Shock!. Donald Ph.D. Ladew
a tin of sardines from a small refrigerator tucked away beneath a Georgian side table. As he was dishing them up, he heard a cough from outside the French doors.
Standing, framed by the afternoon light, half in and half out of the French doors stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She stood as though in a magical casement, admired by the afternoon sun.
Tall and slender-waisted, she was wearing a light summer frock of white cotton patterned with dark red roses. He would remember later how fine her legs looked highlighted by the sun through the dress.
Her chestnut hair was long and full. Although her face was in soft shadow he could see large dark eyes beneath darker eyebrows, a strong, straight nose and lips too full to be classic. She just missed great beauty and was more appealing because of it.
He stood frozen over an old rosewood dish he used to feed Rachel, not wanting to move, then she would move, and he thought he might never see anything as beautiful again.
"Did I hear you propose to my cat?" Her smile was sunshine itself.
He stood self-consciously. "Forgive me for staring. I'm being rude. Please come in."
She came forward with an easy stride, her hand out. "I'm Grace Melville, your neighbor to the east and foster parent to Rachel. How did you know her name was, Rachel?" she asked.
"Gilbert Piers." Her hand felt warm, real. He realized he hadn't touched another human in a long time. He held onto her hand, looked at her long elegant fingers, thinking he liked it that she used no polish. She gave the lightest of tugs. He let go as though burned.
She grinned at him. "I don't mind if you hold my hand, but I really would like to look around."
He blushed. Christ, I'm acting like an idiot.
"You haven't told me how you knew her name." She watched Rachel eat the sardines fastidiously.
Gilbert bent down and got a carton of milk from the fridge and poured some in a saucer.
"I don't know, Miss Melville, it never occurred to me to call her anything else. She has been my only company since I got back." He looked up at Grace.
She stood by a large table in the center of the room. It had a green beige covering and was piled high with the books he'd been studying.
"I didn't propose to Rachel," he smiled, "besides, I doubt she'd have me. She's far too independent, and I wouldn't like to see her change. I proposed to an imaginary woman who had the patience to listen to me all afternoon without complaint."
"I hope this imaginary woman isn't swayed by a tin of sardines. I've been wondering where she went every afternoon. Now I find she's having an affair with an older man. My father was an old sweetie, convinced that all women, except my mother, were fickle and here's Rachel proving him right."
"An older man, thank you very much." Gilbert smiled wryly.
"Well, she's only four." Grace chuckled and strolled around the room, stopping occasionally to touch things.
"I love this room; we have a very small library. Grandmother has several of your books at home. She and your mother visited frequently."
She stopped. "Oh, I'm so sorry about Mrs. Piers; she was a wonderful woman, I liked her very much. You will think me very callous. These past few weeks must have been very difficult for you."
"Yes, I'm trying to adjust, but I can't get a grip on things, nothing fits."
He swept his arm in an arc indicating the room. "All this, is the product of generations of literary scholars and historians. I am the first to break with that tradition. Mine has been a world of logic and fact since I was a little boy. I am poorly equipped to deal with it. I look for a logical explanation and find...chaos.
"I'm sorry, Miss Melville," he looked at her directly, "you are the first event that makes sense since I've come back. I'll try to be more cheerful in the future, if you promise to come looking for Rachel often."
She blushed, and the wine red roses of her dress reflected in the pale cream of her cheeks.
"If I wouldn't be intruding, I'd like to come by. Usually I work in the afternoons, but I'm sure I can manage something." She paused to gather herself.
"You could invite me to dinner sometime. I would like that."
When he didn't answer for a moment she blushed even harder, and pretended to examine a book on one of the shelves. She watched him covertly. He looked helpless, and for some reason she was sure he wasn't an indecisive man.
"That would be very fine...please forgive me, Miss Melville, I can't think of anything I would enjoy more. I'm not at my best. My whole world is upside down. If you would come by from time to time, for tea or just to talk...I need to get used to having company. When I feel more on center, I'd like very much to have dinner with you."
She smiled ruefully. "Well, it's not complete rejection." She laughed self-consciously. "You know, Gilbert, people are seldom at their very best, and they still manage to have a good time."
"I know." The intensity of his voice startled her. "I want very much to see you, to take you places, to get to know you. I'm just a bit undone right now. You deserve all of a man's attention."
She felt flustered, unsure of herself. It was a new feeling. She wasn't sure she liked it. He was formal, yet his intention felt as intimate as a caress. She didn't understand it, all he did was shake her hand and she felt out of breath.
"Should I call ahead of time? I wouldn't want to disturb your afternoon tête-à-tête with Rachel. She may be jealous and I know she can scratch," Grace said.
"You may come here anytime you want. I hope you will." Gilbert's intensity forced her attention.
She wasn't ready to leave and went over to the sofa. As soon as she sat, Rachel, finished with her after-lunch toilette, jumped into Grace's lap and stretched out regally. Grace looked up and found Gilbert looking at her intently with a bemused expression on his face.
"A penny for your thoughts?" Grace asked.
He smiled quite openly. "I think how easily you become part of this room. You are like the other beautiful things here." His dark eyes held her like strong hands.
"That's more like it. I knew you could say nice things. Tell me something, I get up very early and my bedroom window looks out over your garden. Was it you I saw doing those peculiar exercises with Mr. Nakamichi?"
"Yes. I think when he first looked at the garden he thought I was a complete Philistine for letting it go to ruin. Then, when he discovered I was a practitioner of Tai Chi, he forgave me."
"Tai Chi?" She raised a lovely eyebrow in inquiry.
"Tai Chi Chuan: It is one of the more ancient of the martial arts of China. Most people do it for the exercise and the calming effect."
She seemed puzzled. "I'm trying to figure why you might need to know such things. You don't look like someone who would be interested in violence." From the expression on his face she wondered if she had said something wrong.
"Ahhhh, yes, violence." He smiled sadly. "I work in parts of the world where rooms like this," he looked around at the walls of books, "are unknown, more than unknown, they are inconceivable. "The source of the next meal is always in doubt. That reality has a tendency to bring out the worst in people, though I am unwilling to call violence motivated by hunger and lack of a future the worst side of man.
"I worked for three years in South America. There is no middle ground, it is all saintliness and evil, and of course violence and its twin, cruelty."
He hadn't been looking at her, but at events indelibly written on his memory.
"Again, I must apologize. I haven't quite acclimated to this world. I can't even have a conversation with a beautiful woman without these morbid parts of life creeping in," Gilbert said apologetically.
"Please don't apologize," she said. "If we have to pick our way through subjects, selecting only those that are