French Kissing

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French Kissing Page 8

by Lynne Shelby


  At least I wouldn’t have to make polite conversation with her over the breakfast table. ‘She didn’t sound very happy.’

  ‘She got it into her head that you were my girlfriend, and wouldn’t believe me when I told her that you weren’t.’

  ‘I hope you’re not expecting me to apologise for ruining your night.’

  ‘I’m the one who should be apologising. It was wrong of me to invite someone into your home without asking you first.’

  ‘It’s your home too, for the next few months. You don’t need my permission to … have a visitor. Though you might have gone into your bedroom before you ripped each other’s clothes off.’

  ‘That was my intention,’ Alex said. ‘I hadn’t reckoned on Chloe being quite so eager. We’d only been in the flat five minutes when she took off her dress and started unbuttoning my shirt.’

  ‘You poor little innocent French boy. I should have warned you about English girls.’

  ‘I like English girls.’

  ‘Evidently. Who is she, anyway, this Chloe? Someone from your magazine?’

  ‘No. I only met her tonight. We were both on the guest list for the launch of a new fashion label. She’s a model. A very successful model. As you might expect, given her figure.’

  Her figure wasn’t that great, from what I saw of it. Far too skinny. ‘Well, I’m sure her being a model and your being a photographer had nothing to do with her taking her clothes off.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that girl only came on to me because she thought I’d shoot her a new Z-card?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Alex looked at me uncertainly, not sure if I was being serious. I wasn’t entirely sure myself.

  ‘You’re wrong,’ he said, eventually. ‘She was after my body.’

  I gazed at him standing there in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, and I thought, I can’t blame her for that. I reminded myself of my resolve not to think about Alex’s muscles.

  ‘You are so up yourself.’ I threw a pillow at him.

  He laughed and threw it back.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re laughing, Alex. I was mortified, walking in on you like that.’ I tried not to smile.

  ‘You weren’t the only one who was embarrassed, I can assure you,’ Alex said. He added, ‘Is Nick not with you? Or is he so mortified that he’s hiding in your wardrobe?’

  I explained about Mrs Cooper’s mistrust of minicab drivers.

  ‘And how are you and Nick?’ Alex said.

  ‘We’re great. Why wouldn’t we be?’

  ‘No reason.’ Alex walked across the room and flopped down next to me on my bed, resting on his elbows. ‘I only asked because I haven’t seen much of you lately, and I don’t know what’s going on in your life.’

  ‘I was thinking the same about you. What have you been up to?’ Apart from picking up girls at fashion launches.

  Alex thought for a moment and then he said, ‘Dear Anna, Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve had some challenging assignments in interesting locations around London, and I’ve taken some shots I’m very pleased with. I also spent a day photographing furniture, which was somewhat less interesting. I’ve played squash with Rob a few times –’

  ‘Who won?’ I said.

  ‘Ssh. No interrupting my letter.’ Alex cleared his throat. ‘I played squash with Rob, and I won, although it wasn’t easy, as we’re pretty evenly matched. Rob invited me to call in for a drink on my way home, and I saw your friend Beth –’

  ‘How is Beth? I’ve been meaning to call her.’

  ‘Ssh! Beth seemed tired, so I didn’t stay very long. Yours sincerely, Alexandre Tourville. PS. Tomorrow, if you are free after work, would you like to come with me to the National Gallery? It stays open ’til 9 p.m. on Fridays.’

  ‘Ooh, I do like getting letters,’ I said. ‘Cher Alexandre, thank you for your kind invitation. I would very much like to visit the National Gallery with you. Á bientôt, Anna Mitchel.’

  ‘It’s a date, then,’ Alex said. ‘What time do you finish work?’

  I told him, and we arranged that he would come and meet me at Nova Graphics, that we’d spend a couple of hours at the National Gallery, and then go for a meal, and possibly on to a club. We chatted for a while, and then, seeing as we were both yawning, decided to call it a night.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then,’ Alex stood up in one sinuous motion. ‘Bonne nuit.’

  ‘Bonne nuit, Alex.’

  He headed out of my room. I lay back on my bed and thought how easy he was to talk to, how easy to be around. And easy on the eye, of course. I ran my hand over the dent on the duvet where he had been lying next to me. My friend. Mon ami. I would miss him when he went back to France.

  Twelve

  The following morning, I’d just come out of one meeting and was getting my notes together ready for another, when Beth rang my mobile.

  ‘Hi, Anna,’ she said. ‘Are you at work? Can you talk?’

  ‘Yes, I’m at work, but I can talk for five minutes.’

  ‘Well, it’s short notice, but I know you never see Nick on Fridays, and Rob’s said he’ll look after the kids, so I was hoping that you and I could have a girls’ night out. Go to a bar, somewhere with live music, like we used to –’

  ‘Beth, slow down. Do you mean tonight?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry, I’m wittering. It’s what happens when you’re at home with small children all day. You forget how to talk to people over the age of five.

  ‘I can’t tonight.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘I’m really sorry, but I’m seeing Nick tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, well, maybe some other time,’ Beth said, sounding horribly disappointed.

  ‘Any other Friday would be fine,’ I said, ‘but tonight I’m going to the National Gallery with Alex.’

  ‘You’re going out with Alex?’ Beth said. ‘Then why I don’t I come with you? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.’

  Maybe he wouldn’t mind. But I did. I’d been looking forward to my night out with Alex, and really didn’t want a third person tagging along, not even my oldest friend.

  ‘You want to spend an evening looking at paintings?’ I asked.

  ‘Why not? I never went to university like you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a bit of culture.’

  ‘No, of course it doesn’t, but when we shared a flat I was always asking you to come with me to art exhibitions, and you always said you couldn’t imagine anything more boring.’

  ‘Did I? I don’t remember.’

  I should just tell her that I don’t want her to come.

  Beth said, ‘I’m going stir-crazy stuck here with the kids. It’d be great to get out of the house – Jonah! Be careful! Oh, no!’

  ‘What is it?’ I said. ‘Is Jonah OK?’

  ‘Oh, yes, he’s fine. It’s just that he’s spilt blackcurrant juice all over the living room carpet. What time shall I meet you at the gallery?’

  ‘Well, Alex is meeting me from work so –’

  ‘I’ll do the same. Text me the time and Nova Graphic’s address.’ Beth ended the call.

  Nothing like inviting yourself somewhere you’re not wanted, I thought, Then I was overcome with guilt. Beth sounded like she really could do with a break from the demands of motherhood. And it wasn’t as if Alex and I were going on a date. There was no reason why I should feel so possessive towards him.

  At 5.30 sharp, I headed out of the studio and down the stairs to Reception, where I was meeting Alex and Beth. They were both already there – as was Izzy, who had somehow managed to get away from her desk even earlier than I had, and was talking to Alex. She hadn’t mentioned him in almost a week, but my hopes that she was over her unrequited infatuation were completely quashed by the way she was gazing up at him from under her long dark eyelashes. Beth, standing next to Izzy, saw me before the other two, and her face broke into a delighted grin. I noticed that she was wearing make-up for the first time in months, she’d straightened her hair,
and she had on a new pair of boots. This night off from her family duties certainly seemed to be a big deal for her. I hoped that she wasn’t going to be disappointed. And that she wouldn’t want to stay out too late, so that I got to spend at least some of the evening alone with Alex.

  ‘Hi, all,’ I said, as I joined the three of them. ‘You look nice tonight, Beth.’ To Izzy, I added, ‘We’re off to the National Gallery.’

  ‘I know,’ Izzy said. ‘I’m coming with you. Alexandre invited me.’

  ‘Great.’ I gave Alex a tight smile. Well that was really going to convince her that he’d no intention of dating her.

  ‘Izzy tells me that she’s particularly interested in the paintings of the Renaissance,’ Alex said.

  ‘Oh, me too,’ Beth said. ‘Nothing I enjoy more than a bit of Renaissance.’

  I shot her a look. ‘Let’s get going then, shall we?’

  ‘And after we’ve done enough looking at pictures,’ Beth said, ‘maybe we could go on to a bar?’

  ‘Good idea,’ Izzy said.

  So much for my night out with Alex, just the two of us.

  Alex said, ‘So every element of The Embarkation of the Queen of Sheba – the light reflected on the water, the figure of the boy on the quayside shading his face against the brightness – draws your eye to the luminous horizon, where the queen’s ship is about to sail off into the open sea, towards the rising sun.’

  ‘Yes, I see that now,’ Beth said, staring up at Claude Lorrain’s painting of a seaport in the early morning. ‘Now that you‘ve explained it.’

  ‘It’s so great to go round a gallery with someone who knows so much about art,’ Izzy said to Alex.

  Did she really have to tell him how wonderful he was every five minutes? I was longing to discuss the masterpieces that hung in the National Gallery with Alex, but what with Izzy’s flirting and Beth’s asking him questions, I’d not had a chance to exchange more than a few words with him all evening.

  ‘Anna knows much more about paintings than I do,’ Alex said. ‘I’ve always enjoyed visiting art galleries, and as a photography student, I did study other visual media, but Anna’s the one with the History of Art degree.’

  Izzy, apparently not much interested in my academic qualifications, was examining the gallery floor-plan she’d picked up at the information desk. Alex and Beth crowded around her, and after some deliberation as to which painting they wanted to see next, they all headed off to an adjoining room, which was hung with works by artists of the Italian Renaissance. I trailed after them, catching up as they came to a halt in front of Botticelli’s Venus and Mars. Izzy and Beth gazed at the painting in silence, and then turned expectantly to Alex.

  He said, ‘The woman on the left of the picture, sitting upright, dressed in a white and gold nightdress, is Venus, goddess of love, and the naked man lying beside her is Mars, god of war. He has returned from the battlefield, removed his armour, and made love to her, kissing her and caressing her, taking her with him to the heights of ecstasy, le petit mort, as we say in France, the little death. And now, all passion spent, he rests, while she smiles serenely to herself, knowing the power she has over him. The meaning of the painting is that love conquers all.’

  ‘Ooh, Alexandre,’ Izzy sighed, ‘I could listen to you talk about art for hours.’

  Beth said, ‘I never realised that an old painting could be so … could have so much in it.’

  ‘Another way of describing Venus and Mars,’ I said, ‘is that the man and the woman have just had a quickie, and he’s rolled over and gone to sleep. Take a closer look at Venus’ face – she doesn’t seem like a girl who’s just had great sex to me.’

  Izzy giggled. ‘I prefer Alexandre’s description.’

  ‘So do I,’ Beth said.

  I gestured at the painting. ‘Do you see the wasps flying round Mars’ head? They symbolise the painful stings of love. Maybe the meaning of the painting is that the woman wants more than the guy is prepared to give.’

  ‘There’s usually more than one way of interpreting a great work of art,’ Alex said. ‘Even the experts don’t always agree. It could be that it’s the guy who gets stung.’ He glanced at his watch, and then looked at me. ‘The gallery closes soon, so we’ve probably only got time to look at one more painting. What’ll it be?’

  I shrugged. ‘You choose. Since you know so much about art.’

  Alex frowned.

  ‘If the gallery’s about to close,’ Izzy said, ‘I’d like to go straight to the gift shop and buy some postcards.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said.

  ‘And then we need to decide where we’re going to eat,’ Alex said.

  ‘Why don’t we go to a French restaurant,’ Izzy said. ‘There’s one in Covent Garden that’s had great reviews.’ She smiled at Alex. ‘I simply adore French cuisine.’

  I supressed the urge to slap her.

  ‘Sounds good,’ Beth said, ‘but Alex will have to translate the menu for me.’

  ‘Where would you like to eat, Anna?’ Alex said.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ My evening was already ruined, so I didn’t care. ‘Why don’t we just go home and order a takeaway?’

  ‘OK,’ Alex said. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  I turned to Beth and Izzy. ‘You two are very welcome to come back to ours.’

  I’d so much rather they didn’t.

  ‘I’d love to come back to yours for a takeaway,’ Beth said.

  ‘Me too,’ said Izzy. ‘And we should pick up some beer and wine.’

  ‘Yay!’ Beth said. ‘Mine’s a sauvignon blanc.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t drinking alcohol while you’re feeding Molly,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, didn’t I tell you?’ Beth said. ‘I’ve given up breastfeeding. I can drink all I want!’

  ‘So let’s party,’ Izzy said. ‘Dance with me?’ Izzy stood in front of Alex, who was lounging on the sofa, cradling a glass of wine.

  ‘Not tonight,’ Alex said.

  ‘Aw, please dance with me.’ Izzy lifted her arms above her head and started swaying from side to side in time to the music coming from my iPod speakers. Alex raised his wine glass to his lips, and watched her through hooded eyes.

  I glanced at my watch. Gone midnight. And, despite me doing my domestic goddess act, clearing away the detritus of our Chinese takeaway and collecting up empty glasses, neither Izzy nor Beth were showing any signs of wanting to get off home. When I’d turned down the music, Izzy had turned it up again.

  Beth, who’d drunk far more than her share of the white wine we’d bought and had now moved onto red, got up out of the armchair where she’d been sitting and came and joined me at the dining table.

  ‘Your friend Izzy seems very young,’ she said, pitching her voice so that only I could hear. ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Twenty-one.’ Twenty-one going on sixteen. And apparently determined to make a fool of herself over Alex.

  ‘I remember being twenty-one,’ Beth said. ‘You and I were sharing a flat. We’d go out every Friday night. Drink wine. Dance. Meet boys.’ She drained her wine, picked up the bottle that was on the dining table and refilled her glass, spilling a fair amount.

  ‘We had some good times.’ I mopped up the spilt wine with a tissue.

  ‘Izzy looks like she’s having a good time too,’ Beth’s voice, I noticed, was becoming increasingly slurred.

  Izzy, having failed to persuade Alex to dance with her, had kicked off her shoes, and was dancing alone, rolling her hips and tossing her hair. Still dancing, she undid a couple of buttons on her shirt and tied it up, revealing an enviably flat stomach. When her dance brought her close to Alex, she smiled at him and held out her hand. He shook his head, but his gaze continued to follow her as she writhed around the room. I didn’t know which of them was annoying me more – Izzy for practically giving Alex a lap dance, or Alex for so obviously enjoying it. He’s going to sleep with her again tonight, I thought. I swallowed a mouthful of wine. Not that his sex l
ife was any concern of mine.

  Beth said, ‘It’s not too late.’

  ‘What? Sorry, Beth, what are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m still young enough to strut my stuff on a Friday night.’ Getting to her feet (and knocking over her chair in the process), Beth tottered unsteadily to the middle of the room, where she launched into a floundering parody of Izzy’s dance.

  Oh, my lord, she’s completely pissed, I thought.

  Abruptly, Alex stood up too. For a moment I thought he was going to dance with Beth and Izzy, but instead he walked over to me, and straightened up the chair.

  In French, he said, ‘You do realise that Beth’s had way too much to drink?’

  ‘Yes, I had noticed,’ I said, in the same language. ‘I’m thinking I should make her a coffee to sober her up before I send her back to Rob in a cab.’

  ‘I’ll say goodnight, then.’

  ‘You’re going to bed?’ Alone?

  ‘Your friends’ enthusiasm for art has worn me out. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Calling out goodnight to Izzy and Beth, he headed out of the living room.

  Izzy stopped dancing. For a moment she stared after Alex, before flinging herself down on the sofa. Beth continued to lurch about.

  With a sigh, I got up and switched off my iPod.

  ‘What’s happened to the music?’ Beth said.

  ‘Sit down, Beth.’ I ushered her to an armchair.

  ‘Is there any wine left?’

  ‘No, but you can have a black coffee. What about you Izzy? Would you like a coffee before you go home?’

  ‘Actually,’ Izzy said, ‘I was wondering if I could crash on your sofa? I’ve missed my connecting train, and minicabs are so expensive.’

  She’d never had any intention of catching her last train. She’d thought she’d be spending the night with Alex. Silly girl.

  I forced myself to smile. ‘No worries. I’ve a spare duvet.’ Well, I could hardly turn her out onto the night-time streets, however much I was tempted.

  Suddenly, Beth said, ‘Alex isn’t here. Where’s he gone?’ She peered round the room, as though he might be hiding behind the furniture. ‘Alex? Alex?’

  ‘He’s trying to sleep,’ I said. ‘So keep the noise down. I’ll make us some coffee.’

 

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