The moon lives in the lining of her skin.
― Pablo Neruda
After Kara left me I was at a low point in my life and looking for a place to live when an old publishing friend, Tom Eaton, recommended a realty firm to me.
I was a man without country, attachments, or dreams so maybe a permanent residence would give me some security.
The brokerage was housed in an old law office and looked very elegant and dignified. It was located on a downtown Toronto side street that few people, other than long-time residents like me, would even know existed.
The interior was as impressive as the storefront, with dark mahogany paneling and tasteful furnishings.
Curiously, there was no one at the desk, so I poked about the reception room examining obviously expensive oil paintings—you know the type—dark and brooding –undoubtedly British. Probably Turner or Constable I mused.
“Can I help you?”
It was a soft woman’s voice and I turned and gazed into the loveliest face I’ve ever seen.
The woman before me was strikingly beautiful—her hair, face and eyes—lustrous and shimmering, yet dark and mysterious. She reminded me of rain at night.
I’m sure my mouth was agape, and when I finally recovered my wits I could only manage a bumbling reply.
“A friend recommended your firm—Tom Eaton. I’m in the market for a house.”
“Well then, I think you’ve come to the right place,” she said with a slightly bemused smile.
“I’m Mairi Said.”
She pronounced the name Mary Sayeed. She laughed as I looked puzzled and glanced back at the spelling on the business card in my hand.
“My mother was Scottish and my father a Saudi,” she explained, “I’m not your usual freckle-faced lass.”
No, you’re not, I mused.
“Do you know what you’re looking for?”
I stared at her blankly. It seemed a metaphysical question.
“I honestly don’t know. I guess I only know what I dislike.”
She leaned back against a desk and studied my face as if I were a painting in a gallery.
She was breathtakingly attractive in her black pencil skirt and gray striped blouse.
“What do you dislike?” she asked.
“Everything I’ve seen,” I smiled helplessly. Everything but you, my mind echoed.
“Well then, I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
“You do,” I nodded.
“The way I see it, buying a house is a very personal matter—like choosing a mate. So, it’s important that I go beyond a list of features—I need to know your soul in order to find a house that will complement you and be a perfect match. I’d like to take you to lunch and get to know you—learn what you’re all about—but I’m afraid I don’t even know your name,” she laughed.
“I’m sorry,” I colored. It’s Daniel—Daniel Gregg.”
“Pleased to meet you, Daniel.” She held my hand a second or two longer than a cursory business handshake and stared into my eyes.
Her gaze, her nearness and her perfume enchanted me. I felt a brief pang of nostalgia, surprised by the familiar scent—it was Neige by Lise Watier. Kara wore it—mainly for me, and I loved it because it was subtle, ethereal and serene—everything she could never be.
“We’ll have to make a date,” Mairi whispered coquettishly. “What’s a good day?”
“Friday,” I said, seeing it was close to the end of the week—only a few days off and not too long to wait to see her again.
“Friday it is,” she said brightly, making a calendar entry on the receptionist’s computer. Can we meet here at noon?”
I nodded, still lost in her rainy eyes.
I’m sure we exchanged some other pleasantries but I was oblivious of anything other than her.
I had fallen under her spell.
And for the next two days I could think of little else.
**