Eleanora: A Journalist's Tale From the Frontlines of Time

Back to the Roots

El: "Damn it"

I flicked my lighter again, trying to light a cigarette. The smoke of my last one was still lingering in the car, but my nerves were on edge and I needed to calm down.

El: "Finally"

Taking a drag, I leaned back in my seat.

El: "It's just an interview. I've lost count of how many I've done over the years"

Yet the thought of this impending meeting made my stomach turn. It was not an ordinary interview, as the subject was special: a man who turned down all journalists. All except me.

El: "I wonder why he agreed..."

For the thousandth time, I repeated to myself what little information was known about him.

El: "The name is Louis Dupont. No one knows whether that's a pseudonym or not. No one has ever seen him. A philanthropist, he's known for sponsoring artists, mainly musicians and composers. Yeah....... it's not much."

I took a puff of my cigarette

El: " Alain wouldn't approve. He'd probably say that if I didn't find enough information, it only means I didn't search hard enough"

The memory of Alain made me smile. I looked at my watch, three minutes left. Stubbing out my cigarette, I looked out the window, it was pouring heavily

As if on cue, raindrops began pounding even more violently on the roof of the car. After opening the door and getting out of the car, I ran to the address that was on the letter I received.

I rang the doorbell and waited for a few seconds but no one answered, so I decided to knock.

knock knock knock

El: "Hello! I am Eleanore Blanc"

I heard a muffled "come in!" from behind the door

El: "Hm. It looks like no one will be meeting me."

Straightening my shoulders and taking a deep breath, as if I was about to take an exam, I pushed on the door handle and entered the small hallway.

The house was dimly lit. It smelled like........ bergamot. The familiar scent embraced me, making me feel at peace and comfortable. These feelings, however, were short-lived: shaking my head, I forced myself to get back to reality. In my reality, the scent of bergamot was no longer, or at least, it was longer supposed to be, anything more than just a scent. One of many.

My thoughts were interrupted by a soft, velvety voice that came from the depths of the house.

voice: "Welcome, Madame Blanc"

My heart started pounding faster. Honestly, it's like I'm eighteen, not one hundred and thirty years old. I need to get myself together. I'm a professional, after all. Where's all this anxiety coming from, anyway?

voice: "I hope you didn't get wet. Paris is clearly out of sorts today."

El: "Oh hell....."

I mumbled. I looked at my clothes and noticed that I was totally soaked

El: "Just a little. I forgot my umbrella"

voice: "It's all right. I'm sure you'll warm up quickly. I lit the fireplace just in case something like this happened"

El: "You're Louis Dupont, aren't you?"

Louis: "Yes. Please forgive my rudeness. I can't show myself as I prefer to remain anonymous"

El: "I understand"

Louis: "Please come into the drawing room, Madame Blanc"

I entered a spacious room. There was a comfortable;e-looking armchair in the center of it, next to a small table. Wood cracked gently inside the fireplace. As soon as I crossed the threshold, I felt a slight tingling in my fingertips. I was hot, but not because of the fireplace. It feels like my body knows something that I don't, I need to pull myself together. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Although I'm probably an exception, considering my......... longevity