Mirage Beyond Flames (Coriola) (5 page)

It was her most impressive project, regarding both the dimension and the quality of the sculpture. She had made it from a piece of a massive tree, brought from a park in Italy. During a storm, the tree trunk – which couldn’t be
encompassed by the linked arms of two men – was struck by lightning. Giovanni had taken care that the piece remained intact was delivered to her workshop.

The sculpture had the figure of a warrior, a straight and haughty posture
. He wore a bow and quiver, its strap stretched over his bare, smooth chest, and the skimpy clothing she imagined the Olympus God of Sun would wear.

Now studying the statue with different eyes, Lin
da noticed in the motionless features a slight resemblance with Gerard – the strong chin, high cheekbones, straight, perfectly proportioned nose, firm but sensual lips. Those impassive eyes now seemed to transmit to her a secret known only by the two of them.

“
I see him everywhere!
” she told herself exasperated and still astonished by the impact she experienced only after the few hours spent in the company of a man she had barely met. She’d never felt such a thing and, although she was frustrated and intrigued, the fragile root of a joyful, crazy, adolescent attraction was taking shape in her heart.

Lost in thought, she jumped when she saw Francesco, the gallery’s owner, next to her, greeting her with a warm smile.

Francesco was a middle-aged Italian, with dark hair, tanned skin and a distinguished figure, just like the black elegant suit he wore.

“
Bella mia
!” he said with a baritone voice which seemed to fill the entire room. “I was wondering when you were going to stop by,” he continued in an impeccable English, but having a discreet Italian accent.

“Francesco!”
she exclaimed, kissing his cheek. “You scared me.”

“Yo
ur works are so captivating even you remain hypnotized by their sight.”

She laughed.

“Not quite. I see you have everything arranged, it’s superb,” she remarked gesticulating like to encompass the entire room.

“We have to be ready for Saturday, my dear, the grand opening is getting close. The press, newspapers, all
are waiting anxiously for the big event,” he told her. Studying her denim shorts and white tank top, he continued, wincing a bit:

“I am confident you plan to wear something more… chic
than this outfit for the occasion.”

“Oh, my, Francesco, how can you say such a thing?
” she said, faking offense. “I’m gonna wear a black tank top,” she joked, then laughed at his panicked expression.

“Just kidding, d
arling, don’t worry.”

“Ah, you almost gave me a fright
,
cara
! Will you have a drink, coffee, soda?”

“No, thanks.
I’m sorry, but I can’t stay long, I have some more places to go. I only stopped by to see how are things and to congratulate you. Everything looks lovely!”

“Thank you, but t
he artists have all the merits,” he replied smiling, running a hand through his slightly graying hair. “I’m so glad you came, we’ll keep in touch by phone, I will give you all the details for Saturday.”

“Okay, then I’ll see you around,
ciao
!” she said waving her hand in her way to the exit.

“
Ciao, bellezza
!”

She drove to the clinic, telling herself she wanted to know more about Gerard’s treatment.
She hoped to pass unnoticed, but remembered she didn’t know where his office was. Carolina, as usually at her desk, seemed surprised to see her. The woman’s brows went up when Linda asked her where Dr. Leon’s office was. Not daring to question her, she promptly gave her indications, then returned to the reception desk.

Linda knocked discre
tely in his office door, marked by a sign with his name etched in golden letters.

“Come in,”
he said and began massaging his tired eyes. When he opened them, they remained fixed on her long tanned legs. His gaze lifted slowly, meeting hers.

She
smiled, hooking her thumbs in the pockets of her denim shorts.

“Hi, Doc!”

“Hello,” he replied and stood, heading toward her. He kissed her cheek and she breathed his divine masculine scent, forever stamped in her memory.

“What br
ings you by?”

He indicated
the chair in front of his desk, but Linda declined to sit. Instead, she went to the window, feeling the weight of his gaze on her.

“I had business in the area
and I thought I’d come by, to see what else the children need,” she lied, looking outside.

She turned around to look at him, then noticed th
e shadows under his eyes and his wrinkled shirt. Several buttons were unfastened, more than was prudent for her imagination. Even tired and unshaven, the man facing her looked gorgeous, unleashing inside her an undefined but apparently infinite desire.

“You seem tired. Is there something wrong?”
she asked, feeling her cheeks grow warm.

He sighed.

“I don’t know if you could put it quite like that, but we have an unpredictable situation. Looks like I have to take some time off as soon as possible and leave for Romania.”

“Romania? Dracula’s land?” she exclaimed shocked. “What the hell do you want to go there for?”

He laughed indulgently, indicating the mountain of papers sprawled on his desk.

“Well
, I have a friend – actually he was a good friend of my father’s – who now lives there. He’s also a doctor and in the past years, collaborating with another Romanian doctor, he has devised a treatment, based on a plant called
hellebore.
It seems to give good results in certain forms of cancer. True, the results differ from case to case, and the treatment is not effective on every patient or in any form of the disease. Like the snake venom treatment, the best results are obtained in incipient stages, if they can be applied locally, especially in the beginnings of skin cancer.”

“And he wants you to go there to share with you the treatment formula?” she asked.

“Yes. In exchange, I prepared copies of all my notes, observations and research, to share with him.”

Linda approached the desk, intrigued, inspecting the scattered papers.

“Chemical formulas, observations, reports, here it’s all your work in regard to the serum made from snake venom?”

“About anything tha
t could be put on paper.”

“And do you trust this person?”

“Absolutely.”

She continued studying the notes on the desk, while he sat in his cha
ir, studying her.

She
directed her gaze to him.

“You could make a fortune with this thing. Why give it for free to that guy?”

Gerard gave her a long look.

“I’m not interested in money and fame, Linda. I became a doctor because the
most important thing to me is healing, bringing comfort to my patients, not profiting from their tragedy. The ones who do this aren’t true descendants of Hippocrates, they’re just crooks. All my work is measured in the number of people I help, not in stacks of money.”

Something glowed in her entire being and suddenly she felt her hea
rt lighter, ready to fly toward the nameless fulfillment she was longing for.

“You are a noble man,” she said
with a trace of admiration. “I respect that very much.”

“I’m a man like any other,”
he replied, reclining in his chair. “I have defects and qualities, nothing special compared to others. Still, I like to think I have a sense of humor better developed than most,” he added smiling. “Please, sit down. I feel uncomfortable sitting while you stand. Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thanks.”

She sat in the chair facing his desk.

After a few moments of silence, he asked:

“Dracula’s land?”

She started laughing a
nd so did he. When they regained their composure, she said:

“That’s all I’ve heard about Romania.”

“That’s about all the rest of the world has heard too. In fact, Jean-Paul tells me it’s a very beautiful country, with extraordinary landscapes and an admirable history. There are numerous predictions and speculations that there, in the heart of the Carpathians, is the physical projection of Shambala – the spiritual center of the Earth, the land of the initiates who hold the balance of the world.”

“Really?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“Yes. I told you, it’s a very interesting country, controversial. It intrigued me ever since I listened to Jean’s stories. Speaking of history, do you know how all this Dracula story started?”

“I have no idea. You realize an intelligent person doesn’t believe in vampires and other such nonsense, but I
suppose in every legend there’s a grain of truth.”

Gerard smiled.

“Actually, there was once in Romania a ruler called Vlad Tepes, which means
Vlad the Impaler
. He was called so because he literally impaled all thieves, criminals and all those who broke the law, as well as his enemies. They say people were afraid of him to such an extent that, when he put a gold cup at a fountain, nobody dared to take it. When it was gone, they all knew he was no longer ruling.”

Linda shuttered.

“So much cruelty! I think that man was a monster!”

“Granted,
those punishing methods weren’t too orthodox, but we have to take into consideration that in those times, around fifteenth century, cruelty wasn’t unusual. Not only at royal courts, but worldwide. Besides, the most horribly punished were the Ottomans, a people which, from the beginnings of history, tried to subjugate the entire Europe and beyond, having a personal ambition to conquer Romania.”

“Hmm, what a
n odd thing. I didn’t know all this, but it didn’t even occur to me to read about it,” she confessed meditatively. “So, all these atrocious torture methods have created the image of Bram Stocker’s vampire monster?”

“This, along with other
bits and pieces of elements gathered from here and there or invented. For example, Vlad’s father, called Vlad Dracul, which means
The Devil,
was part of the Dragon’s Order. Their symbol was a creature resembling a dragon from Oriental Mythology, having claws and fangs. This kind of distorted legends created false myths which mystify history. In reality, Romanians consider Vlad Tepes one of their country’s best rulers and a character they can be proud of.”

Linda ran a hand through her hair.

“Discussing with you is really helpful. I always learn new things,” she remarked.

He returned her smile and the fatigue shadows on his face seemed to slowly
dissipate.

“I could tell you a lot more intere
sting things tonight at dinner.”

She wet her lower lip involuntarily, while
her heart gave a little thud as an effect to this proposal. After a few moments of inner debate, she asked:

“Do you like Italian food?”

Chapter Six

Linda had learned to cook
from an early age. She used to spend hours watching fascinated as Sophia, their cook, prepared sumptuous meals for the Coriola family, which, back then, was still intact.

Sofia was a
plump woman with ever-rosy cheeks and grey hair always covered with colorful scarves. When Linda had asked the woman to teach her a few simple recipes, Sofia had been delighted with the little girl’s passion for gastronomy, immediately taking her under her wing as a domestic goddess. And so, in a few years, Linda – who was already in her teens – had gained the experience of a high class chef.

At the moment however,
it seemed all her culinary knowledge had left her. Ever since she’d hired Mrs. Adams to cook for her – for the convenience of being able to dedicate her time to sculpting, not bothering with domestic stuff – she got the impression she’d lost her touch.

She
precisely aligned all the ingredients she needed on the counter, then she sat on a chair next to Pirata, who curiously assisted the preparations.

For a few good minutes they both sat, watching the spaghetti, spices, mushrooms, cheese and ham
, all military arranged. The cat’s gaze was lustful, his nose and whiskers twitching with interest. By contrast, Linda’s gaze reflected a shadow of something resembling desperation.

Eventu
ally, with a deep resigned sigh, she stood and got to work. The Carbonara Spaghetti was her favorite dish and quite simple to prepare.

Whi
le working efficiently without conscious effort, carried by the rhythm which had never truly left her, she started an animated discussion with Pirata.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, inviting
him for dinner,” she told the cat without noticing that he’d just slid a paw on the counter to steal yet another piece of ham. “I mean, look at me,” she gesticulated with the knife she used for cutting mushrooms. “Instead of minding my business, I’m cooking for a guy. And I don’t even know if he’ll like this. As a matter of fact, I know very well why he’s coming to dinner. He’s only interested in the
dessert
…”