A Hand to Hold [5/7] [Sabrina, 1954]
A Hand to Hold
Chapter 5: A Happy Thought
Two trans-Atlantic flights in four days had left his head muddled, still uncertain if he should regard the present as the middle of the afternoon or midnight. Linus only knew that his lack of sleep prohibited him from agreeing with the morning hour every clock in Paris proclaimed. Passing through the lobby, he had a thought to inquire about cables and phone calls. But he walked past the desk, hardly hearing the "Bonjour, Monsieur Larrabee" as he strode to the elevator. He didn't bother smiling back to the elevator attendant, though neither did he frown, only requesting his floor.
The hallway passed in a blur and he squinted to count the door numbers. He paused before Sabrina's suite, a new debate in his mind. Should he knock, tell her he had returned without incident? He had sent a cable upon his arrival in New York, and another before leaving. Some time next year, another communications cable due to be laid across the Atlantic would link North America with Europe, and then he could have phoned, but perhaps he owed its absence gratitude. He would only miss her voice again, hearing it from across the world.
His knuckles rapped on the wood, and Linus hoped he would not wake her if she was still sleeping. Indeed, he almost dreaded the possibility of her opening the door. Should he only greet her, should he embrace her, kiss her again? Silent, he stood for a minute before walking on, turning the key in the lock of his own door. Upon closing it, he dropped his briefcase, not caring where it fell. It could wait while he slept.
Loosening his bow tie as he walked to his bedroom, his only purpose for the moment was rest. Enough morning light illuminated the room as he opened the door that he did not bother with the light switch, just peeling away his suit coat and its stench of travel before crawling into-
The outside world ceased before Linus, his mind suddenly clearer than any moment in the past twenty-four hours while he drew a quick breath. Sabrina lay tucked beneath the comforter, her small frame curled as if she feared freezing in that bed-his bed-by herself despite the layers drawn over her shoulders, exposing only her neck and face. Her hair, now usually sleek and tidy, was a mess around her face, scattered on the pillow beneath which her hands were hidden. Each breath in was silent, though every breath out had a quiet rasp. Snoring. Linus had to smile; he thought her too glamorous to snore even lightly.
Was she only an apparition, destined to vanish if he spoke? He was thrilled and terrified to see her here, but again, that feeling. In this new, smaller universe spinning in his pounding heart, to be near her was peace. His hand moved before his thoughts, a thumb running gently over her cheekbone.
Her face was smooth, if cold, and no vision of his exhausted brain, no wraith. The pattern of her breathing changed with his touch, and her eyes sprang open. "Hello," she said quietly, pale skin flushing with embarrassment.
Linus squatted down, bringing his face level with hers as he smiled. "What are you doing here?"
"Just...sleeping," she managed, sliding away from the edge of the bed-and his hand.
"I can see that. But why here?" He had entirely forgotten the door connecting their suites, though it the lock had been secure when he last left. He had seen no point in permitting the maids' tongues to gossip about himself and a woman so young as Sabrina.
Her color deepened. "By myself...I didn't want to feel alone."
"Ah." He dropped his jacket on the floor, holding it with his left hand while his right reached to her face again. "Is it less lonely here than next door?" She paused, then nodded. "I suppose I should be flattered."
"Maybe."
Linus smiled once more, standing with a pop in his lower back and a quick wince. "Well, stay here, then. I'll be in the other room-"
Sabrina's fingers were suddenly tight around his, her face a bit raised and...confused was the only word he had for it. "Please, don't leave me?"
"Sabrina-"
"Please." The word was desperate, her grip a vice. "Please, Linus."
"Sabrina," he said, firmer, almost exasperated, "I-"
She shook her head. "Please, just hold me."
What was written there? To Linus, it was indecipherable, demanding a Rosetta Stone a man would never find, the key to a woman's mind. But he needed neither it nor a crystal ball to foresee the hurt that would blossom, fully legible, if he walked away. I don't want to walk away. "Can I at least take off my shoes?"
She nodded, and released his fingers. Linus took another deep breath before bending to tug his shoes from his feet. God, they ached the travel of the last days. He pulled his tie out from his collar, and finally loosened the top button of his shirt. But breathing was still a chore.
He sat at last, turning to lie beside her-though on top of the blankets still burying her. After that evening when the thought of missing her had taken over his sensibilities, Linus trusted himself no closer. The fabric rustling, Sabrina crushed her body to his, and he slipped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her still tighter. He had starved for her touch in those long days, thirsted for another glimpse of her, and now he feared he might break her with his embrace. "I only hope you remember what to do with a girl." His father's words rose in his mind with the pressure of her small chest against his side, drawing a thrill from the deepest place in his soul...and body. I've missed you, Linus longed to say. Did he dare to kiss her again, even her cheek, because he certainly remembered it all.
At times, he forgot she was so young, not quite half his age. Her youth was obvious in the early sun, now, as she had shrunk back trying to find sleep again. Tiny, almost frail, certainly delicate, and now so terrified of being alone. "Good morning, Sabrina," he whispered, forgetting his caution as he just touched his lips to her forehead. The enterprise was useless, he knew that. It was a fantasy that would never-should never-come true. He would grow old before her, would die long before her, and would leave her alone. No matter if she begged him to remain with her, or how he longed for her to be at his side forever, it was cruelty: willful ignorance of the inevitable. Would the happiness for himself-the happiness he suspected she might find as well-justify that vicious end? No, it never could...
Sleep enveloped him in a moment, and Linus again stood on a tennis court, two glasses and a bottle of champagne in his hands, drinking in the sight of this young woman in the umpire's chair, beautiful in her flowing gown. And now he danced with her, his face pressed to her cool skin: awkwardly at first, but soon happily, then joyously. Isn't It Romantic? wafted around the room, the orchestra on the patio loud enough to be heard across the estate, yet it faded as they still turned slowly. "Sabrina?"
"Mmm?" was her only answer. He said nothing, but only kissed her, more passionately than ever. As he drew away, she smiled before settling her face against his shoulder, the top of her head tucked against his jaw. And now, she sang lowly, "...Il me parle tout bas, je vois la vie en rose..." Closer, closer, until they melded into one. This was what he wanted, all he had wanted for weeks, all he would ever want...but no.
It was a sad dream.
Chapter 5: A Happy Thought
Two trans-Atlantic flights in four days had left his head muddled, still uncertain if he should regard the present as the middle of the afternoon or midnight. Linus only knew that his lack of sleep prohibited him from agreeing with the morning hour every clock in Paris proclaimed. Passing through the lobby, he had a thought to inquire about cables and phone calls. But he walked past the desk, hardly hearing the "Bonjour, Monsieur Larrabee" as he strode to the elevator. He didn't bother smiling back to the elevator attendant, though neither did he frown, only requesting his floor.
The hallway passed in a blur and he squinted to count the door numbers. He paused before Sabrina's suite, a new debate in his mind. Should he knock, tell her he had returned without incident? He had sent a cable upon his arrival in New York, and another before leaving. Some time next year, another communications cable due to be laid across the Atlantic would link North America with Europe, and then he could have phoned, but perhaps he owed its absence gratitude. He would only miss her voice again, hearing it from across the world.
His knuckles rapped on the wood, and Linus hoped he would not wake her if she was still sleeping. Indeed, he almost dreaded the possibility of her opening the door. Should he only greet her, should he embrace her, kiss her again? Silent, he stood for a minute before walking on, turning the key in the lock of his own door. Upon closing it, he dropped his briefcase, not caring where it fell. It could wait while he slept.
Loosening his bow tie as he walked to his bedroom, his only purpose for the moment was rest. Enough morning light illuminated the room as he opened the door that he did not bother with the light switch, just peeling away his suit coat and its stench of travel before crawling into-
The outside world ceased before Linus, his mind suddenly clearer than any moment in the past twenty-four hours while he drew a quick breath. Sabrina lay tucked beneath the comforter, her small frame curled as if she feared freezing in that bed-his bed-by herself despite the layers drawn over her shoulders, exposing only her neck and face. Her hair, now usually sleek and tidy, was a mess around her face, scattered on the pillow beneath which her hands were hidden. Each breath in was silent, though every breath out had a quiet rasp. Snoring. Linus had to smile; he thought her too glamorous to snore even lightly.
Was she only an apparition, destined to vanish if he spoke? He was thrilled and terrified to see her here, but again, that feeling. In this new, smaller universe spinning in his pounding heart, to be near her was peace. His hand moved before his thoughts, a thumb running gently over her cheekbone.
Her face was smooth, if cold, and no vision of his exhausted brain, no wraith. The pattern of her breathing changed with his touch, and her eyes sprang open. "Hello," she said quietly, pale skin flushing with embarrassment.
Linus squatted down, bringing his face level with hers as he smiled. "What are you doing here?"
"Just...sleeping," she managed, sliding away from the edge of the bed-and his hand.
"I can see that. But why here?" He had entirely forgotten the door connecting their suites, though it the lock had been secure when he last left. He had seen no point in permitting the maids' tongues to gossip about himself and a woman so young as Sabrina.
Her color deepened. "By myself...I didn't want to feel alone."
"Ah." He dropped his jacket on the floor, holding it with his left hand while his right reached to her face again. "Is it less lonely here than next door?" She paused, then nodded. "I suppose I should be flattered."
"Maybe."
Linus smiled once more, standing with a pop in his lower back and a quick wince. "Well, stay here, then. I'll be in the other room-"
Sabrina's fingers were suddenly tight around his, her face a bit raised and...confused was the only word he had for it. "Please, don't leave me?"
"Sabrina-"
"Please." The word was desperate, her grip a vice. "Please, Linus."
"Sabrina," he said, firmer, almost exasperated, "I-"
She shook her head. "Please, just hold me."
What was written there? To Linus, it was indecipherable, demanding a Rosetta Stone a man would never find, the key to a woman's mind. But he needed neither it nor a crystal ball to foresee the hurt that would blossom, fully legible, if he walked away. I don't want to walk away. "Can I at least take off my shoes?"
She nodded, and released his fingers. Linus took another deep breath before bending to tug his shoes from his feet. God, they ached the travel of the last days. He pulled his tie out from his collar, and finally loosened the top button of his shirt. But breathing was still a chore.
He sat at last, turning to lie beside her-though on top of the blankets still burying her. After that evening when the thought of missing her had taken over his sensibilities, Linus trusted himself no closer. The fabric rustling, Sabrina crushed her body to his, and he slipped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her still tighter. He had starved for her touch in those long days, thirsted for another glimpse of her, and now he feared he might break her with his embrace. "I only hope you remember what to do with a girl." His father's words rose in his mind with the pressure of her small chest against his side, drawing a thrill from the deepest place in his soul...and body. I've missed you, Linus longed to say. Did he dare to kiss her again, even her cheek, because he certainly remembered it all.
At times, he forgot she was so young, not quite half his age. Her youth was obvious in the early sun, now, as she had shrunk back trying to find sleep again. Tiny, almost frail, certainly delicate, and now so terrified of being alone. "Good morning, Sabrina," he whispered, forgetting his caution as he just touched his lips to her forehead. The enterprise was useless, he knew that. It was a fantasy that would never-should never-come true. He would grow old before her, would die long before her, and would leave her alone. No matter if she begged him to remain with her, or how he longed for her to be at his side forever, it was cruelty: willful ignorance of the inevitable. Would the happiness for himself-the happiness he suspected she might find as well-justify that vicious end? No, it never could...
Sleep enveloped him in a moment, and Linus again stood on a tennis court, two glasses and a bottle of champagne in his hands, drinking in the sight of this young woman in the umpire's chair, beautiful in her flowing gown. And now he danced with her, his face pressed to her cool skin: awkwardly at first, but soon happily, then joyously. Isn't It Romantic? wafted around the room, the orchestra on the patio loud enough to be heard across the estate, yet it faded as they still turned slowly. "Sabrina?"
"Mmm?" was her only answer. He said nothing, but only kissed her, more passionately than ever. As he drew away, she smiled before settling her face against his shoulder, the top of her head tucked against his jaw. And now, she sang lowly, "...Il me parle tout bas, je vois la vie en rose..." Closer, closer, until they melded into one. This was what he wanted, all he had wanted for weeks, all he would ever want...but no.
It was a sad dream.