Pierre

by Primula Bond

  ‘He’s probably still whimpering with gratitude!’

  The laughter fades. I reach for my glass of wine and take a sip.

  ‘Look, you’ll know soon enough where you stand, but if it turns out this Pierre Levi’s not the man, why not come over to us sooner?’ My sister gets serious. ‘Here’s why. I bumped into Antonio the other day. Remember him? Your old guru? He asked after you. He has a proposition.’

  ‘Antonio from Rome-o,’ I sigh. ‘Doesn’t he always?’

  ‘He fancies himself as a global phenomenon these days. He’s expanded the club in Rome and opened a new venue here in New York. He says there’s always a space for you.’

  ‘He’s a diamond. And after I ran out on him last summer that’s incredibly generous.’ I put my head in my hands. ‘But I’ve got a job. Didn’t you tell him that?’

  ‘Sure I did. And you might be able to tell him all about it, soon, because he knows where you’re working.’

  ‘That’s supposed to be top secret!’

  ‘Not any more, honey!’ She taps the side of her nose. ‘He’s a member of the Club Crème, too. Promise me you’ll think about it, Rosie. I don’t like to think of you feeling so down. So if you really think you’re going nowhere fast in London, remember there are other avenues. Park Avenue, Fifth Avenue. And of course the main attraction in the Big Apple? Moi!’

  We end the conversation on a high. The silence in my little boat envelops me like a shroud.

  How many times have I longed for an empty evening to please myself? I could do some vocal exercises, but we all live cheek by jowl along the river here and the neighbours have complained. I could watch TV, go for a run, even get down to the pub in Fulham where some of my mates are having a get-together. I could get an early night.

  I’m so tired. I should just sleep. But I can’t. I’m all jittery, not just because I’ve been waiting for some kind of word from Pierre, but because I’m distracted by the thought of my old boss Antonio popping up again. He’s the club owner who discovered me, gave me my first break, the guy who always said he’d make me famous one day.

  I take the new dress the club have sent over out of its wrapping. It’s a shimmery jade shift. Trying it on will take my mind off things. Have to make sure this one fits. I take it into my tiny wooden berth in the prow of the boat which has just enough room for a double bed. I made it sound like a tart’s boudoir when I was giving Pierre his bedtime story, and it’s true it’s very intimate. Made for sex, if only there was someone to share it.

  All the shelves and cupboards are built-in, doors and windows opening at intervals. It’s a bit like sleeping inside a cuckoo clock.

  It’s stuffy down here. I slip the dress on. I’m just twisting about in front of the mirror, realising that I’m talking to my own reflection, when someone walks up the gangplank leading to my boathouse, pauses to push open the gate and steps on to my deck.

  ‘Jeannie? That you?’

  There’s no answer. In any case the footsteps are too heavy. I can’t think who it is. Not Pierre. He wouldn’t be so sure-footed. He’d find it tricky to negotiate the narrow pathway. It could be someone from the club, although they have a strict policy of never crossing the threshold between work and play.

  The reverberations shudder through the boathouse and make the tightly packed glasses on the galley shelves tinkle very slightly.

  I wait in the middle of the cabin, in the centre of the faded Aztec-design rug.

  There’s a knock at the roof, a pause, and then, as the hatch is already open, a pair of male legs in pale-cream chinos swings down the wooden staircase and drops easily to the floor, making one of the little shutters bang.

  ‘Ahoy there!’ Robinson Junior says, saluting me. ‘Permission to come aboard?’

  I gape at him.‘How did you find me?’

  ‘Not difficult to track you down when you take the same route home from work every day. You’re a sitting duck here, aren’t you?’

  Robinson Junior guffaws at his own joke, indicating all the water outside.

  ‘I don’t like the idea of being followed.’

  ‘Well, what’s a man going to do when the girl’s playing hard to get?’ Robinson Junior glances round the cabin and spots his business card, shoved under the fruit bowl. ‘Glad to see you didn’t throw away my details. So when exactly were you going to call me?’

  He props the card more prominently on the shelf and prowls about, picking up books and vases and photographs. Flicks at the drying petals of the bouquet I caught at the Levi wedding and have hung upside down in an effort to preserve it. He bends to peer into the nooks and crannies. He makes a lot of thumping and creaking. His head nearly bangs the curved ceiling. He makes the compact space look even more cramped.

  ‘I wasn’t playing at anything. I’ve just been busy. I –’

  ‘Sending the blood pressure of those patients rocketing? You might be able to dawdle along without a sex life but I have a very low attention span, Rosa Cavalieri. I left it for as long as I could. Don’t get me wrong, London is full of players. I’ve had plenty to entertain me while I’ve been waiting, but when you didn’t call me I decided to take the bull by the horns.’ He reaches back up to the deck and produces a small bunch of red roses. ‘And to show that my intentions are anything but honourable, these are for you.’

  I reward him with a smile. I take the roses, fiddle about finding a vase. The cabin is stifling with this extra body heat, but now he’s brought me flowers I can’t exactly turf him out.

  ‘Well, Inspector Clouseau, now that you’re here would you like a drink?’

  ‘One for the road would be grand, thanks.’ Robinson Junior thumps his bulk down on the narrow banquette running along the side of the boat, scuffing up the rug. ‘I can see you’re going out. How about I give you a lift somewhere?’

  I open another of the portholes to get some more air in. The sun has lost its strength and is starting to fade. He’s given me the perfect get-out clause.

  ‘A driver will be coming for me in half an hour,’ I lie. ‘But thank you anyway.’

  His gaze wanders over the tight green dress, my bare legs. I hope he doesn’t notice that I’m not wearing any make-up or even any shoes. Hardly tarted up to go out.

  ‘You wear designer cocktail dresses for work? So I’m guessing it’s not flipping burgers. What are you? Some kind of high-end hooker?’

  My hand rests on the door of the chiller.

  Come on, girl. Work it. Milk it. This guy wants you.

  ‘Very funny. That’s pretty much what your friend Pierre Levi suggested when I first met him.’

  ‘Sounds like him. We’re as bad as each other.’ Robinson Junior laughs. ‘Or we were, before all this changed him. The original New York City hellraisers. You have been warned.’

  I take out the bottle of wine and hold it in front of me.

  ‘Why do I need warning about Pierre Levi?’

  ‘I’m not warning you about him! He’s running scared. Out of the game. No. I’m warning you about me. I can’t think of anyone better than you to fill my time before I go back to the States.’

  I lean against the fridge and press the cold bottle against my chest, feeling the condensation seep into my hot skin. ‘I haven’t said yes, yet. I could indeed be a hooker for all you know.’

  ‘I would have a whole lot of fun finding out.’ Robinson Junior stands up, takes the bottle from me and unhooks the corkscrew from the dresser. ‘And I wouldn’t give a shit if you were. It would just make getting you into bed that much less complicated. Pierre seriously missed a trick with someone as gorgeous as you at his beck and call every day. But, as I say, he’s lost his mojo.’

  I watch him put the bottle between his knees and jab the corkscrew in.

  ‘What was he like before?’

  The cork pops out. I put two wine glasses out on the counter and Robinson Junior pours the wine all the way up to the brim.

  ‘Mean. Moody. Magnetic. He had this mystique about him. And
he could turn on the English charm. The American girls go wild for that. He’s my friend, but he’s rotten inside, Rosa. His brother’s first wife, the one who tried to kill him, she absconded with him when he was still a teenager and, well, how shall I put this? Educated him in some seriously kinky ways. He has – he had – a very dark side. Brutal.’

  The cold wine goes down too fast and makes me cough. ‘Brutal?’

  ‘He used to like it rough. Sex, I mean. Really rough.’ Robinson Junior leans on the counter near me and runs his finger down my arm. ‘I mean, we all like it dirty, but he went too far sometimes. Some of the chicks he went with used to talk about being tied up, beaten, that sort of thing. He was insatiable.’

  I see Pierre Levi as he was in that magazine article, straight and tall, big, strong, no crutches, no sticks, but in this mental image he has his back to me, his arm rising, his hand clutching a long black whip, swiping it down on to the quivering rump of one of his chorus girls. I wince as I imagine it smacking down on the tender flesh.

  ‘I hope that sufficiently puts you off him?’ Robinson Junior interrupts my thoughts. ‘Or do you like it rough, too?’

  I press the wine glass against my cheek. I should be shocked, shouldn’t I? But I’m not. I want to be that chorus girl. I want to see Pierre as he used to be.

  ‘No, and no. And you’re wrong about his mojo.’ I hold my glass out for more wine. ‘Nothing wrong with – he’s in full working order.’

  Robinson Junior raises his eyebrows at my empty glass, but fills it anyway.

  ‘So why is he moping about in that clinic?’

  ‘Moping?’

  I move towards the steps leading out to the deck. The sky is darkening to a navy blue.

  ‘He’s had enough. Now he’s so much stronger, he can’t wait to check out.’

  ‘Check out?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m planning to get him out of there as soon as possible.’ Robinson Junior is close behind me.

  ‘He can’t go. Not yet!’

  ‘Whoa! You crazy chick!’ Robinson Junior steps across and shakes my arm, making wine trickle down the back of my hand. ‘You’ve fallen for him. Am I right?’

  ‘It’s much too hot down here.’ I pull away from him, my cheeks burning. ‘Let’s go up on the deck.’

  Robinson Junior stretches his arm across the wooden steps to stop me.

  ‘Don’t waste your tears on him.’

  ‘I’m not. I’ve just been helping him, that’s all.’

  He tops up my glass, then his own.

  ‘Very wise. There are plenty of other guys out there, you know. OK. I’ll come clean. I even checked that I wouldn’t be treading on his toes if I took you on a date.’

  ‘Took me on a date? Those were your exact words?’

  ‘You’re right. Not really my style.’ Robinson Junior grins. ‘I think it was more like, since he’s out of the running, can barely walk, let alone, you know, screw anyone – did he mind if I had a crack at you?’

  ‘Have a crack.’ I swallow my wine, relishing its cool journey down my throat. ‘How gallantly put.’

  ‘You betcha! He’s not the man for you, Rosa Cavalieri.’ Robinson Junior downs his glass of wine in one. ‘And nor am I, truth be told. But I’m Mr Right Here, right now. So how about it?’

  He extends his arm to usher me up the steps. I climb dizzily up on to the deck.

  ‘I’m flattered, Mr Robinson. But I’m not –’ I step to the rail and lean against it.

  ‘In the market for some fun? Bollocks, as you Brits would say.’ He walks across to the railings, looks out over the glinting river. ‘You’re totally up for it. We could have a blast.’

  We stand side by side. My hair whips across my face in a sudden gust from the river, catching in my eyelashes.

  ‘You’re beautiful and fierce. Any fool can see that.’ He pushes my hair out of the way in a surprisingly tender gesture. ‘He’s my friend, but I’d like to be the one to wipe Pierre Levi out of that troubled head of yours.’

  I let him fold his arms around me. If he can see the tears in my eyes, they’re not for him. They’re not for Pierre, either. They’re for me, for being such a fool.

  Robinson Junior takes my silence as consent, bends down and presses his mouth on to mine. I don’t resist. I don’t respond, either. He waits, then his tongue probes my lips apart, licking, pushing. I let him. I run my tongue across his teeth. I try to feel something. I really do. But this is nothing like the way Pierre kissed me, so sexy, sending tingling sensations rushing through me, making me wet, making me want him so desperately.

  Robinson Junior may be trying not to come on too strong, but his hard-on is already pressing against my stomach. The railing digs into my spine. I feel awkward, floppy, like a puppet that’s been taken apart and put together all wrong.

  While we’re doing this Pierre could be packing to leave the clinic. Planning his next trip out of here.

  I open myself to this stranger, kiss him back, go limp in his arms as his hands rove over my body, my breasts. He’s huge, and strong, keeping me in a tight embrace. When he comes back in for a kiss I turn my face away so that he nips instead at my neck. I’m not ready. I squeal.

  ‘Oh, so sexy,’ he chuckles. His mouth comes back, pushing mine open again.

  Go on. Be rough. Be tough. Do whatever you like.

  Unresponsive. I may as well be a statue. Anything with a pulse would do for this guy. He’s handsome, rich, horny, no doubt a catch for someone.

  But not for me.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Robinson, I can’t do this.’ I bring my hands up as calmly as I can to push him off. ‘You need to go.’

  ‘You’re turning me down, you little bitch?’ He wipes his hand across his wet mouth. ‘I’ll have to try harder.’

  ‘Then try it on with someone else. Honestly, no offence, but I’m not up for it. It’s been a year since –’

  ‘A year since you had a man? Where have you been? Where have all the boys been?’ Robinson Junior runs his hand through his thick curls. ‘Well, it’s been, ooh, forty-eight hours for me, but who’s counting? I’m always up for more.’

  ‘I’d like you to go.’

  He grips the back of the lounger, his knuckles white, pissed off now, looking me up and down as if he’s surveying a racehorse or a car. When he shakes his head, those thick curls bouncing, I almost feel sorry for him.

  ‘I was raised a gentleman, believe it or not,’ he mutters at last. ‘So it’s my bad for misreading the signals.’

  ‘Signals?’

  ‘Looked in the mirror lately? That dress. Those legs. Those tits. And this vibe coming off you. This heat. You don’t realise how sexy you are. But your head is somewhere else, isn’t it?’

  I hold the little gate open, blinking back tears.

  ‘I’m sorry if I led you on.’

  ‘No. I’m sorry for being such a chancer.’ He straightens his shirt. ‘But a word to the wise. Don’t waste your life waiting for Pierre Levi.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice, but Mr Robinson? Please don’t tell him about this. I don’t mean the kiss. I doubt he’d care. I mean don’t tell him your suspicions that I have feelings for him. It’s nonsense.’

  ‘Nonsense! You and I know that’s a big fat lie,’ he echoes in a fake English accent, giving a fake English bow. ‘Allow me to love you, madam, and leave you.’

  He opens my little gate and strides along the gangplank, down onto the pavement.

  And Pierre is standing there. No wheelchair. No crutches. Just the ugly walking stick, which he lifts in sardonic greeting.

  ‘I’ve been practising, Rosie. Fuck all else to do in that place.’ He looks up at us both for a moment. ‘God knows why, but I wanted to surprise you.’

  ‘And you did surprise me. That’s amazing! Arise, Lazarus.’ I push Robinson out of the way and come down the gangplank, hold my arms out towards Pierre. ‘Come in. Let’s talk. It’s not what you think!’

  But he lifts the stick again, this time to
ward me off.

  ‘My legs might be bust, but there’s nothing wrong with my eyes, Cavalieri.’ He glances past me at Robinson Junior. ‘He’s my friend. You’re my friend. It’s fine. It’s fine.’

  ‘No, it isn’t fine, Pierre. Listen to me –’

  ‘Be happy, Rosie. Get on with your life.’

  He plants the stick on the ground and limps heavily back to the car.

  Robinson Junior grabs my arm.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m not running after anyone,’ I say, shaking him off. ‘Goodbye, Mr Robinson.’

  I turn and walk up the gangplank. When I glance over my shoulder the young man is tearing after Pierre’s taxi, yelling, but it accelerates away from him and they all turn left at the bridge and disappear north.

  I stand on the deck of my boat until the sun sinks over the humming city, my burning cheeks ruffled by the cool evening wind.

  Everyone’s making plans. My sister. Antonio. Pierre. If I don’t make some plans of my own that big old world will go on turning, life will go on without me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  He’s as good as his word. He’s checking out today. He just has to be signed off by the surgeon. I’ve busied myself with some of the other clients over the last few days, including settling in a new admission, a very rich young woman from Russia who has tried to smuggle her miniature dog in with her. I’ve obtained special permission for the dog to stay and for my pains her bodyguard has just come into the reception area with an enormous bunch of over-sized lilies.

  If I tell him I hate lilies he’ll probably rearrange my kneecaps.

  ‘Flowers from another admirer?’

  I turn round, weighted down by the huge vase I’ve had to find.

  ‘I didn’t know I had one?’

  Pierre Levi limps over to me and rests his elbow on the counter where I’ve left the lilies.

  ‘The innocence vibe just doesn’t wash any more, Cavalieri. Robinson keeps banging on about you. Nurse Jeannie looks like she has a spring in her step today.’

  ‘How long have you been standing here?’

  ‘Can you sit down a moment, Rosa? Take the weight off?’