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that?’ He chuckled.
I moved away from him fast. Better to get control of myself. ‘So what do you think? Isn’t it amazing?’
‘It is,’ Dorian said. He ran his fingers over old movie posters.
I’d been in here many times during renovations. Often I slipped inside just to sit on the old velveteen couch and think in peace for a minute or two.
‘This movie was out in the Forties.’ He whistled and flipped past the poster to see what was next. ‘Fifties, Sixties. There’s some valuable stuff in here. Whoever’s been storing it could probably make a killing on eBay.’
‘Chuck has been running this projector for forty years, I think.’
I walked to the small projector window and looked down into the theatre. Big well-padded seats that had been reupholstered to stay true to the original movie house. It was easy to look down and see men and women in period dress smoking cigarettes as the film played on. The original piano for the silent films was on the stage.
Dorian moved up close behind me. I could feel his energy close to mine despite the fact that he wasn’t touching me. Not yet.
He couldn’t see my face so he couldn’t see when I shut my eyes and willed him to touch me. I saw in the small reflection that he was moving to do just that. Reaching towards me. Then a boom sounded through the whole Rotunda, seeming to rattle the very floor beneath our feet. The lights went out and another boom echoed around us.
Adrenalin flooded my body and I lunged towards him. Not thinking, just reacting. I grabbed him and he put his arms around me, smoothing my hair as the lights began a crazy flicker-on-flicker-off pattern.
‘It’s OK, Clover. Hey … it’s OK.’
This was not the way I wanted to end up in his arms.
After about three minutes of non-stop flickering, the lights stabilised. I looked up at him, waiting to feel sheepish or foolish. Neither came. It was too much work. All I could focus on was getting my heart-rate down to a non-lethal rhythm.
Dorian walked me to the sofa and helped me sit. By the projector, under the makeshift desk that I was pretty sure was made of a salvaged door, was a dorm-room-sized fridge. Dorian opened it and brought me a cold soda.
‘Drink,’ he said. ‘A little bit of sugar will help. You’re as white as a sheet.’
‘My sheets are blue,’ I said, attempting a joke. He tried to smile but the concern on his face won over any other expression.
He sat next to me, took my hand and turned it palm up. He began to rub my wrist softly but firmly, right at my pulse point. ‘My mother used to do this when I didn’t feel well. I have absolutely no idea if it actually works … or what it works for, but right now it’s making me feel useful. So I hope you don’t mind.’
‘No. I’m sorry. I feel really, really stupid. It was just a shock,’ I said. I sipped the cold cola and sighed as the sweetness burst across my tongue. I felt a little stronger. A little less transparent.
His eyes were serious. I realised he’d been in a jovial mood since we’d met, because the seriousness I now found in his gaze changed his entire face. ‘What happened to you?’
I looked away, suddenly fascinated with the walls, the costumes, the analogue clock ticking time away on the wall. It was nearing dinner time. We’d been wandering for that long? ‘Nothing,’ I lied.
He pressed his lips together, looking unsure. Knowing what I knew about him, he was probably deciding whether he should let that pass or press me. His fingers continued to sweep back and forth along my pulse point. Even though it had slowed it was still somewhat erratic. I was pretty sure the erratic part was due to him touching me that way.
‘That was quite a reaction to noise. I’ve seen people react that way before,’ he said. He dropped my hand and took the soda from me. Then he placed the cold can in the hand he’d just released and claimed my other hand. There he was, once again sweeping his thumb back and forth across my pulse point. I felt that touch far beyond my wrist. I felt it in my belly and like a bright ball of fire in my chest. I felt it like a thundering heartbeat between my legs.
I bit my lip and tried to focus on what he was saying.
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ In the dim light of the office I could see his eyes had darkened but that’s all they appeared to be. Dark eyes. The green was completely hidden by the gloom. A whistle of wind could be heard and I had a bright, vivid image of the whole domed roof of the Rotunda lifting up and off the building. The worst-case scenario. A scene straight out of a tainted version of Oz.
I refused to ask where he’d seen reactions like that. Something told me it would make a sticky situation stickier.
‘A few friends who’ve served overseas. One who was in a robbery when she was young. I believe the appropriate term is PTSD, nowadays.’
I shook my head. ‘Oh, no. Nothing as horrible as that,’ I whispered.
But I was lying. That was exactly what one shrink had called it. Though, not long after, I quickly decided therapy was not for me.
‘So what is it? If it’s not horrible, surely you can share.’ He smiled and it was nearly a sad smile.
‘I … when I was young I …’ My throat grew tight and my heart pounded. A tremor had started in my body and since he had my hand in his grip there was no hiding it from him. I pressed my legs together as if that could steady me. ‘It hardly ever bothers me!’ I blurted. ‘It was just the storm frightened me, is all. I’m really sorry.’
I was panicking.
‘It’s OK,’ he said. He let my hand go and placed his at the small of my back. Small circles. That was what I felt. Small soothing circles.
Small soothing circles for the crazy woman …
‘What was it?’
‘I was …’ I blinked furiously. I did not want to cry. I did not want to cry at all. I’d do anything to keep the tears crowding my eyes from tumbling down. ‘I was left alone. One night. When I was very young. And it was bad. That’s all. Just a misunderstanding. It was something that couldn’t be avoided. And I just –’
‘Clover –’
‘Please,’ I whispered. ‘Please don’t make me.’
He looked surprised. It had never occurred to him, I don’t think, that by pressing the issue he was forcing me to do something against my will.
‘Christ,’ he muttered and pulled me against him. He simply held me there as the last of the tremors worked through me. His arm around my lower back. His heartbeat steady and calming beneath my ear. He smelled so good. Like strong man, and some kind of cologne, and sanity.
The last part made me laugh.
‘I’m sorry, Clover,’ he said tugging the end of a lock of hair.
I looked up, hesitant to break the connection with him. I didn’t know how long it would take to get another excuse to be close to him. And being close to him was something I was swiftly realising I liked.
‘It’s fine. I’m fine,’ I assured him. I sat up straight, feeling like an impostor. I was calm now. I couldn’t just lie there in his arms like some swooning heroine.
Dorian stroked my hair. ‘Good. I’m glad. I’m sorry I pressed you on something that is simply none of my damn business.’
‘It’s fine. Thank you for caring.’
I felt my face grow hot. That had simply slipped out. I’d had no idea I was going to say it.
He smiled at me and touched my cheek. ‘You’re very easy to care about, you know.’
Those words set off a waterfall