by Serena Janes
Duncan probably didn’t recognize the chilly tone adopted by the women in the group, she thought. He was still sweet and eager to please. As always, he went out of his way to draw her attention to the plants and flowers along the side of the path, happy to discover something pretty for her to press between the pages of her sketchbook.
Their walk that morning took them through some beautiful countryside. Although the skies were filled with clouds, the sun was still bright and the air hot and thick. Much of the landscape was wild and empty, with only a stone cottage here and there, lonely between fields of corn, or wheat, and groves of walnut trees. They saw vineyards for the first time.
As she walked, Jo could hear snatches of the conversation taking place ahead of her. Peter had joined Luc and Sarah, and Luc was describing the characteristics of the grapes grown in the area. Peter was particularly entertaining as he challenged Luc’s knowledge of wine, comparing French and Australian varietals. But Jo and Duncan hung back, not engaging in the good-natured banter.
For the fourth day in a row, Jo couldn’t fully appreciate what her eyes took in all around her. She couldn’t see the beauty of the landscape. Her heart was aching with longing because of what she’d experienced last night with Luc. But now something worse had happened. Now she knew she could never marry James. She could never settle for merely a good man while there was a man like Luc in the world.
Nothing and nobody else mattered, anymore. She felt as if the entire outside world had ceased to exist for her. It was just her and Luc, together. Yin and Yang. That was the best life could give her. She would never find anything better and she would never want anything else.
Where the hell does that leave me? Absolutely nowhere, she realized with a stunned sense of foreboding.
Contrary to what she believed last night, she now realized she was powerless. She had been rendered powerless by her response to and feelings for a man she would never see again.
All she could do was fly home next week and put all of this behind her. She’d have to get on with her life. Somehow. Despite her feelings, she knew this affair was just a stimulating diversion, and she shouldn’t be making such a big deal out of it.
It’s only temporary fun and games, so get over yourself. You’ll embarrass yourself and everyone else if you don’t smarten up.
All of a sudden she realized that she should be embarrassed. The silent recriminations of the women around her shouted out a simple fact—everyone knew what she and Luc had been up to. And they were not happy. She had ruined the holiday for everyone.
She was a complete idiot. Even a child could have predicted this outcome
Sunk in self-loathing, she plodded along until she raised her head and caught the flash of red tied around Luc’s neck. A rush of blood to her head and a fluttering near her heart—accompanied by a dryness in the mouth and a thickening in the throat—chased all feelings of shame and regret out of her mind. Just the sight of him lifted her heart and caused it to sing with joy.
Alternating between such highs and lows for the rest of the morning further exhausted her as she solemnly kept placing one foot in front of the other.
On the first few days of the walk, most of the others had been interested in hearing about her career. Sarah and Glenda thought her position as an assistant editor of a lifestyles magazine sounded glamorous. They were keen to advise her about the photographs she took and the plant specimens she sketched. And she was grateful for their help. But once she fell under Luc’s spell, when one or another of the walkers came to her with a fine floral specimen, or pointed out an especially rare plant, she had to summon the energy to pretend interest and gratitude. She would dutifully take a photo, jot a note in her diary so she could date and place the specimen, and politely thank her helper, whether it was Duncan, who seemed quite keen to flower spot for her, or Glenda and Ellen, who were very wise in the ways of French wildflowers.
But now it was only Duncan who was willing to help her.
For all his talents, Luc didn’t seem to know much about flora. Once he spotted some nice clumps of terrestrial orchids for her, though. Fortunately Jo had done adequate research before the trip, and she bought a small field guide to help identify the plants she was likely to see in this part of the country, so she was able to put minimal effort into compiling her data. Now she didn’t care at all about her project.
No—nothing she saw captured her heart or her imagination. Again, she was oblivious to all of France’s charms, except one. All she cared about now was the flash of the color red that caught her eye again and again. It was the focus of her world, now, every glimpse of it taking her back to the beauty and awe of the night before.
Luc had laughed about the bandana on their first day of walking. His son had given him several for his birthday a few years earlier, and he began to wear one to please the boy. But he quickly learned that a square of cotton could be a very useful thing.
“I’ve used it in countless ways,” he said, “especially when hiking in the wilderness. Tied over my head, it gives shade on a hot day. Or protection from rain. It can be used as a blotter, to wipe away sweat, or as a napkin. It makes a good headband, to keep hair and sweat out of my eyes, or I can wear it over my nose when the roads became too dusty to breathe comfortably. Wet it, and it becomes a washcloth. I’ve used it as a bib, and to wipe food off my shirt. And I’ve cleaned my shoes with it, too. And my pocketknife. I suppose it will staunch blood flow from a wound, although I haven’t had to use it for that yet. It’s also good to spread on the ground like a tablecloth, or for carrying home mushrooms or berries picked on the trail.”
Laughing, Sarah chimed in, saying, “You could use it as a flag to signal other drivers if you had an accident and needed a ride.”
“Quite true,” said someone walking behind her.
Jo had an idea. “You could tie one onto your suitcase to help you identify it on the luggage carousel at airports.”
“Very good idea,” said Ellen.
Glenda, jumping into the fun, said, “two tied together would make a sexy little bikini top, or bottom. Cheap, too.”
Everyone agreed that was a splendid suggestion.
And Marcie, the ever-practical mother of many, said, “I suppose a cotton bandana could be used for a baby diaper, in a pinch. But you might need four or five of them.”
The entire group had joined in the game, adding more and more ridiculous uses for this all-purpose tool-cum-article of dress.
“It would work well as a stopper in the bath when there is no plug,” suggested Ellen. “Whenever I find myself with that problem, I usually use a sock,” she said, “but a sock is cumbersome. Then it takes so long to dry, afterwards, and I hate walking with one wet foot.”
Everyone laughed at that one.
Duncan had another good idea. “A bandana makes an admirable toothbrush, in a pinch. But only if you haven’t already used it as a handkerchief,” he added.
People made ewwing noises.
Police Inspector Ron piped up. “It would make an admirable a tourniquet if anyone happened to take a bullet in a limb.”
That got a good laugh, and so did Peter’s idea. He said, “If you ever had a hankering to rob a bank while you were on vacation you could use the cloth just like the bad guys do in the movies—tie it over your face for a disguise. Or maybe use it to sneak up on your wife to scare the wits out of her,” he added as he playfully chucked Carol under the chin, making her laugh.
Carol had a suggestion of her own, one that was particularly valuable to small-breasted women. “I could use a couple to stuff the top of my bikini. It’s hard to compete with those full-breasted young things one sees on the beaches all over Oz these days.” She cast a sidelong look at Jo’s rather lovely chest as she said this. Her tone was so earnestly practical that Jo couldn’t help laughing.
Peter added in an oily voice, “Right you are, my love. But let’s talk equal opportunity here. A bandana or two would serve equally well to stuff the front of
a chap’s swimsuit.”
Everyone sniggered at the idea of Peter stuffing his Speedo.
Duncan came up with another one. “A bandana could easily be used as a traditional Scottish sling. You could launch a rock fast enough to stun grouse, pheasants, or ducks. Then you could pounce on them and strangle them with your bare hands. Dinner would be half way to being served!”
Groans were heard up and down the path. “No, seriously,” he said. “It could also help protect hikers in the Highlands from midgies. Tie one around your ears to keep the wee devils from flying in and tormenting you.”
Peter piped up again, “Hey, I know, I know! It would make a great blindfold. Any number of situations call for a blindfold, just think!” he challenged the group. “One has to be prepared for anything, right? Or a gag!” He put his arm around Carol and hugged her. “The next time my scold of a wife starts in on me she’s going to get herself gagged!”
Carol just threw back her head and laughed some more, warning, “Ooh, but I won’t let you blindfold me anymore if you try that stunt.”
Iris offered nothing.
Jo had laughed, then, along with the others, at the wit and good humor of it all. Today, though, she wasn’t laughing. Now there was one more thing she could add to Luc’s list of useful things one could do with a bandana. It could be used by his tramp of the week to tie up her hair before he washed all of his come off her in the bath.
Ooooh, that was harsh. Harsh, but accurate.
She was so sorry that the innocent play of those first days was long behind her. And, apparently, it was all her fault.
As the morning wore on, the trail became more rugged, winding through steep hills and valleys. The walking was difficult, but Jo appreciated the coolness of the ravines after the heat of the exposed hilltops. They had a small mountain to scale before lunch—Mont Mercou—which promised great views of the meticulously cultivated land below. By the time they got to the top, everyone was uncomfortably sticky and out of breath, happy to take a break. They made their picnic under a walnut tree at the summit, just over twelve hundred feet up.
It had been market day that morning in St. Sozy, and Jo had absent-mindedly wandered the colorful stalls set up in the town square, not really interested in the fabulous quality and variety of foods. She finally chose some local products—a piece of sausage made from duck and Roquefort cheese, a whole-grain baguette and some perfectly ripened apricots—but now she didn’t care what she ate. When she unwrapped her food, her stomach was nervous, and she knew she’d have to force herself. The only regional delicacy she really cared about sampling was Luc.
Everyone was unusually quiet as they ate, trying to conserve their energy for the rest of the walk. So Jo didn’t feel particularly excluded as she sat as far as possible away from the other women in the group.
After their meal, they all rested in the shade of the old tree. Except Luc. Jo saw him sitting alone, in the sunlight at the top of the hill, overseeing the countryside below. She wished she could make a sketch to fix the image so she could keep it clear for the rest of her life. Instead, she took a photo, not caring who saw her.
Her heart stirred as she thought how soon all of this would end, and that she would never see Luc again. She would go home, resume her perfect little life. With or without James. She didn’t want to think about James right now. Instead, she began to think how these last few days with Luc would every year become a more distant memory.
She blinked back tears and pretended to doze.
The rest of the afternoon was quiet. She gave up trying to converse with anyone as she walked and ended up alone for a good part of it. Unlike Iris, out of courtesy Jo didn’t plug herself into music while she walked. But she did today. The earbuds shut out the world, and she hoped that her favorite music would raise her spirits.
She set her iPod onto a shuffle sequence, and as luck didn’t seem to be with her today, Leonard Cohen’s deep, gravelly voice began to chastise her. A shiver passed up her arms and across her shoulders.
Everybody knows.
No, no, no, she thought, genuinely disturbed. It’s not like that, surely. Everybody doesn’t know. They speculate and gossip because they have nothing better to do.
She chose another tune and lost herself in a Portuguese love song. Not knowing what most of the words meant was positively a relief.
Just as a romantic Spanish favorite began, Luc fell into step with her.
His habit, when anyone listened to music while walking, was to ask to listen in through one of the earbuds so he could learn a little about that person’s choices. Earlier in the week he’d heard one of Sarah’s songs.
“Some exotic Indian love song,” he’d informed the group, grinning at the blushing girl as he handed her earbud back.
Another day he’d interrupted Iris in mid stride by asking to hear her music. It was Janis Joplin wailing Piece of My Heart.
“The agonizing Ms. Joplin, in agony once again,” Luc pronounced as he playfully thrust the earbud back at Iris as if it would burn him.
Because today was the first time Jo had listened to music in public, Luc took the opportunity to ask what was playing. She dutifully pulled out one earbud and handed it to him with a shy smile. He listened for a few moments then quickly handed it back to her.
“Well, what is it?” asked Carol, who was walking directly behind.
“Uh, I’m not sure,” he lied. “It’s Spanish, and I don’t understand.”
Besame. Besame Mucho—he understood it quite well, Jo knew. So did she. Kiss me. Kiss me many times.
Jo hid her smile, happy to have rendered him speechless once again. She knew that Iris and Carl were behind her, watching and listening, but she didn’t care anymore.
Everybody knows.
Ignoring the women behind him, Luc asked her, in a low voice that made her tingle, “You’re very quiet today. Are you feeling all right?”
Jo turned off her music.
He’d sent a few inquiring looks her way that morning, but had no chance to speak to her until now. As she looked up at him, for the fiftieth time that week she marveled at his beauty. She wanted to walk into him, wrap her arms around him, and lay her head against his chest, to feel his arms encircling, protecting her. Protecting her from the heaviness of her own sins.
And she wanted to fuck him. Again.
The idea started her heart hammering in her chest. Did he have any idea of her feelings for him? Would she ever get a chance to say how deeply he’d moved her, last night—body and soul? She wanted to tell him that, until today, she’d never consciously referred to her own soul as a part of her. She was a profoundly unspiritual person, she’d always thought. But now she felt differently. She responded to him with more than just her body and her heart.
After their lovemaking last night, as she lay exhausted against him in the bath, three words had kept going round in her head. Now I know. Now I know.
He had just shown her how beautiful and profound sex between two people could be. She had no idea sex could be like that. Hackneyed phrases like earth-shattering and mind-blowing did it no justice.
Of course she could communicate none of her thoughts and feelings to him now. And maybe she’d never have the chance. The thought made her sad.
* * * *
Behind her ears, where she smells so good. And the back of her neck, just under the hairline. On the tip of her nose. The top of her head. The inside of her soft forearms. Higher up, alongside her biceps. Under her arms, damp with sweat. All around her breasts. Her nipples. Then her taut belly. Then lower…
Luc was a little shocked at the intensity of emotion he’d felt last night. An emotion that still lingered, today.
But he was happy. He felt energized—high—as if he were walking several inches above the stony path beneath his feet.
Around her navel. The soft space between her hip bones. The neat little triangle of soft hair—where my tongue can dip into her wet fold. Her sweet juices flowing…
In his exhilaration and self-satisfaction, Luc was slow to recognize that his new lover did not share his mood. It was impossible to talk to her while they walked alongside eleven pair of ears eager to eavesdrop, so he had to wait for the right moment to approach her.
As soon as she had fallen behind far enough, he stopped on the side of the trail to wait for her for catch up. His heart began hammering as she drew nearer. She had always looked lovely to him but now he thought she was so beautiful that his breath caught in his chest.
He noticed that a few of the other women had slowed down enough so that they might overhear, so he was cautious. But he had to talk to her. He could see quite clearly she was unhappy.
Pourquoi? When I feel so great? What’s wrong? If I asked, would she tell me?
As he fell into step beside her, she lowered her sunglasses and intimated that people were listening and all was not well. Her eyes sent him the message that things were a bit sensitive, and she was afraid. He nodded, and lightly touched her shoulder in a move that was halfway between a pat on the back and a gentle caress.
At first he thought she was was overreacting when her body language indicated she was afraid of the others overhearing. Then he recalled some of the signals he’d picked up that morning. And now he realized the group had divided itself along male/female lines, which was unusual. But what was really odd, he thought, was that Jo had been walking alone most of the day, listening to music.
Something’s changed.
Then he understood. The women, except Jo, were clustering together like a flock of geese—talking, talking, talking—their tone more excitable, yet paradoxically more hushed, than usual.
Conspiratorial. That’s it.
Does everybody know?