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(Author's note: This takes place after "The Tale of the Goose and Grapes," and "The Tavern Keeper's Tale," and contains references and "spoilers" for those stories, so if you haven't read them yet, go do it now!)ONTO the Next Story of Therese!
The street door slammed behind the last-customers-but-one, and the tavern grew quiet, except for the pad-pad of Therese Darbois' shoes as she circled the tables, tidying up. Clopin was still sitting at the table nearest the hearth, a cup in his hand and a not quite empty bottle close by. He had been there since early evening, eating, conversing, telling stories, eating some more, drinking a little, but doling out more wine to his companions than he had taken, himself. Therese had no intention of asking him to leave, but she was a little surprised to find him still there. Of course, this was not the first time Clopin had been the last customer out the door, but it was the first time he had stayed so late since the night she had told him the tale of the Clever Murderess of Rouen. That had been less than a fortnight ago, and she had been watching his behavior toward her closely since then. He had grown introspective around her, and more than once she had caught him observing her narrowly, with an especially devilish smile on his lips. Perhaps telling him her story had not been such a wise idea after all.
"Madame," he raised his voice, "you have cleaned that table twice already."
"Once more won't hurt it," she answered him briskly, although she hadn't realized till then that he was right.
"Stop roaming around; you're making me dizzy." He swung one of his long legs over to kick a chair away from the table next to his. "Come sit down."
"I have work to do."
"You've worked enough, Therese." He didn't often call her by her given name, and there was a little edge in his voice that said this was not a casual request. "Sit down."
She complied, but not too quickly, and took a moment to arrange herself comfortably in the chair before she asked, "What do you want?"
"Tell me a story."
"I've told you enough stories lately," she rose from the chair, but his hand shot out and snared her by the arm. His grip was just firm enough to make her stop. When she pulled away from him, he let her go, but he motioned gracefully for her to sit down again. She did not sit, but she did not walk away.
"I want to hear more of your friend, Madame Gercourt," he informed her. "I have been giving a great deal of thought to her fascinating story."
"You're not planning on turning it into a puppet show, I hope!" This ludicrous and revolting thought struck Therese out of nowhere. Apparently, the idea had not occurred to Clopin before now, and she winced as he mulled it over, looking pleasantly intrigued by the prospect.
"You must admit, Madame Gercourt would make a charming puppet." Clopin gave her that look of his that no red-blooded woman could help but find flattering. "And the story does have a useful moral."
"The price of dishonesty?" she suggested wryly, allowing herself to be coaxed back into the chair.
"No. The moral is that the most innocent facade can conceal the most unexpected surprises." He fired off a glance that struck a sudden spark in her, but she quickly smothered it. His expression couldn't possibly have meant what she imagined. Besides, it was gone by the time he said, in a more businesslike tone, "There are still, however, some points to the story that escape me."
"Such as?"
He took a drink and considered. "I suppose what I'm trying to piece together are the journeys of our heroine after she fled Rouen. Of course, I know where she's been for the past seven years, but would you care to enlighten me as to the rest? You needn't go into minute detail."
"There is little detail to go into. She set off -- " Therese paused and looked him in the eye, weary of playing games with him. "I set off across country, in a shabby dress lined with what money I had in the house. I didn't get a wink of sleep the first night," she shuddered.
"Haunted by ghosts?" suggested Clopin.
"No, frightened by crickets. And bats, and owls, and frogs... I wasn't used to sleeping under haystacks, with nasty things crawling around me in the dark. No," she considered, "there never were any ghosts. And I can imagine what you must think of me for that."
"Did you watch him die?" Clopin suddenly asked, with an eagerness that startled her. "Did you tell him what you'd done?"
"I never had the chance. Do you know where he died?" she demanded, the bile rising in her throat even after all this time. "In her house. In her arms, for all I know. At home, after the dinner, I told him I didn't feel well; he was starting to feel odd, himself. I hinted that perhaps it was something we had eaten, and he said he was going to fetch a doctor. Well, the doctor came back, but he didn't. He went running next door to be certain his precious mistress was safe. I didn't know where he was until the whole thing was over, but I never saw him again." Therese swallowed her resentment, ashamed to find it still had such a hold over her. "He was perfectly aware that I knew about the affair, even though he never did confess it to me. But, to this day, I have no idea whether he knew I was the one who killed him."
"Poor Madame Gercourt," murmured Clopin.
She refused to flinch under his intently curious gaze. "If you're waiting for an apology, you won't hear it from me. I made the mistake of being foolish enough to fall in love, and I ended up shackled to a man I couldn't trust or respect. My family was all gone by then, I couldn't go to them for help... All in the world I wanted to do was just walk away from the whole mess and start over, and I didn't know how else I could do that -- " She was shocked and angry to find herself choking up, and surprised when Clopin reached out and laid his hand over hers.
"We've all done things we felt we had to do," he spoke quietly. Therese was struck by his expression as he regarded her in silence for a minute, looking thoughtful and not entirely unsympathetic. She was aware that he had had to kill before to protect himself and his people, but she had never questioned him about it, or expected any explanations from him. Perhaps trusting him had not been such a bad idea. Perhaps, if anyone could understand or accept what she had done, he could. At last he said, in a deceptively casual voice, "So, you set off across country. I take it this is where my sister comes in?"
Therese let out a breath, relieved to put the most difficult part of the story behind her. "I ran into them two days out, quite by accident. My father had always taught me that gypsies were dangerous, but I was so tired and hungry by then, I decided they could do me no more harm than I had already done myself. They were more than kind to me, and didn't ask too many questions. I was grateful when they let me travel a few days with them. When I left them, Josette gave me the amulet. She said I could show it to any gypsies I came upon, and they would lend me whatever help I needed. I owe a great deal to your sister," she told him. "She was a good friend to me when I desperately needed one."
"Dear Josette," he agreed. "Never happy without a brood under her wings. Now, where does Guillaume Darbois come in? Or am I jumping ahead too far?"
"Not at all. That was after I left your sister's family. I was afraid to go near a town until I was a good long way from Rouen, and Guillaume's inn near Mantes was the first civilized place I allowed myself to stop and rest. I stayed there five days, and when I saw how busy he was, I offered him my services as a cook. When he inherited this place, he offered me half-ownership if I would manage the kitchen for him, and I said I would, if he would allow me to pass myself off as his widowed daughter-in-law. I have no idea what he thought I was running from, but he knew better than to ask me too many questions."
"So, you were not truly married to his son," Clopin nodded, confirming a suspicion.
"There never was a son; I'd have thought you'd have figured that out by now." Therese bit off a sharp laugh at the thought. "And, even if there had been, you can't imagine I'd be foolish enough to take up with another man after what happened the first time. I've learned that lesson, thank you."
Clopin shook his head at her. "Don't let one bad cask put you off the wine, my dear. You'll miss the best pleasures of life."
"I've had the pleasures of life, and they're all well and good, but I'm not sure they were worth the resulting headache."
"Then perhaps you should try a more agreeable vintage." This time he gave her a look she could not misunderstand, and raised his cup to her before he drained it.
"Anyhow," she shook off the thought he had put in her head, one she had been shaking off vigorously for as long as she had known him, "that should fill in the blanks for you."
"Admirably, thank you." He poured the rest of the bottle into his cup and, when he did not pursue the conversation further, she resumed her tidying up. Clopin said nothing more to her, but he was slow to drink his wine, and gave no sign of being ready to leave. He had his feet up in the chair beside him, and she caught herself stealing glances at the long legs stretched out in front of him. A more agreeable vintage, indeed, she thought -- and swatted away the fancy with a swipe of her dishrag. Like a gnat, however, it kept right on buzzing around her head. She did not want Clopin to leave. And when their eyes met, she began to think that perhaps he did not want to leave, either.
Ridiculous! Therese scolded herself. As if he's waiting for you to fling yourself at him! You'd be asking for nothing but trouble, and you know it! Therese tumbled an armful of dirty dishes into the tub behind the bar. Common Sense was frantically whacking her in the head in a futile attempt to sober her up, but it was no match for That Man. While her back was still turned to him, she reached up and plucked loose a few locks of the brown hair she usually kept neatly tucked under her cap. Therese's hair curled just enough to make it difficult to keep tidy, and she hoped the trailing ends made her look charmingly disarrayed and not just messy.
Clopin was still working on the wine. She avoided his eyes, but she could feel him openly watching her as she resumed wiping the tables and, when she stole a glance, she caught him grinning a little as he drained his cup. Dropping his feet to the floor, he pushed his chair away from the table. "I suppose I should be on my way. So you can lock up." But he didn't budge from his seat.
"Oh, there's no hurry." She came around behind his chair and laid her hand on his shoulder, then drew it lightly across his back as she passed by.
Therese went behind the bar and began putting the bottles away, one by one, in the high cupboard. Once, she managed to sneak a quick look at him, and caught him watching her again. He has to be thinking about it. Either that she considered or he knows I am, and he's laughing at me. That would be just like him, to sit there and tease me, and then get up and walk out! She was nearly out of bottles before she heard his chair scrape the floor. Without pausing in her work, without even glancing over her shoulder, she listened to the sound of his footsteps as he walked toward her.
Clopin came up behind her, taking the last bottle from her grasp and cramming it into the cupboard, himself. As he did so, he steadied himself by placing his left hand on her waist. "Here," she gave him the key. "Would you lock it too, please?"
As he placed the key in the lock, Clopin slid his arm a little farther around her, until his hand was in front of her, drawing her body snugly against his own. She made no move to discourage him, and, with a soft hint of a laugh, he bent down to her and brushed his lips against her ear. "Shall I put the key away, Madame?"
With the bit of metal in his fingers, Clopin traced a line running down from her throat and made as if to tuck the key into her dress, but she caught his hand and said, "Not in there, I'll never find it again."
"I could help you look for it," he suggested, nuzzling her, his goatee tickling the spot where her neck met her shoulder...
"Clopin-- " She tried to sound cross, but it came out all wrong. It must have been the ridiculous smile on her face.
"Therese?" His tone managed to be both affectionate and mocking as he continued to nibble at her...
She shrugged him off in a desperate attempt to stop herself from giggling like a silly girl at his attentions, but Clopin, still clasping her around the waist, simply used this as a chance to turn her around so she was facing him. There was no roughness in the way he handled her, but she could feel the muscles in his wiry arms. It had not occurred to her before this that he would be quite so strong, and the realization sent a delicious shudder of excitement through her. With a look in his eyes that mirrored her thoughts, Clopin brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers, then slipped his hand behind her neck and caressed her there. He had such marvelous hands, she thought. So often, she had watched him fondling a knife or a cup in his long fingers, while she fantasized about the unspeakable bliss those objects would have felt had they possessed her senses. Therese nestled her head into his palm, her upturned face welcoming him, and Clopin bent down to her and kissed her.
She was startled by the jolt of pleasure that shot through her as she started kissing back. So long! she wanted to cry, It has been so long -- ! She pressed her mouth against his, pulling and tearing at him hungrily, but Clopin, his fingers rubbing the back of her neck, coaxed her into his slower, lazier rhythm. He tasted of wine, and of spices, and of everything exotic and forbidden, and Therese caught herself making odd, half-stifled noises as she dug her fingers into his shoulders. When at last he pulled away from her, Clopin laughed out loud at the look on her face. She could only imagine what he saw, but she felt as if she had drunk all the contents of her own wine cellar and was still thirsty for more. "Perhaps now," he suggested, "would be a good time to lock up."
"You're staying." Whether she meant it as a question or a command, she couldn't have said.
Apparently, he couldn't tell, either, for he asked her, "Is that an invitation?" When she didn't answer him at once, he added, "Because, if it is, I would be honored and delighted to accept it."
He was still cuddling her in his arms and, unable to suppress her dimples any longer, she flashed him what she hoped was a tempting glance. "Well, if you think you'd like to stay... "
"On second thought," he interrupted her by laying a finger on her lips, "before I answer that, there is one thing that puzzles me. I thought you despised romance, Madame Cynic, but you don't kiss as if you do."
"I never said I despised romance," she defended herself. "I only said I don't believe in true and undying love. And I still don't. If you're trying to trick me into losing my head over you, you'd might as well go home now."
"I have a feeling that no one is tricking you into anything, Madame," Clopin grinned slyly, fingering the disordered curls straying from her cap.
"I'll thank you not to laugh at me!" she shoved his hand away and retreated a step from him, suddenly embarrassed by herself. "I don't make a habit of this, I'll have you know."
"Oh, I know very well, Therese," he regarded her with a fond smile. "You're a charming little porcupine, always curling herself up if anyone comes too near. But there is a heart under all those quills, and it's high time it learned that affection is not a thing to be afraid of. Come, little hedgehog," he drew her into his arms again and tipped her face up to his. "Do not hide from Clopin."
She was mad, she was foolish, to let him kiss her again, to let him overpower her good sense with just the touch of his lips against hers, but she gave herself up to the warmth of him and let him melt her down as if she were so much butter on the fire. Therese had settled quite comfortably into a liquid state, when his kisses began to let up, growing briefer and gentler as he gradually eased her back into consciousness. Opening her eyes, she was met by a look of such tenderness that it made her heart flutter. Fortunately, she was far too sensible to mistake it for a declaration of love. Clopin curled her hair on his finger again as he softly said, "There is one thing you must understand, my little poisoner."
"What is that?" Her voice was hardly more than a breath.
"You can't expect to have me all to yourself."
"I'm not even going to ask about that," she turned her face away, but he caught it between his hands and made her look at him.
"As long as I am with you, I am utterly yours. But I won't pledge my eternal devotion to you. And I won't be faithful to you. You poisoned your husband for telling lies? Well, there's the truth. And if it's going to drive you to murder me, I'd rather know now."
Clopin's dark eyes watched her intently, awaiting her answer. She tried to be reasonable, tried not to notice the desire with which he now clearly regarded her, tried to block out the sensation of his fingertips stroking her cheeks, tickling her ears... You're a fool, Therese, her mind muttered. How many other women do you suppose he's been with? How many pretty things has he whispered to them? And what did it matter? Here and now, Clopin wanted her, and Therese was finding it hard to consider anything else...
She must have been taking too long to decide, for his touch, though still gentle, began to grow impatient as his restless hands slid down her neck and caressed her shoulders, his long fingers venturing just far enough under the fabric of her dress to make up her mind for her. With a smile, and a sigh, and the knowledge that she was behaving like an idiot and loving every minute of it, Therese took hold of Clopin's arms and wrapped herself up in them.
After all, her overruled sense of reason gave in at last, it's not as if you're in love with him...