The Blue Hour

Chapter 32: Flora

Bright crimson ribbons decorated the draped train, which swept across the floor as Flora entered the Hotel de Londres. Hidden between her breasts, she carried a blue stone, the guardian eye gifted by Anoush and Siran with their first salary, and in her ears, the earrings that arrived with William's dinner invitation.

Even though she was all dressed up in one of Hélène's hand-me-downs, the sumptuous decor made her feel like an impostor. Beneath the lady like surface, she felt like a farm girl who had erroneously landed in these sumptuous surroundings.

The hotel was the former residence of the famous Glavany family, now a luxury establishment equipped with the latest technology, a hydraulic elevator, and bathrooms with tubs. Only the best. He wanted her dazzled and yearning in order to satisfy her frivolous whims and make her the envy of the entire world. You do impressionable so well, he has to fall for you, Hélène had predicted at one point, and she had been right.

The thought boosted Flora's confidence. Her goal today was to make William feel he had made the right decision. She could do that. She would approach him with a serene smile and an air of devotion.

Just inside the double glass doors, the head waiter bid her to wait. From underneath the man's navy hotel uniform, he emitted an alluring foreign scent which reminded her of Hamid. A treacherous scent; she knew she must shut it out.

The restaurant was empty but for William, sat at a table in a dim corner; his mind was on business. A personal secretary removed a document and placed a new one before him. William read and signed. The man she would wed. He was shorter than her, with a stocky frame and at least ten years older. Not outright ugly, she thought.

There was the faint murmur of the men's voices, distant sounds from the street beyond the garden, a delicate smell of poached fish. It was a bright day; through gaps in the velvet drapes, shafts of sunlight made the dusty air glitter.

Somewhere in the hotel, a door opened and closed, and above, heeled shoes drummed against the wooden floor. William didn't turn his head. He didn't acknowledge her presence. Had he not heard them enter? She wondered how he would receive her, if he would kiss her hand, take her by the elbow and direct her to her chair. She thought he would.

Next to her, the head waiter stood in silence, eyes fixed on the opposite wall, but perfectly alert, ready to spring into action at a snap-of-the-fingers.

The private secretary collected the documents, bowed, and scurried past her, and out through the double doors. She thought: When he lifts his head, he will look full at me, into my eyes. I will flinch and bend and lower my gaze.

At the centre of the empty room stood the table he had reserved for them. She realised he had booked the whole restaurant for them alone. Servants appeared, candles were lit, two violinists in black tails even played a sonata.

William ordered for the both of them, consommé, oysters, filet of sole, pheasant, while she watched him from across the round table. She did not dislike him, Hélène was right. But she didn't like him either. Until the moment he addressed her in the shop, she had never really thought about him. The way he had watched her, sideways, when she worked, she instantly knew he wanted her.

Now too, she felt his eyes on her as she soundlessly chewed and swallowed. An intrusive gaze, unsolicited, like a hand under her skirt; she tried to relax. The music flowing from the violins contrasted with the silence between them.

He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. Did he look restless? Uncomfortable? He smiled, but it did not come easy. It was a quick, frozen smile that showed clenched teeth and seemed painful. "You have probably noticed already. I'm no good at small talk. Our parents gifted Jane with that skill."