Speak Softly, Love

Chapter 1: The Agrestes

March 21, 1939

     Gabriel Agreste was renowned in town for his indiscrete share of inheritance of his wife's estate in the secluded area of the village's housing district, far from the curious eyes of the town's main square. The enigma of a man was rarely seen outside of the estate, a man whose main reference came from the gossips of common folk (majority having to do with the size of his pockets). The circumstance of his being is what surprised others on how well-mannered his son had come to be. The boy was an exact replica of his mother, whom was adored by many. Unlike his father, he was seen outside more often than not, usually with his coat draped nicely on his arm, greeting any face he stumbled upon on the street. He was an ideal marriage candidate, causing many hopeful mothers to nudge their impressionable daughters his way. The disappointment, however, was immeasurable once Lila Rossi was handed the key to the estate gates. Accustomed to the elegance of the high class, the young Rossi was his father's way to secure the family financially and Adrien seemed eager whenever he had a chance to please his father. Such a loyal son, everyone had lamented, feeling sorry for his tied fate with the female Narcissus of France. 

     Wherever he went, she would follow like a devoted disciple— only her motives were vicious in nature. If a girl were to linger too closely to her beloved, the next day the rent would mysteriously rise, or the tax would be unreasonably costly. Her spouse was a huge catch and her efforts to make it clear he was off the market were subjected to the whole village. The unfortunate truth was accepted. The truth that this object of desire was now a taken man.

     "Adrien, would you be a dear and pick-up my dress at the tailors tomorrow? I would love to join, but father's heading to Paris and I decided to tag along." She asked in a honey-coated voice, her heeled footsteps echoing against the wood flooring. 

     Her husband sat by his desk and fiddled with the pen in his hands. He refrained a protest, as it threatened to escape his mouth.

     "A little notice would have been nice. I'm scheduled to collect rent on the other side of town tomorrow. You know how long it takes to negotiate with the LeBlancs. They are prickly with their money."

     He heard high-pitched laughter followed by more rhythmic footsteps. She was in the piano room. A few seconds later, in the study. Then, her own room, checking to see that everything was in place, the way it should be. Not a chair turned slightly, a picture lopsided, and her husband still in the room next door.

     "Please convince your father to hire someone else to tend to that rent collection business, or suggest Nathalie to do it. I tried not to say, but I saw her napping on the armchair the other day. It seems she is paid too much to just live and breathe in this house. Her food isn't so swell either."

     He frowned and shifted in his seat, his leg rocking up-and-down.

     "You know father wants as little people in the house as possible. You know that. And Nathalie is like family. She knew my mother." His voice quietened at the mention of the deceased. Outside his window, he could see the statue of Persephone that was commissioned to honor his mother's life. A departure that began an eternal dusk. The rain left a soft gleam on the wet stone and sounded delicate as it tapped on his bedroom window.

     "Even so, she shouldn't get paid for lazing around. At least feed us something that is worthy of the Agreste household! For goodness sake, I felt like a farmer the other day. She smokes too much, too!"

     Conveniently, the smell of cigarettes wafted into the room as the family maid puffed near the back end of the house, the scent combining with the damp overture of rain. Lila quickly rushed over and shut the window, drawing the velvet curtains in a frenzy. The dullness of the cloud-ridden sky was replaced by the darkness of the room, lit by a single vanilla candle on the nightstand of his bed.

     "See! Look at her go! Oh, how this house would be in shambles if it weren't for me!" 

     The husband hummed mindlessly, for agreement was a less tiring route. "I'll try to pick up your dress. Maybe, some bread at the bakery too. The ones you like."

     A quick peck brushed his temple.

     "I knew I could count on you darling. Please tell Monsieur Dupain to make a fresh loaf. I do not want the risk of stale bread, we do not know the nature of his business."

     He hummed again and felt numbed as another kiss was planted, this time on his cheek.

     "Goodnight, dear."

     "Goodnight."

     She grunted, peeved by the lack of affection, and wrapped her arms around his neck in a cautious manner.

     "I love you."

     The words lingered awkwardly as he remained silent. Her hand nudged his chin to face her and her eyes narrowed. He pondered on her gaze, her eyes devoid of any stream of light. He pondered, if this was love, if this was the gaze he would see when he was thirty, turning over to forty, or would it shift when he was fifty? Another thought. Just as easily, he could fake it. He could hold her in his arms whisper the words back and kiss her with a douse of passion. 

     "I said, I love you."

     He lost the thought and hummed. "Love you too."

     Contented, she turned away and leaned down to blow at the candle, the light extinguished from his bedroom. Heeled footsteps grew fainter and the door shut and Adrien felt like he could breathe once more.