‘You’re so beautiful. I could stare at you all day.’
‘You are staring, Luc. Stop.’ She watched him drag off a small, flat silk pouch he wore around his neck. ‘Are there still lavender seeds in there? I love that story you told you me.’
‘A few strays, perhaps. No, I just wear it out of habit,’ he lied. He rolled to one side to lean on a single elbow so he could trace the line of her breasts. ‘Now, where were we?’ he wondered aloud, determined not to discuss the past with her any more.
She giggled. ‘You’re so different to John.’
‘That’s because I’m French,’ he said, exaggerating his accent. ‘We French know how to love a woman’s body.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Of course. Watch this,’ he said, and disappeared beneath the sheets.
Later she showed Luc that being French was not the qualification for a woman knowing how to enjoy a man’s body. He was relieved that her touch, the sounds of pleasure she made, the taste and smell of her body, were so different to Lisette’s. He was reassured again when the inevitable daggers of guilt punctured through the gossamer defence he’d thrown up around them and threatened to throw him from the wave of pleasure he rode at the touch of Jane’s fingers. Looking at Jane’s hair splayed around his body, feeling its feathery touch on his skin and entangling his fingers into its silkiness as his lust erupted was a promise that he would enjoy sex again and that he could and should do so without guilt. He closed his eyes, reaching helplessly, inexorably towards the fluttering, glorious feeling of release that seemed to last an eternity.
After the tremors of pleasure had passed he felt Jane lie herself languorously on top of him, burying her head in the crook of his neck while he descended from that special, private place of freedom. He wrapped his arms around her narrow torso, resting his hands in the smooth velvet that was the dip of her back and dozed in a sated peace.
They lay like that for a long time until Luc was sure they were glued together. When he dared to move, she moaned softly, sleepily, and he felt a soft chill bring goosebumps to his skin as he parted their warm, sticky bodies.
‘You’re not going, are you?’ she murmured, reaching to tuck the sheet and blankets around herself.
He stroked back her hair from her drowsy expression. ‘Not if you don’t want me to.’
She touched his cheek, shaking her head before she kissed both of his eyes. ‘Are you sad?’
He shook his head. ‘Curiously, no. I thought I would be but I feel alive for the first time in almost a year.’
‘How about that nasty companion, guilt?’
He smiled crookedly. ‘It’s there but I’ve chased him to the cheap seats. How about you?’
‘I’m ashamed to admit he didn’t show up, although I fully expected him to. Perhaps that makes me a hussy.’
He grinned. ‘May I take a shower?’
‘Of course.’
Luc stood unselfconsciously and padded over the carpet into the bathroom, turning on the taps to let the water warm up. He shivered in the chill beyond the bed and checked the time as he took off his watch. They’d been lost in each other for a couple of hours. His thoughts were already returning to reality – Jenny, von Schleigel … He should ring the hotel and check she was fine.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ Jane cooed, arriving in the marble bathroom. ‘I hope they’re happy ones.’
He stepped into the shower. ‘Care to join me?’
‘No, I know where it will lead. You go ahead.’
He closed the door and allowed the steam to billow up around him as he began to wash Jane away from his body. He made it quick, knowing she was still standing outside the cubicle, watching him.
‘You have a great body,’ she admitted.
‘For an old fellow, you mean?’ he said, easing out and taking the towel she held for him.
‘For any fellow,’ she said in admonishment. ‘I mean it, you’re in terrific shape. Must be all that work in the lavender fields, eh?’
He nodded. ‘I guess. I don’t think about it. You’ve made me feel much younger today.’ He leant over and gave her a dripping kiss. ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ she said. ‘This silvering here,’ she said, lightly touching where his hairline met his ears, ‘is very attractive. Is your beard greying?’
‘In parts,’ he admitted.
‘Very dashing.’
‘I think you just like old men!’ he said, stretching the towel between his hands and drying his back. He watched her glance down, then he dropped the towel and grabbed her, kissing her deeply, despite her throaty laughter. ‘Thank you for being so kind to us.’
She looked at him intensely. ‘I can assure you, today is not a kindness.’
‘I didn’t mean it that way. You’ve been a friend, you’ve been kind and you’ve been a great lover at a moment when loving was precisely what I needed.’
He knew she understood. She gave a slight nod. ‘Me too. Let me assure you it works both ways.’
‘Good. Then it won’t be awkward over dinner tonight.’
‘No, I refuse to wait for dinner to see you. This may be our last chance to have time alone. Spend the day with me … and tonight.’ Jane said.
‘All right. What do you want to do?’
‘Anything you want to. I just want to be near you. Sorry, does that sound too clingy?’
He smiled. ‘No, I’m flattered, so long as you don’t want to go shopping.’
Having strolled arm in arm through the Tuileries, looking every inch a couple, they’d found a café to get away from the cold bite of the November air. It had felt surreal to see Paris at peace, to feel so romantic as he stole small kisses, or felt his spirits lift when she’d looked over at him and smiled. He and Lisette had not had this in Paris. They’d shared that carefree, loving feeling in London briefly but then children and life had got in the way. As they had walked past the Louvre he realised the last time he and Lisette had made love with abandon, without hushing each other or in a totally selfish headspace, was in the white lavender field that moonlit night where she and his beloved Harry now rested. The sorrow came out of nowhere like a ghostly shadow and settled around him – a cold shawl, forbidding him to feel warm and happy yet. And he still had to face von Schleigel.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jane stirred her coffee slowly. ‘I’ve been thinking about something you said yesterday when you told me about your life, the war.’
‘Yes?’ Luc replied, taking a sip of his coffee and wishing he’d ordered a nip of something stronger and more warming to go with it.
‘When you were injured at Mont Mouchet, you said a wonderful woman called Marie and her grandson took care of you, nursing you back to health.’
He nodded. ‘Marie and Robert, yes.’
‘Have you contacted them since?’
The cup was halfway to his mouth again but he paused. ‘No.’
‘Why not? They saved your life, if I heard right.’
He looked back at her sheepishly. Why not indeed? He’d thought about it absently on occasion and always let the notion slip by … best intentions and all that; sand through his fingers.
‘I always meant to go back.’
‘Why don’t you?’
‘You mean now?’
She nodded.
‘No. I have things to do, places to take Jenny. It would be a complication.’
She shook her head. ‘No, you’re making it complicated. I went through this with John. His life was saved by two fellow soldiers who went back for him when part of their unit was separated and he was injured. When I thought that it might have been good for him to contact those men after the war to thank them, he ignored my suggestions and I couldn’t understand why and he wouldn’t explain it either.’ She shrugged as though she wished Luc would give her an insight. ‘I imagine you’ve wanted to put a distance between yourselves and the war; heaven knows John did. I came to understand that sometimes letting sleeping dogs
lie really is the best idea, even though it strikes me as the opposite to what I’d think was required.’ Jane looked up and he nodded. She was making sense to him. ‘You spoke very tenderly about Robert. Didn’t you say you’d made a promise to him?’
He put the cup back down. ‘I did. A blood promise, no less,’ he said, remembering how brave the little boy had been to cut his own thumb.
‘Well, you want to make this holiday more than just a trip down a sad memory lane for you and a sightseeing tour for Jenny. Imagine if you could find Robert!’ She gave a small gesture of pain. ‘Forgive me, I know it’s not my place and you have every right to be feeling glum as you reminisce without Lisette, but rediscovering Robert might give you a lift, a raison d’etre for the dark moments?’
Luc wanted to hug her in that moment to thank her for her care. He dared not share with her his real reason for coming back to Paris. Even so, her counsel was sage and he had been remiss regarding that wonderful family, who had saved his life and nursed him back to health.
‘Why not look them up?’ she continued. ‘It would be marvellous to see them again and great for Jenny to meet a real French family.’
Luc set von Schleigel aside. His name would not be uttered across this table.
‘I doubt Marie would still be alive.’
‘No, but her grandson must only be around twenty-five, isn’t that right?’
He did a quick mental calculation. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, there you are. You told me you came back to France to keep a promise …’
‘Not that one,’ he said, trying not to tell an outright lie.
‘And you don’t want to tell me what it is?’
He shook his head, looking out to the street as a car honked its horn. ‘It’s private, Jane. Just something I have to do.’
‘Is it dangerous?’
He snapped his attention back to Jane, his gaze narrowing. ‘What makes you ask that?’
‘Because you were so on edge when we met you with Max, and you’ve told me that you were with the Resistance.’ She shrugged, as if to say she would leave it at that.
Luc admired Jane’s intelligence but he had to throw her off this scent, or she could endanger his cause and maybe even herself.
‘You’re putting two and two together and coming up with five,’ he said, feigning a casual, amused air.
‘I’m sorry, Luc. I said I wouldn’t pry and I won’t. I just didn’t expect this to happen to me … I mean, to meet someone again and to like him as much as I do.’
He reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘I don’t mean to be mysterious but it is private. Please don’t worry.’
‘Can I help … with Jenny, I mean?’
‘You’ve already done enough. I wouldn’t ask—’
‘Luc, I had so much fun with her I forgot she was a child, and at my age a child is what’s missing in my life. And she’s dealing with a lot. Soon it will be boys. Did you see how she was looking at Max?’
Luc looked at her, aghast. ‘What does that mean?’ She smiled, her tone reassuring. ‘Relax, Luc. You’ll have to get used to it.’
‘Max is about ten years older.’
‘She was looking, that’s all; perfectly normal for a girl in her early teens and she’s no ordinary child. Move with her. You two, with only each other, need to be best friends. Besides, she has fine taste. Max is incredibly handsome.’ She regarded him when he didn’t react, her head to one side. ‘That was a backhanded compliment, you know.’
He knew she’d already mentioned Max’s likeness to him. But all he could think about was the intrusion of Kilian again. ‘Like father, like son.’
She waited, a look of amused bewilderment playing around her eyes. ‘You sound jealous! Which is ludicrous, because I’m sure you’ve never struggled to win similar attention.’
He didn’t bluster with false modesty.
She sighed. ‘Well, I like Max. And he made Jenny laugh. That’s what this trip is about, isn’t it? To see her laugh again and to feel yourself coming back to life; wasn’t that what our nice morning was about? Healing?’
‘I could use more of your healing,’ he quipped, wanting to change the subject.
‘But I’m guessing you don’t want Jenny to know about us?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t believe she’s ready to accept me being with anyone else.’
‘I understand.’
‘I haven’t even asked you how long you’re in Paris.’
‘As long as I choose.’
‘I plan to head south in a day or two and maybe you’re right – perhaps I will see if I can find Robert en route.’
She nodded and smiled, obviously pleased that she’d had a hand in that decision, but Jane’s eyes were far too expressive and he sensed her sadness even though her tone was bright. ‘Leaving so soon.’
He took a slow breath. ‘I have a lavender farm to get back to; spring’s begun over there, the flowers will be growing and—’
‘It’s all right, Luc, you don’t have to justify anything to me. It’s been lovely meeting you.’
‘It doesn’t have to end yet.’
‘It?’ She chuckled. ‘This was a lovely interlude and I don’t regret a moment. But I promised myself the ballet so I might book that for tomorrow and then perhaps I’ll move on to Florence. Paris can be such a lonely city, don’t you think? It’s always been a city for lovers in my book, not lonely hearts.’
‘Are you lonely, Jane?’
She shook her head. ‘Not until a moment or so ago.’
They shared a smile over their cooling coffee and guilt pressed on him. She’d made no demands, although in her own way there was something quite insistent about her and as much as he didn’t want complications, he wasn’t sure he was ready to say goodbye, either.
‘Why don’t you come with us?’ It was out before Luc could censor himself and consider the repercussions.
‘To Mont Mouchet?’
He nodded. ‘And then to Provence with us. Come and see Saignon.’
‘Don’t feel sorry for me, Luc, I couldn’t bear that—’
He stood, walked around the table and kissed her lips, much to the surprise of two women sitting at a nearby table.
‘I don’t feel at all sorry for you. And this is a very selfish move on my part. Firstly, you are a tremendous help with my demanding child. And secondly and far more importantly, I like absolutely everything about you … and I’m not ready to stop seeing you. It will be hard enough not to touch you.’
He could see how his words pleased her.
‘All right. I’d love to. What about Max?’
‘What about him? Max left a note for me at the hotel earlier. Our business is concluded and I presume he decided to head home. He said he’d be leaving Paris today.’
‘Oh.’ She looked genuinely disappointed. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye properly.’
‘Well, he did extend an invitation to any of us to visit him in Lausanne … so you could always call on him there.’
She gave him a withering look and he laughed, taking her arm and leading her from the café. ‘Actually he did genuinely leave an open invitation.’
‘That’s nice. If I ever get tired of older men, I’ll know where to look.’
They left the café chuckling and he didn’t know why or when the shift in his mind occurred to share a particularly private journey with her, but without consciously thinking about it he led them first by cab and then on foot towards Montmartre via rue Caulaincourt. They paused and looked into the old quarry that had become one of the new cemeteries.
‘Degas is buried here,’ he said quietly, slightly in awe that he was able to feel closeness to another woman, when he’d assumed life was stretching out on a lonely path for him. They were huddled close. ‘I have always admired his work,’ he added.
‘Why?’
‘Don’t you?’
‘I do. I’m just interested to know why you do,’ she said.
He thought abo
ut it. ‘I like all the impressionists. His work always looks as though just in that moment someone has turned on a spotlight and bathed the scene in luminescence.’
She nodded. ‘I like that. You’re a bit of an old romantic, Luc.’
‘I always was. But the war probably shattered a whole generation of romantics,’ he said.
They moved on, walking on to rue Des Abbesses until they stood on the main street.
‘Is Montmartre special to you?’ Jane wondered.
‘It is to anyone from France, I think,’ he shrugged. ‘But yes, you’re right, it does have significance for me. This is where Lisette lived her double life as a spy for Britain.’
Jane threw him a sidelong glance as they drew up outside a tall, white building.
‘What was her role?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, the War Office didn’t take all that trouble to get her into Paris simply to meet you, surely? What was her mission?’
‘The usual stuff,’ he said distractedly. ‘She just happened to be very good at it. She was quite the chameleon and because she was French it was a seamless shift for Lisette. She was invaluable.’
‘No doubt with those credentials she would have been a specialist spy with a specific mission.’
‘Here,’ he continued, not ready to discuss that part of Lisette’s or his life. Besides, a rush of memories had just flooded his mind. He touched what appeared to be newly painted walls with reverence as though through them he could feel her spirit. He remembered now how Max had held his father’s lighter with the same still reverence. ‘She lived right at the top,’ he pointed.
‘Do you want to go in?’ Jane asked, but Luc shook his head.
‘There’s nothing in there for me now, but we had a few peaceful weeks here after I’d been injured. I think they were my happiest days. She was safe. I was safe. We were in love.’
Jane looked away as though she knew she was intruding on something private and painful. He was grateful, quite sure too that it couldn’t be easy to be sharing his walk down memory lane with the ghost of his beloved wife between them. Even so he had begun to sense that Jane’s curiosity about him, his life and his dead wife, had become a force of its own.
The French Promise Page 32
