Pierre

by Primula Bond

  ‘Not tonight, sorry. I’m working.’

  ‘Working? After you’ve put in a full day here?’

  ‘Some of us have to burn the candle at both ends,’ I reply. ‘This is only my day job.’

  ‘I like the sound of that, Rosa. Burning the candle –’

  Just then Dr Venska flings open the door to room 202, stands there for a moment glaring at me, and then slams it shut. To my intense relief she clatters away up the corridor in the opposite direction without having to pass my desk.

  Robinson Junior stares after her long white legs and pert, twitching bottom as if she’s one of those tiny deer springing across the savannah and he’s a lion in the grass ready to pounce.

  ‘Hush my mouth. No wonder they charge the earth for this clinic.’

  Robinson Junior grins. He slips the business card into my breast pocket, his fingers lingering there just long enough to leave some heat.

  ‘I really have to go.’ I start to walk away to get my bag from the changing rooms.

  ‘Guess I’ve shocked you with being so forward?’ Robinson Junior calls after me. ‘That’s how I operate, Rosa. Life’s too short for your British politeness. No time to beat about the bush. However pretty that bush might be.’

  I turn round, trying to think of a suitably rude riposte. But he’s just standing there, big muscular arms folded across his chest, grinning at me. He’s bouncing on his toes with barely contained energy. He should be charging across a rugby field rather than meandering through a hospital.

  What a contrast, an attractive, novel contrast, to the limp, pale, listless figures behind these doors, some of whom are tortured by wondering when their old verve will return.

  I try to dismiss the disloyal thought and point at room 202.

  ‘Try telling him all that.’

  ‘Whoa, wait up!’ Robinson Junior steps closer. ‘Something happened between you and him?’

  ‘No. No. I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘Well, if he doesn’t have the hots I certainly do.’ He steps towards room 202. ‘I mean it, Rosa. I’m going to want company while I’m in town. Call me.’

  He doesn’t give me time to refuse. Just turns the handle and marches right into Pierre’s room. There’s a short pause and then, through the door that Robinson Junior has left wide open, I hear Pierre erupt into delighted laughter and the clapping of manly hands on manly backs.

  ‘Back to your old tricks already, Levi! Who’s the blonde?’ Robinson Junior roars, when the laughter has subsided. ‘You get her on room service?’

  I creep back towards the room to hear what Pierre is going to say about her.

  ‘She’s not an escort, you jerk. She’s my shrink.’

  Robinson Junior snorts. I can hear the squeak of the springs as he sits his bulk down on the bed. ‘Yeah, and I’m Ryan Gosling,’ he says with a laugh. ‘But who cares? She’s hot.’

  ‘Don’t want to talk about her. How did you find me, Robinson?’

  ‘I saw your brother Gustav in New York just before he came over to London to marry that gorgeous photographer. I had to crawl on hands and knees to persuade him to tell me which clinic you were in. Talk about hush-hush! You’d have to be CIA to get information about this place!’

  ‘More like being locked up at Alcatraz when you’re on the inside, though!’ Pierre gives a short laugh. ‘But it’s no more than I deserve after the way I’ve behaved most of my life.’

  ‘Ooh, way too philosophical. Although I did hear you hit on your brother’s girlfriend and caused all sorts of mayhem for a while. Not that I blame you. Everyone at the club fancied the pants off her.’

  ‘The club I wasn’t famous enough or rich enough to be a member of, unlike my brother Gustav and the entire Robinson clan.’

  ‘Don’t get all bitter on me, Levi. There are some developments on that score. That’s one of the reasons Gustav asked me to come over here. But he also asked me to check on you. He’s right to be worried. You don’t look right, man.’

  ‘And there was me thinking I was an expert at hiding things.’

  There’s a long silence. I wonder if he’s more upset than he’ll admit. Did he really mean what he said? That he doesn’t want me? Doesn’t want anyone?

  ‘Is it the pain? Those injuries? How are the legs?’ Robinson Junior gets up from the bed. I guess he’s trying to comfort Pierre. ‘It’s this bloody accident. It’s scared you shitless.’

  Pierre sighs. ‘Margot tried to kill me, Robinson, but you know what? It’s the loneliness that’s nearly finished me off.’

  I stare at the open door. What does he mean, loneliness? How could he have been lonely when he had all these women getting in his face? Venska trying to strip to her lacy underwear? Me trying to kiss him?

  ‘Looks like I got here just in time, man! I’m in London on business for a month or so and we’ve got some clubbing to do.’

  ‘Ignore me, Robinson. It’s so good to see you. You’re one of the few people in the world I can just chill out with now that Gustav has gone.’

  ‘You’ve had a shit time. I’m sorry for all of it, Levi.’

  ‘You could have come earlier if you were that bloody sorry,’ Pierre snorts. ‘Three months I’ve been stuck in here!’

  ‘I don’t get the loneliness bit, though, Levi. What about the shrink? What about that Latina honey who let me in? Rosa? You’ve done something to rock her boat?’

  My armpits prickle. Sweat runs down my back. This uniform feels as if it’s been heat-sealed on to me. What do they say about eavesdroppers never hearing good about themselves?

  ‘A misunderstanding, that’s all. No involvement. Look at me! I’m a cripple!’

  ‘Great!’ exclaims Robinson Junior. ‘So you won’t mind if I have a crack at her?’

  I start to walk away, but not before I hear Pierre’s reply.

  ‘Read my lips, Robinson. I’m the patient. She’s just the carer.’

  * * *

  I lied to Jeannie. I’m not sick this morning. I just don’t want to be anywhere near Pierre Levi today. Anyway, his friend Robinson Junior is in town. Mr Levi doesn’t need me massaging his ego any longer.

  The quiet is disturbed by footsteps on the gangplank crossing towards my houseboat.

  The visitor pauses as they reach my little gate, as if they’re having second thoughts or they’ve come to the wrong place. I wait. Then there are three more steps across the deck and a tap on the hatch.

  ‘Coo-wee! You in there, Rosa?’

  I open the hatch and there’s Nurse Jeannie. Out of her uniform she looks about ten years younger. She’s wearing a striped Breton T-shirt and white sailor trousers.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you when you’re feeling sick, Rosa, but I’m on a mission. What a cute little house! Can I come in?’

  We both glance round at the mess in the cabin. Last night’s bottle of wine. The pale-blue cocktail dress the club have sent over for me to wear tonight and which I’m trying on, half zipped up. Hardly the signs of someone on sick leave.

  Jeannie climbs down the wooden stair ladder and gives me a big hug, then squeals, holding me away from her.

  ‘My God. Look at you! Do you normally dress like this when you’re off sick?’

  ‘I was just trying it on for work. My other job, you know.’

  She looks me up and down, her blue eyes shining as she takes in my bare legs, my bare shoulders, the shimmering dress pulled tight across my breasts.

  ‘Hmm. If you’re sick, young lady, I’m Kim Kardashian!’

  I sit down on the banquette. There’s a ripping sound under my arm.

  ‘You’re not going to fire me over this, are you?’

  Nurse Jeannie puts her hand on my arm. ‘I’m not happy about it, Rosa. I’d like to know why you’re avoiding the clinic today. But I wouldn’t dream of giving you your marching orders. The patients, sorry, the clients, and the medics, everyone loves you at the Aura.’

  ‘You sound as if you’re presenting me with a prize!’ I
blush. ‘You fancy a coffee now you’re here?’

  ‘I’d love one. We’ve still got time.’

  I stand up to push the button on the kettle and hear another tiny ripping sound.

  ‘Oh, shit. It’s too small. I’ve got to get to a tailor or seamstress or someone who can sew. This is a really expensive dress.’

  She walks to the end of my little salon and peers into the cabin, as all newcomers do.

  ‘You’re too voluptuous, that’s why. Your body always seems to be fighting to get out. Is it a seam? Or a zip?’

  ‘A seam. A dart, whatever you call them. Right under my left boob.’

  She smiles. She really looks completely different out of uniform. Like a very cute boy. ‘I can fix that for you. I’m a dab hand with a needle.’

  ‘You are? That would be fantastic!’

  ‘But you need to do something in return.’

  The kettle boils with a great bubbling rush.

  ‘Your mission?’

  ‘Should you choose to accept it, is to come back to the clinic and do your shift after all. I know, I know. I’m exerting undue pressure, but it’s important.’ She laughs, pushing my arms up and examining the rip. ‘Come on. Slip it off. I love sewing. I can do it in a jiffy.’

  She looks so bright-eyed, so eager, already rifling round in my shoebox full of cotton reels and needles, that I relent and slip the dress off, too late realising that underneath it I’m only wearing a tiny pair of knickers. I put my hands over my bare breasts.

  ‘Hey, don’t be shy! We’re just girls together. Let me look at you, Rosa.’ Nurse Jeannie takes my wrists and pulls my arms open. ‘You’ve got a lovely body. These breasts are sensational.’

  ‘I just need to put on a bra. The dress won’t hang properly without,’ I stammer, seeing a strange spark in her eyes. ‘Why are you looking at me like that, Nurse Jeannie?’

  ‘Jeannie. Call me Jeannie when we’re off duty.’

  Jeannie loosens her grip on my arms, as if to test whether I’ll run away, and when I don’t, because I’m stunned, she starts to stroke me, my arms at first, so gently that the hairs stand on end.

  ‘I need to put something on. I –’

  ‘Hush, honey. You’re frustrated, I can tell. Something’s on your mind. Or should I say someone.’

  She keeps her sparkly blue eyes on me, her pink tongue stuck in the corner of her mouth.

  I pull myself straighter, which has the effect of pushing my breasts forwards. She brushes them and an electric shock runs through me.

  She feels it, too. Her eyes go wide and round like a doll’s.

  ‘I think I’m in love with, with one of the patients.’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

  I stare at her as the relief of admitting it floods through me. ‘Is that a sacking offence?’

  ‘Only that you used the word patient instead of client.’ She smiles. ‘All it does is make you all the more appealing. Christ, you really have no idea!’

  She pulls me closer, and before I know what’s happening she’s kissing me softly on the cheek, and then again, fully on my mouth. My body tightens again as I feel these soft female lips on mine, different from a man’s hard, demanding, bristly mouth, so inviting, so encouraging. She presses harder and then slides her tongue, not inside my mouth but just between my lips, tickling them open.

  I tremble, and turn my head away.

  ‘Jeannie, I’m not, oh, fuck, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I’m starved of affection. Everything’s so, I’ve never – should you be, haven’t you got a girlfriend?’

  ‘I’ve got plenty of pussy. The Sapphix Club is my hunting ground. You should come with me some time. They would absolutely gobble you up.’

  She rubs her nose against mine and tips my face to kiss me again. Her hands are firmer on my breasts now, massaging them, pushing them together, and when she circles my nipples and then pinches them darts of desire slice through as they burn and ache for more.

  It would be so easy. So easy just to subside into this, let her do what she wants. It’s been so long since anyone touched me.

  I try to pull away again. ‘I’m not gay, Jeannie. No offence, but –’

  ‘None taken. I know you’re not gay. We’re just playing. Just you and me. That’s all. And you’re liking it, aren’t you? Feel how hard your nipples are now.’ She kisses me, again with the feathery, feminine, tickling sensation. ‘Oh, man, I’ve been wanting to do this ever since you started working for us. Now that is a sacking offence.’

  She is breathing faster now, her tongue pushing a little further in. My body is tight with a mixture of embarrassment and desire, yearning. Hunger.

  But not for her. Not Nurse Jeannie.

  ‘Please, Jeannie. This isn’t fair. I can’t. It’s not you. But I’m –’

  ‘Thinking of someone else?’ She lifts her hands away from my body in surrender.

  I reach for my bra. My breasts are too heavy to be left naked, even under a T-shirt. I pull on a vest and trackie bottoms.

  ‘You didn’t have to go to all that trouble to persuade me to come to work!’ I laugh, flicking on the kettle. ‘I haven’t upset you, have I?’

  ‘More to the point, have I upset you?’ She runs her fingertips across her wet lips, then bends to pick up the cocktail dress, starts to pick at the loose seam. ‘I’ve overstepped the mark. I’m your superior. I should know better.’

  ‘Absolutely not. I’m flattered. And that’s the first time a woman has ever kissed me. It was lovely. But my head. I’m so confused –’

  She rummages in my shoebox, snips some pale cotton off a reel.

  ‘I understand, honey. You’re thinking of someone else. That’s why I’m here, actually.’

  She licks the end of the cotton to thread it through the needle, pulls it through, then looks at me. Thank God her face is calm, relaxed.

  ‘I really don’t want to come to work today.’

  ‘He hasn’t sent me, if that’s what you think.’ She bends her head to the task of dipping the needle in and out of the delicate fabric. ‘But it seems our Mr Levi’s too cowardly to do his own dirty work. Do you know he came here the other night to talk to you?’

  I tip the kettle to pour the hot water on to the coffee grounds but my hand is shaking. I put the kettle down again.

  ‘Which night?’

  ‘The night after the wedding. I caught him sneaking into the clinic hours after you’d gone home. I challenged him on pain of removal of privileges, increase of fees, anything I could think of, to confess.’ She talks more slowly than usual, intent on what she’s doing. ‘He told me he’d called a cab, wheeled himself past all the fuss going on at the entrance, drove over here and asked the cabbie to wait.’

  ‘What did he want? What did he want to say to me?’

  I lift the kettle again and fill the cafetière.

  ‘Who can say?’ Nurse Jeannie shrugs and bites off the cotton. ‘He didn’t specify. I assumed you’d know?’

  I shake my head, which is buzzing with possibilities, questions, doubts. ‘Well, it’s irrelevant now. He chickened out of the whole enterprise and certainly didn’t mention it the other day. He was too busy belittling me in front of Dr Venska.’

  ‘Ah. Well, if she was there, that explains – he didn’t mean it, Rosa.’

  ‘You’re being very generous with your deductions, Jeannie. But I still don’t want to see him.’

  ‘You’re protesting too much, Rosa.’ Jeannie turns the dress inside out. ‘The Aura Clinic is very small. Very intimate. Some might say claustrophobic. Rumours begin, they take flight. Nothing goes unnoticed, despite the closed doors.’

  ‘You mean the cameras see everything?’ Somehow she’s managed to find and plug my tiny travelling iron, and is running it over the satin lining of the dress.

  ‘Only in the corridors. They don’t pry into the rooms. But it’s the atmosphere. Vibes.’ Jeannie shakes out the pressed dress. ‘The word on the
ward is he is smitten. Oh, I know he comes on the hard man. Totally closed off. But something’s changed. He can’t take his eyes off you when you’re serving tea in the garden, or cleaning the floors with that great noisy sweeper, or pushing clients on their gurneys to the scan or the gym or the therapy suite. He heard me ticking you off once for running down the cloister corridor and he said I sounded like the Reverend Mother in The Sound of Music.’

  ‘OK, maybe he likes looking. But that’s all.’

  ‘So why did he go to all the bother of coming here?’ Jeannie slips the dress on to a hanger and hangs it on the door of the wardrobe. ‘Why did he bribe one of the care assistants – also a sacking offence, by the way – to get your address?’

  We take the coffee out on to the deck. Jeannie waves to the other boathouse owners who are enjoying the last rays of the Indian summer.

  ‘Because he considers me as just a friend? Good old Cavalieri.’

  ‘Did something happen between you at that wedding? Come on, Rosa. Whatever brave words he’s been bandying about, he’s lying.’ Jeannie takes the cafetière off me. ‘And he’s suffering. If you could see how dejected he is when you’re absent.’

  ‘We kissed, the night of the wedding. I thought it meant something. I tried to, I tried to talk to him about it, but he brushed me off. All that palaver about coming here was just some kind of empty drama, because the next time I saw him he was downright cruel.’

  ‘Was that before or after Dr Venska insulted him with her unprofessional comparisons?’ Jeannie pours out the coffee. ‘No wonder he lashed out. His pride was wounded. And it’s always the nearest and dearest in the firing line.’

  ‘Don’t sugar the pill, Nurse Jeannie. To him I’m just a carer!’

  ‘Who says?’

  ‘I heard him mocking me to his friend Mr Robinson. The American guy who visited him in the clinic.’

  ‘Ah, yes. From New York. I think he’s trying to persuade Pierre to leave.’

  ‘At least I know his friend wants to fuck me!’

  It’s out before I can stop it. The sturdy grey-haired lady who shares the boat next door with about twelve terriers chokes on her gin and tonic.

  Jeannie puts her arm around me and rests her warm cheek against mine.