“Now. And last night too,” she muttered, pressing her hand against her forehead.
She realized then that if she headed back to her room she’d have to look at the ugly wallpaper with the hideous black stain on it. She wasn’t ready to face it. Noemí changed course, quickly veering toward the stairs. She could always hide in the drawing room. It was the most comfortable room in the house.
“If you’re having bad dreams I can ask the doctor for a remedy to help you sleep the next time he visits us,” Virgil said.
She walked faster, intent on putting distance between him and her. “That won’t do any good since I wasn’t dreaming.”
“You weren’t dreaming last night? But you walked in your sleep.”
She turned around. They were standing on the stairs, and he was three steps above her.
“That was different. Today I was awake. Today—”
“It all sounds very confusing,” he interjected.
“That’s because you’re not giving me a chance to speak.”
“You’re very tired,” he said dismissively as he began to descend those steps.
Noemí went down three more steps, attempting to maintain the same gap between them. “Is that what you told her? You’re very tired? Did she believe you?”
A moment later he had reached Noemí and bypassed her, descending the final steps to the ground floor. He turned to look at her.
“I think it’s better if we leave it at this for now. You’re agitated.”
“I don’t want to leave it at this,” she said.
“Oh?”
Vigil slid a hand over the shoulder of the carved nymph that grasped the newel post at the bottom of the staircase. A sordid spark danced in his eyes. Or was she imagining that too? Was there something else to that casual “oh,” to that smile spreading across his face?
She descended the steps, giving him a challenging look. But then her courage evaporated when he leaned forward and she thought he was about to transfer his hand to her shoulder.
In the dream there had been a strange taste in his mouth, like ripe fruit, and he, with the pinstriped jacket, hovering above her, taking off his clothes, slipping into the tub and touching her, while Noemí wrapped her arms around him. The memory was tinged with arousal, but also with a terrible humiliation.
You’ll be a good girl, won’t you? He’d told her that. And here they were now, wide awake, and she realized that he was capable of saying exactly that to her in real life. That he’d have no trouble snidely delivering such a line, that his strong hands could find her in the daylight or the dark.
She was afraid he’d touch her and of how she’d react. “I wish to leave High Place. Can you tell someone to drive me back to town?” she asked quickly.
“You’re full of impulsiveness today, Noemí,” he said. “Why would you be leaving us?”
“I don’t need a reason.”
She’d come back. Yes, that was right. Or even if she didn’t leave, if she could get as far as the train station and write to her father, it would all be better. The world seemed to be collapsing around her, becoming a confused mess, dreams bleeding into her waking hours. If she was able to step out, to discuss the strange experiences she was having at High Place with Dr. Camarillo, then maybe she’d feel like herself again. Camarillo might even be able to help her figure out what was going on, or what she should do. Air. She needed fresh air.
“Of course not. But we can’t drive you back with all this rain. I told you, the roads are treacherous.”
She could see the raindrops splattered against the colored glass window on the second landing. “Then I’ll walk back.”
“You’ll drag your suitcase in the mud? Perhaps you intend to use it as a boat and paddle away on it? Don’t be silly,” he said. “The rain must cease today, and we can attempt the drive tomorrow morning. Will that suffice?”
Now that he’d agreed to take her to town she was able to breath and unclench her tense hands. Noemí nodded.
“If you really are leaving us tomorrow, then you should have dinner with us one final time,” Virgil said, sliding his hand off the nymph and glancing down the hallway, in the direction of the dining room.
“Very well. And I’ll want to talk to Catalina too.”