common sense and, hard as I tried, had not been able to forget him. And against my better judgment, I wanted very much to see him again.
Besides, the meeting was to be the following Saturday, which was the weekend Madison would be grounded. And any excuse to leave the house was welcome, because nobody knows better than a grounded teenager how to make life miserable for everybody else.
Chapter Fourteen: The Contract
There were two cars already in the parking space in front of Becquer’s house when I arrived. A yellow Jeep and a green Honda Civic.
Almost two weeks had passed since the Halloween party, which meant Federico would be gone by now and Matt, I knew, kept his car in the garage. My understanding was that only Richard would be there today. I remembered Richard had mentioned he didn’t own a car for he didn’t need one in Manhattan and had taken the train to Princeton to come to the party. Maybe he had rented one today. If he had, a Jeep seemed an unusual choice for a rental. Was his the Honda Civic then?
As for the other, it had to be Rachel’s, I thought with a pang of jealousy that had no reason to be there. Becquer had asked me to be his blood giver and I had refused. That he had chosen somebody else was inevitable, that I hurt because he had was illogical.
My hurt also validated my decision. Even if I had agreed to give him my blood, he might have taken the girl as his lover, which would have been even more painful for me. I had done the right thing. By staying away from him I would eventually forget him. I just needed more time. I would have plenty of time from then on, considering I didn’t plan to see him again.
Yet this thought that was supposed to reassure me only added to my distress.
How had this happened? Since when had my desire to see Becquer overcome my wish to sell my manuscript? Today my dream would come true. I was about to sign a two-book deal with one of the most prestigious publishing houses in the country. I should be elated, but I was not. I was upset and apparently jealous because a young, pretty girl had caught Becquer’s attention.
I tore my eyes from the small sedan blurred by the raindrops streaming down my window and, forcing myself to bury this futile yearning for a man who was not human and thus forbidden, I turned off the ignition and stepped outside.
Behind the curtain of rain that fell unrelenting from an overcast sky, Becquer’s house loomed in front of me, its impressive mixture of modern architecture and Pennsylvanian charm more apparent now without the orange lights that had framed it on Halloween night.
Holding my umbrella with both hands to fight the gusts of wind that threatened to yank it away, I dashed across the gravel expanse, and climbed the stairs to the porch. The door opened before I knocked and a young woman appeared in the opening. Although her face was in shadows, my suspicions were confirmed when I recognized Rachel, the red-haired girl from Cafe Vienna.
“Come in,” Rachel said, moving brusquely aside. “Becquer is waiting.”
It sounded like a reproach the way she said it, as if she was accusing me of making him wait. But I wasn’t late, I knew, and as if to prove me right, the antique clock sitting in the hall sounded the hour.
Without glancing back, the girl disappeared into the great room. She obviously meant for me to follow but I hesitated as I considered the puddle forming in the wooden floor underneath my umbrella.
“Excuse me,” I called to her. “Could you tell me where to leave this?”
The girl stopped and turned and for the first time she met my eyes.
She was young. Younger than I remembered. Ryan’s age was my guess. Or maybe she seemed younger because, unlike at Cafe Vienna, she was wearing no make-up. And in her pale, freckled face her eyes showed red. Not flashing red that would have marked her as immortal, but red and swollen, as an indication that she had been crying. In fact, she seemed about to burst into tears at any moment as if my question had pushed her over her limit.
“It’s all right,” I hurried on, “I’ll leave my umbrella outside.”
I grabbed the doorknob but, before I could turn it, a young man materialized by my side.
“Please give it to me,” he said. His deep baritone voice was surprisingly gentle as he addressed the girl. “Don’t worry, Rachel. I’ll take care of this.”
He was young, mid-twenties probably, with broad shoulders and muscled forearms his tight sweater couldn’t conceal and, unlike Rachel who seemed overwhelmed by emotion, his manners were brisk and efficient.
After he relieved me of my coat and umbrella, he offered his hand. “I’m David,” he said.
“Carla Esteban.”
David smiled. “Rachel will take you to Becquer’s office,” he told me. “And Rachel?” he called as the girl waited for me to join her. “Try to smile.”
If anything, Rachel seemed even more distressed by the young man’s attempt to lighten her mood. Tears welled in her eyes.
Had Becquer tired of her already? But that didn’t seem right. If he had, he would have stopped charming her and she would have forgotten him. Becquer was not cruel that way, or so Federico had led me to believe.
Not knowing what else to do, I offered the girl a tissue. She thanked me and, after drying her eyes, slid it into the pocket of her jeans and started again across the great room with the grand piano at one end, and through the door that led to the corridor where I had followed Beatriz after she injured Becquer the night of the party. But instead of turning toward the library, Rachel stopped before the door directly across and knocked.
“Come in,” Becquer called from inside. Becquer’s beguiling voice invited me in. I felt like fleeing, but it was too late. It had been too late for a long time. Probably since the moment he had told me he liked my book the first time I ever met him.
In my struggle to keep my feelings at bay, I almost missed the quiver in the girl’s voice when she announced my arrival.
“Thank you, Rachel,” Becquer said. “You may leave now. But please come back in half an hour for I will need you to make some copies.”
Rachel nodded, and then turned and left.
From behind the massive mahogany desk where he sat, Becquer stared at me.
“Please come in,” he said and smiled. The smile lit his handsome face, which was paler than I remembered it and somehow thinner. But his eyes, dark on mine, did not smile.
I mumbled my welcome, and stepped forward toward the empty chair that Becquer indicated with his hand. Before I reached it, I sensed a movement to my left and turned just in time to see Richard stand.
“You remember Richard?” Becquer asked.
“Of course.”
I had been so intent on keeping my feelings blocked from Becquer’s mind, I’d failed to notice the man who held my future in his hands. But Richard seemed undaunted by my omission, if anything he seemed nervous, for his voice was louder than necessary, his smile brighter than meeting me, an almost unknown author, would warrant.
“We just finished discussing the last points of your contract,” Becquer said to me after we were all seated. “Do you want me to read it to you now?”
I shook my head. “Actually I’d rather read it on my own.”
Becquer started.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to insult you in any way. But I find it difficult to follow when someone reads aloud.”
“I understand.”
He didn’t carry his arm in a sling anymore, but as he handed me the document over his desk, I noticed several scars on his hand just before his fingers touched mine. I shivered.
“You can move closer to the fire,” Becquer said, “if you are cold.”
