A French Affair

by Susan Lewis

  He considered it for a while, then started to smile, and soon he was making her laugh again with a hilariously irreverent description of how two inebriated masters might discuss their work. ‘Of course it must lead to a magnificent brawl,’ he informed her decisively, ‘which I think we can imagine the heavily pregnant Jeanne walking into – was she pregnant at that time, we’ll have to check – and perhaps she separates them with a bucket of slop water, or violent squirts of paint.’

  ‘Or,’ she suggested mischievously, ‘the threat of a knife to the portrait.’

  ‘Oh là là,’ he murmured, clearly in pain at the mere suggestion. ‘Certainly, that would have the desired effect. No artist, no matter how high on drugs or drink, could bear to see his work destroyed – unless of course he was to do it himself. And now,’ he said, sitting forward, ‘may I present to you La Déesse des Vignes.’

  As she took the sketch pad she felt a moment’s surprise to see herself, for she’d become so relaxed amongst the vines and involved in the story that she’d all but forgotten she was nude. Then, gazing down at the image he’d created, she began to feel the extraordinary pleasure of her own sensuousness coming from the page. Even to her own eyes she looked wanton and voluptuous, yet somehow shy beneath her hat, and even demure. She’d forgotten about the tiny platinum chain she was wearing, but he’d drawn it in over her collarbone, adding yet another touch to the femininity that seemed to float up from the sketch.

  Just as in life her breasts were small, while her nipples were large and dark and hugely distended. Unthinkingly she put a hand to one of them, almost as though his pencil might still be there. Then she was looking at the hand he’d drawn on her thigh, her fingers semi-crooked, nails with crescent tips touching the very edge of her pubic hair.

  Her eyes went to his as he came to kneel beside her, then they moved with his pencil back to the page. As he placed the point gently between her legs she felt a searing sensation go through her, as though he was touching her flesh instead of the sketch.

  She looked at him again, the heaviness of desire showing in her eyes. She so badly wanted to feel his lips on hers, his tongue, his hands . . .

  ‘You’re making this very difficult,’ he said softly, and with an expression that was both rueful and accepting, he took the pencil away and stood up.

  She felt oddly shaken and abandoned, slightly breathless and so very, very close to pulling him back, but she didn’t, because she was making herself think of Lilian and Charlie. God knew it was bad enough that she and Luc were here like this – they couldn’t go any further, they just couldn’t.

  When she was dressed they walked quietly back through the vines, carrying the wine they hadn’t drunk, the chairs and the sketch pad. She wondered what he would do with the drawing, if he’d offer it to her, or decide to keep it. She didn’t ask because for the moment she didn’t want there to be any words.

  When they reached the road he said, ‘We’re going to Daniella’s for dinner this evening.’

  She nodded.

  ‘My father and I will pick you up at seven.’

  Again she nodded, then as he turned towards the manoir, she started back down to the cottage, her eyes fixed sightlessly on the dusty road in front of her. For long minutes she barely knew what she was thinking, or even feeling, all she knew was how hard she was finding this. Then suddenly there was so much emotion gathering inside her that she could only wonder how it was possible to feel such happiness when she was so riddled with guilt and despair.

  ‘Jessica,’ Fernand said, pronouncing her name in low, warm tones as he stepped out of the car to greet her. ‘Please for give me for being a bad host, it would seem it is my time for les tournois en ce moment. Les boules. Les échecs. Mais, je suis là maintenant, et tu es très belle ce soir.’

  Jessica closed the French doors of the cottage behind her, and went to embrace him, her eyes soft with affection as she thanked him for the compliment. Then slipping into the back seat of the Mercedes she started to say bonsoir to Luc, who was driving, but catching his eye in the rear-view mirror she only looked at him as a current of desire passed between them.

  As they drove on up the hill to leave the valley Fernand half-turned in the front passenger seat, saying, ‘Luc has shown me the sculpture he has created of you, chérie. It is formidable. Vraiment formidable. Le plus belle qu’il ait crée, je crois.’ The most beautiful he has created, I believe.

  ‘Jessica hasn’t seen the finished version yet,’ Luc told him. ‘I completed it last night, and this afternoon,’ he added, glancing at her in the mirror.

  She let her eyes meet his for a second, loving how dark his were, then turning back to Fernand she gave a mischievous twinkle, as she said, ‘If mine is la plus belle, then I think yours is le plus beau.’

  Fernand chortled with amusement, and was about to embark on a modest protest, when his expression changed as something else came into his mind. ‘Oh, là là,’ he murmured, tapping a hand to his head, ‘I am forgetting that I have des bonnes nouvelles pour toi. Is it good news? Maybe. Well, it is news. Today I play chess with the brother of le Chef des Pompiers for this region. Le Chef himself, like all the world at the moment, is en vacances, but his brother is going to call him at his house in Italy to ask for his help. Maybe he can give the order for someone else to show you the report of the paramedic since the poor man, lui-même, cannot yet return from the Auvergne.’

  ‘What about speaking to the paramedic on the phone?’ Luc suggested. ‘Maybe we can get a number.’

  Jessica nodded. ‘I’m sure it’ll only be to thank him for his kindness,’ she said, feeling almost certain she was right, but not quite, particularly since the strange moment at the top of the stairs when she’d thought her instincts were trying to tell her something again.

  In French Luc explained to his father how the paramedic had probably carried Natalie to the sofa, rather than leave her crumpled on the floor.

  ‘Ah oui,’ Fernand said gravely, ‘there are some very good people in this world and this young man who has broken his leg, I know him a little by reputation, because he win an award once for bravery. So I think, without doubt, that he would be very kind to Natalie.’

  Jessica swallowed as she smiled.

  ‘My friend,’ Fernand continued, ‘the brother of le Chef de Pompiers, says he will call me as soon as he has some news, but he thinks it will be by Friday, or perhaps even Thursday.’

  Though Jessica could have wished it would be even sooner, it was a relief to know that her mind could be completely at rest before Harry and Charlie arrived.

  Letting her head fall back against the seat she turned to stare out of the window for a while, watching the passing trees and hedgerows and wondering when her heart had ever felt so full. Her eyes moved to Luc and she felt a surge of gratitude, mixed with longing and so much else, rise up in her. She had no idea if it was his intention, but it was as though he was helping to heal her, lending her his strength and support, not only by listening and believing, or by opening doors she couldn’t open alone, but by encouraging her to work on her book, to take part in life again and to remember that she was a woman with passions and desires that went beyond those of a mother.

  She looked out at the countryside again and sighed silently to herself. What did it all mean, she wondered. Why had they been brought together like this, given this time and these feelings, when surely no good could come of them in the end?

  By the time Luc finally steered the car through the gates of the château to start following the twisting, leafy drive to the house, Fernand was entertaining them with stories from that weekend’s chess tournament, which had clearly been far less sedate, or even sportsmanlike, than the game, on the surface at least, might appear.

  Jessica and Luc were still laughing as they got out of the car, but as Jessica made to link Fernand’s arm to start across the lawn towards the arbour where they could see Daniella sitting, Luc said to his father, ‘Vas-y. Je voudrais dire un mot à Jessica.�
�� You go ahead, I want a quick word with Jessica.

  As Fernand ambled off, already preparing to catch the twins who were hurtling towards him, Jessica turned questioningly to Luc, and seeing how troubled he looked she felt a pang of unease.

  ‘I’m leaving for Paris in the morning,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back on Wednesday.’

  Knowing she couldn’t ask him not to go, even though she wanted to, she let her eyes fall away for a moment.

  ‘I want you to come with me,’ he said.

  She looked at him again, and almost started to protest, but how could she when her heart wasn’t in it? Already he was saying, ‘Claude and Daniella’s apartment is below mine. You can stay there.’

  Her gaze remained on his until finally she nodded, then turning together they began walking across the lawn, saying no more until Daniella came to greet them, and the twins pulled Luc into a rowdy game of football.

  ‘Is that Yves?’ Jessica said, referring to Claude’s brother as she and Daniella embraced.

  ‘If you mean is that him playing the Gymnopédies you can hear,’ Daniella replied, ‘then the answer is yes, but it is a recording, because, as you can see, the man himself is currently in goal.’

  Catching them looking his way, Yves set off a storm of protest as he started towards them, leaving the goal clear for Luc to score.

  Greeting Jessica with a twinkle that was very like Claude’s, he said, ‘It is a great pleasure to meet you again. The last time must have been at the wedding, not so very long ago, of course, but I must be getting old, because I cannot quite remember when it was.’

  Jessica barely had time to respond before Antoine and Elodie came bounding up to her, hotly pursued by Rousseau, the dog.

  ‘Jessica! Jessica!’ Antoine was shouting. ‘Maman dit qu’Harry arrive. C’est vrai?’ Mummy says Harry is coming. Is it true?

  ‘Quand est-ce qu’il arrive? Quand est-ce qu’il arrive?’ Elodie pressed excitedly. When’s he coming?

  ‘A week from today,’ Jessica answered, touched by how eager they were to see her son.

  ‘Est-ce qu’il peut dormir chez nous?’ Antoine wanted to know. ‘Il peut dormir dans ma chambre.’ Can he sleep here with us? He can sleep in my room.

  ‘I’m sure he’d love to,’ she told them, smiling at Luc as he came to join them.

  ‘I see the game is abandoned as soon as I start to win,’ he objected.

  ‘No! No!’ the twins shouted, and grabbing both him and Yves they dragged them back to the pitch.

  Daniella rolled her eyes, and linking Jessica’s arm she walked her to the table under a vine-covered arbour where Fernand was already pouring two glasses of what he declared to be a very fruity and slightly oaky Côte de Beaune.

  ‘Where is Claude?’ Jessica asked, as Daniella offered her a dish of Tunisian olives.

  ‘On the phone,’ Daniella replied. ‘He’ll be out in a minute.’

  ‘Papi, you must be in goal now,’ Elodie shouted. ‘I want Tonton Yves to be on my team.’

  With a helpless shrug, Fernand put down his glass and went off to join in, while with a sigh of contentment Jessica gazed up at the dark green leaves and vibrant flowers that climbed the chateau’s silvery-white walls. Then she started to laugh as Luc broke into an argument with his nephew about one or other of them being offside, though she couldn’t quite tell which of them it was supposed to be.

  It was a moment before she realised Daniella was watching her, and as she turned to meet her eyes she felt her cheeks grow warm with colour.

  ‘I know this is none of my business,’ Daniella said softly, ‘but Luc spoke to Claude about the apartment . . . Of course it is not a problem for you to stay there, but just now, when I see you coming across the garden together . . .’

  Jessica’s heart turned over in alarm. If Daniella had picked up on it so quickly, then how on earth were they ever going to hide it from anyone else?

  ‘I am not judging you,’ Daniella assured her gently, ‘I know how much you both love Lilian, so of course you didn’t mean this to happen . . .’

  ‘Nothing’s happening,’ Jessica told her.

  ‘Then I’m sorry. It is just the way you look at one another. I saw it in his eyes a moment ago, and I can see it in you now, but if I am wrong . . .’

  ‘We’re not making love,’ Jessica said. ‘It hasn’t gone that far. We haven’t even kissed.’

  Daniella sighed quietly. ‘Maybe it would be better if you did,’ she said.

  Jessica shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘But why? Please don’t think I’m saying you should, because I love Lilian too, and I don’t want to see her hurt any more than you do, but sometimes, when these things are bottled up . . .’ She didn’t finish, she didn’t have to, her meaning was plain enough.

  ‘We both know – and accept – that nothing can ever come of the way we feel,’ Jessica told her. ‘We’re just going to spend this time together and then . . .’ What then? She didn’t know, and right now she wasn’t even sure she wanted to.

  ‘What about when you’re in Paris?’ Daniella said. ‘Do you really think you will be able to resist one another then?’

  As her heart caught on the thought of it, Jessica said, ‘We have to,’ while privately she was thinking that she must never undress for him again. They couldn’t tease and torment one another that way any more, it was too difficult now. It was asking too much of themselves to make it stop there.

  Much later that night, after returning to the cottage, Jessica found herself crying so hard down the line to Charlie that he could barely make any sense of what she was saying.

  ‘But darling, what’s happened?’ he kept asking. ‘Why are you so upset?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she sobbed. ‘I guess it’s all just catching up with me. Oh Charlie, I’m so sorry.’

  Almost laughing, he said, ‘But you don’t have anything to be sorry for. OK, you’ve had some strange thoughts, and we haven’t been getting along quite as well lately, but we’ve been under a lot of pressure . . .’

  ‘I love you,’ she told him.

  ‘Is that what you’re apologising for?’

  ‘No. Oh I don’t know what I’m saying. I just wish you were here. Or I was there. I don’t ever want to lose you.’

  ‘Darling, what on earth . . .’

  ‘No, don’t listen to me. Please don’t take any notice. I’m fine really. Perhaps I’ve had a little too much to drink.’

  ‘Well you’re in the right place for it. Where have you been this evening?’

  ‘To Daniella’s.’ She started to tell him about the dinner, but stopped when she realised she had to mention Luc. ‘I should let you get some sleep now. You’ve got an early start in the morning.’

  ‘You remember my schedule better than I do,’ he said wryly. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

  ‘Yes. I promise. I love you.’

  ‘I love you too.’

  She waited for him to ring off, but he didn’t.

  ‘Jessica, do you want me to see if I can come sooner?’

  ‘No,’ she answered. ‘I mean, yes, but you need to be there when Harry gets home, and honestly, I’m fine.’

  ‘I wish you sounded it. When’s Lilian back?’

  Closing her eyes at the mere thought of it, she said, ‘On Friday or Saturday.’

  ‘Then not long to go. You know she always makes you feel better.’

  ‘Yes, yes she does,’ she agreed, but she was so close to breaking down again that this time she had to end the call.

  ‘Oh Lily,’ she sobbed into her hands, ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. If I could make myself feel another way, I swear I would. But it will be over after Paris, I give you my word. And nothing will happen while we’re there, I promise. I just have to be with him. That’s all. Nothing more – and please, please God you and Charlie will never even know.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  IT WAS EXTRAORDINARY, Jessica was thinking to herself as she and Luc joined the autoroute t
he following morning, how different everything felt when she was with him. While alone her conscience was merciless in the way it tore her apart, but now, sitting here beside him, it was as though all her guilt and anxieties were simply melting away.

  She wondered how it was for him, if he suffered the same inner turmoil when alone, or even now, as they were driving. If he did he showed no sign of it.

  She smiled as he glanced her way, and realised that her concerns about what would happen when they got to Paris had vanished too, because the arrangements had been made: he’d drop her and the car at the apartment block before going on to a retirement lunch for an old colleague from Libération. She had plenty of ideas for how to fill the time until they met up again, though he’d asked her to save some of her research so he could share it. Then this evening they would go for dinner at a restaurant he knew, before returning to their separate apartments – and tomorrow they’d drive back to Valennes.

  ‘Tell me what you’re thinking,’ he said, as they tore down an open stretch of the fast lane, leaving most other vehicles to quake in the slipstream.

  ‘That you drive like a true Frenchman,’ she told him wryly.

  He glanced at her with humorous eyes. ‘Would you prefer I slow down?’

  She shrugged. ‘If you feel safe, then I do too.’

  He laughed. ‘Such confidence,’ but he eased off the accelerator as he said, ‘Is that all you were thinking, that I am a crazy driver?’

  She smiled, loving the way he seemed so genuinely interested to know what was in her mind, but this time her eyes went down as she said, ‘You don’t really want to know.’

  ‘If it was about me, maybe I do.’

  She threw him a look.

  ‘You mean it wasn’t about me?’

  She shook her head, then realising there was nothing wrong in telling him the truth, she said, ‘Actually, I was thinking about Lilian, and wondering . . . You do love her, don’t you?’

  He seemed puzzled by the question. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I thought you knew . . .’