One Who Kisses

by Marjorie Lewty

  'I'm much obliged to her,' Polly said stiffly. 'Now, if you'd like to go and shave I'll cook you some breakfast.'

  She turned away, but he caught her by the wrist and spun her round. 'Ah, don't be like that, Polly. We're partners, remember? And in case what I've just said has put ideas into your head, let me tell you that I wouldn't dream of trying to take advantage of the situation and make love to you if you didn't want it, you must know that.' His dark eyes creased at the corners. 'Which is not to say I wouldn't like to. Very much.'

  She started to say, 'I don't know what you're talking about. I—' But her eyes were drawn to his smiling eyes, and the look between them held and lengthened. Polly's heart seemed to stop beating and then began again with heavy, suffocating strokes. She waited, hardly breathing, for what she knew was going to happen.

  ''Very much,' he repeated softly, and pulled her against him. 'You're very sweet, Polly.' Slowly his mouth came down on hers, and Polly was lost in a breathtaking turmoil of feeling. Her anger, her anxiety, all got caught up in a response that she was hardly conscious of making. His kiss had started undemandingly, but as her hands went up round his neck, seemingly of their own accord, his lips stiffened and then relaxed against hers, parting her own lips, moving against them, until she spun dizzily in an ecstasy of pure feeling. Her fingers clung to his rough, springy hair, and moved down to encounter into the warm nape of his neck, as his unshaved chin scratched against her soft flesh.

  'You're so sweet,' he muttered again, and his hands dropped to her waist, pressing her against the taut hardness of his body. Wave upon wave of pleasure washed over her. She was transported to a world of sensual arousal that she had only heard about but never experienced. She let out a little moan and her fingers dug themselves convulsively into the hollow of his neck, as she returned his kisses hungrily. Then a sudden sound from behind made her wrench her mouth away from Piran's. Jules was standing in the doorway of his room, a wide grin on his face.

  Piran's arms disengaged themselves immediately. He took a couple of strides and lifted the boy up, holding him high in the air. 'You old ruffian, what do you mean by playing gooseberry?'

  Jules looked startled and then, as he caught his uncle's smile, he smiled back, still a little timidly. 'What is gooseberry?' he enquired, and Piran ruffled his dark hair and said, 'I'll tell you one day—now, come and watch me shave while Mademoiselle Polly makes me some breakfast, which she has been kind enough to offer to do.' There was a wicked gleam in his eyes as they met Polly's. Then he turned back to Jules. 'And don't you think you'd better practise calling her Aunt Polly, Jules? It sounds more friendly, doesn't it?'

  Jules surveyed them both in his serious way. 'Yes,' he said, 'I think I should like that.'

  Somehow Polly managed to produce a reasonably light omelette and fresh toast and coffee, in spite of the fact that her hands were unsteady and her throat was aching with tension. What on earth had possessed her to respond like that to what was simply intended to be a casual kiss? She must be on her guard and not let it happen again.

  It took all her courage to return to the living room and serve Piran's breakfast to him, looking as if nothing of particular importance had happened. She had to keep reminding herself that to a man like Piran a kiss was just a kiss, however it might have lit a fuse inside her that promised to go on burning.

  'Thanks, Polly, this is super.' He tucked into his breakfast with zest. 'Join me in another cup of coffee, won't you, and we can discuss the day's programme. I have to see my friend at the Embassy this morning, but I'll come back for lunch—and mind you're here this time,' he added darkly.

  Polly spent the morning cleaning the bedroom that she was sharing with Jules, which took a considerable time as Jules kept interrupting her work with pleas to look at some picture or other in a book, or interpret a sentence. But at last the job was finished and she was able to turn her attention to the other bedroom. She stood looking around. This was where Piran should have slept last night, but hadn't. He had had a very ready explanation, but could she believe it?

  She sighed. What did it matter whether she believed him or not? She would only be in his company until he got Jules back to England, and after that her usefulness would come to an end.

  Just make the most of your extended holiday, Polly, she advised herself, and don't start getting any romantic ideas about falling in love.

  There was a knock at the door and it was the concierge, her plump face beaming, the bun of dark hair perched jauntily on top of her head. 'Bonjour, mademoiselle. I come to enquire if there is any small matter with which I can help you.'

  'You are very kind.' Polly marshalled her French. 'Please come in.'

  The woman entered the living room and stood looking around her with unconcealed surprise. 'You have performed a miracle, mademoiselle. Never have I seen this room so clean and tidy.' She sketched a gesture of amazement. 'Madame Brunet—!' An expressive shrug.

  Jules came into the room to see what was going on and the concierge patted his head amiably. 'You have your uncle now to look after you, mon petit, that is good, n'est-ce pas?'

  Jules hesitated, his small face screwed up as he pondered the question. Then he said firmly, 'Oui, madame, that is good. And I also have Tante Polly. That is good also.' He moved nearer to Polly and grinned up confidently at her.

  The concierge surveyed them both benevolently. 'You have a good man there, mademoiselle, an excellent man. When he approach me last evening with a request that I should find him a separate room, I tell myself, "Ah, there goes one man who knows what is right".' She nodded her dark head up and down approvingly. 'I wish you every happiness in your marriage, mademoiselle.'

  Polly thanked her and eventually managed to end the interview, with the concierge still talking away as she trundled off down the stairs.

  Polly walked thoughtfully back into the apartment. So—it was Piran who had looked for a separate room, so that he would not have to share the apartment with her overnight. Why? Was it because the bedroom hadn't been cleaned, or—and this seemed much more likely—that he didn't want to get involved in any way with her? Had he guessed how violently she was attracted to him and not wanted to risk sharing the apartment with her overnight? Her cheeks burned as she remembered how she had clung to him when he came back this morning, how passionately she had responded to what he intended to be no more than a casual kiss. He must think she was trying to set some sort of trap for him. Shame and humiliation scalded through her and she sank into a chair as her knees refused to support her. It wouldn't happen again, she vowed, she would be so cool and collected that he couldn't possibly know how she was feeling inside. All the more reason, she assured herself, for saying goodbye as soon as they arrived back in England tomorrow.

  By the time Piran came in, soon after midday, Polly had managed to get a grip on herself and was able to greet him coolly and pleasantly. 'How did the interview go?' she enquired.

  'Swimmingly,' he announced. 'Fortunately I have a copy of Jules's birth certificate and as he was born in England he's a British subject. So—no problems, he can travel on my passport. Just a bit of paper-work to get through, that's all, then we can fly back to London. I've booked our flight for the day after tomorrow. We shan't need the car I've got on hire any longer. I'll return it this afternoon and we can get around by taxi or take the Metro. That suit you?'

  'Yes, of course,' Polly said briskly. A day and a half and then it would be over, and she could start learning to forget Piran St Just. She glanced at him and away again as she added, 'What a pity you bought all those clothes for me. They were delivered a short time ago. Perhaps the shop would take them back again, as they haven't been worn?'

  'Rubbish,' Piran said crisply. 'They're a small enough recompense for all you've done for me, and I hope you'll accept them in that spirit. Meanwhile, suppose you put on one of those pretty dresses and I'll take you both out to lunch at a funny little restaurant I know in Montmartre, and then we'll do some sightseeing.'

&nb
sp; All that day and the next Paris was pure magic. Piran's mood was one of happy companionship, and Polly was able to put her earlier discomfort behind her and enjoy herself for the short time that remained. Piran was a wonderful guide and even the places Polly had seen earlier came to new, fascinating life in his company. He bought her films for her camera and she snapped everything: the pavement artists of Montmartre; the spurting fountains of the Palais de Chaillot with the Eiffel Tower in the background; Notre Dame Cathedral from the river, when they went on a pleasure-boat cruise; the crowded pavement cafes with their striped awnings; the elegant shops in the Rue du Faubourg St Honoré with their famous names and exotic window-displays; the Champs Elysées and the Arc de Triomphe.

  'I'm not being very original, I'm afraid,' she admitted, as they strolled under the trees in the park, on their last afternoon. 'I just want to remember everything—all the famous sights that seem to be the essence of Paris. Then I can browse through my album on horrid wet evenings in London, at the end of a day's work, and remember it all.'

  Piran tucked his hand through her arm. 'Remember me too, perhaps?'

  'Oh, of course.' Polly's eyes danced with mischief. 'Jules—and you.'

  On her other side, Jules tugged at her arm. 'Please, can we see some stained glass windows now?' he pleaded. 'Just before we go home?'

  Piran clapped a hand to his brow. 'Goodness me, I quite forgot! There are some windows that are a must. Come along, both of you.'

  Polly looked doubtfully at Jules. His short legs must be very tired, she thought; they had done a good deal of walking on this last day. 'Is it far?' she asked Piran, but he said, 'Very near—just over the bridge to the Cite.'

  They passed over the bridge and soon through a courtyard and along a vaulted passage. 'Where are we going, Uncle Piran?' Jules whispered the words excitedly.

  'La Sainte Chapelle, my lad. Your uncle's favourite place in Paris.' Piran spoke lightly, but Polly thought she detected an undertone of gravity in his voice. They entered a darkish building with a low roof and Piran led the way up a spiral staircase. Jules climbed manfully after him and Polly brought up the rear. As she reached the top step she drew in a breath of sheer wonder. Up and up, until she had to strain her neck back to see the top, soared the most exquisite stained glass windows she had ever seen. The immensely tall, narrow panes glowed with an unearthly light, red and blue and gold, and the thin leaden dividing bars carved them into smaller shapes, so that they resembled long, glittering necklaces hanging from the vaulted ceiling above. 'Oh, it's so beautiful!' Polly breathed. She glanced at Piran, who was standing staring straight ahead of him, his face grim.

  As she spoke he relaxed and in the semi-gloom the smile he gave her made her heart lift suddenly. 'Maurice and I used to roam about Paris in the old days,' he said softly. 'When we found this place it knocked us sideways.' He was silent for a moment or two and then he added, 'I've never been back since. I've never brought anyone here before. Somehow it seems right that Jules should see it.'

  He wasn't all tough, Polly thought. There was a sensitive side to him as well, if you could reach it. She blinked, suddenly touched by the thought of the two young men, long ago, finding this jewelled casket of a place and loving it.

  He was leaning down to Jules. 'Here you have really daring architecture, my boy. It's not only the architect of Beaubourg who has fantastic new ideas. Six hundred years ago they had new ideas too. Look, the ceiling' is supported only on those thin columns of stone, while the walls between are made of stained glass. The architect must have been playing a joke on someone, don't you think? Usually windows are put into walls, but here the walls are put into the windows. Clever, isn't it?'

  Jules giggled with delight, and he was still giggling as they made their way back into the sunlight. Polly's eyes met Piran's over the boy's head and an unspoken message passed between them. Jules was already becoming a happy little boy.

  That evening, when he was in bed, and Polly and Piran were lingering over their coffee after supper, Piran said with satisfaction, 'We've made good start with Jules. Already he's glad to be with us and trusting us. When we get back home I want to see him become a real little boy. Books are fine, but it'll be great to see him running about on the heath with Judy—she's my Labrador—or riding a bicycle. I must buy him a bicycle,' he added, his dark eyes thoughtful. 'All little boys ought to have bicycles.' And Polly knew that he was again reliving his own boyhood.

  With a pang, she thrust aside the picture that Piran's words had conjured up. She said practically, 'What time does our flight arrive in London tomorrow?'

  He raised dark brows lazily. 'I don't know exactly. Why? Does it matter?'

  'It does matter rather to me,' she said. 'I need to book a room for the night, until I can find something permanent. I gave up my share in a fiat before I came to Paris. Oh, and I have to go back there to collect the rest of my belongings.' She had decided that their arrival in London should be the end of the road for her involvement. It would be a wrench to leave Jules, but it would be better for him in the long run not to be too dependent on her, and the longer she stayed with him the more he would rely on her. When she wasn't there any longer he would naturally turn to his uncle.

  Piran's dark eyes glittered under their heavy lids. 'You're very anxious to get away from us, aren't you, Polly?'

  'I have to make plans,' she said.

  He sat back in his chair, studying her face. 'For your future?'

  'What else?' she said impatiently. She resented being quizzed, and now this episode was coming to an end she had a strong wish to finish the whole matter and start trying to forget Jules and Piran St Just and get her life into some sort of order.

  'And have you given any thought to what those plans might be?' he went on probing.

  'I haven't had much time recently, have I?' Polly said flatly, and he burst out laughing.

  'No, I'm afraid we have rather dragged you into our affairs, Jules and I. Are you so very anxious to get away from us?' he repeated.

  She could no longer avoid the fact that there was a meaning behind his questions. She sat straight in the corner of the sofa and put down her coffee cup. 'Are you offering me a job, Mr St Just?'

  'Piran,' he said patiently.

  'All right—Piran. Are you offering me a job?'

  'Are you looking for a job?' Oh heavens, why couldn't he come to the point?

  'Of course I am. I can't afford to be out of work for long. And I don't fancy queuing up at the Social Security office, although it may come to that. Teaching jobs are not easy to come by—especially when you haven't had any experience.' , He studied her face in silence; then his gaze moved down over her slender form in its pretty white dress with the neat blue patterning—one of the new dresses he had bought for her. 'I don't think you're cut out for teaching,' he said. 'Certainly not in a big school.'

  'Why not?' The blue eyes flashed indignantly. 'I managed my teaching practice quite well.' That wasn't quite true; she remembered her positive terror when she first faced a class of fourteen-year-olds, remembered how she had wept each night in bed at the thought of facing them again the next day. And it hadn't got much better as the time went on.

  'I just don't think you're tough enough,' said Piran St Just simply, and it was all the more maddening because she had a horrid suspicion that he was right.

  'Well, I'll just have to do my best,' she said shortly.

  'You don't have to. That was what I was trying— rather clumsily, I'm afraid—to lead up to. I can offer you a job. And it will involve a certain amount of teaching, of a sort, if you're really so keen on teaching.'

  Polly waited, her thoughts performing somersaults. He was going to ask her to continue to look after Jules, of course, and that would be lovely. There was nothing she would like more. But—but it would mean seeing more of Piran St Just, wouldn't it? Prudence told her that would be dangerous—worse than dangerous—fatal. She could so easily make a fool of herself over the man—any girl could. He had e
verything: he was handsome, dynamic, charming when he wanted to be. And sexy—oh yes, that too. So far he'd been careful not to alarm her, because they were in this funny sort of situation together and he didn't dare to risk frightening her away. But she got the feeling that he wouldn't always be so careful. She still shivered inside when she remembered how he had kissed her yesterday—and that had been her doing too, she had all but asked him to.

  Yes, she thought, she could so easily fall in love with him; she was half in love with him already. It would be asking for heartache to involve herself in his life any longer.

  'Aren't you going to ask me what the job is?' His eyes were smiling under the heavy lids.

  'I think I can guess,' she said. 'To go on looking after Jules for a while?'

  'There's more to it than that, Polly.' He got out of his chair and came and sat beside her on the sofa, not very close, but close enough to start her heart beating uncomfortably. 'May I ask you some questions?' he said.

  She shrugged. 'I'm sure you will, whether I agree or not.'

  'Quite,' he said imperturbably. 'You don't have to answer, of course, but it would make things easier if you could bring yourself to do so. First—you're alone, aren't you, Polly?'

  'What do you. mean—alone?' she asked, startled.