Running to Stand Still

by J Theron

  She disconnected the call and fell back onto the bed. Speaking to Jonathan made her feel worse. Somehow she felt emotionally detached, as if he was a stranger instead of her boyfriend of the last two years. She hadn’t thought about him once since she ran into Michael. Not wanting to dwell on that thought she quickly undressed and got into bed.

  It took ages to fall asleep and the last thing she remembered seeing before falling asleep was Michael’s face.

  The next day Michael took Danielle for a drive up Mont Ventoux. She stood close to him as she looked across the valley of the Rhône and Avignon in the distance. She was fascinated by the bare limestone of the top of the mountain. The wind was blowing and she was freezing even though she was wearing a thin jacket.

  “Come here, Danni! I told you to bring something warm!” He was smiling as he pulled her shivering body closer.

  “Next time we come we must cycle to the top,” he said.

  He was holding her tight and she could smell his cologne as well as the smell that was uniquely him. It completely assaulted her senses and she laughed to mask her discomfort before pushing him away.

  “Have you cycled to the top?” she asked.

  He pulled her close again. “Many times. At least once a week. I like cycling. It’s my sport of choice lately. I don’t play rugby anymore. I used to play for one of the clubs here, but I became worried that I would injure my hands. So I switched to cycling,” he replied.

  Danielle was still shivering and she reluctantly placed her arms around his waist. “I don’t do well on bicycles. I still surf though! The waves in Cape Town are not like the ones in J-Bay and I’m a bit apprehensive about being eaten by a Great White in False Bay, but surfing relaxes me.” She grimaced when she mentioned sharks.

  “I’m impressed. I’ll take you surfing then if you’re too chicken to cycle up Mont Ventoux with me. I will have to take you to the west coast though. Not much surf in the Mediterranean. Though I don’t know why you would rather be shark food than going for a nice relaxing cycle through the countryside of beautiful Provence!”

  “You also like being shark bait, Mike! You’re a fantastic surfer!” She laughed and darted away when he grabbed for her.

  “Let’s go shark bait. Time to eat.” Michael put his arm around Danielle’s shoulders as they walked to his car.

  They had lunch in quaint restaurant in a small village on their way back to Avignon. They were the only patrons and the owner showed them to a secluded table overlooking the landscape of Provence. They talked for hours until it was dark outside. Danielle felt content and at peace for the first time in a long time as they drove back.

  When they stopped in front of her hotel, Michael turned the engine off and turned towards her. Suddenly the space between them seemed to crackle with the familiar electric current of sexual attraction and the confined space of the car was stifling.

  “I had a fantastic time today. Thank you, Michael.” Her heart was racing and she struggled to control the urge to touch him. She knew she had to get out of the car fast before she made a fool of herself.

  “It’s my pleasure. You’re not bad company.”

  He smiled at her and she turned around to get out of the car when he touched her arm to stop her, his fingers scorching her skin. His fingers curled around her arm and she had to control the urge to snatch her arm from his hand.

  “Will you come to the gallery tomorrow evening?” he asked. “There is a large exhibition. Many artists are part of the exhibition but my work will be featured as well. I have to go the gallery during the day so I will only be able to see you tomorrow night.” Michael gazed searchingly into her eyes.

  She felt disappointed at the prospect of not seeing him for the whole day, but she suppressed the feeling and told herself to snap out of it. “Will there be French cuisine food?” She grinned at him.

  “It’ll blow your mind! And there will be a lot of tortured artist types to entertain you.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Be ready at eight and the dress code is formal.”

  Danielle opened the car door and had to concentrate not to bolt from the car. She tried not to think as she walked to her hotel room. She undressed and wearily climbed into her bed and fell into a restless sleep as soon as she placed her head on the pillow.

  CHAPTER 8

  It was a beautiful evening. Danielle spent most of the day shopping, going from boutique to boutique looking for the perfect evening dress. She was frustrated and annoyed because she could not find a dress or shoes that fit her. The shop owners merely shook their heads and very politely informed her that they did not cater for giants. She had never considered herself particularly big, but in France, where all the women were petite compared to her frame, she started to wonder.

  Finally, after searching for hours, she accidently stumbled upon a shop run by a South African. The owner had exquisite dresses he had imported from Germany and she found a black velvet dress that hugged her figure perfectly. It reached all the way to her feet, with a tight bodice embroidered with gold that was off shoulder. It hugged her hips and flared at her feet. She felt slightly self-conscious because the tight bodice pushed her breasts up and exposed her cleavage, but it wasn’t too revealing so she decided to buy it.

  When she stepped into the lobby of the hotel that night she studied Michael’s face to gauge his reaction to her dress. He was sitting in one of the many beautifully upholstered chairs in the lobby when he saw her. He was wearing a tuxedo and his hair was tied back, giving him an almost dangerous air. As usual he did not give anything away, his expression carefully guarded.

  “Danielle, you look beautiful. I’m glad you left your hair down.” He rose from the chair with languid grace and took her hand to kiss her knuckles before touching a lock of hair hanging over her shoulder. His fingers brushed her collar bone and her skin felt on fire where he touched her. He traced his index finger along her collar bone towards her shoulder and he seemed to be mesmerized by her skin.

  “I do love this dress,” he murmured softly. His fingertips brushed down her upper arm, but then he curled his fingers into a fist and pulled his hand away. “We have to go. I don’t like being late.”

  Danielle was slightly taken aback by his abrupt manner, but she followed him as he walked to the exit of the hotel. The Aston Martin was parked outside and he politely opened the door for her to get in. He was quiet and she decided to ask about the elusive Lucienne.

  “Will Lucienne be there tonight? It would be nice to meet her. I’m curious to meet this mystery girl,” she said in a cheerful voice.

  He glanced at her as he was navigating the car through the narrow streets. “Why the urge to meet her?” He seemed curious and she did not really have an honest answer.

  “She must have hair on her teeth to put up with a Le Roux brother. Ask me, I know.” She was teasing but he looked serious.

  “She’s still in Paris,” he said matter-of-factly. He did not elaborate and she sensed that he was hiding something.

  After a few minutes he turned down a narrow street and entered what seemed to be a private parking lot. “Here we are,” he said. “Stay inside the car and I’ll help you out. I don’t want you to tear your beautiful dress.” He parked the car in a reserved VIP parking spot and got out. He walked around to open her door and kissed her hand as he helped her out.

  When they entered the gallery they were immediately surrounded by people all speaking rapid French. They were anxious to get to Michael and it only took Danielle a moment to realise that the exhibition was all about Michael. He did not let go of her hand and made polite conversation with the throng of people vying for his attention. He introduced Danielle when possible, but it became a little crazy and she decided to leave his side for a while until the excitement died down. She squeezed his hand before letting go and walked to the bar. She ordered a glass of French champagne and proceeded to wander through the gallery to look at the exhibition.

  Most of the paintings were Michael
’s. Danielle almost choked on her champagne when she saw how much they cost. He earned more with one painting than she earned in a year. She was still studying one of his paintings when a man standing next to her said, “Bon soir, mademoiselle. Il est captivant, vous ne pensez pas?”

  It took her a few seconds to realise the man was referring to the painting they were both staring at. He was fairly tall, in his late forties and attractive in a rugged way with short dark hair greying slightly and green eyes that seemed to see right through her.

  “Yes. Although captivating is not the word I would use to describe it. I would say almost tortured. Desperation seems to radiate from the painting.”

  It was a painting of the ocean. It was dark and gloomy and the clouds were ominous. The waves were crashing against the sheer rock face of a cliff and a lone windswept figure stood on the edge of the high cliff. One could only see the person from behind and Danielle could not make out if it was a man or a women. The figure seemed poised on the edge and one could not help but wonder if the person was going to step over the edge into the maelstrom of water below.

  The man turned to her and asked in heavily accented English, “Where are you from mademoiselle? I cannot place your accent.”

  Danielle smiled. “I’m from South Africa.”

  His brows lifted almost to his hairline and he studied her closely. “You look familiar. What is your name, if I may ask?”

  “I’m Danielle Rousseau, a friend of Michael’s. Pleased to meet you.” She held out her hand and the man lifted it to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand, much to her surprise.

  “Enchanté Danielle Rousseau. I am Pierre Aubertin. I am the owner of this gallery and I have worked with Michael for years. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  She stared at him in confusion before she managed to say, “Finally meet me? I don’t understand.”

  “Ah, I see my friend is as secretive as always. Maybe he will show you some day. It really was a pleasure, and you are much more breathtaking in real life, Danielle. I am sure we will meet again. Au revoir. ” And with that he turned around and walked away.

  Danielle decided that this was all a little too much to take in and that she needed some air. She was immensely proud that Michael had managed to be so successful in such a short space of time, but she could not suppress the momentary sadness caused by her longing for the boy she once knew. She knew he made fun of himself when he referred to himself as the tortured artist, but she could see it in his paintings. The strange conversation with Pierre also upset her and she could not help but wonder what he meant.

  She scanned the gallery to locate a place where she could get away from the crowd for a few minutes. She felt relieved when she saw French doors that opened to the beautifully manicured garden spanning the back of the gallery. The garden was quiet and she sat down on one of the wooden benches surrounded by lavender neatly trimmed into a hedge. The smell of lavender permeated the air and she could see the Palais des Papes in the distance. She did not know how long she sat there, but she was deep in thought and her glass of champagne was long empty when she became aware of someone standing next to her.

  “May I join you?” Michael asked politely. His voice had a sensual quality that never failed to send shivers down her spine.

  “Of course.” Danielle turned her face to Michael as he sat down next to her. He put his arm on the back of the bench, his thumb gently caressing her shoulder. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body and she had to concentrate not to move into his arm and lean against him.

  “Why are you sitting by yourself in the dark, Danni?” He sounded concerned. “I missed you when you left. It was comforting having you next to me. I noticed when you disappeared through the door to the garden but I was cornered by some art dealers and couldn’t get away.”

  “Why?” she asked softly.

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you miss me, Michael,” she replied.

  He was quiet for a long time and she thought he was not going to answer the question when he finally said, “I don’t think I will ever get used to the unnecessary attention. I don’t like false people and I have met very few sincere people in my life. You were the only one in there who knew me when I was just a silly boy with a passion for painting and a knack for pool.” He sighed before he continued and she was momentarily reminded of the sad boy she met so many years ago.

  “You are the most honest and sincere person I have ever met, Danielle Rousseau, and you loved me before all this.” He waved his hand absentmindedly in the air. Her breath caught when he mentioned the word love. She had always tried to forget her love confession because she believed he did not feel the same. Since he confessed that he was in love with her too, everything had shifted in her brain.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this exhibition was mainly about you?” she asked. He lifted his hand slightly and moved her hair away to caress her nape. She could feel the sensual touch of his fingertips on her bare skin and she wondered if he could feel the shivers that travelled over her skin where he touched her.

  “I was afraid that you wouldn’t come,” he stated as if it was an obvious assumption. “I knew it would be crazy and you don’t like to be around so many unfamiliar people. I’m doing well and my work is becoming increasingly popular. Unfortunately it also brings a lot of unwanted attention from people I don’t actually want in my life.” Michael sighed. “I have recently noticed paparazzi following me around. I find it utterly ridiculous! I am Michael le Roux, from Cape Town. I paint because I love it and it makes me the target of the paparazzi for pity’s sake!” Danielle could hear the exasperation in his voice.

  He lifted his other hand from his lap to take one of her hands. He caressed her knuckles before lifting her hand to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her hand before pulling her closer. “You see me as I am. I don’t feel alone anymore because you are here with me.”

  He studied her for a long time and then he cupped the back of her nape, pulling her mouth towards his. A sudden burst of laughter from inside the gallery brought Danielle to her senses and she pulled back with a start.

  “What are you doing? I can’t do this! I’m engaged to be married.” She jumped up and took a few steps back.

  “You wanted me to kiss you. Don’t deny it.” He slowly rose from the bench never taking his eyes off her face, like a predator watching his prey.

  “You’re a conceited asshole. Not every woman who crosses your path wants to get in your pants, Michael le Roux! What about your girlfriend? Lucienne!” Danielle almost spat out her name in anger.

  “Lucienne is none of your concern.” He did not raise his voice and he glanced in the direction of the French doors opening onto the garden.

  Danielle realised he was checking to see if the people inside heard them. She lowered her voice before she said, “You are one hundred percent correct! What you do is none of my concern, as long as you keep your hands off me!”

  She spun around and walked back into the gallery. She did not stop until she was outside and almost collapsed in gratitude when there was an empty taxi waiting in the street. She jumped inside and instructed the driver to take her to her hotel. She did not look back, too afraid to know if Michael followed her, and scared because she secretly hoped that he did.

  When she reached her room, she stepped out of her dress and fell onto her bed in exasperation. She had never been so confused in her life. She was surprised at how strongly she reacted when Michael tried to kiss her. She was not a deceitful person and she knew what she felt for him was wrong. Deep down she wanted him to kiss her, which contributed to her feelings of guilt. She was engaged and she did not make promises that she did not intend to keep.

  She was deep in thought when the hotel phone rang. She answered it without thinking and was immediately sorry that she did.

  “I’m sorry, Danielle,” Michael said sincerely. “I know you’re engaged.”

  “I can’t be around you Mich
ael. It was wonderful to see you again but this is wrong.” She could feel the knife twisting in her gut as she spoke.

  “Tell me how something that feels so right could possibly be wrong.” His voice was gentle and coaxing.

  “You know why!” Danielle could not hide her distress. “I have to go. I can’t do this. I’m sorry,” she whispered before disconnecting the call.

  Danielle could not believe her eyes when she stepped into the hotel lobby the next morning and saw Michael waiting for her. He looked as if he had not slept the previous night. He was dressed casually in cargo pants and a blue button shirt and despite his haggard appearance he still managed to take her breath away. She had the childish urge to ignore him and walk past him, but she swallowed her pride and approached him with determination. She wanted to get the conversation over with as quickly as possible.

  “Why are you here, Michael? I thought I explained to you last night that seeing you is too confusing for me. I realised that we could never be friends, or rather it’s impossible for me to be friends with you.” She could not hide her agitation and she actually did not care anymore.

  “I want you to come to my house for dinner tonight.” He did not back down and the frustration she felt was almost incapacitating.

  “I’m sorry, I truly am, but I can’t. It messes with my brain and I can’t think straight when I’m around you.” She pursed her lips before forcing the next words out. Every word took an enormous effort of will to utter and as she spoke them it felt as if her chest was gripped in a vice. “Goodbye, Michael. Keep well.”

  She turned around and started to walk away, but he grabbed her hand and gently pulled her back. She sighed and turned to face him again. She pulled her hand from his grasp before she said, “What do you want from me, Michael?”

  He fixed his blue eyes full of turmoil on her face and replied firmly, “I am a conceited asshole. Please come to my house for dinner?”

  Danielle shook her head. “I’m engaged. I want to be your friend but it’s impossible! Please don’t make it hard for me.” She had to swallow repeatedly to force back the tears that were threatening to overwhelm her. Her head and her heart were waging a bloody war and she suspected her heart was winning.