With Men For Pieces [A Fab Fifties Fling In Paris]
Page 28
He had a little more colour now and he was sitting upright in order to hold her close.
“And you were a brick throughout my illness—and you were champion going out and getting yourself that job to see us through. You’ve every right to want to pack it all in now, as I’ve told you. Go your own way if you prefer, Sheila—but not because of that Claudia nonsense…it mustn’t end like that….”
So—he was bringing that up now. Was that a sign of guilt or innocence, Sheila wondered. She thought of her own one moment of temptation—oh, she had resisted, but there had been a time when she thought she might succumb. The smooth-talking handsome Frenchman who had promoted her so quickly from bi-lingual secretary to Personal Assistant—she had known all along that he intended to offer her something else…. And maybe if David had not been so ill at the time…..
She remembered lying in bed in the small, cold apartment after the evening visit to the Rehabilitation Unit out in the country, south of Paris, wondering what it would be like to be the mistress of a man like Gérard.
Two tall muscular young men were looking down at them angrily. The owners of the rucksacks about to lay claim to the seats, she supposed. One nudged the other and he looked closer at David. They scooped up the bags and moved off, mugs jangling.
Sheila waited apprehensively. Would David suffer humiliation if he thought they had been moved to pity his poor state of health. To her relief, David chuckled. It was a long time since she had heard this cheering, throaty sound.
“Thought I was a poor old crock!” He laughed. “And so did I till Professor Dove signed me off with a clear bill of health. I hope you can forgive me this sudden lapse of—nerves—Sheila?”
“Oh, David. Look around you—there’s other young men, really just as fit as those two, laid out flat and groaning. Seasickness—like bad luck—can hit anyone.”
“Let’s make a move towards that perfume counter,” he said, heaving himself up. Sheila linked arms with him and tried not to make it too obvious that it was she doing the supporting.
“You get Aunty Madge’s stuff on your ticket, will you?” he said. “I want to get something else. Oh—and can you get these francs changed. We’ll be docking soon—I’ll follow you to the Bureau de Change.”
He watched her walk boldly across the tilted deck. There was an arrogance in the way she held that head of magnificent red hair—an arrogance he had come almost to hate in recent months. The way she tossed her curly mane just before answering him back, nagging, bossing him about. But, on the other hand, he was proud of her slim figure, her well-preserved good looks. She stood out amongst other women—made them look—faded—in his eyes. And there had been a time when he had adored her vivacious, spitfire personality. He could not forget, either, that she had stood by him in all his troubles. She had never reprimanded him about the bigger issues—like letting his job slip through his fingers, his bouts of heavy drinking. No, it was just silly, stupid little things that started her off—like his not changing into his slippers in the house, smoking in the loo—and of course she had gone on about that Claudia business. As though he could seriously have interested himself in a colourless young secretary when he had landed such a prize as Sheila. Why, it was he who should be afraid of losing her to some unscrupulous French gigolo. Like that Gérard fellow at her office. He’d wondered more than a few times about him….
“Let’s go down to C5 now,” he said, as they met at the top of the steps. “They’re bound to be calling for car drivers soon—an old sailor can always feel the difference as he approaches land. Even if my years at sea didn’t make me immune to the swell of the English Channel.”
He pulled a wry face but she could see now that he was laughing at his own moment of weakness.
They did not have to wait long after all to disembark. As it happened the line of vehicles on their left shifted quickly and David was able to slew over and join them without waiting for the tardy driver directly in front to put in an appearance, As they drew alongside the Nothing to Declare barrier David pressed a small blue package into Sheila’s hand,
“Je Reviens!” she cried. “Why, David, I thought you’d forgotten.”
She tore open the box and took out the dark blue bottle. She sprinkled the perfume liberally on her wrist and throat. The customs Officer laughed as he watched the performance. He waved them through.
“Had a rough crossing, I believe,” he said, as Sheila wound down the window to return his smile.
“Yes,” she agreed. “But we’ve survived….”
The End
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