Marguerite took Percy's arm and lead him through the streets of Paris
until they neared the chapel she used to frequent when she was
younger. Now a bit run down and almost abandon looking, Marguerite gave
a sigh as they turned the final corner to the building.
Seeing the dilapidated building, Blakeney glanced at Marguerite. It
was unlike the churches he had frequented throughout his childhood.
Unlike the temples his family had visited. Unlike the grand English
homes of God. It was nicer than the huts his father had dragged him
to when in the lesser countries south of Egypt. Each place came to
his memory now. He remembered long lost smells. The young son of
Sir Algernon was taught to take of his hat, humble himself before
God, and beg for forgiveness for actions taken. Atone for his sins.
When the last time he had ventured into a house of God? Had it been
near a year? Less than. He was telling himself it had to be less.
How odd that he should become emotional at the sight of this
chapel. Fighting an internal battle, the stoic and quiet Englishman
kept Marguerite on his arm and was lead inside. Out of habit, out of
teachings, the minute he walked inside, he bowed his head and quietly
prayed.
There was no joking found in his behavior now. He did ask for
forgiveness for his sinful thoughts of moments past. He was a man of
a great false ego, but inside Percy knew he was only a man before
God. Blakeney prayed.
Despite it's outward appearance, the inside of the church was very
nice. Clean and well kept, decorated with many of the ornaments on
display in most churches, Marguerite felt very comfortable here. She
looked towards the alter to see an old man shuffling about. Father Simon had already reached an old age when he had married Marguerite's parents over twenty years ago.
Marguerite let go of Percy's arm but still motioned for him to follow her as she approached the front of the church. The priest heard her footsteps which echoed in the large hall and turned to see the two approaching. He smiled when he recognized Marguerite and stepped down towards them. "Well look who it is." he began in French, "It's our little Margot, come back to visit I see, and with a friend."
Marguerite smiled as she met him. "Oh Father, I am so glad we found you
here." she motioned for Percy to step closer, "and yes, I brought a
friend. This is Percy. Percy, this is Father Simon. He's been my
family's priests for many many years."
He stood there politely, wondering if he should understand her French
or not. He decided not, for perhaps he would learn something about
this priest if the man felt him ignorant. It was his life story and
one he played well.
When Marguerite gesture's matched her words, Blakeney bowed his head,
guessing only that his silence would soon dawn on his bride-to-be.
Did the man speak English? Better to not assume and give a bad
impression. Percy felt that soon enough, judgment would be passed.
No sense in forcing the facts out sooner than they were needed.
The priest stepped forward to greet Percy, which Marguerite translated
after explaining that Percy did not understand French. "Well, any friend of our little Margot is welcomed here." the priest said before turning back to Marguerite. "Marie wanted to thank you for the clothes you donated a few weeks ago. She said she knew of a family with two girls, very tall, had trouble getting donations for them."
Marguerite smiled, "Well, I am glad I was able to help, but now I need to ask you for something Father." Marguerite blushed and stepped over to Percy, sliding her arm through his. "Percy and I, we wished to be
married. We were hoping you would perform the ceremony."
Here it came. Standing perfectly still, patting her arm when she
looped it in his, Blakeney nodded once with a smile. He waited to
hear what the priest had to say.
"Ahhh, so our little Margot wants to get married. I would be happy to
perform the ceremony for you. Come, come, we can begin to prepare things now." the priest said as he turned and stepped towards the back area of the church.
Marguerite looked away from him and up into Percy's eyes, given him a
smile to assure him that Father Simon had agreed to it, so far.
He still remained quiet, but when Father Simon was not looking,
Blakeney raised a brow at his bride-to-be as if to question what the
old man thought about their religious clashing. Marguerite did not
bring it up yet, and he knew this, however Sir Percy had to pretend
to only be merely asking.
Blakeney wanted to know and smiled at Marguerite, but kept the
intense face of a burning question.
Marguerite and Percy followed Father Simon into a small office in the
back. The priest sat down behind the desk and motioned for them to sit
down in front of him. He addressed Marguerite as he spoke. "Now,
your Percy speaks only English. Am I too assume he is from England?"
"Yes father, Percy is from England."
"Well, first than there is the issue of religion of course. It is
rare that one is both English and catholic."
"We've already discussed that father. Percy is protestant, but we agree
that we do not expect the other to change or waiver their beliefs to match the other. We must both be free to practice what we believe."
"Alright," Father Simon said, accepting her answer, "And the children
then. What have you decided for them. How shall they be raised?"
After translating for Percy, she looked at him questioningly. They hadn't discussed the possibility of children.
The topic of conversation suddenly turned to making the Baronet quite
amused. It wasn't enough that he was getting used to having a wife,
now they were bringing up children. Wasn't a man his age too old?
Of course, Marguerite was young... but still. It took all his wills
to not smirk as they spoke the French back and forth.
Luckily, Maeve translated soon after, so Blakeney could release the
bottled up nerves.
"Why... children... yes. Um. Yes." He had not thought of
children. Not HIS children. Children were things that happened to
people, not him. Everything about his protective little world was
changing at a pace he asked for, but was not ready to set.
"Why..." he stammered again, "Raise them up to God's light....."
He had no idea if that would do and felt his face redden more.
Marguerite looked at Percy, "I think he means to we wish to raise them as Protestant or Catholic."
The nerves had him laughing ever so slightly, which made him quickly
cover his mouth and act in an apologetic manner. Children. Him.
Who could even imagine.
"I... I.. I don't know." He looked helplessly at the priest. What
on earth was he supposed to say? He was Protestant by default and
believed in God. Did the priest expect him at a mass or service or
Lord knows what? Giving another little nervous laugh, he looked from
Marguerite to the holy man. Another apologetic wave of his hand and
he took to covering his face as his skin was hot.
Marguerite sighed nervously as she watched Father Simon sit back and wait for their answer. "I think," she began slowly, "that she should allow them to be exposed to both, and when they are older they made decide for themselves."
He was not supposed to understand, so just buried his face in his
gloved hands and giggled. He could not stop, so he kept it as silent
as possible. Kids... him! Good Lord above save him!
Marguerite was a bit shocked and looked over at Percy, almost as if to
scold. "Now Percy, this is something very serious and we need to consider it."
He could not look Father Simon in the face, for he feared he would
start snickering again. It was a serious issue alright. It had him
seriously unnerved. For Marguerite, Percy composed himself and
in took deep breaths. It was obvious that the two had never discussed
children. What could anyone expect after 6 weeks?
Clearing his throat, he looked at Marguerite and dug his fingers into
his leg. Yes. Better to concentrate on that, else he break up again
into hysterical nervous fits. "I think that will do fine with me."
Blakeney almost began to snicker again, for he was putting all his
energies into keeping a straight face. Exhaling quietly, he felt he
was going to pull it off.
Marguerite watched as the priest nodded after she explained her idea in
French. He seemed to accept it and moved onto the next subject. "So
then, tell me why you two wish to be married."
Marguerite reached over and took Percy's hand in her own. "I wish to
marry him because I love him. I've never been so sure of anything in my
life. Percy is kind, and generous, and loyal, and he wants to make me
happy." she explained to the priest.
Giving Percy's hand a squeeze, she looked over at him with a happy tear
pricking at her eye as she translated the priest's question and her
response.
He understood her the first time, and hearing the words repeated in
English, for him, choked the Baronet up. Never had anyone in their
life described him as... dare he say, loyal? Who needed him? All
his life he had been on his own. Even when in the belly of the ship,
his sick mother and overbearing father top deck, he was alone.
The stoic gentleman did not know how to respond. While Percy was a
passionate man, he was by far, very English. Squeezing her hand
back, Blakeney felt the urge to laugh leave him quickly. Love. She
said it, and he could not quite bring himself to match that word.
Did he love her? Percy knew he did but how could such a man ever say
the word? Speaking on children was a far easier topic.
Closing his eyes, the Englishman could only offer, "Yes, I look only
to make her happy. She, who has taken over my world and captured
my," Could he say it? "Heart."
It was about as good as it was going to get, for the Baronet felt his
face redden once more.
Marguerite smiled and let the soft tear fall from her eye as she raised
Percy's hand to her cheek. After translating for Father Simon, he seemed to accept the answer, and their emotions. He turned to the side and pulled out a small calendar. "Well then, when would you two like to be wed?"
Marguerite paused and looked at him for a moment before answering. "We'd like to be married this Sunday, at midnight."
The priest looked up at her in a bit of a shock. "That is a rather hasty wedding Marguerite. I would not want to assume that you shall need a confession before the ceremony."
Marguerite felt her face redden. "Oh no father, it's nothing like that,
nothing at all, it's just that, well, to be honest, everything Percy and I have done together has been quick, and it only seems right to do it this way. And with my run finishing up, and Armand out of school, it just seems like the perfect time."
Marguerite quickly turned away to translate for Percy before the priest
could respond.
'Good Lord!' What on earth did this Catholic man think of the
English anyway? 'That we are a bunch of bed riding men?' The
Baronet was taken aback, but kept his face stoic still. Slowly, he
opened his eyes when Margot began to translate.
He nodded, hearing her in English and said, "Yes. The perfect
time." Percy was not sure what to make of all this, so kept still
and quiet.
Marguerite nervously squeezed Percy's hand and looked back at Father
Simon, who with a sigh nodded and put his calendar away. "I believe we
can work that out then." he began, "There are still a few things to
to take care of, such as an announcement, but if you'd made arrangements at the theatre, no doubt you managers have sufficiently taken care of letting the public know your plans. I assume you have witnesses chosen."
Marguerite nodded, "Yes, Armand, and another family friend will be
present. We want it small and intimate, so it will be a small party."
"Well then," the priest said, "I think we can take care of this. I must prepare for a ceremony this evening, but I will be happy to conduct yours on Sunday."
When Margot translated for him, he nodded a happy agreement and asked
her, "What is the.... donation charge?" He knew churches in England
required such things. Stupid of him to think a French one would be
different. He waited, for he would settle the 'bill', so to say.
Blakeney now only wished to leave this place. All this serious talk
was beginning to wear on him.
Marguerite translated the question for the priest. "Many of our members
are not able to afford such a price. We ask that they contribute what
they can, so long as it does not terribly damage their ability to live."
He had heard such institutional speeches before. Translation to the
businessman's brain: Pay an absurdly large sum. Blakeney did not
wish to make money be the focus of this union, so he stood and
extended his hand to Father Simon.
"Tell him I'll have a donation sent from England." He winked at
Marguerite. 10,000 francs? Probably not enough, given his stature.
He would come up with something.
Marguerite smiled and translated for the priest. She didn't know if
Father Simon had realized Percy's wealth from his dress, but considering
how well he treated her, and his generosity in the dress shop, she
trusted that Percy would give her church a sizable donation.
The couple left the office, arm and arm, and stepped back out in to the
bright sunlight of the afternoon. "I think that went very well. I am so glad that he has agreed to marry us. I don't know what we would have done if he hadn't."
Blakeney replied as only a man who has felt cornered and unprepared
knows how. "Good Lord, but that was rather grueling, eh Maeve?" He
had not meant to be so blunt about it, however it was not what he
expected. Of course, to be fair, he was not sure what to expect.
Marguerite stopped after he made that comment. "If something was
bothering you about that Percy, you should have said something."
Taking her hand, he undid his gloves once more and shook his
head. "Nothing is bothersome... other than that sit in. Tell me, is
everything done, done so in such a manner? Sink me if I have to sit
through that again. Put me on a hot fire and call me cooked."
Marguerite pulled her hand out of his a bit roughly. "Well, if visiting a priest and going through an interview in order to be wed are too much for you, perhaps we should reconsider." she said and continued walking past him, crossing her arms in front of her.
For the slightest of moments, he stood there surprised. The damn,
mouthy Englishman had the nerve to look shocked. Finally, he called
and ran after her. "Maeve! Wait up a moment say?!"
What on earth had he done? She certainly did get upset over the
smallest of sorts. "Maeve!" He caught up to her and put a gentle
hand on her shoulder.
Marguerite heard him call after her, but didn't bother looking back,
instead she just kept walking. It wasn't until she felt him touch her
shoulder did she pay him any attention. She slowed her step but shook her shoulder so that he would take his hand off her.
The reactions from Marguerite perplexed him. "What the devil did I
say?" He asked, walking astride. His long lanky legs easily keeping
pace with her anger.
"I thought you wanted to marry me Percy, but putting together a wedding is more than just buying a dress and some flowers." Marguerite said as she began to tear slightly. "I've known Father Simon all my life. He married my parents, baptized both Armand and I, gave us out first communions, and heard every confession I've made. As interviews go that was very short and simple, but if it's too much we can still reconsider."
If she wasn't so damn angry with him, he would have viewed this as a
comical situation. "Maeve, Maeve, Maeve! Hold the stern steady,
eh?" He moved in front of her, to stop her rapid pace.
"Marguerite St. Just. Forgive my insensitive and flippant words that
escaped my lips just prior." He realized she was far more into the
church than he. He had insulted her.
"I am an English fool who only wishes he might have been brought up
with such a devout heart. Instead, I am a mouthy idiot who speaks
before thinking upon the harm his words might do to the lady." His
eyes soft, he tried to make up.
"And why is it that you wish to have a more devout heart? To be closer to God or because there would have been less chance of insulting me?" Marguerite asked.
He took offense to that now. He had his belief, and held them strong
if not practiced them as she had. Sternly he answered, "Definitely
not the latter."
Not willing to continue the argument, he stood there silently waiting
for her to decide it was time to move. He would have to ride out the
squall and hope for the sun.
Marguerite sighed and looked away. By arguing in the street, they weren't getting anywhere. Angry and frustrated she backed down and looked away from him, but stopped and didn't leave him either.
Where all this fighting came from all of a sudden, he did not know.
He was a nervous man voicing his opinion. Surely there was a bit of
jesting allowed in that. No matter. Maeve was upset and he had been
the cause.
The silence between them was near driving her mad. She unsuccessfully
blinked away a few tears as they stood next to each other in the
street. A woman walked by selling flowers. The girl caught Marguerite's attention. She looked at Percy and then stepped away to buy a small bunch of flowers from the girl, and then turned back in the direction of the church.
Feeling rather out of place and foolish for his casual way of
approaching the church, Blakeney stood there like a bean pole and
watched Marguerite. She did not say a word or look back at him,
however she went right towards the church.
'Probably to pray for a better husband' he could not help but think.
He did not follow her right away, thinking she would rather be left
alone.
Blakeney moved over to a park bench and sat. Drummed his fingers,
cursed his tongue, and watched. What was she doing?
Marguerite continued walking until she had just passed the church and
stepped into a small area surrounded by trees. She walked alone a stone
path towards the back corner to two graves side by side. She stepped
forward and places some of the flowers on the headstone marking her
mother's grave, and the rest on the stone marking her father's. Quietly
and alone, she knelt at the foot of their graves and silently began to
pray.
Marguerite went out of view and Blakeney looked about. Was this
Father Simon going to find her and know he is a bad man? He sighed
and waited. The stubbornness of Percival Blakeney held him pinned to
that park bench and he was not about to move.
Marguerite sobbed as she prayed. Was all the happiness she felt, all the happiness she dreamed of to be destroyed because of this clash of
religions? She continued sobbing quietly and praying, hoping for some
type of guidance.
He waited, and waited. Then he waited some more. What on earth was
Marguerite doing? All Blakeney could think was that she was
confessing the horrible things he had teased her on.
Who would of thought such simple idle words could cause such flint.
The stubbornness idled on.
Marguerite, still confused about everything that had happened, began a
pouring out of emotions to her late parents. She often wondered if they
could really see her, if they could listen to her prayers. Yet, at times like this, it didn't matter. She gave long narratives to her mother at times of trouble like this. How she wished her mother was still with her to guide her through such times.
He stretched. There was no rest for those of wicked thoughts and
Blakeney stood, rubbing his lower back. He was getting too old for
these sort of games, wasn't he?
Strolling about, he slowly headed towards where Marguerite had last
been seen. The tall Englishman felt a little out of place without
her at his side. He admitted to himself that he missed her.
Once she was finally worn down and exhausted, Marguerite wiped her eyes
and stood to brush some of the grass off her skirt. She moved to adjust a stem of the flowers which had slipped off her father's grave. As she stood she could see out the gate and partially down the street. She spotted Percy walking along, heading in her direction. She wondered if he saw her, wondered if he was looking for her.
Having such a high vantage point, he spotted her as he neared the
gate and fenced in place. He offered a bit of a smile, and stopped
within a few feet of the place. It seemed to be of a grave yard. A
place Blakeney did not go nor enter.
Allowing Marguerite how much ever private time she needed, he waited
for her.
Marguerite returned the smile Percy gave her before turning her attention back to the small head stones. She took out her handkerchief and wiped a bit of dirt from one of them. She began to cry again, thinking that this may be the last time she was at her parent's graves for sometime again.
He glanced over his shoulder, to look behind him. Catching the sight
of a boy and dog, Blakeney watched them until they became out of
view. Turning his attention back to Marguerite, she wept by the
headstones and this made him feel all the more uncomfortable.
Blakeney did not go into grave yards. Percy did not weep over lost
family. The Baronet stoically waited and did not go to Marguerite's
side.
Marguerite, with her eyes now very dry, said a final goodbye to her
parents, and tucked her handkerchief away as she walked out of the small
graveyard. She wanted so much for Percy's comfort, but wasn't sure if
he'd be willing to offer it to her. She caught sight of him once more as she slowed down exiting the yard.
Not a step did he take towards the resting place of souls, however
Blakeney did gingerly offer his hand towards her, risking her pulling
from his touch. He was silent, in thoughtful retrospect. Had he
spoken, it would shard the calmness in the air.
Blakeney liked calm.
Marguerite softly took the hand he offered her and stepped forward until
she was only inches from him. She didn't look up into his face, but rather towards the shoulder that was at her eye level. More than anything right now she just wanted Percy to close the gap between them and wrap his arms around her.
It was a good sign that she took his hand. Not wishing to push his
luck, Blakeney kept quiet and held her hand. Leading her back the
way they came, his mind raced with thought, but nothing worthwhile
came forth to his lips.
He didn't care to hold her. Her heart sank but at the same time, she
couldn't blame him. She let her hand lay limp in his as the silently led her away from the church.
'This can't be good,' he thought to himself. She was making her hand
appear lifeless to his touch, and while he did not like that, the ego
reminded himself that at least she was holding it. Blakeney was
unaware of the game the two stubborn adults played. He walked and
then allowed her to lead. He had not a clue what else they had to do
today, or where he was going.
If left up to him, he would lead her to the theatre.
Marguerite felt Percy led her along, but she paid little attention to
where he led here. Even when he slowed she just simply kept going in the direction he began with in the first place.
They walked along in deadening silence. The streets were filled with
sounds of yelling, laughing, shouting and normal busy Parisian life.
Blakeney heard none of it, as his mind obsessed over the events that
played themselves out from his own silly words.
After passing the fifth or sixth cafe, he gestured lightly to the
seventh. "Hungry?" He asked it quietly, a bit of his stubbornness
coming forth. He was not angry with her, but her actions caused him
needless worry. It was a ludicrous situation.
Marguerite was awakened from her thoughts when Percy spoke. She looked up and noted the cafe they were walking past. She looked back at him and then nodded quietly as she looked down again.
Now he was becoming more irritated. If he wanted to have her silent
on what was supposed to be a happy day, he could have walked around
Paris by himself. At least then Blakeney could joke and laugh as Sir
Percy liked to do with himself.
Determined not to let her get to him, he lead her in and to a table.
He held out her chair, because gentlemen were supposed to. They sat
and Blakeney stared down at the menu. 'Dammit all to hell!' he
thought. Normally this was the fun part of the meal where she would
read the French to him and describe what meals were what. In a way,
it was the best part of their flirtatious dinner. He played dumb and
she thought him so. She was making him miss it now and she probably
felt she had the upper hand because he could not read the menu.
Well, he would show her.
Quietly he sat and stared at the paper before him, pretending to try
and figure it out. Percy had other ideas up his laced sleeve.
Marguerite sat down in the chair Percy pulled out for her and began
silently to look over the menu. She was still upset and nervous, and
avoided looking at him, but after a few moments remembered that Percy
couldn't read the menu. Softly she started to read of the main dishes in English so he would understand.
It was hard remaining angry with her, for she was destroying his
independence at the moment. Despite the fact that she made no
eye contact with him, Blakeney felt his anger subside a little.
He did not answer though, nor did he thank her. The stubborn mule
closed his eyes and waited for the server to appear.
Marguerite put her menu down and sighed. The silence was unbearable and
she wanted to scream just to break the tension between the two. She never lifted her eyes until a waiter came to take their order. She looked up and gave him her order and then waited for Percy's assuming she'd have to translate it.
Looking directly up at the waiter, Blakeney pointed to the menu and
spoke not a word. If she wished to only speak to him to give him
food translations, then that suited him fine. He could play the game.
He knew what he was ordering, however Sir Percy pretended as if he
randomly picked something off the sheet. It was a bland form of
pasta. He would have normally liked to have ordered duck, however
Marguerite might become suspicious had he pointed to that. Either
that or figured she helped him.
The foolishness of the man only grew.
Marguerite didn't know what he pointed to, but didn't ask either. She
continued to quietly stare down at the table just in front of
her. Absently, she fiddled with a piece of flatware in front of her,
several times giving a few soft sighs.
Why was he so angry? Would he ever forgive her? Marguerite felt a dull
ache continue to grow in her chest. She was sad and upset and wanted so
badly to shed tears once more from her already dry eyes.
The painful silence continued and Blakeney wondered why she wouldn't
even look at him. He could try and make a funny face or cross his
eyes. Wink. Something, anything. Instead, his Maeve seemed very
interested in the utensils. The woman had seen and used utensils
before.
Maddening.
Blakeney leaned back in his chair and stared out the front window.
People enjoying life together. He was accustomed to being alone, but
with Maeve so close, it seemed like a huge waste.
Where was the bloody meal?
Marguerite only bothered to look up when the waiter brought a bottle of
wine to them and poured two glasses. She reached out and took a small sip before replacing it on the table. Once more her dropped her hands, but this time under the table into her lap instead on top where she could play idlely with what was on the table.
When the glasses were poured, he turned his stare back to Maeve. She
continued to pay him no heed. She sipped her wine and then replaced
the vessel. This was grating on his nerves.
Refusing to even sniff or try the wine, Blakeney turned back to the
window and watched the passer bys. They held hands. His hands were
empty. Some kissed. His lips were cold. The distance between the
couples were a matter of inches, if space was even available.
He could near use the entire metric system to measure the amount of
cold space between him and Marguerite.
Marguerite continued to look down at the table, her fingers playing in her lap, her feet tapping on the floor. She turned her foot and odd way and accidentally gave Percy's foot a light tap. She looked up and the quickly away, as a child afraid of being punished would. "I'm sorry," she said, referring to his foot. "I didn't mean to hit your foot."
The lazy blues gazed in her direction. Had he actually met green for
a moment? He felt her tap, but of course, nothing he could do was
with much seriousness. "You did not hit my foot. Perhaps you meant
to hit it, or wished to touch it, but it appears you have made
contact with the table instead."
He studied her. Hoping. Wishing wantfully.
"Oh," she said in a near whisper, "I thought I might have hit you. I
didn't mean too." was about all should could muster in terms of a
response.
He rolled his eyes. She had not taken the bait and left him sitting
there feeling more like an idiot. When the meal was served, he sat
there and twirled the fork about the thin pasta, as he had been
taught in Italy as a child. Most thought this action only added to
the eccentricy of Sir Percy. Blakeney honestly never gave it a
second thought.
He watched Marguerite continue to not look at him, and slowly ate the
meal. After a few more silent bites, Percy found a particularly
slippery strand and tried to eat it. It slid off.
He tried again.
Again, the pitching paste plopped from his fork and onto the plate.
Percy raised a brow. On the third time, he succeeded in circling it
about the fork, and then glanced over at Marguerite. "Care to try
some of this...... whatever it is?"
He was trying to make peace. Poking fun at himself for pretending to
have no idea what he ordered.
Marguerite herself had barely managed more than two or three bites of her hen. She looked over at Percy when he spoke to her, offering her a taste of his food. She really didn't care for it, but thought if he was at least offering, she should accept. She nodded quietly and waited to see if he would put some on her plate, or feed her from his own hands as they had so many times before.
Leaning forward, the fork was offered, and Blakeney was careful to
keep it upright, less the sleek and thin meal slid off again. He
looked at her eyes, hoping she would return his gaze. Too much
silence passed for a happy and jovial man, and he found himself
chattering a bit.
"Seems like normal pasta or some exotic Italian dish, but I swore I
was ordering the usual duck. Has France changed its menu since I ate
last or has their foul fowl taken on a new form?"
It was a poor attempt to make her laugh, but he had to try.
Marguerite leaned forward and took a bit of the pasta off his fork. She
gave a slight smile as she chewed the pasta at his explanation of his
order. She paused, finally looking at him, as she chewed and swallowed
it. "I would have told him what you wanted."
"I'm you may, however it was quite clear that you were not speaking
to me. It would be not right of me to ask you to speak for me."
He did not say it angrily, but more matter of fact. For a moment, he
hesitated to say it at all. Blakeney only hoped this was the road to
good graces. She could still come back and be angry.
Marguerite dropped her fork and looked away from him. "I was only quiet
because you were angry with me. I didn't want to upset you more."
He looked damn near crazed at her. "Me angry at you? It was you who
were angry with me. Do you not recall exiting the church?" The
confused blue eyes watched her. Did Marguerite not become upset with
him when he expressed his nerves?
"I do recall, and I recall being offended, and I recall arguing with you, and . . ." Marguerite stopped mid sentence. Tired, emotional worn down, and on the verge of tears again, she simply turned away again. "I don't want to argue anymore."
"Alright." He went to quietly eating his dinner. The woman was
acting all emotional and Blakeney had no inquiry as to why. Chalking
it up as strange behavior that females did, he looked around the room
and let his mind wander. He did not wish to argue either.
'Alright.' that was all he had to say to her? Didn't he care that she was upset? Didn't he care about what had happened that day? Did he care at all for anything other than his stomach? Inside Marguerite fumed. She reached into her bag and pulled out enough money for her meal, she didn't want him to have to pay for her. She laid it on the table and stood to leave. "It's getting late, and I have to go to the theatre."
Half in the gesture of putting another spiraled forkful into his
mouth, Blakeney blinked and watched her stand. Her actions were not
favorable and soon she was slapping down some francs and bidding him
good bye.
Setting the fork down, he reached for her wrist gently. "Maeve?" He
was so confused. What had he done now? "You do not really have to
go so soon, do you?"
Marguerite closed her eyes as he touched her, so gently she wanted to
melt, as she always did when he touched her like that. But this time she couldn't. She shook her head and stammered a bit, "I just . . . I don't . . I just can't sit here like this anymore Percy."
"Marguerite...." He stood now with her and looked at Maeve
confused. "What can I do Marguerite? What can I do?"
Marguerite looked up at him, and then averted her eyes. "You just seem so cool, so indifferent to everything." Marguerite said, "it's driving me to near insanity wondering what you're thinking and why you're so quiet."
"I'm quiet because I do not wish to upset you again..... My words...
before."
"And your silence is what upsets me." Marguerite said, on the verge of
snapping again. She sat back down in a huff, "I'll stay if you talk."
"Alright." Now he was pressured to talk about nothing in
general. Luckily Sir Percy was an expert. "are you excited about winding down your work in the theatre? Will you miss this role?"
Marguerite fumed. "Not idle talk Percy. We went through something awful today, and it's not something we can brush aside easily."
"You just said you wished NOT to talk about it....."
"I never said that." Marguerite rebuffed.
"Yes you did. You just said you didn't want to talk about it."
"I did not." Marguerite said. "I said I didn't want to argue anymore. I never said I didn't want to talk."
"Precisely" He blinked. Her words sinking in with his. "Well..... what I mean is..." Now he just stood there quiet. Thinking.
"There is a difference Percy. Just as there is a difference between idle talk and serious discussion, not that you seem interested in the latter."
Percy frowned at her. "Now that is unfair..." He began. Here he was
again, having someone tell him how his life was supposed to be. How he
felt and how he acted. Hell, she was practically even telling him why.
He gave up. "What would you like to talk about? Earlier? The church and the Pastor?"
"Yes earlier. You offended me Percy, and upset me. Why didn't we settle it then? Why did we go on in silence like that? Why didn't you hold me when I came out of the graveyard? Is it going to be like this every time we argue?"
He backed up and held up his hands. This was a little bit too much at
once. "I I I am unaccustomed to these things Maeve....." She had
no idea what was going on in his head and he did not know how to express
it. Instead, he glanced outside the window. "All I can offer is my
apology."
"I have the feeling you don't even know what you're apologizing for."
He sat back down, defeated. Blakeney was not good at expressing himself
in these types of situations. What she expected from him he was unable to give. His one arm lifted slightly, almost to agree with her and almost to ask this line of questioning to stop. It was dreadfully painful.
Marguerite gave a defeated sigh and stood up again to leave. Marguerite didn't look at his reaction, but this time he didn't reach for her. Did she want him too? She wasn't sure. Instead she just looked forwards and walked out of the cafe towards the theatre.