The Cult of the Black Virgin

by Serena Janes

  Luc was again seated at the head of the table by the time Jo walked into to the sunny breakfast room. Her heart made a little bucking motion in her chest as he presented her with a dazzling smile.

  “Good morning, Joanna. I hope you slept well?”

  His eyes were even bluer in the morning light. They assessed her carefully and, she thought, with perceptible pleasure as she sat down. Instead of the shame she’d felt last night, she now felt delight as warmth flooded her body. She was undeniably turned on. And, curiously, very happy. She felt her face turning pink as she picked up her napkin.

  “I had a fabulous sleep, thank you.”

  “So did I,” chimed in Australian Carol. “Great beds here. And so quiet.”

  As the rest trickled in and took their seats, Luc began to make the kind of small talk necessary to build cohesion within the group. He had a natural way with people and Jo was soon participating in the lively and lighthearted conversation flowing around her.

  But she couldn’t help noticing how Luc’s glance lingered on her longer than it should have, under the circumstances.

  After all, he’s in a position of trust and responsibility. He’s employed by a business, and I’m a client. It’s unprofessional of him to hit on me, not to mention immoral, given his marital status.

  So, despite being pleased by his attentions, she began to feel uncomfortable and tried not to look at him any more than politeness required.

  This is wrong!

  The group dawdled over strong hot coffee mixed with thick steaming milk, crisp rolls and croissants with butter and fruit jams. And although Jo had woken with a strong appetite, it soon disappeared, the aching knot in her stomach making its return.

  Everyone else seemed to be eating with gusto. Even though their first walk was about seven miles, no one seemed in a great rush to get going—the weather was perfect and would hold. So Jo did her best to swallow little pieces of a heavily buttered roll, hoping she would feel like eating sometime in the near future. Everything she’d tasted in France had been exquisite so far, and she didn’t want to miss a single bit of it.

  Eventually everyone finished, brushed the crumbs from their shirts, and wandered outside to assemble in front of the hotel. All were equipped with hats, sunglasses, sunscreen, and daypacks. Luggage was snugly packed into the company van, which would be driven to the next stop, Lacave, by a hired driver, a student named Marc.

  Despite her apprehension, Jo was excited as she fell into line behind Luc to begin their trek. It was a beautiful day for a hike through the French countryside.

  Everything will be just fine. Just relax, and try to forget everything but the moment. Breathe. Smile. Be nice.

  Their first stop was the Old Quarter of Souillac, where they lingered to admire some of the town’s finest buildings. Luc knew rather a lot about architecture, it seemed, and he happily answered everyone’s questions.

  Architecture might have been the main subject under discussion, but Jo was already too distracted to pay attention. She was carrying her sketchbook on the chance she might have a free moment during the day to make some quick thumbnails. But her gaze wasn’t drawn to the lines of the magnificent old buildings. Instead, it kept falling back to her guide. She watched him, marveling at the strength and grace of his body as he moved.

  He would make an exquisite study.

  Especially nude.

  In addition to being easy on the eyes, Luc proved to be an excellent guide, articulate and comfortable as he explained the details of design and construction. When they reached the grounds of the town’s most famous building, the ancient church of Santa Maria, he gathered everyone around him, looking as proud of the structure as if he’d built it himself.

  “The original abbey was dated to 655, but after it was destroyed the Benedictines built another overtop it in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. This present-day church, the Eglise Saint-Marie, is renowned for being built in the shape of a Latin cross, and for its three domes.”

  Jo listened attentively. She was impressed by the beauty of both the building and its grounds.

  He continued. “The monks who built this most recent incarnation were inspired by the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, and combined Byzantine with Romanesque design features. It’s a remarkable piece of work.”

  Like you, Jo couldn’t help thinking.

  “See the bell tower?” He pointed. “That’s all that’s left from the thirteenth century building. Hundreds of monks lived here once. The ground was too swampy to cultivate, so they had to drain all the marshes to grow their food. Farmers have been growing crops on those fields for almost seven hundred years.”

  Jo marveled to think about the past that had played itself out right here under her feet.

  Cameras clicking, they all followed Luc through the moldering graveyard into the church. He then provided some history on the best of the many beautiful carvings and paintings they found there. Jo found the artwork fascinating—especially the animal figures. If she’d been able to concentrate she could have dashed off a few sketches. Instead, she just took photos, like everyone else.

  “You have to admire the Benedictines,” Luc told them. “They were under siege for hundreds of years, and they fought hard to protect their magnificent abbey. They finally lost it in the sixteenth century, and it was burnt to the ground. The church we’re standing in today was built over the site of the original building.”

  Looking around her, Jo thought about the long-dead monks who once tilled this ground. Some of them could have been Luc’s ancestors. She smiled to herself. If any had been half as good-looking, no doubt more than a few local women would have found themselves in the family way. Oath of celibacy or not. She smiled at the idea that women dead for hundreds of years once responded to an attractive man in exactly the same way she was now. She felt a thread connecting her to the past.

  “You’re smiling, Joanna. Did I say something amusing?” Luc asked with a slight grin as he moved toward her.

  She grinned back. “No. No. I was just thinking about what life must have been like for the people who once lived here. And I’m grateful I’m alive today, not in medieval times.”

  “And I am also grateful that you are alive today.” He spoke so quietly that no one else could have heard him.

  She looked up in surprise and saw a serious expression on his face that quickly gave way to feigned interest as Carol walked up with a request to take a photo of her and Peter in front of the altar.

  Luc next took them to the site of the old marketplace and told everyone to buy something for their picnic lunches. Happy to comply, Jo bought a warm baguette and a runny cheese with a pedigree she couldn’t pronounce.

  Then she saw a fruit stand displaying tiny red strawberries piled high in little wooden cartons. As she was wracking her brain to remember the French word for strawberry, Luc came up behind her, greeting the vendor politely. He stood very close to Jo, his body almost touching hers, and looking down over her shoulder, suggested she try them—they were the first berries of the season.

  “I insist! They will be the best you’ll ever eat. I promise,” he said emphatically. “I’ve been to America. I’ve eaten American strawberries. These are another experience entirely,” he said, holding Jo’s glance as she turned to him. His smile was contagious and she felt her face light up.

  How could she not be persuaded? He was irresistible.

  “Thank you, I will.” Still smiling, she shivered slightly at the proximity of this most desirable man and chose a carton of the deep red, pointed little berries, guaranteed picked that morning. And she kept smiling to herself as she realized how out of character it was for her to take another person’s suggestion. She always made up her own mind, but now it seemed she had no problem letting Luc sway her.

  I’d probably buy fried grasshoppers if he told me to. And I’d eat them, too.

  Their lunches secured in daypacks, the walkers gathered again and followed Luc along the main road out of Souillac towards
Lacave, where they soon veered onto narrow footpaths along steep hillsides. The beautiful morning had turned very warm, and despite white puffy clouds in the sky, Jo could feel the power of the sun on her skin.

  Luc set the rhythm, ensuring the slowest walker felt comfortable enough, but the pace was still challenging. Duncan, from Glasgow, joined Luc up front for the first part of the morning. From time to time the two of them would slow down or stop to let the rest catch up. After everyone got used to the brisk pace, Luc began to walk with first one, then another, couple or individual. This clearly gave him an opportunity to get to know a little about each person and share the necessary information about the region.

  As she walked behind Luc, Jo wasted no opportunity to check him out. He sported the usual kind of walking gear—sturdy boots, long baggy shorts, and a light cotton shirt. He wore a red cotton bandana tied loosely around his neck. No hat. No sunglasses. Everyone else was wearing similar gear, except for Cambridge Ellen, the senior woman in the group, who wore a longish dirndl skirt instead of shorts. The English all wore hats against the sun. Jo was wearing a hat, too, and she always wore dark glasses when she was outdoors. Now they gave her a chance to stare at Luc without appearing to.

  And stare she did. He had the strong legs of a mountain climber. Not only were they well formed, they were browned by the sun. Jo approved.

  Clearly, his butt was as well muscled as his legs. That much she could surmise from behind. He walked with a straight back, his step and everything about him confident and relaxed. Yet at the same time his body seemed to pulse with energy. Yes—he was a man pleased with himself and his place in the world. Even if he hadn’t been so physically attractive, Jo would have been drawn to his positive and assured manner.

  But she couldn’t spend all day ogling their guide—surely people would notice—so she made a point of getting to know the other people around her. Over the next few hours she tried to get everyone straight as she learned names, places, and professions. Edward and Glenda Evans proved to be good conversationalists, and Jo spent most of the morning with them as they tramped through fields and forests.

  At midday they stopped for lunch at a public campground. On a grassy field alongside the shallow but wide and fast-flowing Dordogne River, the trekkers spread themselves out, took off their shoes, and attacked their food under a high, hot sun.

  Jo had been growing uncomfortably warm, but trees provided welcome shade and she thought the overall scene was bucolic. She had no appetite because her attraction for Luc was still making her jittery, but she tried to enjoy her food. As she ate, she surreptitiously watched him, sitting a little apart from everyone else, the only person fully in the sun.

  He was right about the strawberries—they were delicious, such juicy sweet nuggets of intense flavor. Not at all like the pale, watery varieties she got at home. She gorged herself and got red stains all over her white t-shirt.

  What other French delights are in store for me? Her face flushed slightly as she thought of the way Luc’s face transformed into something magical when he smiled at her.

  It was a lovely spot, and she felt comfortably tired, so after eating she stretched out on the shaded grass, happy. She hadn’t thought about James all morning, she realized.

  Is that a good thing?

  Why had she run away from him like that, anyway? A better person would have gone home to try to help him understand why she couldn’t marry him right now. A better person would have been more loving, more supportive.

  But something in her didn’t want to be supportive. Instead, she wanted to get away from James and his pressure tactics, subtle as they were. She wanted a break from the man who said he loved her more than anything in the world. And although she loved him too, she wanted to stop thinking about the decisions he was forcing on her.

  The fact was, she loved her life the way it was. She loved her career as the assistant editor of Inside/Outside, a new West coast lifestyle magazine. She loved her condo with a view of the Seattle Harbor and she loved her dog, Sammy. And although she also loved James, she didn’t want anything in her life to change just yet.

  As she felt her body relax and grow heavy, she wondered for the twentieth time whether she’d been unnecessarily harsh on him. She hadn’t expected him to pop the question quite so soon. After all, they’d known each other only a year. And although he felt right to her in every way—and her family approved of him heartily—marriage wasn’t something she’d been seriously considering.

  It was too soon.

  Evidently James had been seriously considering marriage. And he was dead serious when he pulled out the shockingly huge engagement ring in a restaurant on their second-to-last night in Paris. Jo was knocked off guard. The waiters and all the other patrons were staring at her in anticipation.

  It was a beautiful clear evening, and they had just finished an excellent meal at a charming bistro she had discovered near the Sacré-Coeur. Their table was piled high with the roses James kept buying from the flower sellers who moved from restaurant to restaurant. He felt sorry for them and couldn’t turn a single one away.

  Yes—the scene was perfect for a marriage proposal. Maybe she should have seen it coming. But she didn’t. Nor was she ready to say yes.

  And she wasn’t really sure why.

  Maybe it was that bloody hotel.

  Jo had been to Paris several times before. The first time she’d been with her father, who’d taught her to appreciate the Left Bank for its low-key ambiance and pretty little side streets. She would have enjoyed staying in one of those small hotels with James, eating at the informal bistros scattered throughout the district.

  But James didn’t do little. He booked an obscenely expensive hotel housed in an old palace near the Opera House. For their meals he usually chose crowded expensive restaurants with stuffy waiters and complicated menus. She had to fight to get him to consider any of her choices, which were generally modest.

  And then there was that Father’s Day thing.

  Last week had been Father’s Day back home in the States. After she and James had dutifully called their fathers from the hotel, James said to her, in a hesitant voice, “Well, sweetheart, this time next year, or the year after, perhaps I can celebrate Father’s Day for myself.”

  Jo had looked at him sideways. It wasn’t like him to use emotional blackmail.

  That was when her mood grew dark and began to spoil their special time in the City of Lights.

  Soon after that it all fell apart. Two nights later she refused—or rather, put off—his proposal and they spent the rest of their holiday alternately in tears or periods of painful silence. They stopped making love. James spent time alone in their hotel room working on some contracts for an upcoming project he was managing while Jo walked the city alone, sightseeing and doing a little shopping. That was when she made the decision to stay behind in France. He was pushing her too hard. And she wasn’t one to be pushed into a corner. So she dug in her heels and pushed back. Of course she was sorry she’d disappointed him, but she just wasn’t ready to give him the things he wanted from her.

  Sometimes she wondered why she was being so stubborn. Really—she knew she shouldn’t be. After all, she was thirty years old. She couldn’t put off marriage and motherhood forever. James loved her and he just wanted to be her husband and the father of her children. She should be grateful. Lots of women would kill for a man like him.

  There was nothing wrong with his wanting to get married, wanting to begin their family. They were mature people. James’ career was solid and they could afford to buy a family home in a good neighborhood. Her man wasn’t in the wrong—she was.

  She was in the wrong because she couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d have to give up. Most, if not all, of the compromises would have to be hers, and she resented that. Yes, they would buy a beautiful home, but Jo knew it would be his contemporary perched on a cliff above the sea and not her updated Victorian in a leafy suburb.

  It would forever
be his choices, which were usually not to her taste. He always knew his own mind and would not be dissuaded from his decisions. Ironically, this was one of his qualities she’d admired most when she first met him—his confidence, his strong-mindedness.

  He was certainly confident when he’d chosen Jo as his life partner. And she’d been flattered, even if part of her felt trapped. Aside from her father, James was by far the best man she’d ever known. And she intuited he’d be as good a husband and parent as her own beloved father had been.

  But there would be conditions. Of course she’d have to give up her career. That alone filled Jo with anger and frustration. In her wildest dreams she’d never thought about being a stay-at-home mom.

  His changing was not an option, she knew that. People didn’t change easily. She didn’t want him to change, anyway. Nor did she want to change to accommodate him. She just had to grow to accept him the way he was. As he had to learn to accept her.

  But she didn’t know if she was up for all of this compromise.

  She’d tried to explain. “I’m just not ready yet, James. I’ll be ready soon. But not just yet.”

  “But when? You know we’re at a perfect age to settle down and begin parenting.”

  “I don’t know. I’d just like to work on a little longer with the magazine. See it through another season, maybe. Do a little more traveling on our own, you know? Please don’t be hurt, sweetheart. Just give me a little more time.”

  In Paris, that had been the best she could do. But by the time she got back to Seattle she knew she’d have to have a better answer.

  Now, twenty-four hours after tearfully kissing James goodbye at the Gare du Nord train station, Jo took a deep breath of country air and sneaked another peek at Luc.

  I feel good. I feel really good.

  In fact, she was beginning to feel better than she’d felt in months. And that, she knew, did not bode well for a future with James.