Blood Is Thicker...
By
Christine
Part One
Chapter 3
Curious, indeed, is what he was. Pik had done some stalking himself over the next few days, Madeleine Rourke, was her name as he learned from the maid service. She was living in a sorry, seedy-looking apartment building not far from where they had had their encounter in the ally. She never had company, and only went out for groceries and for walks, always alone. He didn’t believe she offered any threat to himself or Fouchon, but he decided not to underestimate her. She was clever, stubborn, spirited… “And lovely,” Pik thought, then chided himself at his train of thought But still, there was something about her that drew his eyes to her against his will.
He hadn’t said anything to Mrs. Lees or Fouchon, interested to see when she would play her hand and what that hand would be. Over the following weeks, he tried to be at the mansion whenever he could when he knew the maid service would be there. He kept a close watch on her, and when Fouchon wasn’t there, he practically followed her everywhere, asking her questions, talking to her, and actually drawing a scolding from the usually proper Mrs. Lees for interfering with the girl’s work.
Her reasons for wanting to meet with Fouchon remained a mystery to Pik. He thought that perhaps she would try to enamor herself to him, become his mistress perhaps, to better her financial circumstances. She lived in a tenement, after all, and working as a maid could not be all that rewarding or lucrative. He hoped that was not her goal, knowing it would only cause her pain. Fouchon had little tolerance for women, only to attend to his physical needs. He was not cruel to them, at least not physically, but nor was he anywhere near kind. Her bobbed hair and freckled nose gave her sweetness which complimented her fire and spirit, and he shuddered at the thought of Fouchon ruining any of it, any of her.
***
One morning Fouchon, frustrated at the overflowing bin of shredded paper spilling under the shredder, stepped just outside the study door. Pik heard him bark to someone, “You, yes you. Get this bin out of here and empty it.” A moment later, Madeleine appeared at the study door, wide-eyed and pale even through her ivory skin. She stood, wringing her hands, glancing from Fouchon to the bin, an uncertain look in her eyes. Pik observed she opened and closed her mouth several times, as if she wished to speak, but then changed her mind.
Fouchon saw her actions, or lack thereof, and growled with malicious, deliberate cruelty, “Empty. The. Trash. Could you possibly be too stupid to understand what I said? You’re the maid for God’s sake!” He said aloud to no one, “God, where do they get these people!?” He kicked the bin, and the action broke Madeleine’s stupor. Tears filling her eyes, she quickly gathered spilled paper into the bin, and without a word scampered out of the room with it. Fouchon continued to fume over having to be bothered so much over something so common as a paper bin, and Pik clenched his jaw, wondering for a moment what Fouchon would do if he punched him in the teeth.
Madeleine was outside near the pool, leaning against the wall trying to regain her composure while frills of shredded paper blew out from the bin next to her. She cursed herself for acting so stupidly, but Fouchon calling her into the room was so unexpected and she was completely unprepared. Still, he had been so condescending, so cruel. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall for a moment and finally achieved a state of calmness and was prepared to go back to work. She turned her head to the side and opened her eyes and saw Pik making his way toward her.
She straightened up, and thoughts of the last few weeks flooded her mind… Van Cleaf hadn’t gotten her fired, but she almost wished he had. Over time he had become her tormentor, as well as her desire, distracting her from her purpose. Any time she had tried to catch Fouchon alone, Van Cleaf would show up with an unexpected small task elsewhere. And worse, most of the time he would follow her, taunting her with innuendoes that he would soon find out what she was up to. Or sometimes he would simply point out sculptures or tapestries or other works of art and tell her about them.
Once he commented how much lovelier she had looked in the café with her hair down, as opposed to having it pinned up when she was working. Often he would simply ask a variety of seemingly unrelated questions, but she knew he was trying to catch her off guard, or catch her in a lie. And he was always “finding” a fleck of dust or an eyelash on her face, and would caress it away with a stroke of his warm fingers. Those were the most overwhelming moments, because she more often than not would find herself looking deeply into his eyes.
One time, he had come up silently behind her and slowly ran his finger down along the scar on the back of her neck. The long white mark began above her hairline and disappeared into the collar of her dress, but Van Cleaf’s touch ended where her dress began. “And just where did you get this nasty gash?” he inquired, concern in his voice. Mrs. Lees appeared and warned him with a stern look, and he mocked obedience and walked away. She also gave a warning glance to Madeleine, even though it was obvious Mr. Van Cleaf was the one harassing the girl, and not the other way around. She had warned her girls enough times that fraternizing with the clients would only get them a broken heart as well as dismissed from the agency.
So diligent was his pursuit, he had almost caught here the previous week stashing some of her belongings in one on the unoccupied guest rooms. Madeleine had decided to hide a change of clothes and a small cosmetic bag in the back of one the guest room closets. She did not want to appear for the first “real” time in front of Fouchon in her maid uniform dress. She stammered an excuse to Van Cleaf about looking for towels to launder, and gone back to work, but only after she had to pause to let him brush an “eyelash” off her cheek.
Now, as Van Cleaf approached her out by the pool, she knew that hurt and humiliation still showed in her eyes over the trash bin incident. He stopped directly in front of her and looked tenderly into her eyes. He brushed a strand of stray hair from her cheek with the back of his fingers. Noticing his fingers came away wet with tears, he pulled a soft linen handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it into her hand.
“I am sorry, Madeleine,” he began, looking softly into her eyes, “he should not have spoken to you that way.” Madeleine sighed. “Well,” she stated, “I was acting stupidly.” Van Cleaf nodded in reluctant agreement and asked, “But why, Madeleine. Why did you get so nervous with him.” He stood close up against her, as close as they had been in the ally. Only this time his proximity brought on desire, and longing for more of a touch than the brushing of an eyelash or speck of dust. Madeleine began to speak, “Mr. Van Cl…. “ But he interrupted her, lifting her chin with his fingertips. “Pik,” he said softly. “You can call me Pik,” and he leaned forward to kiss her. Fear and confusion stabbed her insides, and she darted back away. “Mr. Van Cleaf, I have to go now.” She made tracks quickly inside, still clutching the handkerchief.
She concluded that she couldn’t wait any longer. She would have to make an opportunity to meet with Fouchon instead of waiting for it to come along. Considering Fouchon’s miserable demeanor, the quicker she confronted him the better, before she came to hate him. And Van Cleaf, Pik…Pik was confusing her, she couldn’t think straight around him. He made her as nervous and uneasy as Fouchon did, but in a different way. She could only deal with one dark, brooding and mysterious man at a time.
***
He watched her hasten away, shredded paper swirling around his feet in the wind, the bin forgotten by both of them. It was time to bring this little game of hers to an end, today. He had been surprised with himself, wanting to kiss her and actually trying, and it left him unfulfilled that she had resisted him. Fouchon had been miserable to her, and although he had succeeded in suppressing his desire to punch him in the teeth, it was only barely. Pik was going to get to the bottom of this, and he had a plan.
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