Authors: Roberta Latow
He wanted the tight grip of her cunt on his penis. And he had it, after one swift, forceful thrust. He enjoyed his every entry, his every retreat. Her cunt took him over and he looked away from her up to the sky and then through the wood and the carpet of blue flowers, and he listened to her moans of pleasure. He added to them when he slapped the sides of her breasts and sucked passionately on her nipples, using his teeth. Her moans grew louder and she raised her arms to the sky and called his name. She told him how magnificent he was, begged for more and more. She was bliss to fuck, offering the joy of fucking without the pressure
of love, without passion – just the animal pleasure of sexual release.
He had no idea what triggered it, the interference in his joyous coupling with Simone. But it was there: the realisation that he would never again take Arianne like this. He would never know her on a bed of bluebells, or anywhere else for that matter. Never again feel the kiss of her cunt on his penis. Never manipulate her into the erotic bliss made familiar over so many years. Their orgasms would never flow together. The taste of Arianne was already no more than a memory. The libertine that he and Jason had created was gone from his life.
Anger seized him. He looked into Simone’s face and saw the look of sexual ecstasy there. He slipped his arms under hers, gripped her by the shoulders and pulled her up against his chest. This fucking of her turned into something nasty, something more like rape. Miraculously Simone’s ordeal only lasted a few seconds, because Ahmad came to his senses when he looked away from her and saw the beautiful woodland and the miracle of nature. He heard her shouts of protest, felt her long, red-lacquered nails digging into his flesh. ‘It’s over, Simone, it’s over, we’re all right. Don’t leave me, stay with it.’ He kissed her with tenderness and asked forgiveness: she was won over by the charm and his determination to please her. Their intercourse ended with them coming together in a long, exquisite, madly exciting orgasm.
Walking through the wood to the car, Ahmad took Simone’s hand and squeezed it. The way he looked at her told her he was profoundly sorry for that terrifying moment he had put her through. He did not drive back to the inn but through the wood to the airfield and his plane. There they left the car to be picked up by the innkeeper and boarded Ahmad’s plane. There had always been a distance between Ahmad and Simone, disguised, but nevertheless a distance cultivated by them both. Now, Simone felt distanced even further from this attractive and exciting, somewhat mysterious lover. He switched on the motors.
Ahmad turned to Simone and told her, ‘I’m going to show you France – some of the finest châteaux as you have never seen them before.’ Then he bent close to her and kissed her gently on the cheek.
He was as good as his promise. He flew them from the coast of France across the country to Paris. Much of the time they flew low, several hundred feet above the top of the trees, giving them a bird’s eye view of some of the great palaces of France, cathedrals, churches, beautiful villages, and magnificent landscapes. They did, however, make one more landing before Paris, on another grass landing-field. This time they were picked up by a more impressive car and driver that drove them the several miles to Vienne and the restaurant La Pyramide, there to dine on a sumptuous lunch prepared especially for them. It was late for lunch. It didn’t matter: they were expected. There were few diners left, a table of lingering chic Parisians.
Simone and Ahmad entered the famous and much-loved restaurant. Ahmad didn’t miss the enquiring glances. He knew he and Simone made a handsome couple. He looked at her now and appreciated once again how appealingly beautiful and chic she was. She carried herself like a ballerina: chin high, head just
that little bit thrown back. She moved in a sensuous walk that accentuated her figure. Today she was dressed in a Christian Dior black linen jacket over a dress of black-and-white printed silk, with large, splendid black roses on a white background. The skirt of the dress had been cut on the bias and its hem bound in an inch-wide ribbon of black linen. It flared out sensuously with every step of her long, shapely legs.
The mâitre d’ led them to their table. Ahmad, just that little bit behind Simone, leaned forward and whispered in her ear, ‘I bet every man at that table wishes he had been where I was in that wood of bluebells. You were magnificent; you are magnificent.’
Simone turned her head and smiled. In many ways a dose of Ahmad Salah Ali’s flattery and attentions had been just what she had needed. She was not ungrateful for his attentions, whatever the reason. Now more than ever she believed there were ulterior motives behind this casual affair they were having.
At the table, as usual at La Pyramide, the cuisine demanded attention, making conversation between them easier. In fact Ahmad seemed nearly as charming and amusing as he always was, a perfect Don Juan, persuading Simone that she was the only woman in the world. While they dined on truffles wrapped in a puff pastry and drank a memorable white burgundy, that unpleasant lapse of Ahmad’s in a Breton wood began to fade. During their second course, a
coquille St Jacques
with lobster in a champagne and cream sauce fit to make any woman’s heart sing, it was almost forgotten. With
Côtelette de pigeon Pompadour
: the bird split in half and boned, dipped in egg and breadcrumbs and fried in butter, garnished with artichoke bottoms filled with lentil purée, a truffle slice on top, and tiny round potato croquettes, a truffle sauce served separately in a silver sauce boat, they drank an impeccable Margaux, the colour of garnets, that had the scent of sunshine, oak, the grape. Blended together they made a perfume such as only a superb wine could boast.
Looking up from her plate, Simone caught Ahmad off guard for just a second. It was enough to see that all his bonhomie was just that little bit forced. Here was a complex man. It was at moments like this, when she recognised the complexity and secrecy in Ahmad, that she appreciated Ben even more. Simone
suffered yet again the tremendous sense of loss that came often since Ben had abandoned her for love. Her anger, her bitterness had not diminished in the least since the night he had walked away from her. How many times had she reproached herself for letting him get away? Not again, she vowed to herself, and pushed him out of her mind and forked yet another mouthful of delectable meat. She savoured the taste and gave her attention back to Ahmad. Ben was relegated to the category of ‘bad mistake’ in the recesses of her mind. She got on with enjoying her meal and Ahmad.
The cheese board arrived – a rich selection of ripe cheeses to tease the palate. She chose, then sat back and gazed over the table at Ahmad. Though she said nothing, he saw it in her face, the question. He remained silent, but he knew this was his moment. They were alone in the dining room, waiters hovering at the far side of the room. Replete with good food, fine wine and, in her mind, questions – oh yes, they were there, showing in her eyes. He sensed the timing to be perfect.
Ahmad cut a piece of Brie, and waited. Simone was studying his face. She had known many men. Few had ever had such exotic beauty, been true libertines, or worn a sensual soul so proudly. For most women, merely to look into such a face was dangerous. It could be the beginning of seduction. How many had fallen for the excitement of playing with danger, the possibility of surrendering your life to sexual bliss? Simone thought she must be the rare exception. She placed the cheese knife on her plate. Here was the moment of truth. She sensed his readiness to be honest with her.
‘Would you like to tell me what that was all about, back there in the bluebells? The anger, the hatred, your wanting to hurt me … It wasn’t directed at me. You were fucking me, but raping someone else. What was that all about?’
Perfect: he couldn’t have choreographed a better opening himself to press forward with his plan. He knew Simone would not fail him. He felt grateful to her for it. He was really pleased with himself.
It was that self-satisfied look on Ahmad’s face that made her think, I’m clutching at straws. He’ll never tell me what we are all about. But then, Ahmad often has a self-satisfied look on his
face. This intrigued her, because she never found him pompous: his charm precluded that. Now that she knew him, she could understand that self-satisfied look of his. He was a man truly pleased with himself. She leaned back in her chair and told Ahmad, ‘You’re a terrific poker player.’
‘How did you know that?’
‘Takes one to know one. Don’t tell me you hadn’t guessed? So am I.’
He smiled at her and raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah, then, if it’s poker we’ve been playing, I’m calling the cards.’
‘Good, I think it’s time for cards on the table, Ahmad.’
‘Are you saying the game is over, Simone?’
‘Let’s just say, this hand is, Ahmad. But, before you toss in your cards, you haven’t answered my question. I’m curious about that sudden flare of anger. I don’t think that was part of this game you and I seem to be playing. Back in the bluebells you gave me a nasty moment that might have turned into something very ugly, where I might have come to great harm in your hands. I think at the very least you owe me an explanation.’
‘Simone, I’m dreadfully sorry about that. I’ll make it up to you. I had intended to buy you something lovely and send a note of apology with it. I’m terribly embarrassed about the incident.’
‘It had nothing to do with me, did it? You were raping someone else. I just happened to be there taking the punishment.’
‘Something like that. Please can we leave it at that? There really is no more to it than that where you’re concerned.’
‘Isn’t there?’ she asked. ‘Good. I’ll let you off the hook on that one. But cards on the table: what am I doing here? Not that it hasn’t been wonderful. You’ve given me a good time, Ahmad, but I know it will never go any further.’
‘You’ve never been fooled then?’
‘Not for a minute. Flattered, yes, but fooled, no. Smitten, yes, just as you have been smitten with me. I watched your interest in me grow but I also saw you constantly putting the brakes on. I saw a man seducing me for a reason other than love and great sex.’
‘How are you so wise about men, and so bitter?’
‘Do I look bitter?’ She seemed genuinely surprised.
‘No, but at times you sound it.’ Ahmad could not but feel a
surge of excitement. The thrill of winning was near; he had all the pieces in place. Now he thought of revenge. He could taste the sweetness of it.
‘Ben Johnson. This game I am playing with you is about Ben Johnson. Your bitterness, that’s about Ben Johnson too.’
Ahmad had to admire Simone. She had not flinched, her face remained passive, she appeared to be in complete control. He knew she was surprised, maybe even stunned, but she never showed it, except in her eyes. It was the anger in her eyes that gave her away. Ahmad sensed animosity, not only for him, but for Ben Johnson too. She started to say something. But he raised his hand to stop her. ‘It would not be a clever move to attack me. I might be about to do you the biggest favour of your life – and then again, I might not.’
She calmed herself and asked, ‘What has he to do with us?’
‘But for him we wouldn’t be sitting here now. He has everything to do with us.’
‘You’re a deceptive bastard.’ Simone stood up and scraped the chair back, after flinging her napkin on the table.
‘It would be stupid to walk out on me now,’ he told her, grabbing her wrist as she attempted to walk away from the table. ‘If you want a second chance with Ben Johnson, or merely sweet revenge, then return to your chair, because I can give it to you. If you don’t, you have every right to walk out.’
Ahmad held Simone’s wrist in a tight grip for some time before he slowly released the pressure and removed his hand. After several minutes she moved away from him. She took a deep breath, and looked at him once, briefly, before she returned to her chair. Seated once more, she placed her napkin across her knees and took a sip of wine. Looking squarely at him she told him, ‘This had better be good.’
‘It’s as good as it can get for you, Simone. Arianne Honey can marry no one. Not Ben Johnson, nor anyone else. She is not a widow. Is that interesting to you, Simone?’
‘She’ll get a divorce.’
‘Never.’
‘You seem very sure of that.’
‘I am. You see, I know the circumstances. She will leave Ben Johnson and return to her husband.’
‘How can you know that?’
‘It doesn’t matter how. I can assure you that’s the way it’s going to be.’
‘I can’t simply go to Ben and tell him a story like that. He would never believe me.’
‘He would if you gave him proof.’
‘What sort of proof?’
‘Jason Honey’s whereabouts. An address where he can find him. Detailed information of what happened to him when he vanished three years ago. Would you consider that proof enough?’
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘In the first instance, sweet revenge.’
‘Then surely you should deliver the news to them yourself.’
‘Impossible. I told you that was in the first instance. My role in the lives of Jason and Arianne Honey is far more complex than mere revenge. And that’s all you need to know. Why are you considering delivering this
coup de grâce
, Simone?’
‘More’s the pity that we sometimes don’t realise that we love someone until after they’ve left. A gamble? A gamble on getting a second chance to show it.’
‘If that’s the case, Simone, you will have to be clever in your approach. I won’t deceive you. I’ve done that enough. This is going to ruin their lives. Ben may not forgive you for playing the dark messenger, not even give you the chance you want to show him you love him.’
‘You leave that to me. Something puzzles me. Why? Just why have you chosen to give me this chance? There are so many ways you could have taken to blast their lives apart without me and without involving yourself. So why this way, and why me?’
‘Poetic justice? Can we just leave it at that?’
‘We can, but I don’t for a minute believe it.’
‘Fair enough, Simone.’
‘Are there any invisible strings attached to this affair between us that I should know about? If so, please come clean about them now. I think you owe me that.’
‘No. No strings, only some conditions that we must both abide by. The first one will be quite sad for me because I like you – you’re a great gal – but it’s a necessary requirement. Once I deliver the information to you, we will never see each other again.
We will make no contact of any kind. You see, once Ben Johnson and Arianne receive the news about Jason, I am through with the Honeys. Ergo, I am through with you. You will all be firmly put in the past so far as I am concerned. I am interested in the present and the future.’
‘God, you are a cruel, manipulative, loveless creature, Ahmad.’
‘Yes, I am. But I am also other things as well. Surely these last ten days together must have shown you that?’
Simone chose to ignore that question. She did not feel at all generous towards Ahmad, even though he was quite right: she had seen some remarkably good things about the man. ‘You said, conditions, plural. Let’s not be shy about them, Ahmad.’
‘Just two other conditions for you to abide by. You will never reveal this conversation to anyone. Nor will you ever reveal who you received the information from. I must have your word on that. You need fear nothing. I have worked out how to cover you so you are not put on the spot about it.’
‘How do you know you can trust me?’
‘What do you think I have been doing these last ten days with you? Do you think I would have stayed with you had I not liked and trusted you? And besides, you’re a woman in love.’
‘You forgot to add, hungry enough for another chance at the man she loves to make a pact with the devil.’
‘Ah, then we understand each other.’
‘Perfectly, Ahmad.’
The hub of Ben’s business was the office at the château in France, the same office that had called Arianne’s house to say that Simone Carrier had left a message: could Ben contact Simone as soon as possible? Arianne, efficient as ever, had marked the time, 11 a.m.