The Hunter

by Alan Norris

  ‘I just might be able to do a bit better than that.’ Marie stood. ‘Come with me a moment.’ she put her glass down on the coffee table and led me back into the hall and through a door into the garage where some dustsheets covered what looked like furniture.

  ‘I had a room decorated and fitted out for a girlfriend of Jacques….But she never came to stay.’ she sighed and pursed her lips in a very French way. ‘Anyway, I had the inspiration this afternoon to move it all out and turn the room into a mini-gym.’

  With a magician’s flourish she pulled the sheets off. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Very French, but not too dark and not too heavy, like some I’d seen.

  ‘Absolutely perfect.’ I said, touching the smooth polished wood. ‘No wonder you sounded so tired...I could have given you a hand. Why didn’t you call?’

  ‘Oh, you know. It was an at-the-moment thing. I just wanted it done. Anyway Thierry, my gardener man, moved it down here with his young labourer. I couldn’t have moved it on my own.’ she waved her hand, ‘Never been used....You can have it...if it’s what you want.’

  ‘It’ll look really good. I can’t believe my luck. But I must pay you - how much do you want for it all?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know....I’ll ask Thierry to borrow the Club’s pick-up and he can bring it round to you on Monday. Just give him some cash for a drink, that’ll be payment enough.’

  We went back to the lounge. I thought of the recent thunder storm and the warning it may have carried. This time, I felt sure it was a good omen that it had brought.

  ‘Oh...and while Thierry is with you.’ Marie stroked my arm. ‘Ask him about the apple trees in your orchard. They’re almost definitely cider apples, you know. Not really edible. He knows a farmer that’ll press them for you and give you a share of the cider.’

  ~ ~ ~

  Our conversation bounced all over the place, pizzas quite forgotten. Marie told me about some of the people at the shooting club, among them my sponsor Henri. He was a specialist jeweller she told me, always sought after and always very busy making quite exquisite pieces for some of the best families in the country. He worked from home, in a workshop that looked like a vault, but he also had a tiny shop in one of Paris’s elegant arcades.

  I told her of my poetry writing and tried to describe how she had refuelled my enthusiasm with inspiration. She was surprised to hear what I did and turned to look at me with a raised eyebrow. As with most folk, she had a stereotype image of a poet – long hair, thick bottle-bottom specs, tweed jacket and smelly pipe. I didn’t fit any of that. I pulled out my notebook and read her a couple of verses from a new piece that I’d been working on.

  Just four days we’ve been together,

  sometimes it feels as if I’ve known you forever.

  We’ve always got so much to do, you and I

  it’s no wonder that time gallops by.

  Sometimes I don’t tell you what I think,

  perhaps, I should take out pen and ink.

  We’ve so very much more to do, you and I

  and many more days will sail smoothly by.

  ‘It’s not finished yet...but, as a start, it’s getting there. What do you think?’ Feeling slightly awkward, I looked up, expecting maybe a cynical smile, but I was shocked to find Marie staring at the pages of my notes with tears rolling down her cheeks.

  ‘No one’s ever said that I inspire such beautiful thoughts and words before.’ she muttered with a quiet sob.

  I reached across to her, held her hand and wiped away her tears.

  What happened after that I’m not sure. I’d like to think that it was my magnetic personality and my half-finished poem....But it was more likely to have been half a bottle of delicious wine on an empty stomach.

  With deft fingers that seemed to hardly move, Marie undid the buttons of my shirt and, as our lips met in a hungry kiss, her fingers began to trace complex patterns across my chest. Any thoughts of an unbending English reserve melted and my long unused erection was the only part of me that began to stiffen. Marie stood up and shrugged out of her simple dress, letting it fall to the floor. Beneath it she’d been naked and I marvelled that my imagination had sold her short. The darkened nipples of her firm breasts stood proud and hard. Slowly, teasingly, she undid my jeans and gently pulled them down to my thighs. She moved forward, kneeling astride me and with smooth, cool hands she guided me into her as I stroked her back and kissed her breasts.

  It must have been a long time since either of us had had sex, because we didn’t last very long. Soon her short gasps of breath tore at the low moaning of her pleasure, turning quickly into breathless spasms. Her back arched in orgasm as my own climax was released deep inside her.

  Slowly our bodies relaxed and she lay for a time in my arms.

  ‘Mmm. You smell good.’ she murmured. Then sat up, a minx of a smile brightening her face. ‘I’ve a confession, a wicked confession. I’ve wanted to be this close to you since last Tuesday when I visited your house....What do you think of that!’

  ‘Ah, you made my skin tingle when I first saw you at the Club last Sunday.’ I hugged her tight. We laughed, then she pulled away.

  ‘I’ll be back in a moment, pour us another glass of wine.’

  When she came back she switched off the light and spread a soft woollen blanket on the rug in front of the flickering fire. Lying down, she patted the space beside her for me to join her. Quickly I slipped out of my clothes and did as she invited, slipping my arm under her shoulders to hold her close.

  We sipped at the still cold wine while we chatted and giggled. But it wasn’t long before we were both aroused again by the closeness of our bodies and the magical warmth of the crackling log fire. We made love again, but this time much more slowly and tenderly, taking time to properly explore each other’s bodies and sensitive areas.

  Afterwards we, or at least I, must have dosed off, because I was awakened by the gentle stroking of Marie’s fingertips. She lay on her side, head propped on a hand while she watched the effect of her gentle caress.

  ‘You make me feel very happy.’ she said. ‘But....I’m going to send you home now.’ she grinned, ‘Or we’ll be doing it again and I’ll be late in the morning. I need to get a shower and I might be able to manage a few hours sleep before it’ll be time to get up and rush off.’

  ~ ~ ~

  I think it was a bit misty on my drive home. It was certainly very dark. I had a clear image in my mind of Marie’s naked body as she waved her farewell and pulled our woollen blanket around her.

  She’d try to be back for Sunday afternoon, so with luck, I’d see her again at the club, but she did suggest that we be discrete for the moment. As I drove along the familiar lane, I wondered why she has to go up to Paris. I’d meant to ask her, but had forgotten. Seems it’s a regular twice a month appointment or rendezvous with an unplanned need every so often, like this week. Hm, I must remember to ask her – maybe I could go too, could be fun.

  I spent most of Saturday dreaming about the night before. I wasn’t sure what to do next. But one thing was for sure, sex in front of a log fire was better than I’d dreamt it would be.

  Chapter 9

  With Rachel due to arrive in just five days, William had plenty of work to keep him busy. Sanding floor boards, painting and cleaning ready for Monday when the furniture should arrive. But he would still make time to go to the Shooting and Hunting Club on Sunday.

  His evening with Marie wouldn’t leave his thoughts. But how could it be possible, when she, it seemed, was on the edge of French aristocracy while he was, at the very best, a poor poet?

  ~ ~ ~

  I felt that the end of the week was going to arrive with the speed of a jet. But, I had things under control....well, almost. But generally I’ve found that, when you think that, there’s always something lurking in a shadowy corner to trip you up.

  Sunday’s shoot had been a complete hash. I hadn’t seemed able to hit any of the targets and ended the day firmly entrenched
at the bottom of the league table. Henri was amused and chuckled something about beginner’s luck having deserted me. We arranged to meet next Saturday morning to go over what I would have to do for my membership initiation on the Sunday afternoon.

  Marie arrived at the clubhouse late in the afternoon looking tired, but she flashed a big rosy grin when she saw me. I didn’t get much of a chance to speak to her though, because of some pressing club business to close the current season and finalise the agenda for the new one that was starting next week. During a quiet moment, when no one else was about, she suggested that I think about going over to her house next Friday, meet Jacques and have dinner with them. Whispering, she added that she’d come over with Thierry in the morning when he brought the furniture and she’d take me to lunch after we’d got it all inside.

  I’m really not too sure if I can cope with the discreet aspects of our relationship for too long, it makes me feel uncomfortable, as though there’s something deceitful or dishonest. And anyway, whenever I see Marie, I just want to put my arms around her and hold her to me and not being able to, was an awful torture.

  Rachel called when I was out on Sunday and left a message. She was still coming as planned, arriving Thursday morning but she’d be leaving again on Thursday afternoon, earlier than intended, to go down to Nantes. But she still planned on getting back Saturday, sometime in the afternoon. And that fitted nicely with everything that I had to do.

  A busy week ahead – getting maybe a touch frantic towards the end, but I’ll survive.

  ~ ~ ~

  Monday morning arrived wrapped in a blanket of misty drizzle. It was dull under the greyness of the sky and there were no signs of any wind that might sweep the dreariness away. Rainwater dripped from the eaves and trickled into water butts that were already full and overflowing making small puddles in the gravel of the drive. The Hydrangeas, that had been planted to line the driveway were heavy with their globes of clustered flowers, usually an attractive splash of colour. But this morning, their slender branches had drooped to touch the ground with the additional weight of the drizzly rain and they waited to soak my trouser legs when I went out to move the car.

  I wasn’t sure what time Thierry would arrive with the furniture and wanted to give him plenty of room so he could get as close to the house as possible. It’d be a shame to spoil any of the pieces by getting them wet. I picked my hat from the peg in the hall and swore as I brushed past the bushes. Best put the old wagon out on the edge of the lane, I thought, give Thierry plenty of turning space. There was nobody in sight on the road, not a car, not a bike, nothing, and it was all deadly quiet, even the blackbird with his morning chorus was hiding from the soaking softness of the light rain. I didn’t really know when they’d arrive but I supposed, by the time they’ve got the truck from the club and loaded it up it’d be well past midmorning. It was difficult to focus on any other jobs, I was eager to see the new furniture in the room that I’d prepared for Rachel. It was a large room, the next biggest after mine, with a good sized window that faced out over the front of the cottage. I’d spent the whole of Saturday in there, sanding the floor, cleaning and painting, it really looked the business. I could hardly wait to see Rachel’s face when she saw what we’d done.

  ‘Well it’s no good, I can’t settle.’ I muttered and put my notebook away in my shirt pocket. If I drink anymore coffee I’ll probably be able to swim in the stuff, I thought. But went into the kitchen anyway and made a fresh pot, got out some mugs and put sugar-pot and cream jug ready on a tray. ‘There...Mug of coffee before we start unloading.’ I went upstairs again to make sure there’d be nothing in our way. I looked at my watch for the millionth time. Hmm, ten-thirty. Should be here soon, I thought. And with that, came the cheery toot-toot of a car-horn from outside.

  Thierry had brought his young labourer-assistant with him, Marie arrived as we began and she took over in the kitchen with coffee supply and slices of a fruit cake that she’d made and brought with her.

  Marie also brought the sunshine, as her cheerful voice lifted my spirits out of their doldrums so a fresh westerly breeze swept the sky clean of its dreary grey.

  The three of us had the furniture inside and all set up within an hour, it was a bit warm in the morning sun, but nothing got wet. Bigger things like the wardrobe were a bit of a problem to coax up the narrow staircase, but between the three of us, we managed.

  Job done, we took a bottle of wine and glasses into the orchard where Thierry, with Marie’s help to translate, told me about his farmer mate who’d be happy to take my apples, as soon as I could pick them. He’d weigh them and we’d get a share of his cider production, as well as a bottle or two of his home-distilled eau de vie or apple brandy.

  ‘Sounds good to me.’ I said and asked him to speak to his friend. ‘I’ll try to get the apples in this week if we have some dry weather....Shouldn’t take much more than a half-day.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about bringing them in.’ said Thierry, nodding towards his young assistant. ‘The lad here isn’t busy at the moment. He’ll pop over tomorrow, get them into baskets and take them over for pressing. No problem.’

  So that was all arranged, I gave Thierry an envelope with some cash inside for their morning’s work and asked how much I should give the lad for seeing to the apples.

  ‘Plenty enough here sir. Don’t you go spoiling him, or he won’t want to come back with me.’ he said with a grin.

  ~ ~ ~

  Marie and I walked to the gate to see them off, before going back inside. I needed to shower and change before we went into town for lunch and Marie said she’d a gift for Rachel and would put it on her pillow when she’d made the bed. But somehow, we both ended up in the shower together and were late for our table at the restaurant.

  The sun was still shining after we’d eaten and, hand-in-hand, we went for a stroll along the riverside footpath. Marie told me about the town and its history, I told her why I’d come to Brittany and what I hoped for. I described my daughter and told her about Rachel’s studies and her aims for a career in the law.

  Marie hoped that Rachel would like the lacy nightgown that she’d left in her room. It had been locally made and was trimmed with handmade Breton Lace and, all though she didn’t say so, I knew she had bought it specially for her.

  As the air cooled towards late afternoon, we went home to the cottage, I lit the fire in the lounge and we sat, listening to music, chatting and sipping wine while we cuddled up on the sofa like teenagers.

  And that was the pattern for the rest of that week. Those few days flew by, I did my chores in the morning and Marie arrived around midday to drive into Pontivy and the restaurant opposite the old chateau. We had quickly become known and Marcel, their head waiter, always had our favourite table ready for us.

  ~ ~ ~

  Thursday morning soon arrived and I was up as dawn broke through the night’s velvety darkness. I was nervous about my daughter’s visit and hadn’t slept well, I knew I’d done everything that could be anticipated, even some flowers on her dressing table – but I still worried. Above all I hoped she’d arrive safely and like the place.

  I needn’t have fretted. Her ferry docked on time at Roscoff and her sat-nav brought her to my driveway just two hours later.

  I’d been watching for her arrival and went out to meet her as her new-looking, bright red Peugeot pulled onto the drive. The car door opened and the daughter I’d not seen for a year stepped out. Rachel had inherited my dark wavy hair and clear blue eyes from our family’s gene-pool. But now, as the young woman she’d grown into, she reminded me of old photos I’d seen of my dad’s mum, petite, with a slim, almost boyish body and a mischievous look behind the light in her eye. To me she was perfect, but then I’m biased and thought she could easily have been mistaken for a top-class photographer’s model with her high cheek bones and straight, slightly turned up nose. Her generous mouth grinned and there was a flash of white teeth behind the red lips. She looked very fit and had
that lithe, economically graceful look of the feline about her movements.

  ‘Hello my favourite Dad.’ she called as she stretched and came towards me.

  ‘Hi Rachel, you look good. Crossing smooth?’ I asked. I could feel the heat of tears coming to my eyes as I hugged her to me and gently kissed both her cheeks in the French greeting tradition that had become natural to me.

  ‘It was like a mill pond I think. But I slept like a log, so don’t really know. I was woken this morning by that awful piped music they send out to the cabins.’ she gazed around at our surroundings. ‘Well what a beautiful spot you’ve found. It’s so quiet here, I’d almost forgotten how good Brittany could be.’

  ‘Hmm. Not bad is it. Come on in, I’ll put the coffee pot on while I show you around.’

  ~ ~ ~

  She loved the house, the location and thought the room that we’d prepared for her was just amazing. But after a few hours, a small lunch in the garden and a couple of pots of coffee she had to be on her way. I didn’t ask directly, but I got the impression that the young man she was going to see could become important in her life. With a promise to be back Saturday afternoon, she drove off.

  The poor old house seemed strangely quiet and I think I felt just a little cross, or perhaps disappointed, that she could leave so soon. But a consoling thought was that I’d have her all to myself next week.

  ~ ~ ~

  I’d just opened a bottle of my best red wine when there was a cheerful call from outside.

  ‘Helloo. Anyone home?’

  Immediately my rather selfish, gloomy mood lifted and I picked up another glass and the bottle as I went to the door. Marie’s arms wrapped around my waist and her moist lips found mine.

  ‘Tell me everything.’ she said as we went out to the garden seat.

  ‘Rachel thought everything we’d done for her was perfect. She loved the house and the garden. She says to tell you thank you for the nightie, reckons the size is perfect. She’s only just left. Just a few minutes ago.’