French Kissing

by Lynne Shelby

  ‘Nick’s gone back to his, and there’s half a bottle of wine left over from dinner,’ I said. ‘Would you like to come and help me drink it?’

  There was a muffled reply, and then Alex opened the door a crack. ‘I just need to put some clothes on.’ He shut the door,

  Behind that door, he wasn’t wearing any clothes. I became aware of an intensely pleasurable sensation in the depths of my stomach. Stop it, Anna, stop it right now. I went back into the living room, and poured two glasses of wine. Alex came in almost immediately, and sat down on the sofa. He’d put on jeans and a sweatshirt, but the image of him naked kept floating into my mind.

  ‘Nick bought this,’ I said, holding out a glass. ‘So it must be good. He knows about wine.’

  Alex reached for the glass, but before he could take it, his phone rang. He fished it out of the back pocket of his jeans and checked the screen.

  ‘It’s my sister,’ he said. ‘Bonsoir, Hélène … Non … No, it’s not too late to talk. We’re an hour behind you here in London, don’t forget … No, I’ve not heard from anyone in Paris for a couple of days … No … No, I didn’t know that …’

  Alex’s voice trailed off and to my concern, I saw that his face had turned very pale.

  After listening to his sister for some time, he said, ‘You were right to call me … I’ll be fine … I’m with Anna … Listen, I’m going to go now, I’ll call you back tomorrow.’ He rang off, and sat very still, staring at his phone.

  ‘Alex?’ I said. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Cécile is getting married. I shouldn’t care. But I do.’

  ‘Oh, Alex.’ I went and sat next to him on the sofa.

  ‘Hélène just heard it tonight from a mutual friend. She thought it was best to tell me straight away, rather than for me to hear it from someone else.’

  ‘I’m sure she’s right about that. Listen, Alex, this is bound to hit you hard but –’

  ‘I can’t talk about Cécile right now … Just … give me a minute …’ He picked up his wine and drained it. ‘Merde!’

  He’d grasped the empty wineglass so tightly that it’d broken. As soon as he opened his hand to let go of the glass, blood welled up in his palm. His eyes widened with shock.

  ‘Bathroom.’ I said. ‘Now.’

  Seizing him by the wrist, I frog-marched him into the bathroom, and made him hold his hand under the cold tap to wash out any splinters of glass. Then I poured half a bottle of antiseptic over the cut.

  ‘It’s deep,’ I said. ‘It may need stiches.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘Do you have any plasters?’

  Men! I passed him a wad of cotton wool to press against the cut while I rooted through the meagre first aid supplies in my bathroom cabinet. Fortunately, I found some gauze and a bandage. He sat on the side of the bath so that I could bind up his hand. While I was doing this I was completely calm, but once I’d finished, my legs felt shaky, and I had to sit down next to him.

  ‘Jeez, Alex,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah. Sorry about the glass. I’ll replace it.’

  ‘Forget the glass. It’s you I care about. I hate to see you hurt.’

  ‘Hearing that Cécile is getting married to someone else … I lost it for a moment, but I’m over it now.’

  I wished he was over her. I felt so protective of him. This lovely guy, who was still in love with the girl who’d betrayed him and broken his heart.

  Alex examined his bandaged hand and wriggled his fingers. ‘My hand is throbbing like hell, but I don’t seem to have damaged anything vital.’

  ‘I still think you should have gone to A&E. Do you want some aspirin?’

  He smiled. ‘I’d rather have another glass of wine.’

  ‘How very French.’

  He stood up, and with his good hand helped me to my feet. His dark eyes met mine.

  He said, ‘That photograph of you that I want to take – Would you be able to get an afternoon off work next week to come into the studio?’

  I nodded. ‘As long as I have a couple of days’ notice.’ Nick wasn’t going to like this, though.

  ‘Bon. I’ll let you know exactly where and when.’

  Note to self: Do not tell Nick that you’re posing for Alex. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  Fifteen

  From the outside, the photographic studios looked like the run-down Victorian warehouse they’d been in a previous existence, but once I stepped through the front door, pulling my suitcase behind me, I found myself in a modern reception area, with cream leather sofas, steel and glass coffee tables, and black and white photos on grey-painted brick walls. The receptionist, seated behind a glass desk, greeted me with a dazzling smile.

  ‘Welcome to Light Box. How may I help you?’

  ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘I’m looking for Alexandre Tourville. He’s on The Edge shoot.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Alex is here today.’ The receptionist smiled even more broadly. ‘May I ask your name?’

  I wondered if smiling was part of her job description, or if it was sharing her workplace with a certain handsome photographer that made her so cheerful.

  ‘I’m Anna Mitchel.’

  ‘Super.’ Another smile. ‘Alex is in Studio One – just along the corridor.’

  I left her still beaming, trotted along the narrow corridor to Studio One, and went inside.

  I was in a large, airy, white-painted room. Directly in front of me was a seating area with a couple of armchairs, and beyond that a work bench with a mirror surrounded by light bulbs. Through an archway, I saw a small kitchen, where a girl of about twenty with a mass of blonde curls was washing up plates and coffee mugs. Various items of furniture – a rocking chair, a brass bed – and painted canvas backdrops lined one wall. At the far end of the room, amidst a forest of bright lights made all the brighter by silver reflectors, Alex was photographing a group of young men and women posed in front of a white backdrop. As I watched, fascinated to see him at work, he said something that made them all laugh. A bespectacled, grey-haired make-up artist, the elder of two women hovering at the side of the shooting space, darted in to retouch smudged lipstick.

  At that moment, the blonde girl came out of the kitchen. ‘Hello there. I’m Louise, Alex’s assistant. You must be his friend Anna.’

  ‘Yes, I’m Anna,’ I said.

  ‘Good to meet you. If you take a seat in the make-up area, I’ll let Alex know you’re here.’

  While I sat perched on a swivel chair in front of the mirror, Louise went up to Alex and alerted him to my presence. He smiled and waved at me, before returning his attention to his job.

  Louise came back, bringing the grey-haired woman with her.

  ‘This is Maggie, who’s going to do your make-up,’ she said.

  Maggie and I exchanged the usual pleasantries, and then I had the strange experience (strange for me, at any rate) of having someone else make up my face. Louise looked on, telling me that today was only the third time she’d worked as Alex’s assistant, and that she hoped desperately that he’d ask for her again.

  ‘He’s so good at what he does,’ she said. ‘If I get the chance to go on working with him, I’m sure I’ll learn more about being a photographer than I ever learnt in college.’

  Maggie said, ‘He’s a talented young man – not to mention he’s also very easy on the eye. If I were thirty years younger …’

  Louise grinned. ‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he? But don’t tell my boyfriend I said that.’

  They smiled conspiratorially. Louise, muttering something about memory cards, re-joined Alex on set, while Maggie continued to work on me.

  ‘There,’ she said, eventually. ‘You’re done.’

  I surveyed myself in the mirror. Somehow, using much less make-up than I’d slap on for a day at the office, Maggie had made my eyes look bigger my lips fuller, and had found contours in my face that I didn’t know I had. I’d been surprised when Alex had insisted that I turn up at the studio without my usual lashings of m
ascara, but now I understood why.

  ‘Oh, my goodness,’ I said. ‘I look incredible. Thank you.’

  Maggie laughed. ‘You’re a pretty girl, Anna. I really didn’t do that much – Ah, it looks like Alex is almost finished …’

  I saw that Alex was no longer taking photographs, but talking to the other woman who’d been watching the shoot (Maggie told me she was The Edge’s art director), breaking off to say goodbye to his models as they donned coats and trooped out of the studio. The art director soon followed, nodding at Maggie, and looking at me with unashamed curiosity as she headed towards the door. While Louise switched off lights and folded tripods, Alex sauntered over to the make-up area.

  ‘Anna’s all ready for you,’ Maggie said to him.

  He tilted up my chin and examined my face. ‘She looks great. Very natural – just how I wanted her. Thanks, Maggie, you’re a star.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Maggie said. ‘Well, I’ll be getting along. I’ve enjoyed working with you, Alex.’

  ‘Likewise,’ Alex said.

  Louise appeared at Alex’s side. ‘I’ll be off, too – unless you’d like me to stay on for a bit, and help you set up for your session with Anna.’

  ‘Thanks, Lou,’ Alex said, ‘but I can take it from here.’ He added, ‘You did really well today. I hope we’ll be working together again very soon.’

  When Alex had declined her offer to stay on longer at the studio, Louise had been unable to hide her disappointment, but now her face lit up with delight.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much.’

  She and Maggie left together, and Alex and I were alone.

  ‘Anna,’ he said. ‘Tu es très belle aujourd’hui.’

  ‘Merci, Monsieur.’

  ‘I’ve only got the studio for another hour. Shall we get started straight away?’

  I nodded. ‘D’accord.’

  ‘I want to begin with some photos of you in your white shirt. You can change behind that curtain, while I set up the first shot.’

  Retrieving my suitcase, I went behind the curtain that screened off a corner of the studio, where I found a clothes rail, a chair, and a full-length mirror. I hung up the garments that Alex had picked out from my wardrobe the previous evening, wriggled out of my jeans and jumper, put on my over-sized shirt, which hung to my knees, and ran a comb through my hair. By time I emerged from behind the curtain, Alex had moved the brass bed onto the set, and replaced the white backdrop with one painted and textured to resemble a crumbling plaster wall. The scene was lit with a soft, diffused light.

  ‘This set looks like the background to a painting.’

  ‘That’s the intention,’ Alex said. ‘I’ve got this image in my head – a girl waking from a deep sleep and – well, you’ll see. If you could lie on the bed, on top of the sheet.’

  I walked over to the bed and lay down on my side, facing Alex. He checked the lights, and then picked up his camera and pressed the shutter.

  ‘Relax, Anna,’ he said, still clicking away. ‘Look directly at the camera – now shut your eyes – straighten your right leg – open your eyes – hold still – undo another button on your shirt – looking good, mon amie.’

  At first I found it hard to hold myself in the positions Alex wanted, and at the same time look natural and relaxed, but he was very patient with me. Once I got into the way of following his instructions, I found that I actually liked being photographed – and being assured that I was beautiful, and that the camera adored me. I was sorry when he told me to take a break.

  I sat up. ‘Am I doing all right?’

  ‘You’re doing great,’ Alex said, ‘but the shirt isn’t working for me. Can you undo a couple more buttons and let it hang off one shoulder?’

  ‘Like this?’

  He tilted his head to one side. ‘It still doesn’t look right. It’s too modern, too twenty-first century. I want these photos to be timeless.’

  ‘Shall I get changed into something else?’

  Alex regarded me thoughtfully. ‘What would work best for the effect I’m trying to create, is for you not to wear anything at all. Would you be comfortable with that?’

  ‘You mean – in the photographs – I’d be n-naked?’ This was so unexpected that I was completely taken aback. ‘I-I don’t know, Alex. I’m not exactly built like a glamour model.’

  A flicker of amusement passed over Alex’s face. ‘I’m not a glamour photographer. I wouldn’t expect you to show any more flesh in my photos than you would on the beach.’

  ‘So the pictures would be – tasteful?’ I was pretty sure I was blushing – I only hoped my naturalistic make-up was heavy enough to disguise my lack of sophistication.

  ‘Bien sûr,’ Alex said. ‘But taking some nude shots was just an idea. I completely understand if you’d rather not.’

  I thought of the many paintings, and line drawings of nude women – and men – that hung in art galleries all over the world. It seemed to me that Alex, a professional photographer, was just as much an artist as a man (or woman) who worked in oils or watercolour. I reminded myself that photographing girls in various stages of undress was an everyday part of his work. There was a striking photo on his website of a doe-eyed, copper-haired girl, wearing no more than a scattering of russet autumn leaves, that had won a prize.

  I heard myself say, ‘It’s fine. I don’t mind.’

  ‘Great,’ Alex said. ‘Go and strip off in the corner. Use your shirt as a dressing gown.’

  Again, I concealed myself behind the curtain. With shaking hands, I took off my shirt and underwear. I stared at myself in the full-length mirror, and thought, am I really going to do this? One part of me felt that getting my kit off was just plain embarrassing, but another part of me, the part that admired Alex’s artistry, was flattered that he wanted to photograph my body. Come on, Anna, I thought, it’s no big deal. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve ever been naked in front of a guy. I put the shirt back on, took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and pushed the curtain aside.

  Alex said, ‘I’ve switched on the “Do Not Enter” sign above the studio door, so you needn’t worry about any of the Light Box people barging in on us.’

  I smiled weakly. The possibility that a Light Box employee might come wandering into the studio while I was lying there butt-naked hadn’t occurred to me.

  Now what did I do? Was there an etiquette for nude modelling? ‘Shall I get back on the bed? D-do you want me to take off the shirt now?’

  ‘S’il vous plait. I’ll turn around while you cover yourself with the sheet.’

  He swung around on his heel. I dropped my improvised dressing gown to the floor, flew over to the bed, and dived under the cotton sheet, pulling it up to my chin.

  ‘I – I’m decent now,’ I said.

  Alex came and stood by the bed. ‘Lie on your front. Turn your head towards me.’

  I rolled onto my stomach.

  ‘I’d like to arrange the sheet so that it’s only covering your hips,’ he said. ‘Are you OK with that?’

  ‘Ye-es,’ I said.

  Alex leant over me, and I caught the scent of his aftershave. He took hold of the sheet and raised it up in the air, letting it fall so that one corner was draped in soft folds across my rear, leaving my back and legs bare.

  He said, ‘Rest your head on your right arm – let your left arm hang over the mattress – bend your left leg towards me – that’s it – merveilleux – close your eyes –’

  His voice caressed me, a mixture of English and French, telling me I was wonderful. The awkwardness and tension I’d felt earlier faded away. I thought, I can do this.

  He said, ‘Keep your eyes closed – I just need to fetch a prop.’

  His footsteps retreated across the studio and returned. I felt his hand brush against my shoulder as he put something down on the bed. A pleasurable shiver ran along my spine. I heard the whir of his camera.

  ‘Will you try something for me, Anna?’ he said. �
��Imagine that you’re in your own bed, and it’s the morning after you’ve slept with a man for the first time. Think about your first night with Nick, if you like.’

  I imagined how a girl might feel after a night with Alex. A warm glow spread through my entire body.

  Alex said, ‘Now, open your eyes.’

  I did as he asked.

  ‘Ooh.’ By my head, there was a red rose.

  ‘C’est parfait!’ Alex walked round the bed, photographing me from different angles. ‘The expression on your face when you saw the rose was exactly what I hoped for.’ His mouth lifted in a smile. ‘Your lover has gone, but he has left a rose on your pillow. Il est romantique, ne c’est pas?’

  ‘It’s very romantic.’

  Alex took a few more shots and then he lowered his camera.

  I hope he likes what he sees, I thought,

  ‘Anna –’

  ‘Alex?’

  ‘We’re out of time. We’d better call it a day.’

  I sat up, instinctively folding my arms over my breasts. ‘You can’t have been photographing me for a whole hour!’

  ‘Almost. I’ll give you some privacy while you go and get dressed.’ He turned around and walked to the other end of studio.

  The sensuous languor that had stolen over me during the shoot, the frisson of pleasure I’d experienced as Alex’s dark eyes rested on my naked body, was replaced with an urgent need to be wearing clothes. I clambered off the bed, snatched my shirt up off the floor, and scurried back behind the curtain. It seemed to take forever to hook up my bra and squeeze into my skinny jeans, but once I was fully dressed, I felt a whole lot calmer. I re-packed my suitcase, and joined Alex, who was sitting at the workbench, studying his laptop.

  He said, ‘The photos are great, Anna.’

  ‘You’ve downloaded them already? Let me see!’

  ‘Not before I’ve had a chance to edit them.’ He closed his laptop. ‘You make a terrific model.’

  I strongly suspected that professional models did not indulge in unprofessional fantasies about their photographer, but decided this was not a subject I was going to bring up with Alex.