable that I should fall in love with the first handsome man to look on me once more with desire.
He knew my history, of course. There were only too many eager to relate the grisly details in the hope of sparing a good-looking young man the curse of my kiss. Stubbornly he ignored the warnings of doom and continued to present himself each Sunday at the end of my pew. I would place my hand upon his sleeve and sweep down the nave, displaying haughty indifference and defiance to those who watched with disapproval.
He was younger than I, with firm, well-sculptured features and eyes that were inclined to stare with scorn at people he despised. And he despised most of Boscherville, dismissing its inhabitants as provincial and bigoted. The few patients he had managed to acquire were soon irritated by his arrogant and rather abrasive manner and his association with me ensured that he added no more to his practice. I myself quickly learned to defer to his opinions, finding our time together too precious to be wasted in argument. I lived in constant fear that he would abandon what he referred to as "this tedious little backwater" and return to do research in Paris. His restless intelligence and intolerant impatience were far better suited to the laboratory than the drawing room of a querulous patient. It was only a question of time before he came to accept that himself.
He was insatiably curious about Erik, asking me deep and probing questions and often making notes of my replies. His interest, he assured me, was purely scientific; he wished to build up a case study. Repeatedly he asked to see the child, but that, for many reasons, I would not permit. At the back of my mind an uneasy feeling was growing that he would not hesitate to pin Erik to a dissecting table in order to satisfy his curiosity.
"Madeleine," he chided gently, as I increasingly shied away from his persistent inquiries, "you must not be so suspicious of the scientific mind. I thought you trusted me."
I looked away. I was growing to love the man, but I did not trust the scientist; I feared the lust for knowledge that lurked like a ravening wolf in his cool blue eyes.
Rising from his sofa, I walked away to the window, staring out at the village green and the old church which towered to the sky just beyond.
"You ask too many questions," I murmured.
"Of course!" He tossed the notebook aside and came to stand beside me, throwing off the impersonal, clinical manner like a soiled apron. "Insatiable curiosity is not a very attractive quality I'm afraid. Forgive me, Madeleine."
His hand was insistent on my arm, but I did not turn to look at him.
"Sometimes I think all you want from me is answers." I sighed.
He turned me slowly around until I faced him.
"Not all," he said.
And kissed me.
"Who is that man?" Erik demanded abruptly.
He was waiting for me in the hall as I let myself into the house, and there was a hard accusing look in his eyes as he stared at me.
"Who is that man?" he repeated stonily, when I failed to answer. "Why does he walk with you alone?"
It was almost four months since I first met Etienne, but I had been very careful that Erik should not see us together. Obviously tonight I had not been careful enough.
"If I choose to walk with a man it is no concern of yours!" I retorted angrily.
Hanging up my cloak, I made to walk past him, but he blocked my path to the drawing room and suddenly I knew a moment of intense fear. He stood as high as my shoulder now and was deceptively strong in spite of his skeletal frame.
"Who is he, Mother?"
It was the first time he had ever used that word to address me, and the contempt in his voice was quite
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