The Cult of the Black Virgin

by Serena Janes

  What they shared last night seemed what everybody would wish for when they were trying to conceive a child. A child conceived out of ordinary sex—well—wouldn’t it just be ordinary? A child conceived out of the perfect harmony she had just experienced with Luc—wouldn’t that child be a truly extraordinary love child? Forever reminding both parents of the extraordinary events that led to its creation? Jo was amused at her romantic notions. She’d never thought about such things before.

  Soon Thomas and Ellen made their excuses and left. Now Jo could see Luc more clearly at the end of the table, between Sarah and Iris, still shadowed by the bent figure of Madame Guillmont.

  Surrounded by women.

  Jo smiled. How could it be otherwise? He was magnetic—and she too was powerless against his charm. If it were not for the audience all around her, she’d be in his face right now. In his lap. Again.

  Although she was physically and emotionally drained, she longed to go to him tonight. She had to speak to him alone. But she didn’t see how she could.

  So she had to content herself with looking at him. He looked broodingly back at her each time he sensed her watching him. Her eyes spoke of her desire, and, yes, she could see that he understood.

  So did Iris, sitting beside him, Jo noticed.

  * * * *

  In the space of a few hours Luc’s mood had changed from euphoric to black. That strange feeling of trepidation had returned. It was bad enough he was snared in some complicated web of lust and desire for a client he’d never see again—now Simone was threatening to make things even messier.

  She’d called him just before dinner.

  “Cherie, I have a surprise for you!”

  “A surprise?”

  He was immediately on guard.

  “Oui. I managed to change my days off so I could be with you for the last two days of your tour!”

  “Ah. You did?”

  He couldn’t think what else to say.

  “I’ve missed you so much. I got over Carcassonne, and I thought it would be fun to walk with you and your group for a few days. Like a little holiday for me.”

  Non!

  “Um, Simone?”

  “What is it? You don’t sound pleased. Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, of course not. But I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Oh?”

  Merde. What to say? What to say?

  “Non, mon amour. For one thing, we’re staying in a gîte in Martel. I have to sleep in a dorm.”

  “No matter. We can get a room somewhere else.”

  Merde. Merde, Merde!

  “And I wouldn’t have much time for you. I have a lot of babysitting and organizing to do. And you know you don’t like the English. This group is mostly English.”

  “I don’t care about any of that. I just want to be with you!”

  Silence. What could he say?

  “Luc? What’s wrong? You don’t seem to want me there.”

  He heard the hurt in her voice and his heart sank. He didn’t want to deal with any of this.

  Pas maintenant. Not now. We’ve got only two more days together.

  Only two more days with Joanna. The thought made him cruel.

  “Look, Simone. It would have been a nice surprise any other time—but not this time. I’ve got a grumpy crew and I’m not in the best mood. I just want to get this tour over with and get home, okay? I’ll see you in a few days, and we can do something special later. I promise.”

  More silence.

  “Simone?”

  “I understand,” she said in a small, distant voice. “Call me when you get home.”

  Then shortly afterwards, in the gîte, Luc had to listen to Joanna singing the praises of her perfect boyfriend—the one she was intending to marry once she got home. He sounded like a perfect ass, Luc thought.

  For the first time he began to think about what it would be like after she left. He didn’t like the way his body responded to the thought. He was far too tense.

  And now, scowling—he knew he was scowling—at her at the other end of the dining room, he entertained the idea of leaping over the table, ripping her pretty clothes to shreds and fucking her blind.

  He couldn’t stand it anymore—the ways her eyes teased him. Her body, too. It was killing him.

  Putain alors! Fuck! What’s happening to me?

  * * * *

  Jo didn’t want the evening to end, but she had to get up to use the toilet. When she was done she, she heard Luc’s “Hsst!” as he called to her softly from Madame Guillmont’s office. Without hesitation, she went to him and he pulled her into the tiny room, shutting the door softly behind them. They fell together and stood still for a few moments with their arms wrapped tightly around each other. Blood rushing in her ears, Jo savored the feeling of her body fused to his, his demanding grasp, as she held him with equal force. She slowly breathed him in and sighed heavily.

  Delicious. Exquisite. Perfect. If love didn’t take so long to grow, I’d swear I love this man.

  He released his hold and looked down at her with an expression of both submission and desire. “You look amazing tonight, Joanna. You’ve never looked sexier than you do right at this moment. You’re taunting me, making me crazy, sitting at the other end of the room. Torturing me with those eyes.”

  His fingers gently raised her chin up to his face, and he kissed her deeply, inviting her into him, offering himself to her. The smell and taste of his mouth, made more delicious by the brandy, intoxicated her. She responded with another sigh and a moan and felt a fluid surge of real desire. She began to shiver as his hands slowly and sensuously rubbed along her hips, made slippery by the silk of her skirt.

  He broke the embrace, and said softly, “I’m burning to have you again. Meet me in the garden later. We can make love under the stars.”

  Make love under the stars? Ohmygod—could anything be better than that?

  “I can’t. Not tonight. Can we meet tomorrow?”

  “But I want you now. It would be so sweet, so very, very sweet. You know it would.”

  He kissed her again, more gently this time, and when he drew back she could see the fire in his eyes, despite the dimness of the room. But his expression was serious, somber, even. He moved his hand lightly along her neck, her shoulders, down the length of one of her arms.

  “I want you. I’ll do such beautiful things to you, Joanna. You’ll see how I can make every cell in your body sing.”

  She suppressed a giggle. “Yes, and we’d wake up the entire gîte. I would so love to meet you later. Oh God, but I’d love to spend the whole night with you. But no. I can’t.”

  She trembled at the thought of another few glorious hours together.

  “Although, it would be so very, very sweet,” she whispered, as if to herself.

  “Meet me here, then. Madame will be long asleep and we can lock the door. Please, Joanna.” He ground his cock into her belly, not a subtle bone in his body, and covered her mouth with his. She felt her insides turning to liquid.

  She opened herself to a kiss she knew could change her mind.

  “No!” She had to be strong.

  Then she kissed him again, slowly, pushing and revolving her tongue inside his mouth, tasting and relishing every bit. She felt the familiar tingle in the pit of her stomach. It was her body warning her that she would soon lose control as his hand moved again back and forth over the slippery fabric of her clinging skirt, tracing the outline of her damp thong.

  Another wet and hot kiss stopped her in its urgency. He slid his hand had up inside of her opening thighs and began to rub the little triangle of hair covered by her thong. She had to break away, fighting for air. She could feel his hardness pressing into her hip.

  She breathed her protest into his hot mouth. “I can’t. Iris or Sarah will notice I’m gone.”

  He was silent for a moment as he ran the fingers of his other hand lightly over the pinned up tresses of her hair, all the while rubbing between
her legs, rocking his body against her, sighing into her ear.

  “What does it matter if your bed is empty for a while?”

  She stiffened before she told him what he seemed oblivious to. “Because everyone knows. Everyone thinks we’re committing adultery. It’s very bad for both of us.”

  Instantly his entire body grew rigid. He let her go, his mouth hard, his eyes narrow.

  “Ah. I see. That’s why you’ve been so quiet all day.”

  “Yes—I’m on my best behavior because I’m about to be crucified. They all think you’re married. Women hate it when another woman lures a married man into sin. They’re bound to be much more lenient on you.”

  In the half-light Jo could see the anger in his face, could feel the tension of every muscle in his body. She put her hands up and held his head as if he were the most precious treasure in the world. A vein in his temple was pulsing.

  “Fuck!” he muttered under his breath. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “But it has, and we have to salvage some of my dignity, and both of our reputations.”

  She pulled his head down and planted a chaste kiss on his mouth. His body loosened as he responded with a real kiss, one that flowed down to her toes.

  “Oh God, Luc—don’t make this any harder than it is.” She sighed again.

  Making an enormous effort to do the right thing, she pulled herself away from his embrace and placed the palms of both hands against his chest, like she had that night in the phone booth at Rocamadour. And again she pushed him, hard, away from her.

  “Believe me. There’s nothing I’d rather do than meet you tonight, but I can’t. I have to go now. They suspect we’re together right this minute.”

  This time when she pushed he didn’t step back to let her pass. This time he grabbed her tightly and took her mouth with such fierce need that her legs buckled. And this time, she kissed him back. She responded with equal ardor and felt herself slipping away into the only place she cared about.

  Her resolve was almost destroyed by the way he moved his hands over her body—up, down and around her hips, cupping her buttocks, circling her waist, over her breasts, lingering to pull at the hard tips.

  Suddenly he broke away, panting, and grabbed her hips so tightly she thought he’d leave marks.

  “Don’t worry, Joanna. I’ll deal with this. I’ll make sure no one will say a word against you. And then we will spend tomorrow afternoon together.”

  Feeling an overwhelming relief, she couldn’t respond, her breath caught somewhere. She buried her face in his chest and held onto him until she could speak. This was exactly what she needed to hear him say.

  “Yes. But let me go now, please!”

  With that, he released her, rumpled and shaking. She was in no shape to walk back into the dining room, and asked him to make her excuses. She wanted to get into bed before Iris and Sarah came in so she wouldn’t have to pretend she wasn’t being ignored.

  In parting, he offered her a sad smile that melted her heart.

  “Yes. Tomorrow. Yes. Trust me, Joanna. I’ll make it right.”

  * * * *

  Mais quel bordel. What a mess!

  Luc was furious—at himself as much as the others.

  I’ve been such a fool!

  There was only one thing to do and he resolved to do it tomorrow as soon as he had half an hour to himself. It tore his heart to think that Joanna had been suffering at his expense.

  What a fucking idiot I’ve been. Gros con. Espèce de con. A complete and utter moron!

  Chapter Nine

  Not surprisingly, Jo slept poorly. Her dreams were vivid and alarming, and she awoke with a heavy sense of dread. In one dream, James had left her, claiming he didn’t love her, had never loved her. She was devastated, both in the dream and outside of it. Feeling suffocated by a blanket of doom, she wondered where this fear had come from. Dreams like this were not unusual, but this one was especially intense and upsetting. Maybe it had something to do with the fact she’d forgotten to send James an email yesterday.

  A moment later she remembered what the day held in store for her—Luc wanted her again! Instantly, all negative thoughts evaporated and she was energized by a wave of bliss.

  Of course she had to get through the morning with everyone else sending her sideways glances, wondering what she and Luc would be up to next. The next few hours would be agony as she pretended there was nothing going on between them. But she would manage. And admirably, too.

  At least no one could accuse her of impropriety last night. She didn’t leave her bed once, although she was kept awake for hours by Iris’s snoring and Sarah’s muffled sobs.

  Breakfast was the usual excellent coffee and baked goods, with lots of fresh butter and fruit preserves. As Jo picked at her food, she tried not to look at Luc. He seemed more animated than usual this morning, she thought, and a flash of anger shot through her. Was he so insensitive to his role in this mess that he could just carry on as if nothing was wrong?

  She overheard a few bits of his conversation, though. He’d been jogging through a campground on the edge of town when he witnessed a domestic dispute. It sounded quite funny, the way he described it. An over-large, overbearing woman threatened to drive a car over her husband who was still in bed inside their tent. Everyone at the table was laughing, but Jo was too distracted to be amused and had to force a smile.

  On the books was a two-hour tour of the old town center of Martel. They would visit the church and the lone remnant of the town’s seven original towers. Afterwards they would be free to take lunch anywhere they wished, and then spend the rest of the day relaxing or shopping. Luc told them he was going home to attend to some personal business, and he promised to bring some of his own wine back with him for the farewell dinner on Sunday.

  As he discussed his plans for the day, Jo sensed his blue-eyed gaze turn onto her from across the table. She knew what he was thinking. Although she was trying to be cool, she was still powerless under those eyes. She nodded at him once, almost imperceptibly, and turned back to her croissant.

  While they were eating, Edward and Glenda were kind enough to invite Jo to have lunch with them after the morning tour. Whatever she might have done, they seemed to have forgiven her. She thought it might be the Evans’ last chance to talk to her about their upcoming trip to the U.S., so she accepted, grateful that at least two people in the group weren’t about to tar and feather her.

  Although the weather was still dry and hot, the temperature had dropped a little from the uncomfortable highs of earlier in the week. When the group met outside the gîte at ten, Jo was dressed for a casual walk through the town. Her hair was demurely held in a ponytail with a barrette. She wore a sleeveless white t-shirt, a modest floral skirt and sandals. She carried a straw hat against the sun. She felt pretty, and Peter’s admiring ogle as she walked past him confirmed her feeling.

  “Well good mornin’ again darlin’,” he said as he made a mock bow. “All dressed up for a day on the town?” Catching Carol’s evil eye, Jo gave him a curt nod.

  As they set out she sensed that Luc was trying hard not to look at her as he led them to the center of town. That was fine with her. He was wearing the red bandana again, although he wouldn’t be walking across country today. Again, it gave her something to focus on as she followed him, anticipating the afternoon.

  As they trod the old stone sidewalks, he read aloud from some literature he carried, relaying Martel’s long and violent history.

  “Originally surrounded by tall double ramparts for protection, the town has only two old gateways remaining, and one tower—the Tournemire Tower—that once served as the prison,” he told them.

  Everyone snapped photos of the tower and the two gates when they stopped briefly at each for a few minutes.

  The next stop was the very old Eglise Saint-Maur.

  “This church is unusual,” Luc explained, “because it still contains crenellated battlements from the days when it formed
part of the city walls. It’s a unique structure, so take plenty of pictures.”

  He led them inside to the cloying atmosphere of a damp tomb.

  The abrupt change in temperature and humidity was remarkable, reminding Jo of her trip into the caves. The air smelled old, as if it had been held prisoner for centuries between the sweating stone walls.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she looked around in amazement, shocked at the church’s state of disrepair. All the beautiful frescoes were so badly damaged by moisture that almost half of the paint had flaked away. The church’s woodwork was swollen and mildewed, paint peeling in ribbons. It seemed wrong that such a beautiful church should be so badly in need of restoration. Someone should be looking after such a treasure, she thought.

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see Marcie, who had come in behind her, stop and bow her head, make the sign of the cross, then take a seat in a nearby pew.

  And then it hit her. With great discomfort Jo realized that the state of this church accurately reflected the state of her own soul—there was no one keeping things clean and in good repair. She was falling apart. Descending into chaos and immorality.

  This has to stop!

  She cringed with shame. And here she’d been thinking just the night before of having experienced some sort of spiritual union through a sordid bonk with a man she’d met only a few days ago.

  Is anyone in the world a bigger idiot than me? Am I completely out of my mind? Spiritual union my ass! It’s just sex. And I’m a weak, stupid woman who has done a terrible thing.

  Until a few days ago, she hadn’t given much thought to the concept of soul—and here she was, when it was already too late, worrying about what she was doing to her own. She knew she was lost.

  It must be all the churches I’ve visited since I got to France. It seems I’ve grown a soul on this vacation. Or is it just a conscience?

  While everyone was taking pictures of the disappearing frescoes, Jo sat down in a pew to look up at the rotting ceilings and try to think clearly. She wanted to cry. She was beginning to despise herself for joining the Black Virgin’s cult.