A French Affair (39 page)

‘Do you ever paint?' she asked, keeping her eyes closed.

It was a while before he said, ‘Not really. Only sketching. And of course sculpting.'

She allowed a few moments to pass, feeling strangely uncertain, yet knowing what she wanted to say. ‘Would you draw me?' she asked softly.

He turned to look at her.

Opening her eyes, she turned to look at him.

‘Yes of course,' he said.

She felt a faint tremble of her lips as the promise of the experience stole through her. Closing her eyes again, she lay quietly, feeling every part of her body as though it were coming alive to the softest, most intimate caress. She let her knee fall slightly to one side so that the coolness of the shade met the essential heat of her. It was so exquisite that she stretched her arms out behind her head, and moaned softly.

For a long time neither of them spoke again, or opened their eyes. When finally she did she turned to find him lying on his side, his head propped on one hand as he watched her. She smiled almost sleepily, and continued to gaze into his eyes.

‘Are you ready to go?' he asked.

‘Mm,' she responded. ‘I think so.'

As they began packing everything away they fell to
talking of Baudelaire's novel
La Fanfario
. It suggested, she thought, that their minds had been travelling similar roads during their sleepless siesta, just as their lives had seemed to move into a parallel existence.

When they were ready they carried everything back through the woods, no longer talking, only listening to the birds and feeling the resonance of de Lamartine's beautiful poem as though it were following them like a gentle tide through the trees. But there really was no throwing an anchor into time, because eventually the tide began to ebb, taking this precious afternoon into the past – and even as they stepped out into the vineyard to begin walking towards the
manoir
, she could feel the unforgiving masters of the world and her conscience waiting to escort her home.

BY THE TIME
she reached the cottage it was as though the world had changed completely. While everything had seemed so beautiful and right when she was with Luc, so exquisite in its unstated expression of how they felt and understanding of how it must be between them, now she could hardly believe herself capable of such self-delusion.

Going into the kitchen, she stood beside the table with her hands over her face. To think she had allowed him to take off her dress, to see her virtually naked . . . Yet even as the guilt seemed to crush her, there was no escaping the truth, because it was there too, refusing to be silenced. They desired one another in every way it was possible for a man and woman to desire one another, intellectually, physically and emotionally. And she knew already that if he wanted to see her that way again . . .

Sitting down at the table she tried to take a breath, but her chest was too tight. She thought of Charlie and how he'd betrayed her, and felt more wretched than ever for what she'd now done to him. In its way it was
worse, because she knew how shattered his life already was . . . And then there was Lilian –
oh dear God, Lilian
. Her eyes closed as the horror of it descended through her. How could she be doing this to her best friend, who would rather die than ever do anything to hurt her?

Her mobile started to ring, but seeing it was Charlie she let it go through to messages. She couldn't speak to him yet, she could only think of how she was going to stop herself feeling this way about Luc. She wondered what was going through his mind now, if he was as tormented by guilt, as covered in shame. Was he seeing her in his mind as she'd been at the lake, as she was still seeing him? She couldn't get away from the image, or the consuming need that was still there, even now, despite everything. She'd asked him to draw her, and she still wanted him to, more than anything, but she must stop it from happening. Perhaps by now he had come to the same conclusion. She hoped he had, because if he hadn't she was afraid she might not find the will to resist him.

In the end, unable to bear the confines of the cottage any longer, she went outside in the hope of calming herself with the tranquillity of the evening air. She tried not to look towards the
manoir
, but it was impossible to keep her eyes from straying, or her mind from travelling in directions she wanted desperately to avoid. She thought of Lilian and tears fell onto her cheeks. If Lilian were ever to find out about the way she felt, she knew it would be an end to their friendship and break both their hearts. So maybe she should leave now, pack everything into the car and return to the safety of her marriage and her home. But what excuse could she give that either Charlie or Lilian
would understand, and even if she could find one, she knew she wouldn't go.

By the time she went to bed that night the whole truth of her feelings was finally starting to surface from the place she'd kept it buried all this time. Like tiny seeds searching for light, memories were now showing themselves in the fullness of an attraction she'd clearly felt right from the start. She'd seen no danger in it then, though, had even put it down to a natural liking for anyone who cared for Lilian as much as Luc plainly did. And she had to admit a part of her really did love him for that, so somehow she had to stand back from the rest of her feelings and think only of that when she was with him. But how was it ever going to be possible when even her conscience seemed incapable of protecting her?

She passed a restless night, full of dreams that made no sense and seemed only to scare her. She kept seeing him, feeling his tenderness, and hearing his voice, but she could never reach him. No matter how close she got he just kept moving away until she finally caught him, only to find when he turned round that it was Charlie. And then Charlie was so broken apart about Natalie that she had to hold his full weight in her arms to keep him together. She kept trying and trying, but Charlie's grief was so heavy that she had to let go or they were both going to drown.

Not until dawn did she finally fall into a deep and dreamless slumber that she didn't come out of until after nine. By then the sun was high in a pristine sky and the birds were chirping loudly in the trees. For a while she simply lay where she was, letting everything come slowly back to her, the lake, her dress hanging from a tree, his naked body, the terrible
struggle between her emotions and her conscience.

To her relief she found she was calmer this morning. Though none of it could be forgiven, she seemed less afraid of herself now, and of what was happening between them. She felt certain that no matter how strong their feelings might be, neither of them would ever take that final step to betray those they loved. They could continue to spend time together – in many ways it was going to be impossible to avoid – but they must never talk about how they felt, or touch, not even to shake hands or formally kiss, for she was afraid if they did they'd be unable to stop.

Going downstairs she pulled open the French doors and a faint breeze, warm and consoling, sighed into the kitchen. It was auspicious, she thought, and glad to be feeling more in control, she looked up towards the
manoir
where she saw Madame Fortuny's car parked outside. Knowing the old lady would come to the cottage later, for the laundry, she went back up to the bedroom to take off the sheets.

It was as she was carrying them out onto the landing that she felt a strangeness starting to come over her. At first she couldn't think what it was, but then she found herself looking down at the stairs and becoming aware of their steepness, in a way she hadn't before. Then a kind of vertigo began making her dizzy, and she drew back, almost as though she were about to go over. Dropping the sheets she pressed her hands to her cheeks as her heart began pounding unsteadily.

With her senses still swimming, she turned to look towards the room Natalie had slept in. There was nothing there, just a crumpled, threadbare rug on the wooden boards of the landing, and a half-open door. Going to it, she pushed it open and stood staring down
at the bed. She wasn't really seeing it, nor was she fully conscious of where she was, she only knew the fear that had come into her heart a moment ago.

It was a while before she left the room and took the sheets downstairs. She dropped them next to the door, then put some water on to boil and stood waiting, knowing it was crazy to think that the fear she'd experienced at the top of the stairs had been Natalie's, but that was how it had felt. She glanced up to the landing, and realised that while her mind had been occupied elsewhere, it was as though her instincts had found the space, the oxygen to start working again.

After making some tea she carried it outside and sat for a long time gazing absently out at the vines. She wanted to recapture the feeling she'd had, or at least try to understand it, but as the minutes ticked on it became more and more elusive, until finally she began to wonder if it had happened at all.

It was close to midday when Madame Fortuny came to pick up the sheets. By then Jessica was sitting at the table inside surrounded by the books she'd found at yesterday's fair, her notepad in front of her, her laptop open, as yet untouched. Her concentration was poor and she knew why, but she was trying to work anyway. He would come, she felt sure of it, even though it might be better if he didn't – and when a shadow appeared in the doorway she was so certain it was him that the disappointment she felt when she recognised the small, portly figure in front of her would have appeared offensive, if Madame Fortuny had been paying attention.

‘
Ah, Madame
,' Jessica said, having to clear her throat. ‘
Comment ça va?'

‘
Pas mal. Pas mal du tout
,' Madame Fortuny replied busily, coming to bestow the requisite embrace. ‘
Et toi?
'

‘Oui, très bien.
' She watched the old lady scoop up the sheets and stuff them into the laundry bag she'd brought with her. Then almost without thinking she said, ‘
Est-ce que Monsieur Veron est à la maison?
'

‘
Père ou fils?
' Madame Fortuny responded. Then without waiting, ‘
Le père est dans son bureau en ce moment, et le fils est parti assez tôt ce matin.
' The father is in his office at the moment, and the son left early this morning.

It was as though Jessica's heart stopped beating. He'd left? But to go where? ‘Is he coming back?' she heard herself ask. Then realising the old lady hadn't understood, she repeated it in French.

Madame Fortuny merely shrugged. ‘
Mais oui
,' she replied, as if it had been a silly question. ‘
Mais je ne sais pas quand.'
Of course, but I don't know when.

Aware of how dry her throat had become, Jessica stood up and went to pour herself some water. Then she blinked, because he was there, walking across the patio towards her, and the relief she felt was so overwhelming that she found herself starting to laugh.

Apparently amused by her response, he stood aside for Madame Fortuny to come out, then after carrying the laundry bag to the vineyard
camionette
she'd driven down in, he waited for her to pull away before turning back to Jessica. She was standing in the doorway now, watching him as he came towards her.

‘How are you?' he asked, his tone and his eyes telling her that he'd spent as much time thinking about her since their parting, as she had about him.

‘I'm fine,' she said, knowing she was now. ‘How are you?'

He merely nodded, keeping his gaze on hers. For a
moment he looked as though he might step forward and kiss her, but he didn't, nor did she go to him.

‘Would you like a drink?' she said. ‘I can offer you an excellent Macon-Valennes. Or perhaps something a little more full-bodied?'

Irony came into his eyes as she blushed at the innuendo, then noticing a large, flat parcel leaning against the wall she glanced at him curiously.

‘Bring the wine, and a hat,' he told her, and tucking the parcel under one arm, he started back across the patio.

Intrigued, she went to put a Macon-Valennes into an ice bag, along with a corkscrew and glasses, then patting a small floppy straw hat on her head she followed him across the lane and up into the vines.

When they were deep inside the foliage, exposed only to the sky above and tumbling clusters of succulent Chardonnay grapes, he set down the parcel and tore off the brown paper wrapping. Inside were two pale blue deckchairs, and something else that seemed to be in a parcel of its own.

Not quite sure why, she started to laugh.

He set up the deckchairs facing one another, but several feet apart, then after uncorking the wine he filled the glasses and handed one to her.

As she took it she looked up into his eyes, and seeing the expression in his she felt her smile starting to fade. For one fleeting moment her conscience seemed to graze across the silence, but then it was gone, leaving only the profound connection between them and a scorching sun.

He sipped his drink, and so did she, then handing her his glass he turned to the other parcel and tore it open.

The moment she saw what was inside a quiver of excitement ran through her. She took another sip of her drink and felt the headiness of anticipation blend with the wine. He was holding a large sketch pad and several pencils.

Taking the glasses away from her, his eyes came to hers as he said, very softly, ‘Take off your clothes.'

Her breath seemed to catch on the words. Neither of them had mentioned she'd be nude for the drawing, but she couldn't deny it was what she had meant, and clearly he'd known it.

A few minutes later, feeling the unsteadying pleasure of being naked while he was dressed, she looked into his face as he began his artist's scrutiny of the model he was about to sketch. She stood very still, feeling the stiffness of her nipples as his eyes took in their fullness and even seemed to measure their length. Then he was regarding the smoothness of her tummy where fine, silvery scars shimmered against her tan. For some reason she started to lift a hand, almost modestly, then she let it drop again, as his gaze moved down to her closely cropped pubic hair. She knew, because she was able to feel the air around it, that he was able to see her clitoris, moist and pink and hard with desire.