by Niki Savage
He sat up, breathing hard, his head in his hands. Before she could speak, he looked up at her and said in a husky voice, “I’m sorry. I meant to have a little fun, and it got out of hand. Please forgive me.”
She hated to see him so wretched, and her anger dissipated. “It wasn’t entirely your fault. Let’s forget it. Deal?”
“Deal,” he agreed, taking the hand she offered. “Does that mean you don’t plan to shoot me anymore?”
She laughed. “I could never shoot you, silly.”
~ . ~
Stefan watched as the black Diablo drove through the gates. He stood at the picture window until the car disappeared. Then he turned away, feeling desolate and empty. It seemed every time Marcelle left him, his hunger for her increased.
He was crazy about her, he admitted to himself, but her angry response to his kiss had shown him that she wasn’t ready for a declaration of love. She existed in an emotional wasteland, not yet ready to allow a new man into her life.
Her restlessness the previous night had proven it to him. The trip to the track had triggered off her nightmares again. Even sleeping in his arms, she had woken calling for Jean-Michel. Inwardly he had cursed Claude for being so insensitive. He decided to talk to the driver, to stop any more excursions to the track.
His thoughts turned to more pleasant subjects, and he remembered the dream he had a few nights ago, when she had responded to his lovemaking. He sighed, wishing he could get his rebellious body under control. He needed to get more exercise.
His mind made up, he dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, and headed for the gym. Marcelle had said she would return around two o’clock, so he had a few hours to kill.
~ . ~
Four o’clock found Stefan pacing in front of the picture window. She should have returned by now. The clouds of that morning had dissipated, and the sun shone in the blue sky. What kept her?
He remembered what she had told him about the deserted road to Pierre-Henri’s smallholding, and wondered if she had met with disaster on that road. Immediately he pushed the thought from his mind, telling himself that the meeting might have carried on longer than she expected. Surely then she would have phoned?
He went to the study, and sat behind the desk. He searched through the drawers for an address book. He found a black leather book with ADDRESSES written in gold filigree on the front. Because he didn’t know Pierre-Henri’s surname Stefan had to scan half the book before he found it, Pierre-Henri Petton.
He was about to pick up the phone when he heard the Diablo. Relieved, he decided to go down to the garage to meet her, instead of waiting for her to come upstairs.
As the doors of the elevator opened, Marcelle switched off the powerful engine of the Lamborghini. She saw him, and flashed a broad smile as she climbed out of the car. “Hi,” she greeted him gaily. “Can you give me a hand please? I dropped by the shops and bought some groceries and stuff. I always go on shopping sprees when I’m happy.”
He smiled, sharing her joy as he said, “Sure I’ll help you. Can I take it things went well? You don’t look like someone who’s been suspended or banned.”
“You got that right,” she said with a laugh, piling parcels into his arms.
Eventually all the packages were upstairs in the kitchen. He raised his eyebrows at the groceries she had bought. Among the normal groceries were several crates of soft drinks and fruit juices. There were crates of beer and other alcoholic beverages, including spirits. She had also bought snacks and sweets, and a vast quantity of meat and premade salads.
“It looks as if you’re feeding an army,” Stefan commented.
“I’m throwing a barbecue here tonight for the team and some close friends. We have to celebrate.” Her cheeks glowed with excitement. “Sit down and I’ll tell you all about it.”
He sat at the kitchen table. “I’m listening.”
“Well, I got to Pierre-Henri’s place, and saw so many cars parked outside that I thought my worst fears had come true. Anyway, it turns out that apart from my sponsor, the President of the French Professional Cycling Federation was there. The President of the Dutch Federation was there too, and a representative of the UCI. This worried me. I thought they had decided to come after me with both guns blazing. Instead, they had come to tell me they wouldn’t be taking any action against me. Can you believe it?” She laughed. “Those two bitches admitted guilt when the two Federations put pressure on them, and I’m in the clear. But I did get a rap over the knuckles from the FICP and a warning not beat anyone up again.”
“That’s fantastic. What’s going to happen to those two riders?”
“Well, they asked me if I wanted to press charges against them, to get them suspended, but I said no. I feel we’re even.”
“That’s gracious of you. But don’t you think they might come after you?”
“They’ll be marked from now on, so they won’t try a stunt like that again. They know if I come off in the pack again, they’ll be the first suspects, innocent or not.”
She switched the kettle on for tea. She turned to Stefan, and leaned against the counter. “But I kept getting a feeling that things were not as they seemed. I could understand that the French Federation would take my side, but it was strange that the Dutch Federation wouldn’t try to protect their own riders. And both the presidents seemed resentful, which I found odd.” She shrugged before continuing, “They were still there when I left. When Pierre-Henri comes here tonight, I hope he’ll be able to tell me why they showed such poor grace.”
He hid a smile. “Yes, it does sound strange.”
“You don’t mind my friends coming over, do you? Your cover will be safe. You just play my stepbrother, although I must warn you the girls on the team will be all over you!” She laughed at the thought. “Just shout when you need rescuing.”
“I’d like to meet your friends and teammates.” He was surprised to find he meant it.
Marcelle went to a parcel that had remained unopened. She opened it to reveal a large, gift-wrapped box. “This is for you.”
“What is it?” he asked, turning the package over in his hands.
“I love buying presents for my friends, so I thought I’d get you something you need,” she answered. “Come on, open it.”
Stefan tore the wrapping off to find a large box with a well-known designer’s name on the front. He opened it, and there, nestling in tissue paper, was an exquisite leather jacket. A low whistle left his lips as he lifted the jacket out of the box. Beautifully crafted, and made of the finest black leather, it had the distinctive patterned lining that was the designer’s trademark.
“It’s beautiful,” he said with a smile, “and I certainly need it.”
“Yes, all that blood ruined the other one,” she agreed, pleased at his reaction. “Do you like it?”
He slipped the jacket on over his T-shirt. It was a perfect fit. “Thanks. I’ll cherish this jacket, and think of you every time I wear it.”
“Just as long as the baddies know they can’t shoot at you when you’re wearing it.”
“I’ll have to wear a sign.”
“You are impossible,” Marcelle said with a chuckle. “Come, we have a lot to do before the guests arrive. The weather has improved so much I think we can have the barbecue on the roof.”
~ . ~
Before the first guests arrived at eight o’clock, they had everything ready. They had stocked the bar with chilled drinks; put out various snacks and dips, and set tables and chairs next to the pool.
Marcelle had dressed comfortably in a snug fitting silver-gray cat suit made of a fine knitted material, with black calf-high boots. She had taken the trouble to put on some makeup, enhancing her beautiful gray eyes.
Stefan drew a sharp breath when he saw her. “You look beautiful tonight. I think I’ll have to play the overprotective stepbrother to the hilt.”
He had dressed in black jeans and a black open-necked shirt, with his own black boots and his new leather jacket
. His shiny blond hair hung to his shoulders, looking like spun silk under the lights.
“Well, you’re looking rather dashing yourself. I’m going to have to protect you from the girls for sure.”
“Maybe I don’t want protection,” he chuckled, charmed by her honesty.
She reached up to touch his hair. “That’s not fair. You have the kind of hair any woman would kill to have. It’s so thick and straight, and silky soft. I bet you don’t have to do much to get it looking like this.”
Stefan shrugged, a little self-conscious. “No, I just wash and condition, like everyone else. I promised myself when I left GSG-9 that I would never again wear my hair short, but I don’t let it get longer than this. It has to stay manageable.”
“I know what you mean. I would love to grow my hair longer, but with exercising, and dealing with a helmet, it’s just not practical, but I like to keep my bangs long…”
“So you can hide your eyes,” he completed for her.
“Oh, am I that obvious?”
“No, I’m that observant. Why do you hide your eyes?”
“When I was younger, the children used to tease me. They said I had creepy eyes. And people always stare at me.”
“I guess even I’m guilty of that, sorry. I find your eyes fascinating, and beautiful. They are totally unique.”
“Not quite unique. Maybe later tonight, you can tell my father that you find his eyes fascinating, and beautiful too,” she said with a straight face.
Stefan burst out laughing. “I can just imagine his reaction.”
~ . ~
Claude was first to arrive, and after few minutes’ conversation disappeared upstairs to the pool to take charge of the barbecue fires. Stefan let him be, surmising that he normally played host for Marcelle.
Patrick Menot, a marathon runner who lived in the complex a few units down, arrived next, and right behind him was Eugene Bertrand, a super-bike racer. Next was Raymond Pottier, a tennis player. Both Eugene and Raymond also lived in the complex. Marcelle introduced Stefan as her stepbrother visiting from South Africa, and they accepted the story readily.
He stayed at her side as the other guests arrived. First was Christelle Le Corre, a member of the Ultima-Fabelta team, with her boyfriend Gerard Vaillant. Shortly afterwards Madelaine Kerfendal, another member of the team, arrived with her boyfriend, Alain Tranvaux. Right behind them were Isabelle Bernard, also a member of the Ultima-Fabelta team, and her boyfriend Eric Maillard. Next were Karine Ravaleu and her boyfriend Yves Garnier. It didn’t surprise Stefan to find that Karine was yet another member of Ultima-Fabelta.
Three professional cyclists, Sebastien Fontaine, Didier Corlay and Anthony Delamotte arrived together, slapping Marcelle on the back and congratulating her on her lucky escape. Stefan remembered that they were the three cyclists who had rescued her and taken her to Spain after her injuries in that horrific crash. All three rode for the French Castorama team, and thought the world of Marcelle, or Michel, as they referred to her. They were lean, darkly tanned young men, their powerful legs encased in close-fitting jeans. Anthony Delamotte looked no different from the photo Stefan had seen, but he noticed the relief in the blond cyclist’s eyes when Marcelle introduced him as her stepbrother.
Richard Renault arrived, the cyclist Stefan knew indirectly after his telephone call to Marcelle. She hadn’t been exaggerating about his good looks. He looked like a model from a fashion catalogue, complete with a ready toothpaste smile, and he had a plastic-looking blonde on his arm, just as Marcelle had predicted.
Right behind Richard was Fabrice Ancel, a dark-haired, pale-skinned, sensitive-looking young man, the current French amateur champion. Marcelle kissed him, and he blushed furiously.
The last of that batch of guests was Marc Morelle, a well-known decorator. He hugged Marcelle and kissed her on both cheeks. He looked as if he would have liked to do the same to Stefan, but satisfied himself with a handshake when he saw the warning look in the mercenary’s eyes.
Louis Gautier arrived with Pierre-Henri Petton, Directeur Sportif of Ultima-Fabelta. The manager was a big, brawny man with a rugged face. He greeted Stefan, eyeing him up and down a few times, trying to assess the newcomer’s impact on his star rider.
Next, the younger element of Ultima-Fabelta arrived in a flurry. Delphine Bresset, Gaetane Bozec, Sandrine Quellec, Sophie Hallegueu and Danielle Bonnamour were all attractive and enthusiastic young ladies, and their adoration of their captain was obvious to Stefan. This didn’t stop them dragging him away from her side as they made their way to the bar.
Soon, everyone had migrated upstairs to the barbecue fires. Music played in the background, muted by animated conversation.
~ . ~
Stefan managed to catch up with Marcelle at last, finding her getting a cold drink at the bar. She looked flushed and happy, and he had to suppress an impulse to kiss her.
She smiled when she saw him. “Are my girls giving you a hard time?”
“They don’t have a chance with an experienced playboy like me.”
“They’re good girls, all of them. I couldn’t ask for more. But they’re quite harmless, I give you my word.”
“I believe you,” he said with a smile, “don’t worry.”
“These people are my closest friends.”
“From the ones I’ve spoken to, I can see they’re a no-nonsense bunch, and good friends to have,” he agreed. “How on earth did you manage to organize all this at such short notice?”
“It was easy. The meeting at Pierre-Henri’s place only lasted about an hour. Then I drove to Paris, and on the way, I used the car phone to call all my friends. My teammates were at the meeting, and I asked them to spread the word. Voila! A party is organized. Of course I had to let the guards at the gate know what the guest list was, so that everybody could enter.”
“I’m impressed,” he complimented her. He eyed the contents of her glass. “You’re drinking fruit juice?”
“Yes, I can’t be tipsy when my father gets here. I have to start training again soon, anyway. Pierre-Henri has scheduled us to ride a three-day Criterium series in Belgium next weekend. I’m looking forward to it.”
A shout drifted down from the roof. It was Claude’s voice. The meat was ready.
“Come,” she said, taking his hand. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
Later, he saw her in intense conversation with Pierre-Henri. The team manager spoke close to her ear, as if they didn’t want anybody to overhear their conversation. After Pierre-Henri had finished speaking, she said something to him before turning away, her eyes searching the crowd, no doubt looking for him.
Stefan looked down and pretended to be interested in what Delphine Bresset, a petite blonde with a wide smile, had to say. He felt Marcelle’s gaze linger on him for a few seconds, but when he looked up, she had disappeared.
Later, he searched the crowd and found her talking to Claude with a puzzled expression. He wondered what the conversation was about, although he had a strong suspicion. He was sure she would speak to him about it later, so he put the matter from his mind and set about enjoying the party.
Stefan spoke to Eugene Bertrand, finding that he enjoyed the company of the slender motorcycle racer. Eugene had lived in the complex from the start, and loved to talk. He needed little encouragement to start talking about Marcelle and her life before Stefan knew her.
An hour or so later, Stefan saw her coming up the stairs with a slender man who looked to be in his middle to late forties. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that this was Francois Cheval. The resemblance was unnatural, except that Marcelle’s hair was darker than that of her handsome father. She spotted Stefan and winked at him, taking her father’s hand and leading him to the mercenary.
“This is my father, Francois Cheval.”
He put his hand out to meet Francois’ outstretched hand as Marcelle turned to her father, “Papa, this is Stefan Burger. He’s my stepbrother visiting from South Africa.”
Francois Cheval shook his hand, his light gray eyes twinkling. “Please, call me Francois. So, you’re another of Annette’s children. You have the same light hair and blue eyes as your mother.”
“We don’t have the same mother, Papa. Stefan is from my stepfather’s previous marriage. He’s older than I am by six years.”
“Oh, Marcelle’s stepbrother, not half-brother,” Francois addressed him again. “And you are friends? After what happened?”
“I didn’t know my father, apart from occasional visits. I don’t hold Marcelle responsible for his death. Anyway, it was all a long time ago and best forgotten.”
A shadow passed over Francois Cheval’s face. “You’re right. Still, I blame myself...”
“Don’t be silly, Papa,” she interrupted him. “It’s over. No point in dragging it all up again!”
“I’m sorry, chéri,” Francois responded, shamefaced. “Please forgive me.”
She hugged him. “Of course. Now let’s enjoy the party.”
“Good idea,” the slender Frenchman agreed, turning his attention back to Stefan. “Please forgive me for getting so morbid.”
Marcelle winked at Stefan as she led her father away in the direction of the grill, where Claude had more meat ready.
~ . ~
At nearly four in the morning, the guests started leaving. Soon they were alone.
Marcelle groaned when she saw the debris. “I could ask the cleaners to come in tomorrow morning. They live on the premises, to service the apartments, but since you’ve been here, I’ve told them I won’t need them until further notice. It would be a good idea to stick to that rule, I guess.”
“I’ll help you clean up.”
