Flowers of Darkness Tatiana Rosnay (chromebook ebook reader TXT) 📖

to fetch her rock-star boots from the cupboard, slipped them on. The extra inches gave her a welcome power.

Clarissa strode back to the entrance, flung the door open. Dr. Dewinter’s broad shoulders seemed more muscular than ever. Her hands were large and menacing with their bloodred nails.

“Ah, there you are, Mrs. Katsef.”

“Hello, Dr. Dewinter.”

They stood facing each other. Clarissa could smell the fresh detergent scent coming from the doctor. She bored into the grayish irises without blinking. This went on for a moment, until the doctor said in a very pleasant voice, “How are you today, Mrs. Katsef?”

“Very well, Doctor. And yourself?”

“Very well.”

“There’s something you wish to say, I believe?”

The doctor beamed, revealing her white teeth.

“May I come in, Mrs. Katsef?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Clarissa, smiling as well but not letting the smile reach her eyes and soften them.

“I see,” said Dr. Dewinter brightly. She fingered the pearl in her fleshy earlobe.

“Is there a problem?” Clarissa asked.

Dr. Dewinter glanced down at the device in her hand. She hummed a little tune while she swiped through it.

“Ah, yes, right here. It appears we have had no health recordings for you in the past week, Mrs. Katsef.”

“Is that so?” said Clarissa.

Dr. Dewinter’s smile became more strained. The steely look was back.

“We were wondering if there was something wrong with your bathroom system and if it needs to be looked at. I can send Ben in now.”

Clarissa couldn’t bear the idea of another intrusion.

“I guess I keep forgetting to do my checkups,” she said, shrugging.

Dr. Dewinter arched an eyebrow.

“And yet your personal assistant reminds you to do so several times a day.”

“She does.”

“And it appears you have not been interacting with your personal assistant, either.”

The smile had disappeared.

“I’ll do the checkups, Dr. Dewinter. I promise.”

Clarissa nearly added “And now get the hell out of here.” She began to close the door.

The doctor took one step forward, nearly striding over the threshold and forcing Chablis, who was lingering there, to dart back with a quivering mew. The husky voice had dropped to a whisper.

“Let me make myself clear, Mrs. Katsef. All artists of the residence must obey protocol.”

Clarissa forced herself not to move back. The doctor hovered disturbingly close. She could make out the faint whiff of perspiration behind the detergent.

“And what happens if an artist doesn’t follow the protocol?”

Dr. Dewinter’s features gathered into a tight, pinched mask, making her look older and foreboding.

“That has never happened,” she said flatly. “And we wouldn’t want it to. Would we? Good-bye, Mrs. Katsef. Have a nice day.”

The doctor turned around and slid into the elevator. She disappeared.

Clarissa heaved a sigh of relief and closed the door. She could already see herself telling all this to Jim Perrier and hearing him hoot with laughter. She would imitate the doctor’s voice to perfection. She’d exaggerate her gestures, hunch up her shoulders to ape the doctor’s burly ones. Jim would crack up.

She went into the bathroom and swiftly underwent the medical tests, to get them over with and to no longer have to tolerate any more surprise visits. Conflicting feelings wrestled within her. Furious, she told herself she’d given in too quickly. Then she’d dig in her heels, convinced she wasn’t giving up the fight only because she’d chosen to obey for today.

“There you go, Mrs. Dalloway. All done. Happy now?”

“I’m most pleased, Clarissa, and thank you for taking the time. For your information, the shopping drone will soon be here.”

“Thanks for looking after that, Mrs. Dalloway. I’m off for my walk.”

“Perfect.”

A drone assigned to the residence delivered everything Clarissa ordered online twice a week. It deposited the provisions on the balcony in a special container. This didn’t stop Clarissa from visiting a nearby grocery store for her fruit and vegetables, which she preferred to choose herself, after fingering and sniffing them, like in the good old days. But what she brought back had no savor, no aroma. She yearned to bite into the pulp of a tomato, an apricot, a melon that tasted like long ago. Everything seemed to have a desperately bland flavor nowadays.

As she was about to leave, Mrs. Dalloway declared an internal message from Jim Perrier had just arrived.

“Dear Clarissa, I read Topography of Intimacy with great pleasure. The part in Virginia Woolf’s bedroom at Monk’s House is remarkable and most original. I read it several times. Did you ever consider adapting your novel into a TV show? I’d be happy to discuss it with you. See you soon, Jim. Do you wish to answer him now, Clarissa?”

“I’ll do it when I come back. Thank you, Mrs. Dalloway.”

“You’re welcome.”

So, Jim Perrier had gotten in touch. This meant he had information for her concerning the powder, and, no doubt, C.A.S.A. According to what they had set up, she was to go to Café Iris at 8:00 A.M.

She therefore had to stay put until tomorrow morning. It seemed to her an endless wait.

At eight o’clock sharp, as it poured with rain, Clarissa was at Café Iris, on time. The terrace was closed due to the bad weather. She took shelter inside. Jim Perrier had not arrived yet. Last night, she’d sent a quick answer, thanking him for his nice message and saying she’d be happy to discuss a TV adaptation with him. He hadn’t responded, but she’d been expecting that.

Other clients ate their breakfasts around her. The place was animated and nosy. She ordered more tea, as hers had gone tepid. Time ticked by. No sign of Jim. Had he been held up? She had no way of contacting him. She waited a little longer. At nine o’clock, she decided to go home. It was odd, his not showing up. She rushed along under the downpour.

There was no new message from him when she got to the residence. He must have run into a problem and had not known how to reach her. No reason for her to worry. She’d bide her time until he got hold of her again.

This afternoon, she was meeting Mia White,