The Shelter (Survivors Book 1) by Jean Levant Page B

first time, I told myself that it was the height of luxury to install such a fireplace in a region where temperature rarely dropped below ten degrees and which had to be used about three times a year. Unless of course all that stuff—the dark, the cold, the snow—was forecasted by its builder.
    This atmosphere can explain why I did not notice her earlier. Nevertheless, I am pretty sure that she did nothing for disabusing me. She was sitting in her own stiff way at the end of the office, at the head of the table, magnificently ignoring the heat of the flames. I became aware of her presence only when she struck a match to light the wicks of a chandelier lying on the table. I watched a moment the blonde woman who was facing to me, a genuine blonde I guessed, with naturally curly hair which made a soft halo around her creamy face. You could have said that she wished to offset the sweetness of her features by more severity, even austerity, in her attitude. She wore a long white lab coat with a crew neck and buttoned almost to the knees. Without breaking the silence, she got out a little hand from her right pocket to ask me for taking place around the table then put back it straight after as if she had been cold.
    “Do we have to thank you for having this beautiful blaze, Dr. Leone?” I asked. “It’s a good idea anyway.”
    She looked closely at me as if she was looking for the reason of so strange a question. There was nothing else than the desire to break the silence, quite embarrassing between us into the semidarkness. Eventually the doctor slowly moved her head, which apparently meant no.
    “And the candles?” I asked pointing at the chandelier in the middle of the table. The shelter had its own electric generator, at least I assumed, because we had never needed this sort of lamp until now.
    “This is for Mr. Lussius,” she replied. “As you know, he doesn’t stand bright light, let alone lately.”
    I was going forward to get a seat when I saw three sheaves of paper put in front of Dr. Leone. I sat across the table, not because the chair was near the fire, or not only (because it was a little cold), but for the pleasure of having the lovely woman right before my eyes. I then noticed that her last words were unusual.
    “What do you mean by lately ?”
    “Mr. Lussius’ disease is subject to sudden respites and not less sudden fits. He’s currently in the second phase.”
    “Do you think it’s serious, really?”
    Dr. Leone cracked a smile, pale and fleeting like a ghost hurrying to cross a corridor too brightly lit.
    “If we consider that not being able to withstand a stronger light than this candle light is serious, then yes, it is serious, Mr. Estéban.”
    It was Lussius the next to enter the office. He wore his usual gold rimmed spectacles with small bluish glasses. I do not know what the true color of his eyes is but with these glasses they looked the strangest eyes in the world.
    To the arrival of the newcomer, Dr. Leone got up for shaking his hand and I felt a flash of jealousy while thinking that she did not bother so much for me (but it is true to say that we had seen each other in passing earlier). On the other hand Lussius seemed completely indifferent to the honor she did him. Then she sat back down on her olive green velvet chair, or which seemed so in this half-light (the builders’ taste for furniture did not seem to pass 19th century). As he wanted to turn his back on the light of the fireplace, unless he was simply chilly (no wonder), Lussius chose the seat with its back to the fire.
    “Perhaps we could light at least the other candles,” I suggested with a hint of acrimony to the Haitian. As he did not protest, I got out a lighter and lighted the other four candles.
    “It would be better to save them,” Dr. Leone gently observed, she whose voice was in all ways rarely louder than piano. We don’t have spare candles like these and we should need them for a long time enough.”
    To please