Louis frowned, puzzled, and pulled the framed photo out of the wrapper. He was stunned by whose picture it was. “You two!”
Bishou gazed again fondly at the promotional photography of Louis Dessant, taken for the business. “I shall cherish this. Thank you, Mademoiselle.”
“My pleasure, Madame Bishou.”
Louis and Bishou were crossing back to the table when they saw a convertible coming up Rue Dessant. Who was coming late, in casual clothes?
“Oh,
merde
,” said Louis, as it stopped behind the other cars, and two couples emerged. He had recognized the vehicle, and the man driving. It was the Prefect.
“Oh, my God,” muttered Bishou, and they walked toward the car.
Monsieur and Madame Masson were laughing. The other couple looked as if they were in on the joke, but weren’t quite sure it would be taken well.
“Oh,
mon Dieu
!” said Bishou delightedly, loud enough to be heard. “
Monsieur le Prefect
!” She gave him the bride’s kiss.
Louis’ parole officer laughed. “Forgive us for crashing your party, Madame.”
“Forgive you!” Louis exclaimed. “The least I can do is offer you some refreshment. Come, join us!”
“Allow me to introduce Monsieur et Madame Herriman,” said the Prefect, as Bishou clasped his arm.
“Oh, my word,” she said in English. “Welcome to the Dessant home, Monsieur l’Ambassador.”
The American Ambassador smiled, and replied in English, “Thank you. Jean-Pierre said you wouldn’t mind us dropping in, but we don’t want to wear out our welcome.”
“If you don’t mind a yard full of people, some cake, and some champagne, you cannot possibly wear out your welcome,” Bishou replied. She saw Louis offering his own arm to
Mme.
Herriman.
“Come,” he said. “Join our celebration today. You are most welcome.” Louis smiled down into her face.
Mme.
Herriman’s smile showed that she was obviously taken with the attractive bridegroom.
There was some hurried bowing and scraping, and place-setting. Bat poured champagne for them while he asked how things were in Washington. They had cake and champagne and coffee, a nice little picnic-stop for their day out.
“We’d thought about stopping by the church,” said
Mme.
Masson, “but we weren’t really dressed for it. Then Jean-Pierre suggested we just stop by the reception.”
“That was a wise move, if you are spending a day just relaxing,” Louis agreed.
“I have been trying to tell the Herrimans that’s what Île de la Reunion is all about, vacationing,” said the Prefect. “It’s one of our strengths.”
“Bishou, you look lovely. That white dress is much like your blue one, isn’t it?” asked
Mme.
Masson.
“Merci. Yes, it is. Both are by Madame Nadine, whom you must know.”
“Ah, Nadine! Is she here? Ah, yes, she is! Excuse me, I’m going to say hello to her.” Madame left them for the chairs where Nadine and
Mme.
Ross sat.
“I can’t remember the last time I saw my wife this relaxed at a social event,” the Prefect marveled. “This is a pleasant little party. You were wise to arrange it so, Louis.”
“And so was Madame,” Louis demurred. “We did not want the formality.”
“I see a goodly cross-section of Saint-Denis here.”
Bishou laughed. “Well, I have met a goodly cross-section of Saint-Denis.”
“President Michelin told me he had been in touch with the President of East Virginia University — Lanthier, I think the name was?”
“Yes, President Lanthier.”
“Who told him if he could snag Bishou Howard for his staff, do it. He suggested, too, that you might be willing to move into Administration, that you thought like an administrator, and had helped him a great deal.”
Louis laughed heartily. He told them about the tobacco genetics bet he had made with other World Tobacco Conference attendees in Virginia. Bat, who had not heard this tale, grinned broadly as Louis described setting up Bishou for a talk about phenotypes and genotypes, and the thousands of dollars she netted for the college scholarship fund. Bishou blushed, while the Prefect roared with laughter.
“My dear girl, don’t be embarrassed while these men sing your praises. A husband who brags about you, and the President of your last educational institution advising us to hang on to you! You are a fortunate woman.” The Prefect glanced at Bat. “And your twin as well. I am ahead of the game. I don’t think the others have met your twin brother, or even know you have one.”
“Most of the time, we are on opposite sides of the world,” said Bat.
“And still, you are
sympathetique, n’est-ce pas
?”
“Well, somewhat,” said Bishou. Hard to explain, on the spot, that they weren’t birth-twins, they just thought alike.
“We have worked well together,” said Bat. “Now it’s Louis’s turn.”
Louis shook his head. “Non, non, Sergeant-Major, I never take your place, I merely supplement it.”
“We’ll see in five years,” Bat said agreeably.
“Sergeant-major,” said the Ambassador alertly. “Marines?”
“Veteran, sir,” said Bat. “Vietnam.”
“And you won’t be staying here. Reserves?”
“No, sir, retired. My family needed me.”
“Hm,” said the Ambassador, in a tone sounding suspiciously like “we’ll see.”
A Marine who spoke native French,
Bishou reflected,
would be a desirable acquisition.
Mme.
Masson returned with Nadine, who asked Bishou to stand up and show off her dress. Bishou obliged, while the two women talked fabrics and styles. Something about her dress, Bishou wasn’t exactly sure what, was cutting-edge fashion. Bishou modeled, while other women came over to join the fashion group.
Then there were presents to unwrap. Bishou kept Louis’s photograph near her. Bettina and Madeleine got the unwrapped gifts indoors, for later sorting and thanks.
Bishou realized in surprise that the caterers were beginning to pack up, and the sun was setting. The Prefect and his guests took their leave. Bat gathered up the boys and left for Rue Calaincourt. Other guests said their goodbyes and also left.
Denise and Etien were the last to go. Louis shook his friend’s hand. “Much different this time, eh,
mon ami
?”
“Much different,” Etien confirmed, clapping Louis’s shoulder. “Great happiness to you both.” He kissed Bishou. Denise kissed them both. Then they, too, left.
The caterers were taking down the last of the tablecloths, and folding up the tables and chairs. Louis took his wife’s hand and entered the house.
The brandy and a few little silver things were in the living room. Most likely, the rest were back in the kitchen and pantry area, at least until tomorrow. There was room to sit down. Bishou moved to enter the room, but Louis caught her arm.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he said, in a husky voice.
“All right,” she answered docilely. She was conscious of him behind her as she climbed the first flight of stairs, then the second. He reached past her to open the door of their bedroom. The taste of champagne stayed with Bishou. They had their own little bathroom, just like the room below; quickly she rinsed away the champagne taste.
Louis turned on the lamp near the bed and closed the door. He opened a wardrobe door and nodded approvingly at his clothes. Bishou unpinned her hat and set it on top of her armoire, and turned to watch him pull out his nightclothes, conventional husbandly pajamas.
“Don’t wear the pajama top,” she suggested.
Louis glanced at her. “As you wish.” He removed his black-and-whites, hanging them up in the wardrobe. He flashed a quick smile at her. “You cannot unhook that by yourself, can you?”
“Probably, if I struggle with it.”
“Don’t struggle. I will unhook it. Give me a moment to change and wash up.”
Bishou moved to the window. The view here was pleasant. Long shadows fell across the land as evening arrived. The full moon, too, had risen.
“Now. Come here,” said Louis.
Bishou came and turned her back to him. He unhooked the dress and slid it up over her head. He tossed it on the bedroom chair. Immediately, he unhooked her brassiere as well, and tossed it with the dress. Then he sat on the bed and drew her toward him.
Bishou felt her pulse race and her breath change as he kissed her breasts and stomach. She made a small noise.
“What do you say?” he prompted, in a low voice.
“Ah, oui,” she gasped, and he smiled.
It was the beginning of a night of loving and learning. Louis knew exactly what he wanted, and what she should feel. He proved beyond doubt that he had been the husband of an extremely sexually advanced woman, and that she had taught him well. He turned Bishou inside-out. He taught her what sounds to make, how to move her body, what to say and do, as they made love. The fireworks did not diminish. He moaned and whispered in her ear. He kissed and bit her body. Bishou had never felt anything like this. She couldn’t have imagined it.
Finally, both were satisfied. She gasped when their bodies separated and Louis slid over beside her. “Sleep,
ma femme
,” he said softly.
“Oui,
mon mari,
” she responded, and closed her eyes.
The sun shone on Bishou’s face and woke her up. She felt Louis’s hand on her chest before she opened her eyes. Louis was lying beside her, also naked, a sheet covering his hips and hers. He was propped on his right elbow, looking down at her. His left hand stroked a line down the middle of her chest. He wore his new wedding band on his ring finger, but also her class ring with the blue stone on his smallest finger.
Bishou heard the horn of the
Mauritius Pride
in the distance. “Mm. The ferry. I am so used to hearing that every morning, now.”
“That is a sound of Île de La Réunion,” he murmured, smiling. “You are
réunionnaise
, Madame.” He stroked her. “I am sorry I was a little — rough on you last night. I was
fou d’amour
.” Mad with love.
“I would have wondered if you weren’t,
mon mari
,” Bishou replied.
Louis did not laugh. His half-smile remained.
He’s peaceful
, she realized.
He’s contented.
“Are you happy,
mon amour
?” she asked him gently.
“
Oui
. A little afraid to be so happy.”
Bishou smiled in understanding. “Because it cannot possibly last?” He was silent; his fingers stroked a line down her chest and stomach again and again.
At last Louis said, “I watched you sleep, and thought, how can I even bear to leave this room?”
“We will leave it together,” she replied. “When you go to work, I will be here when you get home, or you will know where to find me. Always. I promise.”
Louis bent down to kiss her lips, realizing that she understood his fear of desertion. Carola, the false wife, ditched him when she got her name on the bank accounts, and left with his fortune. Bishou returned his kisses. They lay in the bed, holding and stroking each other.
Louis murmured, “It is Saturday. No work awaits us. We have the day to waste as we wish.”
“I know,” she said. He smiled and kissed her again.
• • •
Bishou took a leisurely bath in the tub downstairs, while Louis slept in bed. He started his penance, too, for the packet the priest had given him was open on the bed when she came back up a flight to dress. He examined its contents.
The sun shone in the balcony window, lighting up the bedroom. While Bishou brushed her hair at the bureau, she turned to regard her husband, still in bed. He lay on his stomach, propped up on his elbows to read the little book. His chest, back and arms were bare, his shoulder muscles very visible at this angle. The cotton bedspread covered him from the hips down.
My God,
she thought,
what a beautiful man. To think that Carola wasted this.
“Hm?” His head turned as she sat on the edge of the bed.
She slid the bedspread down to bare his back and hips. Bishou reached for the oil. “Lie down.” He obeyed, looking a little wary. She poured a little of the oil from Mama Jo on her hands, and rubbed it into the smooth, warm skin of his back.
Louis closed his eyes and half-moaned, half-sighed. “That feels so good.”
“It does to me, too, to my hands.”
He said nothing. There was a smile on his lips. Yes, he was seductive.
She kissed his neck. Softly, he said her name. “
Oui
?” she said equally softly.
“What are you doing to me?” he murmured.
“Stroking you. You have a beautiful body.” She still spoke softly in his ear, then kissed his neck and shoulders.
“Ah,
oui
,” he sighed in pleasure.
“Ah,
oui
?”
“Ah,
oui, ma femme
.”
She rubbed oil into his lower back, his hips, then along his inner leg. He was startled by her touch. He rolled onto his back, naked, and reached out to her.
“
Viens
.”
She slipped off her robe and lay down. He wrapped her in his arms. They kissed and kissed. This was her siren, her man to pet and love. She abandoned any plans she might have made for the day, just to love him.
Bishou fell asleep, and woke hungry. Her movement, still in his arms, woke him. “Hm?”
“We need breakfast. Or lunch. Or, at this rate, dinner.”
“I suppose so.” Louis stroked her and sighed. “But I don’t want to leave this island. It’s peaceful.”
Bishou understood that he meant the island of this bed, but she replied, “It is your island.”
Louis smiled at the reference to Dessant Cigarettes, and sat up. She changed into day clothes as he did. They climbed downstairs, knowing their footsteps would be heard in the kitchen.
Sure enough, Bettina and Madeleine were quickly setting the table as they reached the bottom floor. “You have more warning, you two, with us on the top floor,” Louis joked.
“Oui, but it is your honeymoon,” the women replied, laughing, “take as long as you like, Madame et Monsieur.”
“Our honeymoon. It is, isn’t it?” Bishou mused, seating herself and pouring coffee for Louis, as the women went back into the kitchen for the food. “Strange. I had been so focused on the wedding, I hadn’t even thought about the honeymoon.”