Time to find a corner to stand in, she thought.
There wasn't much chance of that, however, because the music started soon after they arrived and the drug, whatever it was, didn't take long to kick in after that. She'd heard about the effects of smoking weed, because IT Jules had attempted to talk her into it on many occasions. She had resisted, because she was afraid, but also because she thought that it was just part of Jules' strategy to get her into bed and she didn't want to do anything that she wouldn't do 'sober'. She'd listened with interest the first couple of times though.
“You've gotta have a puff and hear this tune,” he would say. “Feel this bass line.” He said that the first time he'd listened to Dark Side of the Moon he'd been smoking and it felt as if the album had been written and performed just for him. He'd progressed to harder drugs since then, inspired by the experience, but she had steadfastly refused to partake in anything stronger than alcohol and that rarely. She didn't even like to take Paracetamol unless she was desperate.
And now here she was, feeling a bass line. In the corner, trying too hard, but gradually feeling like joining in despite herself.
Well, part of the reason she was on the course was to meet people and to have them meet her. She'd never expected that it would be all work. Partying two nights in a row was unexpected, but why not go with it? She was here.
This isn't me talking, she thought, it's the drug, whatever it is, and that's okay.
She observed herself as if from a distance, moving away from the walls and away from her so-called comfort zones.
She was aware of her body and how it felt in the heat of the night, sticking to her T-shirt and trousers. Normally she would have craved a shower, but right now it wasn't an altogether unpleasant sensation, though she needed to cool off.
She headed upstairs where there was a balcony and a fan and found herself in the company of Andre again. She realised that he had followed her up to see if she was alright.
He said something in French that she didn't understand, but she caught one word.
“Belle.”
“You're not bad yourself,” she said.
He asked her to dance and her mouth must have made a 'yes' shape, because a moment later she was on a flashing dance floor being spun around by his strong arms. Talk about sculpted. He pulled her close and she slammed against his body. His torso was like a tree trunk.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Don't apologise,” she laughed, forgetting that she had felt ill only an hour earlier, forgetting herself entirely.
Unusually, she danced with several men that evening, hands in the air in a way she had never done before, her hair flying about her head and feeling great as it flew against her face and neck. Spinning, she spotted Maggie glaring at her, but mercifully, wonderfully, she didn't care. She just felt slightly sad that Maggie wasn't able to dance in her boots. Those boots didn't seem to be designed for anything practical, neither dancing, nor walking, nor standing. They were extraordinary. She wanted a pair.
She danced with some of the girls too, and it was clear that she was inspiring them to loosen up. It felt good to be the centre of things for a while.
Nobody here knows I like filing, she thought, and then turned her back on it.
At some point, she found herself in Mark's arms, supposedly dancing. Tired by now, she rested her head on his shoulder.
“I don't know what you've done to me,” she said, “but I love it.”
“Maybe you had a little too much of that concoction,” Mark replied.
“Oh no,” she said. “I'm not even talking about that. I wanted you from the moment we met.”
“Judy,” he said. “I've wanted you from the moment we met, too. You're all I can think about. I,,,you, Judy.”
“What?”
“I...you.”
“The music's too loud,” she said, pulling back. On doing so, she realised that it wasn't Mark at all. It was some tall, straight-haired guy who she hadn't seen before. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?” the man said.
She looked around and saw no-one she recognised.
She stumbled backwards and ended up in the ladies’ toilets. She held onto the cubicle walls for a while, sucking in deep panic breaths.
There was banging on the door, which she had confused with her heartbeat.
“Open the door, Judy.”
It was Andre's voice.
She unlocked the door and peeked around.
“What are you doing in here?” Judy said.
“This is the men’s',” Andre said.
At the urinals, three guys were looking over their shoulders at her.
“Mark was right,” she said. “I think I had too much...stuff.”
“I'll take you home,” Andre said.
It was Mark she wanted to say that, but he was nowhere to be seen. Not until she was on the bus and Andre was pulling out of the car park. Mark was on the balcony with Maggie. They were silhouetted. His wavy hair and her ridiculous boots, her hand on his arm, stroking him. They made a beautiful couple.
It was one step too far, however, when she saw him stroking her arm back, in combination with Maggie’s appreciative laughter, deep and suggestive.
Unable to look away, Judy saw that Maggie was unbuttoning her shirt. She wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing but was staring at Mark as her fingers worked down her top from neck to waist. What? Was she going to bare her breasts for him right there on the balcony?
Mark was regarding her openly, clearly enjoying the view unfolding before him more than the surrounding landscape. Neither of them realised that they were being watched. They were too busy with each other to care.
Judy wondered if she’d tell him that she’d spotted them together, at which point she imagined that he would blame his indiscretion on the drugs.
Andre passed a tree, which obscured the couple on the balcony, and then the minibus turned a corner. They were out of sight.
Unfortunately ‘out of sight and out of mind’ did not apply.
* * * *
When she woke, she felt as though she had eaten her feather pillow, but no, there it was, crushed beneath her head with a face imprint in it.
“Never again,” she said. “I know I said that this morning, but this time I mean it.”
“Are you okay?” came a man's voice.
It was Andre, standing in the doorway.
Judy pulled the covers up over her, although it wasn't necessary, because he hadn't undressed her.
“How long have you been standing there?” she asked.
“I came to check on you,” he said.
She told him about the feather-pillow eating and he looked confused.
“I'm going to brush my teeth,” she said. “Then I'll be fine. Thank you for putting me to bed. I remember you were so gentle.”
He nodded gallantly.
“Did I...did I do something crazy at the party?” she asked.
“You were beautiful,” he said. “Everybody wanted to dance with you.”
She laughed, thinking that he was joking, but he didn't join in and gradually, things started to come back to her. She recalled dancing with somebody she thought was Mark, but it was...someone else...nobody...he'd told her that he loved her. Hadn't he?
“You were confused,” Andre said. “You got lost. I brought you home to rest.”
“Thank you,” she said again and laid a hand on his chest. “You've been sweet to me.”
Now she noticed the empty bed beside her and wondered if Maggie would be back that evening.
“Maybe we should get back to the party,” she suggested, “although I don't really feel like going anywhere.”
“The party's over,” Andre said. “It's four in the morning.”
Judy looked at her watch on the bedside table.
“So where's Maggie?” she said.
Andre shrugged and looked embarrassed. His eyes slipped away from hers and he took a
n exaggerated breath as if that would be enough to change the subject. Silence, however, rolled between them.
“Is she with Mark?” Judy asked.
“I don't know,” Andre said. His eyes were fidgety.
She was reassured that he was such a terrible liar. It meant that all his sweetness had probably been real. At least someone could be trusted.
Sure, he might be a holiday destination Romeo, but he really liked her and she liked him. Their growing friendship was uncomplicated.
“Would you like to come with me for a walk?” he said. “It is cool outside.”
She glanced again at Maggie's empty bed. She couldn't help herself imagining Maggie in Mark's bed, in Mark's arms.
This week was such a mistake. Her ego wasn’t ready for this much of a pounding.
“Maybe you will feel better if you come with me?” Andre suggested. “For some air.”
“Maybe I will,” Judy said and slipped on some shoes. “For some air.”
* * * *
As she walked through the French garden, she thought about those she had left behind. Peter would be surprised and concerned to see her walking in a garden at night with 'some strange man' as he would have put it.
If he were here now, Judy would have reassured him that she wasn't on the rebound. Deep down, she knew that she and Peter could never have a life together. A night perhaps. A month. An excruciating six months even. A life? No.
With Andre, it would be simple. What she saw was what she would get.
She looked down at her trousers and realised that they were stained with some spilled drink or other. Had she done that? Or had someone bumped into her? It didn't matter. What mattered now was that she looked like crap. If Lisa were here she would have scolded her in that friendly but too-pushy way of hers, which she had initially mistaken for irony. Lisa would have commanded her to strip off, right there and then, and on the basis of what had happened last time, she'd have done it.
It wasn't unusual for her to feel sexy whenever she thought of Lisa as she had always had that effect on people, but this was a stronger sensation than she ever thought she would feel, triggered simply by the mention of her name or by her mind flashing on her during her early morning walk with Andre.
Peter would be perplexed by what she was now doing. Lisa would love it. Jules would be jealous. Barry: bemused.
What mattered, of course, was how she felt about it, but there was another face that kept swimming into focus, even when she was looking into Andre's eyes.
Mark.
Was Maggie on top of him or was he on top of her? Were they in his room? In his bed? On the floor? Had they even made it home?
Evidently, she'd pushed him away too many times.
What was done was done.
And so why did she feel guilty now?
“Mind your step,” Andre said and used a boulder on the path as an excuse to take her hand. He was obvious, but charming, and she had no doubt that he had done this exact walk before.
His hand closed around hers with a grip that alarmed her.
“You don't know your own strength,” she remarked.
“You don't know your strength either,” he said. “You don't know that you are beautiful.”
They walked silently up the hill. Behind them, the grand house moved further and further away. They ascended over a beautifully-mown lawn that was flanked with swaying and bobbing flowers in pastel shades. It would have been stunning during the day, but seeing it at night was a different kind of pleasure and had a unique significance.
“There is a fantastic view if we keep walking,” Andre said.
Of course there is, Judy said to herself.
“We will see the whole of Sarlat from the top.”
“How many times have you seen this view?” Judy asked him, panting despite Andre's considerate pace.
“A few times,” he admitted.
“And is it always beautiful?” she asked.
“Always very beautiful.”
“That's what I thought.”
He detected the edge in her tone and added a get-out clause:
“Maybe you are too tired for this,” he said.
“No,” Judy said, giving his firm fingers a squeeze. “Now's a perfect time.”
She was pleased when they got to the top, not only because there was indeed a fantastic view, but because there was somewhere to sit. They sat side by side on a large tree trunk. He stroked her back while she got her breath back.
Below them, looking down the way they had come, she could see the very top of the roof of the house. Beyond, a marvellous landscape of mountainous hills with urban colonies here and there, marked by glowing, pin-prick lights.
She was glad to see the back of London and was surprised to find that she was enjoying the sight of another city so soon. At this distance, the lights of streetlamps and cars and houses appeared to be flickering like candles. The urbanisation made the mountain more beautiful and vice versa.
His hand moved over the small of her back and then down one arm.
“It's beautiful, isn't it?” Andre said, but he wasn't looking down the hillside. His eyes were on the slope of her neck, following his hands over her shoulder.
“Breathtaking,” she said.
Since the night before, it seemed that her head had not quite stopped spinning. She noticed again the slight movement in her peripheral vision. A blurring that had at first been alarming, but was now pleasurable. She let herself go, enjoying it, in addition to the sensation of his firm fingers on her neck.
She wished that she had worn something with better access.
Lisa would be livid.
“Do you live in that city?” Judy asked.
Andre shook his head.
“I'm actually homeless,” he said. “I used to work in two bars in Sarlat,” he said, “but there was some conflict and now I work in only one bar. Unfortunately one of my bosses was also my landlord and so I am homeless, but Mark has said that I can stay here in Trignac until I find somewhere.”
“That was lucky.”
“We have known each other only for a few weeks, but he offered me this job to make up for my lost work and gave me food, somewhere to stay. He saved my life, or at least, my ass.”
“That was kind of him,” Judy admitted.
“He is a wonderful man,” Andre said. “Crazy, but wonderful.”
Crazy, but wonderful. That summed him up. It also summed up how Judy felt when she was near him. Right now, however, talking about him and his good deeds was driving her crazy and she wasn't feeling wonderful at all.
“He didn't have to help me,” Andre went on, “but he said that I have the soul of an artist.”
“And the body of a God,” Judy replied.
“Perhaps,” Andre said, but then he returned to the subject of Mark again and what a saviour he was and how they had trusted each other completely and very quickly.
Judy sighed.
“I don't think he deserves to be on a pedestal,” Judy said. “The day the course started he was so hung over he could hardly walk. I know that people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, but still...”
“He doesn't drink,” Andre said, shocked that she should think that of him. “He wasn't drunk; he was tired.”
Judy raised an eyebrow.
“The last people to rent the mansion were animals. The rooms, the kitchen, the studio was a mess. He transformed it, all by himself. I was at the bar so I couldn't help. He cleaned everything. He fixed broken chairs. He made the beds. He even put flowers in all of the rooms. If you had seen it two days before you arrived...”
“He cleaned that whole place in two days?”
“He did everything but clean the kitchen, which was why we went for a meal out the first night. He cleaned it while everyone slept.”
Judy imagined him running around doing all that by himself. The place was huge. She wondered how much cleaning had needed doing. “Why didn't he hire a cleaner?”
�
��No money,” Andre said.
“That makes sense,” he said. “He doesn't seem to be the type to be good with money.”
“A lot of the original art supplies were stolen or destroyed. He had to replenish the stocks. Who pays for that? He does. He needs to run this week just to get out of debt. He'd earn more money working in the bar with me, but he says he's not a barman, he's an artist.”
“Why are we still talking about him?” Judy said, frustrated.
“You're right, we could talk about you,” Andre said.
“Maybe we've talked enough,” she said.
She stroked his arm, feeling electricity flying between her fingers and the hair of his forearm. She closed her eyes and focussed on her bodily sensations. A tingling sprung up all over her skin, triggered by Andre's touch, but its source was deep inside her. It was as if he had lit a sparkler in her belly.
Mark—that paragon of humility and apparent kindness that had nonetheless offered them all some unknown narcotic substance that would probably poison them all—had said that the effects would only last for a couple of hours, but then she had drunk more than he would have liked. And maybe its combination with her drinking the night before had affected the way it worked.
She was afraid that she would have another episode like the one in the bar, that she would wake up not knowing where she was or how she had got there. She was afraid that this was going to be one of the best moments of her life and she was about to miss it. She wanted to forget Mark and what he was doing with Maggie, she wanted to forget her prim and proper persona, she wanted to forget everything but this exact moment; no past; no future.
She stroked Andre’s handsome face. He must have shaved closely before the party, because his skin was incredibly smooth. He smelled good. It was cologne that an older man might wear and it was charming on him. It was his attempt at sophistication, when really all he wanted was to be inside her.
As she thought it, he shifted forward on the tree stump and kissed her gently on the mouth. She kissed him back, hungrily, adrenaline rushing through her.
Not long later, those beautiful lips of his were pressed against hers, forcing her back, his tongue seeking hers. The force of his ardour shocked her. She knew that he wanted her, but she felt like a rock assailed by waves.
SEVEN DAYS Page 15
