One Who Kisses

by Marjorie Lewty

  There was a silence. He sat back in his corner of the sofa, studying her face, and she thought he was waiting for her to make another remark. When she didn't he said briskly, 'Well, we'll have to find somewhere for you to spend the night. Come and have a look in Madame's room.'

  She said, 'I—I thought you were going to sleep there.'

  'That was the idea,' he said, and she saw he was laughing at her. 'Don't you trust me yet? Do you still think I have—what's a coy way of putting it?—designs on your virtue?'

  'I don't know,' Polly said flatly. 'Have you?'

  He laughed again, louder this time. 'Oh, Polly, Polly, you're superb! You're as good as a drink of astringent lime-juice.'

  'Thank you,' she said again. 'But you haven't answered my question.'

  He appeared to ponder. Then he said, 'Would you be offended if I said no?'

  'Offended?' Polly burst out. 'Of course I wouldn't. I'd be reassured. Why should you think I'd be offended?'

  'Most of the girls I've met would, that's all,' said Piran. 'It seems to be expected of a man that he makes a pass at a girl. A sort of compliment.'

  'Well, I certainly don't expect it,' Polly said. This conversation was getting altogether too intimate for her liking. 'So let's change the subject, shall we?'

  'If you insist,' he said. 'I was just beginning to enjoy it, but whatever Mademoiselle says. As far as beds go, you'd better have Madame Brunet's room and I'll kip down on the sofa here.'

  Polly looked at the length of the sofa and then at the length of the man sitting in the corner of it, and she started to giggle. 'If you enjoy sleeping jack-knife fashion I suppose it might do. No, I'll have the sofa— then I'll be near to Jules and I'll hear him in case he wakes up again.'

  'As you wish. Will you go in and select some blankets or whatever you need—or can find. I'm going to make some tea.'

  'Oh—tea!' murmured Polly. 'That would be lovely.'

  He smiled at her ruefully. 'I set out to charm her and all she enthuses about is tea! Ah well!' He sighed heavily and disappeared towards the kitchen.

  Polly stood looking after him. She couldn't make the man out. At first he had seemed like an absolute horror, and she had a feeling that he could repeat the performance at the drop of a hat, should things not go his way. But as things were going his way; as she had agreed, in spite of her misgivings to stay on and help him out with Jules, then he could be pleasant and companionable. Fun, in fact.

  She shook her head and went into Madame's bedroom to select a couple of blankets from the large, untidy bed. There was a duvet too, and he could have that. Somehow she couldn't think of him as Piran, much less call him by his name.

  She carried the blankets back to the living room and draped them over a chair, as he came back with the tea.

  Suddenly Polly wanted to dispel the impression he must have got of her as a timid little nitwit. She wanted him to accept her on her own terms.

  'I really am sorry about all the hoo-ha,' she said. 'It was so stupid of me to panic like that, and I feel terrible about upsetting Jules.'

  'Couldn't be helped,' he said casually, setting the tray on the floor beside the sofa, and she was sorry she had spoken. Of course, he wasn't really interested in her as a person, only because she could be of use to him. She mustn't forget that.

  He sat down and patted the sofa beside him. 'Come on, let's have some tea and forget about all the goings-on of the last half hour. Sit down and be comfy.' This time Polly did as he asked, sinking back against the soft velvet and taking the cup he handed her.

  He had made the tea good and strong and soon her spirits started to revive. She put the cup down on the floor. 'That was a super cup of tea. Thank you.'

  'One of my more civilised accomplishments,' he told her with a grin. He really was being very charming to her now, but she mustn't relax too much with him yet. Dark suspicions still lurked at the back of her mind, and in any case the charm was no doubt put on to keep her 'sweet'.

  She was much too aware of him, lounging there beside her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the soft pile of his fawn cord trousers, a trifle worn at the knees. If she put out a hand she could stroke them. It would be an invitation, and how would he respond? Polly was swimming in deep waters. In spite of all that had just happened the magnetism of the man sitting beside her was so powerful that she felt a hunger that frightened her. She needed to curl up against him on the sofa, to feel his arms round her, his mouth on hers. He was so close that it was all she could do not to move and lean against him.

  Horrified, she realised that he was watching her, a gleam of humour in the dark, hooded eyes. Could he have guessed where her thoughts were straying? 'I think,' he said in an amused voice, 'that you've had enough excitement for one day. You tuck up on the sofa now and I'll remove myself to Madame's room next door.' He got to his feet. 'Goodnight again, Polly. Sleep well, and wake me if you need any help again with Jules.'

  Surprising herself, Polly did sleep well. It was pleasantly warm in the living room and she rolled herself up in the blankets, turned out the light, curled up on the sofa, and was asleep almost immediately.

  When she wakened the sun was streaming between the dusty pink velvet curtains. She sat up, shaking off the blankets, aware immediately of where she was and all that had happened.

  She heard Piran's voice in the kitchen and, pushing her hair into some sort of order, she went across and looked round the door.

  He was standing at the sink, washing a pan, and Jules was putting cups on a tray, carefully, one by one.

  Piran turned round, mop in one hand, frying pan in the other. 'Hullo,' he grinned. 'Jules and I are getting breakfast. You were sleeping so peacefully we didn't want to wake you. That's right, isn't it, Jules?'

  Jules gave him a guarded look. 'Oui, mon oncle.' His tone when he spoke to Piran was a little less suspicious than it had been yesterday, but he was still not exactly forthcoming.

  When he looked at Polly, however, his small face lit up. 'Bonjour, Mademoiselle Polly.' He didn't move towards her. What an insecure child he was, Polly thought painfully. She went over and lifted him off his feet and swung him round. 'Bonjour, Jules. And how are you this lovely morning?'

  A look of delight spread over the little boy's face. 'Very well, thank you, Mademoiselle Polly,' he said quaintly. Over his head Polly's eyes met Piran's and he shook his head slightly. She took that to mean that Jules hadn't remembered anything of his attack the previous night. She smiled and nodded. That was a blessing; and it probably meant that the wheezing attack had been just that—an isolated happening brought on by the stress of the day and finally by her own stupid fuss over the hot-water bottle.

  This would be a critical time for him. It was quite possible, she knew, for a first attack to be followed by others, until a real asthmatic condition was established. At all costs that mustn't be allowed to happen.

  She said brightly, 'What are we having for breakfast, then? I'm very hungry, aren't you, Jules?'

  Piran said, 'Some good English bacon and eggs would go down well, but I think we'll have to make do with omelette, if I can get this pan fit to use. Will you make the coffee, Polly, while I struggle with the omelette? I found some eggs and I can only hope they're not just about to hatch out.'

  Polly giggled. Suddenly the whole affair had become a rather exciting adventure.

  Breakfast was a cheerful affair. Piran had evidently set himself to win Jules's confidence and acceptance. He launched into stories of his home in Dorset, a spot where once the dinosaurs used to live. Jules had a book on dinosaurs, he said eagerly, and trotted off to find it.

  'There is a museum near to my home where you can see the bones of some of the dinosaurs,' Piran told him. 'Would you like to see them?'

  'Oh yes—' Jules began, and then looked uncertainly towards Polly. 'Will you come too, mademoiselle?'

  'If I'm invited,' Polly said demurely, without looking at Piran.

  'Sure you're invited, we'll all go just as
soon as we get home.' He grinned at Jules. 'I thought it would be rather jolly if we all flew back to England in a day or two, Jules. You and I—and Mademoiselle Polly, of course,' he added quickly as the boy's head turned inevitably to her. 'You see, Grand'maman will be in hospital for a long time and there won't be anyone to look after you here.'

  Jules forehead creased. Another change, and he would be nervous about that, Polly knew. She smiled at him and said, 'I'd like to see the dinosaur's footprints too. We could go together.'

  The eager look that she was beginning to recognise came into the boy's face. Poor child, he had probably been starved of understanding and companionship since his father died. It would be rewarding to watch his mind and interests develop. 'I would like—' he began.

  There was a loud knock on the door of the apartment. Piran frowned. 'Who the blazes can that be?' He walked across and opened the door. Two policemen in their blue uniform and peaked caps stood outside.

  'Monsieur St Just?' said the taller of the two.

  'Yes,' Piran frowned.

  The policeman peered into the room to where Polly and Jules sat at the table. 'I would like a word with you, monsieur.' He walked into the room, followed by his companion.

  'What is this?' Piran asked. 'Is it Madame Brunet? Is she worse?'

  The policeman gave a hard, suspicious look. 'It is indeed about Madame Brunet,' he said, 'but she is not worse, monsieur, indeed she is much improved this morning.'

  'Good,' said Piran unconvincingly.

  The policeman cleared his throat. 'May I speak to you alone, monsieur?'

  Piran hesitated for a moment, then turned to the two at the table. 'Will you please leave us for a moment, Polly—and take Jules with you?'

  Polly took Jules's hand and led him into the kitchen and closed the door. The little boy looked rather white. 'What do they want now?' he asked nervously, and Polly guessed that this wasn't the first time that policemen had come to the apartment.

  'I don't know,' she said, 'but I don't suppose it's anything very important. Let's make some fresh coffee, shall we?' She managed to keep him busy and interested until, a few minutes later, the door opened and Piran, looking grimmer than ever, said, 'Will you both come back now?'

  He took Jules's hand. 'Jules, will you tell these officers who I am, please?'

  Jules blinked, went even paler but said in a precise little voice, 'You are mon oncle, monsieur.'

  Piran stared at the policemen, his dark brows raised. 'Quite so. And who better to look after my nephew while his grandmother is in hospital?' He spoke quite softly, but there was something in his voice that brought a slightly uncomfortable expression to the man's face.

  He persevered with his enquiry, however. He went down on his haunches and smiled benevolently into Jules's face. 'And are you happy here with your uncle, mon petit?'

  Jules backed away from the large, grinning face and hung on to Polly, gazing up at her with trusting dark eyes. 'Yes, sir,' he replied.

  The policeman straightened up with a grunt and looked enquiringly at Piran. 'And may I ask, monsieur, what relationship Mademoiselle has to your nephew?' He leered in Folly's direction.

  'No relationship at the moment,' Piran replied, at his most arrogant. 'If it has any bearing on the matter I may tell you that quite soon, I hope, she will be his aunt by marriage. Miss West is my fiancée, officer. In case it interests you, we intend to marry almost immediately.' He spoke blandly, and if he heard Polly's quick intake of breath he ignored it.

  This announcement evidently tipped the scales with the policeman. Or perhaps it was the smile that Polly had given him when she came into the room. After taking down a few more particulars and asking Piran to report if he intended to move from this address, he wished them all bonjour and the two policemen took their departure.

  Jules was staring from one to the other of them, and his small face was alight with anticipation. 'Is it so, mon oncle?' he asked eagerly. 'Will you marry Mademoiselle Polly very soon? Will she stay with us?'

  Piran, still smiling, found Polly's eyes and there was something in his own dark, liquid eyes that took her breath away.

  'You know, Jules,' he said seriously, 'I think that's quite an idea.'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jules was dancing up and down with excitement and Piran put a hand on his shoulder to quieten him. 'Have you finished your breakfast, Jules?' Jules said that he had, and Piran said, 'Well then, suppose you go off and find some more books that you'd like to show me? Mademoiselle Polly and I want to have a little talk.'

  Polly could hardly wait until the door was closed behind the boy. 'How could you?' she burst out. 'Haven't you involved me sufficiently in all this, without—without giving information to the police about me? You really are the most arrogant— impertinent—' she was bubbling over with rage and she couldn't think of any words bad enough. 'You're a menace,' she finished weakly.

  To make her even madder Piran had that amused smile on his lips—the kind of smile he would bestow upon a little girl with tantrums. 'I'm sorry if you object to being my fiancée—temporarily,' he said mildly. 'I thought it was the best way to keep the gentleman happy. You see, Madame Brunet has been raising all hell at the hospital, accusing me of every crime in the book. Knowing Madame, I should think the police were a bit sceptical, but even so they had to take her seriously and investigate what was going on here. I imagine they were quite satisfied. And your presence—and Jules's obvious devotion to you— helped a lot.'

  'Yes,' said Polly, still seething. 'That's another thing—almost the worst thing. You've given Jules the impression that we're about to rush off and get married. What's he going to feel like when he knows you were lying? It won't exactly boost his confidence in you, will it?'

  'We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,' said Piran St Just maddeningly. 'Meanwhile, let me remind you that you have promised to help.'

  'O.K., I promised, but that doesn't give you a free hand to—to—' She was almost in tears.

  He put an arm round her shoulders and drew her gently against him. 'Don't worry, little Polly,' he said softly. 'I won't let any harm come to you, I promise. I'm eternally grateful to you for your help.'

  He pulled her down on to the sofa beside him, and when he spoke his voice had changed, become intense. 'Polly, listen—I want that boy and I mean to have him. When we were young Maurice and I were very close—that was before he made that appalling marriage. I thought the world of him—our parents were dead and in a way I felt responsible for him, he was so much younger. He would have been devastated if he could have known what would happen to Jules, the way the boy would be neglected. This is something I can do for Maurice—the only thing now—to make sure that his son is brought up as he would have wished. Do you understand?' He turned on her, almost fiercely.

  Polly nodded. 'Yes,' she said, 'I do understand.'

  He was silent for a time, and she thought he had forgotten she was there. He was staring into the glowing bar of the electric fire, his face dark and moody. Then he said, 'I suppose if I'm perfectly honest I must admit to another reason why I want Jules. I want him for the son I'm not likely to have now.'

  'Why ever not?' Polly said calmly. 'Surely you'll marry again? One mistake needn't put you off for life.'

  His mouth twisted. 'With respect, my child, you don't know what you're talking about. And anyway, my experience wasn't of one mistake, it was of two. You're forgetting my brother.' He added bitterly, 'We both made the same ridiculous mistake—we imagined that love and marriage go together, as the old song said. They don't, that's for sure.' He was silent for a moment, his mouth taking on a hard line. Then he added, 'At least I suppose I must be grateful that my marriage didn't kill me.'

  Polly gasped. 'What are you saying? You don't mean—'

  'Oh no, I'm not talking about anything as dramatic as murder. Simply that Maurice was never a very strong boy. He died of neglected pneumonia.'

  'And you blame his wife?'

  'I blame his
wife,' he said quietly and very bitterly. 'She was having an affair with another man when Maurice became very ill. I don't suppose she even bothered to get a doctor in until it was too late.'

  There was a long silence and Polly could think of nothing to say. At last she murmured, 'Thank you for telling me, and I'll help in any way I can. I only wish—'

  'Wish what?'

  'Oh, nothing.' She couldn't say, I wish I'd had someone to care about what happened to me when I was deserted by my mother.'

  She drew away from him and stood up. 'All right then, as you say, we'll play the thing by ear as we go along. Now, what are the plans for today?'

  Piran got to his feet too and drew in a long breath, letting it out on a sigh, as if he were dispelling some painful memories. 'Well, first of all,' he said in a businesslike tone, 'I want to go along to the British Embassy and make some enquiries. Will you and Jules be happy here until I come back?'

  It was a busy morning. Polly decided that the first thing to do was to clean up the apartment, and Jules helped enthusiastically. She found she enjoyed all the washing and dusting and polishing; it was rewarding to see the place begin to shine and sparkle in the sunshine. Jules, at first a little puzzled at what was going on (poor child, he must be quite unaccustomed to anyone doing housework), soon entered into the spirit of the thing, and when Polly stood him on a box and gave him a brush and some powder-cleaner, he scrubbed away at the kitchen sink with a will.

  Once the living room, the kitchen and the bathroom had been attended to, the next thing was to buy in some food. The bedrooms could wait until later. Polly looked in her purse and found she had enough francs left for a modest shopping spree. Jules, when asked, seemed a little vague about shopping facilities, so Polly suggested they go out and have a look around.

  Downstairs, they encountered the concierge, a small woman with a bun of dark hair scraped up on top of her head and wrapped in a voluminous flowered overall. She had the lines on her face that come from a lifetime of hard work and making the best of things with humour and good nature. She patted Jules's head. 'And how is my little cabbage this morning?' She regarded Polly curiously. 'Monsieur St Just informed me that there had been an accident.'