The song ended and another one started. 'Je n'en connais le fin,' he told her.
'I don't know how it will end,' she translated.
'Very good. And very true.' He leaned over and turned off the CD player. Then he put his arm around her and kissed her, but this time on the lips.
She did not know how this would end. But she knew that this was a beginning and there was no need to hurry.
It was a gentle kiss at first. They were sitting on the couch side by side, he put his arm around her and bent over to kiss her. She laid back, perfectly relaxed, content for the moment just to be there, to be passive and see what might happen. But she knew she wouldn't feel this way for long.
Her senses seemed heightened. She could see nothing, her eyes were closed. But she felt the softness, the smoothness of the couch. She smelt the soap he had used, the lemony aftershave. And under it all she smelt the warmth of him. There was no more Edith Piaf, but outside she could hear the joyous song of a skylark. And taste. She could taste him. As he kissed her.
She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that. Her arms were around him, her fingers in the crisp hair on I the back of his neck. She ran her hands down his spine to feel the great columns of muscle on each side. And he leaned further towards her, pulling them closer together.
Her breasts were hard against his chest. And how he was kissing her! Then he stopped and she opened her eyes. She could see his eyes, so close, the grey now almost black, carrying a message that was unmistakable.
She mumbled, 'I'm lying here, relaxed and very happy, and you're bent over me. You must be cramped, hurting your spine, twisting like that.' Quickly she darted her head forward, kissed him on the lips. Then she jumped to her feet, turned to him, still sitting, and took his hands in hers. She pulled him upright. 'Take me somewhere where we can be comfortable together,' she said.
She had decided. Whatever was to be between them, she wanted to be a willing partner. So she went on, 'And I want to tell you now—whatever happens between us, everything will be safe.'
She hoped this coded message would be enough for him. It was. She could see the delight, the excitement in his eyes now. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again. Now their bodies were pressed close she could feel his excitement. And she felt almost weak, as if her bones had turned to water. She wanted him so much.
This again was a different kiss, the kiss of a lover, urgent, demanding. She responded, pressing herself against him, moulding their bodies together. Eventually they broke apart.
'Come to bed,' he said. He took her by the hands and led her.
She had slept in this bed before and been comfortable there. She had sat up in the bed in the morning, had breakfast with this man. But now the bed looked different.
The curtains were not drawn, it was twilight. He kissed her once more then, with infinite care and pulled her shirt over her head. He reached behind her, unhooked her bra. Then he stepped back.
She stood before him, proud as he looked at her and saw the passion burning even deeper in his eyes. She touched the gold chain, the medallion round her neck. Amor vincit omnia.
'I want to keep this on,' she said. And he stooped, kissed the medallion. Then he stooped further, kissed the aching pink tips of her breasts. She gasped with joy.
'Now you,' she muttered, pulling the T-shirt over his head. And then leaned to grasp him to her so that the heat of their skins was joined. Her arms were still around his neck as he felt for the waistband of her trousers and loosened her belt. Then he bent to slide them down to her ankles, taking her thong too. She felt proud to be naked before him. And anxious that he be naked too. So she pulled him up, felt for his belt and unsnapped it.
Now they were both naked. He kissed her fiercely, their bodies untrammelled by clothes, and she felt the hardness of his need for her. Then, somehow, they were on the bed together.
He was in charge, pressing her body downwards. He kissed her. His lips roved over her body, down her neck to the still aching peaks of her breasts and then further below to kiss her with that ultimate intimacy that made her back arch and made her call his name out loud in agonised happiness.
Both felt the gathering urgency. He was poised above her. She drew up her legs, offering her body, herself, to him. She wanted him, needed him, and she had to have him now. She sighed as he drove deep within her. She knew he could feel her warmth and dampness, exciting him. She urged him onwards, thrusting her hips towards him. She wanted Marc to have her... now... now... yes, now! She screamed his name, shaking her head from side to side, pulling him to her and knowing so well that he had reached the same climax as herself.
There was no need for words. No words could tell what they had felt. They lay side by side, the sweat cooling on their heated bodes. He held her hand in his, an arm under her head. She had never felt like this before.
She knew what would happen next. As she lay in his arms she burst into tears. And then she could feel his anguish.
'Sweetheart, what is it? Why are you crying?'
'Don't worry, please, don't worry,' she said. 'I always cry when I'm happy.'
Chapter Six
She woke early the next morning. She woke first, knowing she had slept well. There were the birds outside, sunlight probed through the sides of Marc's blinds. Otherwise, the room was dark.
She was resting against the warmth of his naked body. As she brushed herself against his back she felt her nipples come erect and then the rest of her body responded. She had never felt this way before.
It was early, she could see from the clock by his bedside. No need to wake, no need to go to work. But she couldn't sleep again. There was too much to think about.
She thought about the evening before, the rapture she had felt. Then she thought of earlier, of the songs by Edith Piaf. 'I will have no regrets.' Well, she herself had none. She knew she would never forget the night before. It had been simply something else. But where would it lead? Did they have a future together? Marc was not like any other men she had known. But... she thought of the other song by Piaf. 'I don't know how it will end.' She didn't. But there was a growing certainty in her that she wanted to spend more time with this man.
It was too early to think such deep thoughts! She wriggled, yawned and stretched her arms over her head. She had disturbed him and he rolled over. His arm flopped over her—and suddenly his hand was holding her breast.
'You're awake,' she muttered.
'Oh, yes, I'm awake now. Are you?'
'Well, I will be if you keep doing that.' His thumb was caressing her nipple into a hardness that was almost more than she could bear.
'Then I'd better stop,' he said.
To her instant disappointment he did stop. But then he rolled further towards her, took her breast in his mouth and she sighed with pleasure.
'We've got at least an hour,' she told him.
'So we're going to work together,' she told him afterwards. 'We're on the same ward. But I gather you're on days and I'm on lates. But we'll be in the same place between two o'clock and half past five.'
'Or longer. They get their money's worth out of me. And I love it.'
'I know you do. Now, you get washed and dressed and I'll make you some breakfast. And after you've gone to work, I'll wander back to my own place and then we'll meet on the ward.'
'After last night it'll be odd working with you,' he said. 'Very odd.'
An hour later he was washed, shaved, breakfasted, dressed as a young doctor should be for a day on the wards. Lucy was wearing his dressing gown and had to hike it up to stop herself tripping over the hem. But she was looking as lovely in it as she did when she was smartly dressed.
He kissed her goodbye. A long kiss.
'See you in a few hours,' he said.
'I'm looking forward to it already.' Then she kissed him again.
He stopped in the hall to pick up his mail. There was the usual pile of advertising material, which he would skim through later, and a letter from Fra
nce in his mother's clear handwriting. He would take it to work and read it later.
The sun was shining. As he walked across the grass towards the main hospital building, Marc felt particularly happy. Last night had been...well, something else. Something he knew he would never forget. As he would never forget Lucy Stephens.
Work was as fascinating as always. There were drug prescriptions to be written up. He was called down the ward to decide if a patient could have more analgesics. There were IV lines to be inserted, a decision to be made as to whether or not to call the consultant. He knew he was learning a lot from the senior midwifes there and always asked their opinions.
The work was time-consuming but he liked it. It absorbed him. And it stopped him thinking about other things.
One of the mums-to-be found out that he was French. After Marc had written up her observations she asked him about Provence. Her husband was thinking of taking her and the new baby there for a holiday next spring and she was a little nervous.
'You will love it, Mrs Kennedy,' Marc assured her. 'Spring is the very best time to go. The flowers are coming out, it isn't too hot and there aren't too many tourists.'
'But the baby? Will it be all right?'
'The baby will love it. And I can assure you that in the very unlikely event of you needing medical advice, the French medical service is excellent.'
'Oh, I didn't mean to suggest... I mean, you being French and all, I...'
He patted her shoulder. 'Of course not. Now, you have this baby and afterwards you can dream of your holiday in Provence. I promise you will enjoy it.'
He knew, of course, that Mrs Kennedy didn't really want to talk about France. She just wanted a little human contact, a little reassurance. The kind of thing that Lucy was so good at. She'd have been pleased with me, dealing with Mrs Kennedy, he thought. And the thought of her being pleased with him pleased him even more.
The morning wore on. It was unusually quiet on the ward, he had plenty of time to go to the doctors' room and sort out his paperwork. He even had time for a long coffee break. And he shut his eyes and thought of the night before.
The image came back, Lucy in his dressing gown kissing him goodbye. They had had breakfast together. Just before that they had made love. Her hair had still been tousled, she had worn no make-up, but the brightness of her eyes and the happiness of her smile had made her lovely. Like a... He had to think it. Like a newly married wife.
She would make a wonderful wife. He had only known her a short time and yet she'd made such an impression on him. Not only the love-making last night but the way she talked, thought, tried to make him happy and was always happy herself. He sighed. He had to face it; he had fallen in love with her. He felt more for her than he had felt for any woman in his life before.
In two or three months he thought that he might... might what? Of course, they both might find that the attraction between them was passing, it had happened before. But something told him that it wouldn't happen this time.
He thought about her life. She was a dazzling person, loved being surrounded by people. She wanted— needed—to be close to her family. What was the expression? She was a people person.
As he poured himself another cup of coffee he noticed the letter from his mother sticking out of his pocket. Time to find out what was happening in Montreval. He opened the letter, scanned the details about the estate that his mother always sent.
No really good news. A couple more young men had decided that their work was too hard and their pay too poor and they had gone to the city. The government had sent surveyors round who had spent all their time asking questions, getting in people's way and generally causing unrest. The autumn crops looked as if they would be a little worse than last year. The chateau needed extensive and expensive repairs. So far, so typical—a report, not a letter. Then came the personal details.
I have not wanted to worry you and so have said nothing about this so far. However, after pains in my chest, I was referred to a consultant in Lyons. I enclose his address and if you phone I have asked him to speak to you fully. But his message is simple. I have a heart condition that will in time get worse . I must cut down on work. I may stay at home for the next six months, but after that I must make arrangements to spend my winters somewhere more hospitable than Montreval. My son, I fear it will soon be time for you to take up your duties here...
Marc paled, read and reread the letter. He would phone the consultant in Lyons that afternoon, but he knew that it was not in his mother's nature to exaggerate. She was ill.
Now there was a definite time for him to return to Montreval. He had no choice, it was his destiny and he accepted it. He would leave this hospital next summer... he had perhaps ten more months here.
What was he to do about Lucy? Could she be happy in Montreval? Would it be fair to ask her to go there? His future was there; would she wish to share it? It was so different from the life she might have expected.
He threw down his pen, went down onto the ward and triple-checked observations that he had double-checked already.
'I've never been inspected so often,' he was told by a cheerful mother who had three children already. 'Is there anything wrong? Anything worrying you?'
'Not a thing, Mrs Jones. I'm just being too careful. You're absolutely fine.'
Now his private life was making him an inefficient doctor, he thought. And because he was basically honest, he realised what he was doing. Displacement activity. He was working to stop himself thinking.
He looked out of a window at the greenness of the trees. Somewhere out there, either at his flat or her room, was Lucy. She might be thinking of him, as he was thinking of her.
Fortunately, work on the ward suddenly became more intensive, there was no time for thinking. But later on he was alone in the doctors' room, looking for the tiny glass phials of sodium chloride that were used to flush out the IV tubes.
Smiling, he thought of Lucy. Vaguely, he heard a crack but he paid it no attention. And then, suddenly, he realised that his hand hurt. He looked down and blood was running from between his fingers.
Unknowingly he had squeezed the phial too hard and had broken it. Not too much of a problem. He could get more sodium chloride and it wasn't poisonous.
He washed his fingers, found himself some sticking plaster. He had been told that in hospital every accident, no matter how small, should be written up in the accident book. Not this one. Cause of accident? Being in love? Forget it.
And then it struck him, almost unexpectedly. His mouth opened with the shock of it. But he knew it was right.
His affair with Lucy must end. Perhaps because, for the first time in his life, he was serious about a woman.
And he would have to act now, while he still had the strength of mind.
It was nearly lunchtime. Lucy would be coming onto the ward in a couple of hours. He just couldn't meet her. He phoned one of his fellow SHOs and asked him if he'd finish this shift. In return Marc would work the next Saturday afternoon, when there was an important football match on. Of course, his friend was delighted.
'What's the problem, Marc? Nothing too serious, I hope?'
'Just had a letter from home. A couple of things I have to arrange. Thanks for coming in.'
Then he left word for Lucy with the ward sister that he had been called away and would see her at the end of the shift.
His friend arrived and Marc left. He seemed to be moving with more and more speed towards a disaster that he was causing. And there was nothing he could do.
First he drove out of the hospital grounds. No way did he want to run into Lucy until he was ready. He stopped at a telephone booth and phoned the consultant in Lyons. The conversation went exactly as he had suspected it would.
'Your mother is strong, m'sieur, but like all of us she is getting old. And Montreval is not a good place to spend a winter when you have a diseased heart. I have given her drugs, told her to work less hard. There is no great need to worry at present. But I f
eel that the coming winter must be the last in the chateau. A house somewhere on the coast would be much more suitable.'
'Thank you, m'sieur le docteur. I will see that that is provided.'
He drove on a little way and parked, and found himself near the park where he had met Lucy and her family. It was only a couple of weeks ago, but so much seemed to have happened since. He remembered how glorious she had seemed, sitting there with the baby on her lap. He remembered how happy she had been with her family. He remembered how happy she had made him.
He sat under the same tree to think. What did he have to do? Was there any way out?
Montreval had to be his first priority. That was his destiny. At the latest, he had to be there next summer. He would have finished his medical training by then and he could be a good doctor to the village.
Next, what to do about Lucy? He could have ten happy months... no, ten ecstatic months—with her and then either leave her or take her to Montreval. And the more he thought about it, the more he became certain that he could not take her.
He thought of his one previous attempt to take a girlfriend to his home—Genevieve. That had been an absolute disaster. Lucy, of course, was different to Genevieve—but not too different. He had thought Genevieve was strong, she had said she was strong. And in the wintertime she lasted less than three weeks. No, Lucy would not fit in at Montreval.
So, do what she had agreed, carry on seeing each other, wait and see how things turned out? Then go to Montreval? It was so tempting. But that would be unfair to her. The decision was already made. It would make things so much harder for her.
There was no point in putting things off. To do otherwise would be unmanly, cowardly, dishonourable. He would tell her that night.
Doing what was right was not always easy.
Lucy had a good shift. She was sorry not to see Marc there, but the smiling nurse in charge told her that there were things he had to sort out. Lucy guessed from the smile that the nurse in charge had a good idea how things were between them. The gossip would be all over the hospital soon. No matter. She was happy with it.
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