If the evening is truly blue,
And divine a second meeting,
Unavoidably meeting you.
― Anna Akhmatova
Henri Matisse. 1928
"You have a unique condo―it's Art Deco, secluded on a ravine and only four tenants."
Cree talked me into a late afternoon walk in autumn rain and I didn't need much persuading. As we walked leaf-splattered streets she mused about my choice of real estate.
I felt I had to defend my home. "I liked the ambiance of the building― right from the start, and it also helped it was built in 1929. It has a feel of history. "
"You like that era don't you?" she asked, bemused by my nostalgia.
Do you ever feel you were born in the wrong time?" I asked, curious as to what her answer might be, though I thought I could guess it. But nevertheless, she surprised me.
"Actually, I do feel disconnected from this age and its obsession with technology. I hearken back, I suppose, to a simpler time when the pace of life was less unsettling."
"Is there a specific time that appeals to you?"
"I watch a lot of old movies from the forties so I guess we're no so different after all when you come down to it. We're an anachronism, you and me, out of place in time seeking a retreat from it."
I glanced at Cree, strands of her honey hair teased by the breeze from beneath her black wool tam, looking for all the world she belonged with me in The Thirties.
"You constantly surprise me , Girl," I laughed.
""Famous for it," she smirked mischievously, grabbing my arm and leaning into me, so close, the fragrance of her perfume intoxicated me.
We stopped by the tiny woods near my building and I stared at her in surprise.
"What are you wearing?"
"Really, Ryce, do you want to go there?"
I coloured as I realized my unintended double entendre. "That's not what I meant― I mean, what fragrance are you wearing?"
"I'm not sure," she said hesitantly, wondering where this was heading.
I smiled reassuringly, so she let down her defences.
"If you must know, Madeleine at work gave it to me for my birthday― it's a classic, she said―a vintage fragrance."
"I like it," I said lamely.
She nodded. "Glad you do," she whispered, giving me a side-long glance.
"Well, I've got to get going. By the way, Owen wants you to give him a call about the progress of the biography."
I will," I said, giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for the walk in the rain. It was lovely."
She gave me her dazzling smile―the kind that lights up a room when she spies me at a cocktail party, and I wondered why I was hanging back afraid to take our relationship further.
Maybe I was shy, afraid of being rejected and feeling foolish―or maybe I was holding out for another woman―someone I had already given my heart to.
Ironically, it was the hour the French call L'heure bleue― not enough daylight or darkness, much like my mood...
But then, there was that matter of the other woman to whom I'd gladly surrender if she wanted my soul too.
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