by Serena Janes
“I was in Spain because of you,” he said simply. “And the woman was nobody.”
“Nobody?”
“Look, I took a road trip because falling in love with you ruined everything in my life. I’ve already told you that. I needed to get away. It was Anna who suggested it, actually. I needed diversion. The girl was simply a diversion. Do you understand?” He raised his eyebrows for emphasis.
She nodded, saying, “That’s what Brenda thought I needed—diversion. When you didn’t try to get in touch with me, even after I wrote to you, I was convinced you hated me and that I’d never hear from you again. I was devastated. Brenda was worried for me, and suggested we take a working vacation to explore the White Hill Towns of Andalusia.” She stopped to blow her nose. “She liked the stories I’d written about Black Virgins, and she thought we’d find some more in Spain.”
“But not in Andalusia?”
“We found a couple. But that’s not the main reason we went.”
“And the real reason was…?” he prompted.
“Brenda loves me, Luc. I mean really loves me. And she wanted to help me. She’s very generous.”
“Okay,” he said uncertainly. “But what aren’t you telling me?”
Joanna sighed and looked at him with her wet eyes. A slight smile flickered across her face. “Her idea of helping me was to hire a young Spanish photographer to travel with us. And she sort of, uh, set us up. Together, I mean.”
“Go on.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to ever see you again, was I? And I wasn’t about to jump into bed with a woman for solace. I’m just not into girls. Not even Brenda, who loves me pretty well unconditionally.”
“I see.”
“So one thing led to another, and I don’t have to say anything more about that. But, what I do need to tell you is that our young man became quite eager to draw Brenda and me into a three-way.”
Luc’s eyebrows rose again, against his will.
“It just sort of happened. We’d all had a lot to drink, we went dancing, ended up in bed together, and you know…”
He nodded. These things happen.
“I don’t feel very good about that, and, to be honest I don’t really remember much of that night. I’m not proud of that, either. But the worst part is that Brenda seems to have filmed us.”
“What?”
“She says she has video of the three of us in bed together. When I gave her my official notice and told her I was moving to France, she was furious. Then she threatened to blackmail me. With you.”
Okay… Luc couldn’t think of anything to say. His mind ticked over the significance of what he’d just heard.
“I wanted to tell you, earlier, but I didn’t know how. You were too preoccupied with Daniel, and everything. But you need to know. If this is a deal-breaker, please tell me now. Please don’t make me wait any longer.”
Luc looked at his fiancé, wearing nothing but a white towel, which was threatening to come unwound around her breasts. Her long dark hair spilled over her delicate shoulders, her reddened eyes emphasized by smudged mascara. She was balling a mass of sodden tissue in her fist, looking at him as if he was going to punish her.
Never, never, never had she been as desirable to him as she was that minute. Not the time he first saw her blush as she tried to flirt with him on the banks of the Dordogne River. Not in the Notre Dame church, when their eyes met over the wizened head of the Black Virgin of Rocamadour. Not in her hotel room, naked and panting and screaming as he ground her wet body into the plaster wall the first time he’d fucked her senseless. Nor any of the other times, when the fucking turned into love-making, then back to fucking. All the times their animal rutting turned and transformed and released them into a higher state, where they were the first man and the first woman. The eternal man and woman. The Yin and the Yang. And there was no such thing as jealousy, blackmail, and shame.
He sat up in bed and roughly pulled her down on top of him. “I have to fuck you now, my sweet Joanna. And when I’m done I want you to tell me if you think your story has been a deal-breaker or not.”
* * * *
All the way back to Seattle, Jo tried to prioritize the hundred million things rolling around in her head.
Packing. Storage. Shipping. Sammy to the vet. Wedding plans. Sell the car. Gift for Daniel. Luggage. Hire a realtor. Change of address…?
Wait! I don’t even have an address yet. How does that work?
Wedding dress. Tickets for Mom. Bank accounts. More wedding plans. Credit cards.
When she arrived at her mother’s house, where she would be staying for the next few weeks, Sammy just about knocked her down. It seemed he’d missed her.
Jo was glad to see her mother looking better than she’d expected. Sharon Clifford wasn’t adjusting particularly well to living without her husband of thirty-five years, but she acknowledged to her younger daughter that life did, in fact, have to move on.
While they were browsing through Jo’s photos of France, Sharon asked, “Well I must say, you’ve managed to get yourself a very good-looking man. Have you set a date for the wedding, sweetheart?”
“Uh, well, yes. Yes, we have.” Jo had been afraid to spring the news. “Six weeks from now,” she said as she watched her mother’s penciled eyebrows rise half way up her forehead.
“You mean you’re getting married at Christmas,” Sharon said, frowning.
“That’s right. I know it’s short notice, Mom. But look on the bright side. You don’t have to bother with making any of the arrangements. All you have to do is show up.”
Seeing that her words made no appreciable difference to her mother’s expression, Jo went on. “The ceremony will be held in Nice, in Luc’s family vacation home. It’s beautiful, Mom. I can hardly wait to show it to you. And you’ll love Nice.”
“Hmmm,” Sharon said, her face settling a little. “But what about the dress? There’s hardly any time.”
When Jo’s sister was married, Sharon and Julie had pondered for weeks over the wedding dress, finally deciding on a custom design. It cost thousands.
“I’m not worried about a dress. I can pick up something nice in Paris, next week. Luc and I will be spending a few days there before we head home.”
Home, she realized with surprise. That’s the first time I’ve called Cahors home.
“Hmmm. Have you really thought this through, dear?”
“Of course I have. You know I’ve never been keen on a big, splashy wedding.”
Like James wanted. For a split second she felt regret for the way things had ended between her and James. Her mother had been wild for him, and deeply disappointed in her for breaking it off with him to run after a foreigner. James was a good man, Jo acknowledged, but she wasn’t the wife for him.
“All I want is my family around me,” she continued. “Of course, Julie and Tom and the kids will be there. You can all travel together. And the weather will be mild and drier than Seattle. There’s palm trees, and we can take day trips to Cannes and Monaco, if you’d like.” Jo knew her mother had always wanted to see Monaco and the Riviera.
“Luc will take you anywhere you want to go, Mom. He’ll charm your socks off. I know you’re going to love him,” Jo said, her voice turning wistful as she thought it would be only a few more days until she saw him again.
“Well, dear, I have to say I’m very interested in meeting your Luc. If he’s as good a man as he is handsome, I’m happy for you.”
It didn’t take Sharon much time to warm to the idea of a winter wedding in the south of France. Within a few hours she was on the phone, telling her closest friends and asking for advice on what to pack.
Happy as Jo was, being back in town made her think of Brenda. Their broken friendship was the only painful thing in her life, and she wondered if there was any way it could be resurrected.
I should call her. Maybe a little groveling is in order.
But she didn’t want to grovel. She wasn’t entirely in the wr
ong, she felt. Brenda might be a lesbian, but she’d turned into a perfect bitch as soon as Luc showed up in Jo’s life. When Jo had introduced Luc, Brenda was rude—vulgar, even—and Jo was embarrassed.
And she threatened me with blackmail! Not a nice thing to do to your best friend.
So although part of her wanted to, she didn’t make the call.
But after a few days, when she was pretty much all packed and organized, Jo decided she had to. She couldn’t leave the country without at least trying to apologize.
So one evening, she called Brenda at home.
“Hi, Bren? It’s me.”
“I know.” Brenda’s voice was ominously devoid of any emotion.
“How are you?”
“Uh, good.” Brenda paused and Jo could almost hear her sharp mind revving as she planned her attack.
But it didn’t come.
“I’m doin’ pretty damned good, you could say. Where are you?”
“At my mom’s. I’m flying out in a few days and I’ve been thinking about you a lot, Bren.”
“Yeah. Me too,” Brenda said, her voice softening.
Jo caught her breath in her throat. Then she said, “I’m so sorry, Bren.” She could feel the tears threatening to spill.
There was another pause, then she heard, “Yeah. Me too.”
Jo didn’t expect that. It wasn’t Brenda’s style. Loyal, yes. Forgiving, not so much.
“It would… um, it would really mean a lot to me if you would come to my wedding.”
Jo was shocked as she heard the words come out of her mouth. She hadn’t intended to offer them.
“Uh, well… sure. I mean, I think I could do that. When is it?”
Jo gave a nervous little laugh. “Christmas.”
No one wanted to travel during the holiday season if they could help it. Brenda was certain to turn her down.
“You mean next month?”
“Yeah. It was kind of sudden.”
“Are you knocked up?”
Jo was surprised at the assumption, and couldn’t help laughing. “No, no. Christmas was Luc’s idea, and it works for me, so there it is. Can you come? It’ll be in Nice. Please?”
“Yes,” said Brenda. “I’d love to come to your wedding, sweetheart. But only if I can bring a date.”
Chapter Five
Jo didn’t believe in ghosts. Or at least she didn’t think she believed in ghosts. In truth, growing up in Seattle, on the rain-washed Pacific coast, she hadn’t really thought about the supernatural world at all. But now that she lived in France, in a two hundred-fifty-year-old house, she found herself thinking about ghosts a lot.
She wouldn’t admit it to Luc, but their new home frightened her. When she’d first seen the house, she felt an unconscious repulsion. It was as if her skull was suddenly too tight for her brain. Her skin prickled as she looked from shuttered window to shuttered window to the half-dead vines clinging to the rough stone facade. Everything about the property seemed abandoned, unloved. It was certainly not the kind of place to start their happy life together.
Then there’d been the smell. When she’d walked into the house, stuck all by itself in an overgrown field at the edge of a lonely rural road that ran through the middle of marginal farmland, the smell struck her as an omen. And not an auspicious one.
She’d wrinkled her nose. “It smells old,” she said to Luc, as she peered down the dark hallway. “Really, really old.”
“What does old smell like?” he’d asked, humoring her. She could feel his hand pressing into the small of her back as he nudged her inside.
“Like somebody died in here,” she answered, with a straight face. She was in no mood to pretend she liked the place.
“Someone probably has,” he said matter-of-factly. “Others have been conceived under this roof. And then born here. That’s what a home’s for—to live in.”
Jo felt her face redden. She was being a snob.
For the past month Luc had been searching for a rental, and this was the best he’d come up with. They didn’t have many choices this time of year, he’d explained—it was either a rural property or an apartment in town. And because he didn’t want to live in town, this was it.
It was rural, all right. And alarmingly uncomfortable, Jo thought. With its crumbling stone walls and peeling woodwork, it was ugly, too.
After all, she was a city girl. She’d lived in clean, modern surroundings all her life. The idea of giving up her downtown condo and moving to France to set up housekeeping had been wildly appealing to her imagination. Until she arrived and reality hit her with all the force of that smell.
“It’s probably just mice,” Luc said as he switched from pushing to pulling Jo inside. They stopped to stick their heads into the main living area.
It was a large, empty room with a blackened stone fireplace. Double doors opened out onto a barren patio. Shivering in the dampness of the November morning, Jo fumbled for a light switch. When she flicked it, nothing happened.
“If we take it, the power will be up on Monday. The landlord will hire a fumigator and a cleaning crew.” He turned to her and softened his voice, putting his arms around her to warm her. “Don’t look so worried. We’ll throw up some paint, bring in new furniture, and it’ll be fine.”
Mute, she leaned into him and nodded against his chest.
Okay. If you say so….
“At least we’ll have lots of space,” he said with what she thought was a forced cheerfulness.
He released her and disappeared into the gloom at the end of the hall. “Kitchen needs a bit of work. But that’s okay. I can probably do most of it myself,” he called back to her.
Jo’s heart sank in her chest. For weeks she’d been visualizing her new life with Luc. In her mind, their first home together would be a cozy little stone cottage covered in roses. Reality was offering her a rural Gothic nightmare.
She sighed. Ah, the things we do for love…
Then she remembered her dog, and went back to the front porch. He hadn’t followed her into the house. The last she saw him he was pursuing something at warp speed through a bank of straggly shrubs.
“Sammy!” she called. “Come on, boy!” She whistled dispiritedly.
A bush trembled but no Sammy appeared. Sighing again, she decided to leave him to it and went back inside to follow Luc up a flight of decrepit stairs to the second floor.
The bedrooms were each austere and musty, but at least the smell wasn’t so bad on the top floor. Jo forced open the warped wooden shutters in the largest room and let in a pale drizzly light.
“No closets. But the floors are good,” she said, looking at the wide oak planks, gouged and rutted by centuries of domesticity. “And nice high ceilings.”
She must have been wearing her feelings on her face, as usual, because Luc turned to her and enveloped her in a bear hug. “I know it’s not much, mon amore. But you know it’s just temporary. The year will fly by.” He nuzzled her neck for emphasis.
Not only was this the only rental house available, it came with the condition they sign a one-year lease.
He lifted her chin and kissed her, hard.
That kiss killed her doubts instantly. Luc could talk her into anything, she knew. She’d live in a barn, if he wanted it.
And this place isn’t far off from being a barn….
When she came up for air she looked at him and said, smiling, “I know. You’re right. We’ll make it work.” She raised a hand to touch the corner of his lip, swollen from her overly-enthusiastic exertions of the weekend before. After weeks of separation, she’d been wild to see him.
“Does it still hurt?”
He grinned that charming grin, the one that always threatened to buckle her knees. “Only a little. Not like the gaping wound you gave me in Rocamadour.”
They both laughed at the memory of their first time, and she hugged him fiercely. He was an extraordinary man, and she was still head over heels. She believed in him completely.
And for a few moments she also believed what she’d just said to him.
Of course we can make it work. We can do anything, as long as we’re together.
But her doubts returned as soon as she tried to get her dog through the front door.
A movement in the yard had caused her to peer through the wavy glass of the bedroom’s tiny window. It was Sammy, trotting proudly towards the car with a large dead rat in his mouth.
“Luc! It’s got rats!”
She ran down the stairs and into the yard, gaping at her pet in horror. As far as she knew, Sammy had never killed anything bigger than a dragonfly. But right now he was strutting around her feet like a professional assassin.
“You can’t blame him. He’s a terrier, after all,” Luc said.
Getting the rat away from Sammy was difficult enough, but enticing him into the house was next to impossible. He stood at the threshold, nose quivering, and wouldn’t budge an inch. Jo tried to bribe him with his favorite treats, but even they weren’t going to lure him inside. Finally, out of exasperation, she picked him up and carried him into the hallway, shutting the door with her foot. Sammy panicked, scratching her in a desperate attempt to get free, and when she set him down on the old slate floor all he did was stand there stiff-legged, quivering, with a pathetic look on his face. It wasn’t typical Sammy behavior at all. That was the first time Jo thought about ghosts.
Aren’t dogs supposed to be attuned to spirits and bad vibes? What’s Sammy telling me?
She felt a little foolish for thinking like that. Maybe they were both just wiped out from the trip.
It had been a long one—Seattle non-stop to Paris, then two crazy nights of love-making in their Parisian hotel, stopping only long enough to walk the dog and eat.
Yesterday they went shopping for Jo’s wedding dress before making the five-hour trip train to Cahors. They hadn’t arrived at Luc’s house until late last night, and between more frantic love-making and Sammy not being able to settle down, no one got much sleep.