'Yes, unfortunately.' Polly spoke in her best French. 'Madame Brunet has had an operation, and it seems to have been successful, but it may be some time before she is allowed to come home. Meanwhile Jules's uncle and I are looking after the apartment.'
The concierge raised her eyebrows, shrugging, and launched into a flood of rapid French, of which Polly could only understand a few words here and there. She got the impression that the woman didn't think very much of Madame Brunet—or her daughter. She heard the word Zurich a good deal.
'Madame Brunet does not belong to Paris, then?' she asked, more to be polite than because it was important to her.
'Non, non.' The woman sounded quite heated. 'She is not French, that one!' There was quite evidently some sort of a feud between Madame Brunet and the concierge, but now she calmed down and, regarding Jules, whose hand was tightly in Polly's, she sighed, 'Pauvre petit garçon! They do not care properly for him—those women!'
But she bestowed an approving look on Polly herself, and in answer to her enquiry told her that there was a market not half a kilometre down the street, where she could buy anything she needed.
The small market was fascinating, like nothing Polly had seen in England. The fruit and vegetables, stacked in colourful mounds, looked mouthwateringly fresh and she could have spent all her remaining francs on them alone. But she would have to wait until Piran St Just doled out some housekeeping money to her. She contented herself with buying crisp salad leaves, tomatoes, cucumber, and some more peaches. Jules expressed a liking for bananas, so those were added. At the delicatessen stall there were so many kinds of sausages and pates that all Polly could do was point to the ones that looked the most appetising, and trust to luck. She bought another baguette, crusty and golden, and a wedge of one of the dozens of different cheeses. 'That should do us for lunch,' she told Jules as they made their way back.
They walked slowly and Polly looked about her as they went. This was a very pleasant part of Paris; quiet and leafy, and the apartment houses all looked quite expensive. Evidently Maurice had been able to leave his widow fairly well provided for, which seemed to give the lie to Madame Brunet's wail that her beloved Ninette had been forced to go out to work to support her mother and her son.
Piran had returned by the time they got back to the apartment. He was standing by the window, looking as black as thunder, and he swung round as Polly and Jules came into the room.
'Where the hell have you been? I thought I told you to wait here for me,'
Polly rested her heavy carrier bags on the table. 'Did you?' she said innocently. 'I don't think I could have heard you. Jules and I have been shopping. Come along, Jules, let's go and unload.' She marched past the man and walked calmly into the kitchen.
Piran came after her and stood close behind her at the table, where she was setting out her purchases. He was so close that her heart began to thump with heavy beats, but she kept on with her task. 'I'm sorry, Polly,' he said softly, and after a moment she felt—or thought she felt—his lips touch her hair. But she could have been mistaken. 'It was just that I got back and you weren't here,' he said quietly.
She gave a brittle little laugh. 'Did you think Jules and I had run away?'
'You'd better not,' he growled. 'I want you both here, where I can keep my eye on you.'
She moved away from him then and her hands were trembling as she plunged the salad greens into ice-cold water in the sink. 'That's O.K.,' she said casually. 'And, by the way, you owe me sixty francs, which is about all the currency I have left.'
He took out his wallet and laid a small wad of notes on the table. 'That's for housekeeping,' he said, 'while we're here. And it looks as if that may be some little time.'
'Oh yes,' said Polly, remembering. 'How did you get on at the Embassy?'
'Slowly,' he said, pulling a wry face. 'Everyone I needed to see was either out or engaged in some lengthy conference. I made an appointment for tomorrow. Meanwhile we may as well amuse ourselves as best we can. What would you like to do, both of you?'
Polly looked at Jules. 'I've been wondering—Jules, shouldn't you be at school? Where is your school?'
He looked from one to the other of them and then down at the carpet. 'Jules,' said his uncle, quite kindly, 'you must tell us where you go to school. You do have a school somewhere, don't you?'
The boy's mouth quivered, as if he were remembering some unpleasant experience. 'Grand'maman sent me to school,' he faltered. 'But I was ill and I couldn't go again.'
'When was that?' Piran insisted. 'When were you last at school?' But Jules shook his head and it was obvious that he either couldn't remember or wasn't going to tell them.
Piran shrugged. 'Oh well, I suppose there's not much point in forcing the issue. We'll do something about it when we get him back to England. We'll just have to hope the authorities don't catch up with us here. I've no idea how strict they are about education and school attendance. I'll clear it up when I see them tomorrow at the Embassy.' He looked at his watch. 'Now, what next? It's too early for lunch. How about collecting your things from your hotel, Polly? I've got my car in the garage here. Come along, the two of you.'
He peeled off his jacket and threw it over the back of a chair. He was brimming over with energy now, exuberant almost. Things were going his way and he was a different man from the dark, lowering individual Polly had encountered—could it only be yesterday? It seemed like weeks that she had known him. Every bit of him was familiar to her—the strong, athletic body, the sunbronzed skin. She knew exactly the way his sloe-dark eyes moved under their lowered lids, taking in everything. She was sure he was like a camera, registering all around him. And his mouth—the finely sculptured lips that could twist in bitter cynicism, but now were grinning with pleasure, like a schoolboy promised a treat. Yes, Polly thought, he would be good for Jules and the boy would quite soon become devoted to him, she was sure of that. And she surprised herself by feeling a prick of something very like jealousy because she wouldn't be there to see it happen.
At the hotel, Piran and Jules waited in reception while Polly packed her bag and handed in the key. She hadn't- any bill to pay—it had all been settled in advance when she booked the tour. 'Tips?' questioned Piran, and placed a note on the reception desk.
'Merci, monsieur.' He received a look full of awareness from the girl behind the counter, and a brilliant white smile. Polly looked away quickly, suddenly realising that she didn't want to see Piran smiling back at the girl. How pathetic, she scolded herself, to be jealous of a man you hardly know and who is merely making himself pleasant to you because at the moment you are useful to him.
Piran put Polly's two modest travelling bags in the back seat of the car. 'Now,' he said, 'I think we'll go shopping. For one thing you must have an engagement ring, and for the next you'll need some more clothes, I'm sure, to see you through the rest of the time we're in Paris. You must give me the pleasure of providing you with those.'
Polly opened her mouth to protest, but Piran leaned across Jules, who was sitting between them, and put a hand firmly on her knee. 'This is all quite essential, you know,' he said, glancing down at the boy's dark head, and she realised that he was talking in a sort of code that they both understood but Jules didn't. It didn't make her feel any better, but there was nothing she could do about it. So she sighed and shrugged her agreement. And in fact, Piran St Just was right—she could hardly appear as his fiancée dressed in any of the clothes she had with her.
'We'll leave your bags at the apartment,' he said, 'and then you might like to change, now that we've got your luggage.'
Polly glanced down at her blouse and jeans, which she had worn since she set off for her coach tour to Chartres yesterday morning, and flushed. 'You needn't rub it in,' she said crossly. 'I know I look a wreck, but it's not exactly my fault.'
His hand was still resting on her knee and now he gave it a little squeeze and grinned, 'You would look charming in anything—ma chérie.' That compliment, of course
, was intended for Jules's benefit, not hers.
'Merci, monsieur,' she murmured mockingly. He glanced at her, in a way she couldn't interpret at all, and took his hand away.
Back at the apartment Polly went into Jules's room and closed the door. Here she unpacked her bag again and took out the two dresses that were all she had with her, except for her jeans and a couple of blouses. She hadn't been intending to do anything exciting on this trip and was travelling light.
She chose her favourite of the two dresses—a soft blue cotton with a narrow white stripe. It was sleeveless, with a narrow white lace frill at the neck and shoulder-line. It was mercifully of creaseless material, and while not exactly as good as new, at least it was an improvement on the crushed jeans and blouse she was wearing.
She put her head round the door. Piran was sitting on the sofa, with Jules beside him, an open book on the boy's knee, and he was chatting away quite freely to his uncle. Relieved, Polly called across the room, 'Can you wait while I have a shower—if I can get it to work?'
Piran looked up and grinned. 'Certainly—take your time. If you need help, call me.' His attention returned to Jules.
In the bathroom, Polly stripped off and studied the taps on the shower. The water might not be hot, but she would brave a cold shower for the luxury of feeling clean again. The set-up was different from the shower at her hotel, but eventually she managed to get the water running out feebly. True enough, it was cold. Bracing herself, she stepped beneath the trickle and, gasping, began to rub herself down briskly.
It happened with terrifying suddenness. One minute the water was sprinkling down in separate icy droplets. The next minute the whole contraption gave a convulsive gurgle and gushed down steaming hot water on Polly's head. She let out a wild yelp, slithered backwards, and finished in a heap at the far end of the bath.
Behind her the door crashed open and then she was being lifted bodily out of the bath and Piran's horrified voice was shouting, 'Polly! What happened? Are you hurt? Good God, the water's nearly boiling! Have you scalded yourself—let me see.'
His hands were on her body, supporting her, but she was beyond caring. 'I—it was—running cold—and then—suddenly—it went hot.' Her teeth were chattering with shock.
'You stupid child, of course it went hot—you had the hot tap turned on.' He reached out and turned it off.
His anger brought her back to reality and she was suddenly aware that she was completely naked and his hands were on her, tingling on her bare flesh. Her stomach flipped over and she wriggled out of his grasp and made a grab for a pink towel that hung limply across the end of the bath, pulling it hastily round herself. 'I'm not hurt,' she muttered.
She was aware that he was chuckling. 'O.K., so you're not hurt, if you were you wouldn't be worrying about displaying your very charming body. Just think how Eve must have felt in the garden of Eden when she found she was naked. I'm sure Adam didn't object.'
He leaned against the door, surveying her with amused dark eyes. 'Do you still want to take a shower, or would you like to get dressed and then we'll be on our way?'
She gathered the towel closer round her, but it was much too small to cover all of her and she was burningly aware of Piran's eyes passing down to rest appreciatively on her pink breasts, still damp from the hot water.
Suddenly his mood seemed to change. 'O.K. then, get dressed,' he said shortly. 'I'll be out for a while— perhaps you'll be ready when I get back?'
'I'll be ready,' she said, rather crestfallen now. 'I— I'm sorry,' she added in a small voice. 'I seem to be causing you a lot of trouble, one way and another.'
He was halfway out of the bathroom, his back towards her. 'You can say that again. Now, hurry up.'
She heard Jules's voice raised questioningly in the living room, and his uncle's replying reassuringly. Then the outer door of the apartment closed with a snap, and Polly crept hastily across the little lobby and into the bedroom, where she sank on to the bed that had caused all the trouble last night, and tried to get her composure back. But all she could think of was the disturbing sensation of the man's arms round her body, the touch of his hard fingers on her bare flesh. She shivered. What had happened to her? She hadn't fallen in love with him and never would.' He wasn't her kind of man at all. She had always preferred the fair, easy-going boys at college to the dark- sexy ones, who always seemed to be issuing a challenge of some sort that she didn't care to meet.
She supposed she was just totally inexperienced, and this first encounter with a sexually disturbing male had taken her by surprise. But nothing could come of their relationship, so the sooner she got a grip on herself the better!
Having come to this sensible decision she proceeded to put on the blue dress and pay particular attention to her face, which was still flushed from the agitation of the last few minutes. After she had smoothed on a paler shade of foundation, she leaned towards the mirror, carefully applying eye-shadow. It was a sapphire blue, two or three shades darker than her eyes, and she hadn't used it before because she simply hadn't bothered with make-up for her days sightseeing alone in Paris. But now she was glad she had bought it, and the effect pleased her. It made her look older, less childish. She towelled her damp hair and brushed it behind her ears; that made her look older too. At last, tolerably pleased with her appearance, she went back to the living room. If she were going to play-act the part of Piran St Just's fiancée for the next few days, she was determined to look the part as far as possible.
Jules was curled up on the sofa, his dark head lowered over a heavy book, supported on his knees. He raised his eyes as he saw Polly. Then he said in his serious, unchildlike way, 'You look pretty, mademoiselle.'
'Thank you, Jules,' Polly laughed, 'what a very nice compliment.' She sat down beside him and looked over his shoulder at the book he was reading.
'Dinosaurs in Ancient Britain. Aren't they huge— look at that one!' She pointed to a picture of a wondrous beast prowling the forests of the past.
Jules's dark eyes were shining. 'How big is he? As big as this room?'
'Oh much, much bigger than this room.'
'As big as the apartment?'
'Bigger than that. Almost as big as the whole building, I'd say. There's a fossil skeleton of one in a museum in London. I'm sure your uncle would take you to see it if you asked him.'
'Would he?' Jules sounded doubtful. Obviously he couldn't rely on treats like that since his father died. 'But we can see the footprints in—where is Uncle Piran's house?'
'In Dorset, by the sea.'
'And we can see them there? He said we could.'
'Yes, I expect so,' said Polly. Jules was obviously still relying upon her being there, but she didn't want to let him bank too heavily upon that happening.
'You're sure so,' he insisted. 'When you marry Uncle Piran you'll live in his house, won't you, Mademoiselle Polly?'
Polly passed her tongue over dry lips, trying to think of a reply that wouldn't be a complete lie.
Then, 'Of course she will.' Piran's voice came from the doorway behind them and their two heads turned abruptly as he walked across the room. 'Of course she will, won't you, ma chérie?'
He lowered himself on to the sofa beside her and put his arm round her waist and planted a kiss just behind her ear. Polly's heart began to race and she drew away a little, but he pulled her back, laughing. He was obviously in high good humour.
'Now then, you two, are you ready at last? We'll go shopping, then. I've got a taxi waiting outside, I thought the car would be a bit of an encumbrance in the centre of Paris. Come along, it's a beautiful day.'
It was indeed a beautiful day. It must have rained in the night, for the streets had a washed look that shone silver in the sunlight. Polly had brought a white woollen jacket, but she didn't need it. When they stepped out of the taxi the sun shone warm on her bare arms and the air was soft and fragrant with the scents that drifted along the boulevard from the massed flower stalls outside the Madeleine.
/> Already, in the five days she had spent there, Polly had grown to love Paris: its wide, tree-lined streets packed and jammed with cars, its elegant, fascinating shops, and perhaps most of all the cafes with their tables set out on the pavement under striped awnings. They stopped at one of these cafes now, and took the only unoccupied table. Piran ordered coffee for himself and Polly and a fabulous ice-cream for Jules, who was beginning to look more relaxed and happy than at any moment since Polly had first set eyes on him in the coach.
'We'll make for the Boulevard Haussmann,' Piran announced, as they left the cafe. 'I know of a shop there where we might buy you a ring, and afterwards there is the Galeries Lafayette, where you can get fitted out with anything you need in the way of clothes and things.' He didn't wait for her consent, he set out along the wide, crowded pavements at a brisk pace, weaving his way between the more leisurely strollers who proclaimed themselves Parisians by the very fact of their absence of urgency. Polly took Jules's hand and they had almost to run to keep up with him. He did, however, stop when he arrived at a road crossing, and shepherded them across with the greatest of courtesy. He was, Polly thought once more, a curiously double-sided character.
The shop where he proposed to buy the ring was not at all the glittering emporium that Polly had expected to find in Paris. It was small and dark, tucked away in a narrow side street, and was obviously more an antique dealer's than a jeweller's. The man who emerged from a back room as they went in was small and elderly, with old-fashioned pince-nez spectacles perched on the end of a beaky nose, and a wide, clever forehead. Piran greeted him by his name—Monsieur Jacabo—and his face broke into a beam of pleasure and recognition. A conversation followed between the two men in a stream of rapid French that Polly could make very little sense of.
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