The soft patter of bare feet on the stone floor. “Memsaab,” whispered a helper,” someone has come to meet you.”
I sighed and stood up. Perhaps someone who wanted to discuss the arrangements for the monks who were visiting next week, I thought as I followed the girl, wrapping my long heavy hair into a makeshift bun at the base of my neck.
&&&
I was dimly aware of the silence in the hall, the fragrance of incense and the all-pervading sense of peace as I walked toward the dimly lit waiting room. Smiling softly to myself, I entered the hall but my words of greeting died away as I saw the powerfully built man standing before the impressive statue of Lord Buddha. Dressed in a dark suit with a long overcoat, his salt and pepper head gleaming, he looked like a medieval incarnation of the Devil as his eyes burnt into me, searing like hot coals.
Gaston.
It took every ounce of will power I had not to run to him and throw my arms around him, fervently kiss that well shaped mouth.
He stood, the light behind him, his face in shadow.
“Gaston?” I breathed, joy and surprise warring within me.
He didn’t respond; continued to stand there, his hands buried in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels, watching me. Then the silence broke.