The Secret World of Ophelia Fontaine

Part Three - Accidentally on purpose

The erratic scream of a nearby car alarm startled him from a sleep that he did not wish to rouse from. He clung to the apparition of a young woman moaning beneath his worshipping caresses for as long as he could, but soon the barking of someone's dog and the shout of two kids passing on skateboards erased all evidence of the erotic visions that had haunted his slumber. As he rubbed the crust from the corner of his eyes, he silently cursed himself and the discomfort of his current state.

He made a mental note to seek out some much needed female company after this assignment was over. If the obscured sight of Miss Frumpy could make his mind reel with erotic fantasies, then he was in more dire need then he had been aware of. He sat up straight in the driver seat of his sedan and briefly examined the row of houses across the street. Only the normal hum drum of every day life occurred along the length of Carroll Street. Residents walked their dogs or jogged while neighborhood kids lounged about in search of some kind of mischief. Two teenagers sitting on the stoop two doors up from Fontaine's brownstone eyed his car curiously. Darien took that as a cue to get out while he could. Young adults had no inhibitions about nosing around in affairs that were none of their concern.

He started his car and was about to pull out of his space just as Ophelia exited her residence, shuffling her purse and two boxes as she attempted to lock her door. Acting more on instinct than on thought, Darien shut his car off and quickly abandoned his vehicle to race across the street. Just as he came up to her stoop, one of her boxes slid from its precarious positioning and fell over the side banister. He swooped down and caught it before the cardboard cube had a chance to land on the concrete below.

Miss Frumpy looked over the side with a startled expression. Seeing the package safe in his hands, she smiled appreciatively. "Oh, thank you, sir."

Darien smiled up at her, putting in place his most charming front. "Not a problem, ma'am." Darien feigned recognition. "Hey, don't I know you from somewhere?"

She study his face for a moment. "You had an appointment with Mr. Brackenridge, did you not?"

He purposely widened his grin. "Ah, that's it! You were the receptionist."

She smiled warily as she made her way down the short staircase and met him on the sidewalk before it. She wore her hair in the same stern bun and her oversized glasses guarded her face from brow to cheekbone. She wore a scooped neck cashmere sweater of pastel yellow against the scant autumn chill, complimented by a white ruffled skirt that extended down to her ankles and a pair of low heal ankle boots. She wore no jewelry, no embellishments like a scarf. Plain Jane, through and through.

Ophelia secured her purse on her shoulder and perched her single box on her hip. "So, did you get the job?"

So consumed in his study of her, he almost missed the question. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Did you get the job? Your meeting at Granger. I assumed it was a job interview, though I must confess that I have never seen an applicant arrive in a corduroy jacket and jeans before," she said with a fleeting smile.

Darien balanced the box he held in the crook of his one arm and scratched the back of his head bashfully with the other. "Yeah, I am not what one would call conventional."

"And Mr. Brackenridge is about as conventional as one can get, so I guess you didn't get the job then," she presumed, darting her eyes to the box he held hostage.

"Actually, I did," he answered. It was the truth, after all. "I have a particular skill set that he needed, so he kind of had no choice. So, that makes us coworkers, sort of."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. It seemed to him that he was not the only one with trust issues. If he was going to get any kind of insight into who she was and what she was up to, he needed to break past that barrier.

"Miss Fontaine, right? I saw the name plate on your desk."

She nodded, still eyeing him as if he were a mugger after her wallet. "Mr. St. Clare, correct?"

He nodded, forcing his features to remain soft and welcoming. "So, where are you off to with these?" He raised the box her carried for clarification, "Can I be of some assistance?"

"Its food for the church. I was just headed across the street to St. Paul's to donate them."

He shrugged and secured the box firmly in his arms. He was not giving it up, nor was he going to let her get away. He had questions that needed answers. "Where are the donation boxes located?"

Resignation sunk her make up free features. "They are just inside the church at the main entrance."

Side by side, they crossed Carroll Street and walked up toward the Clinton Street intersection. She did not offer to start any kind of conversation with him and made sure to keep a respectable distance between them as well. In his experience, individuals who maintained their distance always had a secret. He wondered if he had made a mistake in professing his new employment. Maybe she would have been more comfortable with him if he had not gotten the job, so to speak. Well, it was too late to back track now.

They turned the corner at Clinton and made another immediate right through an ancient wrought iron gate and up the three steps that led into the stone portico that protected the churches three sets of double doors. She set her box into the belly of  a much larger box to the left of the entrance. Darien followed suit.

"So, do you attend this church?" he asked in a lame attempt to start a conversation.

She shook her head. "I am not too much of a believer in God, but I do believe in helping those in need."

"Strange, I would have thought you a devout with your overly conservative appearance," he said aloud before catching himself. "I mean, ah, damn it all to hell!"

A priest from somewhere in the recess of St. Paul's cleared his throat in warning. Darien blushed uncharacteristically. First he had insulted her, and now he was insulting the church. He was most certainly on a roll, but he was rolling in the wrong direction.

A giggle sounded to his left where Miss Frumpy stood beside him. She was covering her mouth in a meager attempt to hold back her laughter. She ticked her head toward the door to indicate that they should leave. He agreed.