He moved lithely off the bed, his motions fluid as he got to his feet and reached for her hands.
Quickly her eyes moved over his body, downward past his chest and slim hips to his groin.
For a moment she stood transfixed as he held her hands and looked deep into her eyes. She could feel her heart fluttering as he brought her slim, tapered fingers up to his lips and kissed them seductively, looking directly over at her through those sparkling, gold-flecked eyes. Then he let go of her hands and moved one of his to the small of her back, tracing small circles on her flesh with his forefinger. The rousing scent of her musk was in his nostrils. 'You're beautiful,' he said softly. 'Beautiful.' His lips sought hers now. As his fingers glided smoothly up and down the ridge of her back, he felt her responding to his touch. He pressed her toward him so that she sucked in her breath as she felt the wetness seeping from within her.
Before Hélène could ask him to wait, Nigel had lifted her effortlessly off her feet, and without interrupting their kiss, carried her the rest of the way to the bed.
His searching tongue parted the soft dark curls of her pubic hair. She widened her legs and thrust her hips forward and could feel his face snuggling close, his moist tongue parting her and probing inside. It was a soft and rousing sensation, and it brought a tingling warmth spreading throughout her.
Gently he rolled her over on her stomach. Obediently she complied. He continued to tease her with his tongue. Her anticipation was unbearable. She had waited too long to sleep with him. She begged him to come inside her, but he continued to touch another part of her. The inside of her thigh, the back of her knee.
Suddenly she let out a cry. 'Nigel!'
He knew she was ready for him, and with a thrust of his hips he quickly slid himself up inside her. He could feel her strong muscles contracting around him, trapping him inside.
Slowly he began to thrust in and out until her breath came in gasps and she surrendered herself completely to him. Neither one had to say a thing. Never had Hélène been loved like this. Her life would never be complete without him.
Blanche Benois felt trapped. She could feel the familiar ache swelling up inside her. For the past week, it had been unbearable, but nothing compared to this. It felt as if her pubis were about to explode.
Frantically she began pacing up and down the stateroom, but it didn't do any good. Her pink lips were set in an angry pout and her huge gray eyes with the long lashes were wide with boredom. Her tight white jeans and the straining bikini top which barely covered her full breasts looked strangely out of place in the quiet luxury of the stateroom.
For a moment she stopped pacing. On an impulse she pushed aside the curtains and unlatched the porthole. She stuck her head out into the night.
The air was cool and clear. She could hear the muffled throb of the diesels and the sounds of another Magda Mond movie coming from the deck above. She cursed, drew her head back in, and slammed the porthole shut again. Everyone seemed to be having a good time but her.
At first she'd thought the cruise might be fun. And it would have been, too, if that sexy American athlete hadn't had to cancel at the last minute. Only after she had boarded in Barcelona did she learn that the handsome black boxer had sustained injuries in the ring and had been hospitalized. She had wanted to get off right then and there, but she didn't. You couldn't just board Skouri's yacht, find out that a guest was unable to make it, and then pack your bags and get right off again. Skouri's empire was too far-flung. He owned a film-production company, International Artists. It was I.A. that held the option for her next three films. No, she couldn't walk out on Skouri. Not without feeling the full force of his wrath.
Who else was there to have fun with? No one. Sir George was too ancient, Elena and Evangelia had Giorgio and Paolo tied around their little fingers, Hélène had Nigel falling all over her, Ariadne had Skouri, and Nikos Skouri liked nothing better than to consort with the engineers and tinker with the engines of the Piaggio seaplanes or one of the many speedboats.
With a frustrated sigh she plopped herself down on the king-size bed and stared up at the padded-leather ceiling. What a bore this was turning out to be! And there were six more days of it. The way things were going, she'd probably be a raving lunatic by the time the cruise was over.
Blanche Benois could be characterized as a vampire. She lived on men and took from them. On screen, her sex-hungry quality reflected her sexuality, which was all-consuming. When she worked on a film, she retired to her trailer and had sex with whoever was available before she would stand in front of the cameras. That way, the film was certain to capture her torrid appeal. She knew that only a woman who had just had satisfying sex radiated a certain animal quality.
But much as she threw herself into sex, she only took from men. She sucked all the sweet juices out of their loins and never gave of herself in return. She usually only had to lie there and moan while they did all the work. And they never noticed that she did nothing, the fools! They were always too concerned with their precious penises to realize that as long as they were humping her, there was a triumphant gleam in her eyes. They thought they were showing off their prowess, when actually it was she who controlled them.
She let out another sigh and arched her body off the bed so that only her head, shoulders, and feet were firmly planted on the mattress. She undid the buttons of her white jeans and peeled them down around her ankles. When she was out of them, she shrugged off the bikini top and lay naked on her back. Deliberately she let her fingers brush across her nipples until she felt the fine, tingling sensation starting up within them. She moaned and looked down at them. They were large and plum-colored against the deep bronzed tan of her breasts. Million-dollar tetons, they were. That was what they were insured for by Lloyd's of London. They had always been perfectly shaped and big, but now they were even better since she'd had the silicone implants.
She felt her fever rising. Hundreds of thousands of men who went to see her movies hungered after those tetons, could imagine the sweetness of them between their lips. Hundreds of thousands—perhaps even millions—of men would have given anything to jump into bed with her and show her how they could make those tetons feel. And yet. . .and yet she was alone, dammit! Nobody wanted her, and her body demanded that she have a man!
She took a deep breath as she felt the moistness starting up between her legs. It was like Sister Magdalene at the Catholic boarding school had told her: she would suffer. But Sister had been wrong. Blanche's suffering was not the kind she had been warned about. She smiled now, thinking back to that time in the dormitory.
She had just turned fourteen. Sister had come into her tiny room unexpectedly, finding her naked on the iron-framed bed with both hands half-buried inside her. Blanche hadn't even realized she was there until she'd heard the gasp. Then suddenly she sat bolt upright in embarrassment. The pink face framed by the white wimple and black veil looked at her with shock.
'Blanche!' Sister Magdalene hissed harshly, trying to control her voice. 'What are you doing!'
Blanche laughed now. What the hell had that old virgin thought she'd been doing? Praying?
Sister's voice had risen righteously. 'Get decent immediately and then come down to the office!' Swiftly she turned on her heel, her black robes rustling and the rosary beads around her waist clicking faintly against one another as she marched back out.
Ten minutes later, Blanche was bent over the big scarred desk as Sister Magdalene brought the wooden cane down upon her bare buttocks again and again. Blanche strained her ass muscles, tightening them to lessen the sting. At first the pain had been exquisite; then it began to burn fiercely, like fire. Blanche hadn't been able to contain herself. The pain, plus the picture of a crucified Jesus being flogged by the Romans staring down at her from the wall, brought on the strongest orgasm she was ever to know.
Strange that she should think about Sister Magdalene now. She hadn't thought about her for years.
She rolled over on the bed. B
ut that was long in the past. She needed a man now, today, and there was none.
Suddenly a calculating glint came into her eyes. She couldn't steal Giorgio or Paolo from Elena and Evangelia. Skouri wouldn't have it. But there was always Nigel.
She smiled now. All she had to do was wait a little while till they all went to bed. Till Hélène slipped out of his suite in the wee hours of the morning. She had never known a man who could say no after she'd sneaked into his room and wakened him up by flicking her tongue over his balls.
An hour and a half later, the movie ended; everyone congratulated Magda Mond on her performance and then headed to the bar or to bed. Hélène and Nigel went up on the sundeck and stood beneath the stars. They were the only ones there, and the sounds of soft music drifted up from the bar below. Hélène stood there listening to it. She was watching Nigel closely. His face was illuminated by the pale wash of moonglow. She wanted him to take her in his arms.
Instead, he said, 'It was a wonderful movie. They don't make them like that anymore.'
She was surprised by his small talk. It took a moment for her to find her voice. 'No, they don't.'
He shook his head. 'It must be terrible to be a star. One's aging never shows so much as on film. It's a sad reminder of how quickly one grows old.'
She nodded slowly.
Suddenly he reached out and took her hands in his. 'Oh, Hélène, I know this is sudden and rash. But I want to. . .Could you. . .I mean, will you marry me?'
She drew in her breath and stared at him. The proposal had been sprung on her so suddenly that she was momentarily speechless. Then her heart gave a joyous leap and her eyes shone. 'Are you sure?' she stammered. 'You know so little about—'
He didn't wait for her to finish. 'Just say yes,' he said earnestly, squeezing her hands. 'Darling, please say yes!'
Her eyes stared down to the deck below. She looked back up at him. 'I will give you your answer tomorrow,' she said in a trembling voice.
Much later, after they made love and he lay asleep, she brushed her lips against his, slipped out of his bed and back to her own suite. He said he loved her. And she was certain she loved him. Or was it only physical attraction which drew them together? No, it was more, she decided. Much more.
It took a long time for her to get to sleep. Back in her own bed, she stared up at the dark ceiling for what seemed like hours. The night was quiet save for the sounds of water slapping against the hull. She missed the warmth of his body, the steady sounds of his breathing. She could only lie there thinking of Nigel and his proposal. When she finally fell asleep, it was into a pleasant, dreamless black depth, totally at peace. She was brought out of it by the ringing of the telephone. She opened her eyes and looked groggily at her Hermes travel alarm clock. The luminous green dial read two o'clock.
Bewildered, she reached for the receiver. 'You have a call from Paris,' the yacht's operator said. 'Please hold.' Then she could hear the ship-to-shore operator making the connection through the Evangelia's radiotelephone system. A moment later a voice came on over the air, crackly and far away.
'Edmond!' she said.
'I wouldn't call you if it weren't an emergency,' he said quickly in a distraught voice.
'What's the matter?' Hélène demanded, suddenly frightened. She sat up straight in bed, sleep falling away in brittle shards.
The words spilled out of him. 'It's Jeanne. She's in the hospital.'
'The hospital!' Hélène's voice was disbelieving. A sudden chill seized her heart. 'Edmond, what is it?'
'The baby. There are complications.'
She didn't hesitate. 'I'll be there on the next plane!' she promised.
'Please hurry.' He tried to say more, but his voice cracked suddenly. It took a moment for him to recover. 'I. . .I don't know how much time she's got left. . .'
'I'm leaving, Edmond. Straightaway. Please tell her I'll be there!'
'I will, if she. . .if she's conscious long enough. Thanks, Little French Girl.'
She hung up and sat there in the dark, stunned. The stateroom was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioning. She covered her face with her hands. She couldn't believe it. Something wrong with Jeanne? The best friend she had? It couldn't be true. Then tears were pouring down her face. She wiped them away with her fingertips and switched on the lamp. The yellow glow spilled out over the nightstand.
She stared at the telephone. Then, without losing another second, she dialed the bridge. A moment later she got hold of the captain. Almost immediately the Evangelia's diesels changed pitch and the yacht slowed to a halt. The crane on deck swung one of the Piaggio seaplanes overboard. Quickly Hélène threw on some clothes, took a sheet of the engraved Evangelia stationery out of the desk, and hastily scribbled a note to Nigel. When she was through, she quickly read it over. It would have to do.
My darling,
A family emergency requires me to leave at once. I'll get in touch with you as soon as possible. In the meantime, my answer to your proposal is: Yes! Yes!! Yes!!!
All my love,
Hélène
By the time she folded it, the telephone rang again. It was the Captain. The Piaggio was ready for takeoff, the pilot standing by. She hurried into the corridor and stuck the note in the door of the Rembrandt Suite. Then she went up on deck. A Riva speedboat had already been lowered from the davits. A sailor was waiting for her and helped her down the portable stairs to the floating platform. Another sailor helped her into the Riva. The line was untied and he let out the clutch. The boat began to nose slowly toward the seaplane. She could just make out its dark shape bobbing on the water a short distance away.
She didn't see Blanche Benois tiptoe to the Rembrandt Suite, take her note, read it, and tear it into tiny shreds. As Nigel awakened from his sleep to a moist tongue licking at his scrotum, the faint drone of a plane overhead hummed away into the distance.
10
The receptionist looked up at her with annoyance. 'Visiting hours are from one to four,' she said sternly.
Hélène stared at her. She was worried and bushed. She had tried to doze on the planes, but it had been impossible. For the four hours it had taken her to get to Paris, she'd been able to do nothing but worry. Now she had to fight to keep her temper under control as well. In a split second she sized up the receptionist. Long ago she had learned that those on the low end of a bureaucratic totem pole tended to try to exercise their power the most. There was only one way to deal with them.
She drew herself up imperiously. 'Do I get to see my sister-in-law, or must I have words with whoever is in charge of this place?' Hélène turned her back on the receptionist and looked around, trying to spot a supervisor.
'I'm sorry,' the receptionist said apologetically. 'I didn't realize you were a relative. What did you say the patient's name is again?'
Hélène turned back around. 'Jeanne Junot.'
The receptionist consulted a ledger on the desk and ran her finger down a long list. Finally she looked up. 'Room three-oh-nine.' She leaned forward and pointed. 'Make a right turn at the end of the waiting room and follow the corridor to the St.-Gatien wing. Take the second bank of elevators.'
Hélène nodded her thanks, turned again, and went briskly in search of the elevators.
On the third floor, she found Edmond pacing outside Jeanne's room, his expression blank. Hélène could feel her heart dropping. His face was pale and white. It was a face that had lost all hope.
Taking a deep breath, she hurried toward him. Her deck shoes made no sound, but he sensed her approaching. He looked up. 'Little French Girl,' he said in a tight voice.
She put out her hands and embraced him. Then she held him at arm's length. 'How is she?' she demanded, looking up at him.
He avoided her eyes. 'I don't know.' There was hopelessness in his voice, too. 'The doctors keep using medical terms I can't understand.'
She bit down on her lip. 'Can I see her?'
He shook his head. 'The doctors are in there now. We
have to wait.'
She let go of his arms, turned away, and began to pace the corridor. Suddenly she had an idea. She stopped and whirled around. 'Wait a moment! I'm going to make a telephone call.'
He looked at her curiously. 'To whom?'
'A friend who's a doctor. He's helped me before. He'll at least be able to unravel the mysteries of the jargon and let us know what's going on. I'll be right back.' Quickly she started down the hall to find a telephone.
Dr. Rosen arrived long before the doctors were finished with Jeanne. From the corner of her eye, Hélène caught sight of him approaching. He was wearing a worn gray cardigan and his eyes were red-rimmed from interrupted sleep. Hélène felt bad at having awakened him, but she looked at him gratefully. She kissed his cheek. 'Thank you for coming.' She took his gnarled old hands into hers and held them silently for a moment. There was something about his quiet strength that made her feel better almost instantly.
She introduced him to Edmond and the two men shook hands. 'What have the doctors told you?' he asked immediately.
Edmond made a futile gesture and looked down at his feet. 'Not much. Something about fluid retention and renal failure.'
Dr. Rosen was silent for a moment. 'Hélène told me your wife is pregnant. What month is she in?'
'The eighth.'
'The eighth.' Dr. Rosen shook his head. It was the old story, he thought miserably. The wife probably knew all along that something was wrong but was afraid to tell the husband. Even without seeing her, he could guess what was the matter. Fluid retention was bad enough in itself, but renal failure probably meant toxemia. Poisoning of her body by her own fluids. 'And how long has she been having the problems?' he asked.
Sins Page 58
