by Imelda Evans
‘What did she do?’
‘In our first lesson she told us that when learning French nouns, we needed to remember whether they took a masculine or feminine article. So far, so normal. I took notes. Then she said that the best way to remember which one they took was to remember something about the object that reminded us of a male or female characteristic. Again, logical. Then she gave us an example.
‘She said that we could easily remember the difference between le tableau (masculine) and la table (feminine) because – wait for it – the blackboard has no legs and the table has legs and in France legs are much more important on a woman than on a man.’ She paused to smile at the memory. ‘Can you imagine the effect that had on a class of fifteen-year-olds? I fell madly in love with her on the spot and I have never forgotten the articles for blackboards and tables!’
‘I bet you haven’t!’ Josh stopped again and laughed out loud. Looking at him, Kate had a sudden flashback to telling Alain the same story. He had smiled, but she suspected that he had never quite understood what was so special about it. She felt a surge of bitterness rise like heartburn inside her. Had he ever really ‘got’ her? Then she caught herself and forced the bile back down. That was unfair – not to mention pointless. She dismissed the memory and went on with her story as Josh started manoeuvring among tables again.
‘We’ve kept in touch intermittently over the years. We send Christmas cards, and I try to see her when I am in town. But I’ve been away so long this time that I haven’t seen her for years. It’s past time to catch up. And here we are.’
‘Kate! Ça va?’
Kate bent to kiss her old teacher, who beamed at her and kissed her in return. Then, remembering her manners, Kate turned and pulled Josh forward.
‘Madame, je voudrais vous présenter mon ami, Josh.’
Josh took the hand that Madame Le Map held out to him and kissed it, before straightening and saying ‘Enchanté, Madame,’ with his most winning smile. It was incredibly corny, but the teacher loved it. She gave Josh a pretty winning smile of her own, then turned to Kate, and said, in French, ‘I think you should keep this one, darling. Gallantry is not so easy to come by these days!’
‘Madame, he —’ Kate began, but Josh beat her to it, responding in French.
‘Indeed not, Madame, but women like Kate are equally rare. I would be very delighted to be kept!’
Kate glared at him, but Madame Le Map laughed the loud, ringing laugh that was one of the things that Kate loved about her.
‘Ah, young man, learn a lesson from this that I should be well and truly old enough to have learned by now . . . never assume anything! Obviously, you speak French – more than speak it. Are you French?’
‘Mauritian, Madame, by birth and mother. My father is Australian.’
Madame turned back to Kate.
‘Sounds perfect to me! And good looking, too! So when are you going to make an honest man of him?’
‘Madame!’ Kate couldn’t believe that she had traversed the length of the gym to escape this question, only to walk straight into it again.
‘What, Kate? How long are you going to make me wait to dance at your wedding? I won’t last forever, you know! You need to get a move on! He’s not unwilling, by the sound of it. Why would he be?’ She smiled up at Josh, who smiled back. Then she laughed again, at the look on Kate’s face. ‘Kate . . . Kate! Have you still not learned to know when I am teasing? But I will take pity on you and stop now. Sit! Sit, both of you, and catch up.’
Kate and Josh obediently scrounged a couple of spare chairs from a nearby table and sat down with Madame and her husband. Kate had not seen Monsieur Le Map for several years, and she was shocked to see how much older he looked. He greeted her affectionately, but he looked tired and his hands shook as he held his glass.
Madame, too, was looking her age. Kate knew she was no longer young, but she had always seemed so vibrant, so alive and so assured, that Kate had never thought of her as old. But now she could not help noticing that her hair was whiter and her movements slower than she remembered. Her mind had lost none of its sharpness, though, and Kate enjoyed talking to her as much as ever.
In fact, she enjoyed it even more than usual, as this time she had the rare pleasure of also seeing Monsieur Le Map really enjoying himself. Much quieter than his wife, he didn’t say a lot at the best of times and, as a rule, hardly spoke at all at parties. But Josh had managed to engage him in conversation, and they were chatting away in French with obvious mutual enjoyment. Kate felt a pang of guilt. She obviously had never tried hard enough to draw him out. But that only made her more delighted with Josh’s thoughtfulness and she blessed him in her heart for bringing pleasure to her dear old friend.
She could have stayed there all night, but when the main courses started to arrive, Kate reluctantly concluded they should go back to their table. Bidding her friends a fond farewell, she promised to come and visit them before she went home, and rose to go. Josh unfolded himself from his chair in turn, shook hands with Monsieur Le Map, and once again bent over Madame’s hand. She rewarded him with a sparkling smile, then looked around him to speak to Kate.
‘Bring him, too, when you come. Soon!’
Kate smiled and turned away, only to find that her eyes had filled with tears. She raised her hand to brush them away but quickly realised that a hand was not going to do the job. Tears were rolling down her cheeks in volumes that did not bode well for what was left of her makeup. Any minute now her nose would start to run. And she didn’t even know why she was crying.
CHAPTER TEN
Before she had a chance to work it out, she found that Josh’s arm was around her waist and he was steering her through a nearby door into what, in a fancier building, would be called the foyer. Here, it was just a long, draughty, semi-enclosed space outside the main hall, which obviously hadn’t merited Belinda’s decorating magic. It was cold, and slightly redolent of the sweaty teenagers it more commonly played host to, but at least it was private. He steered her over to a lone plastic chair, gently forced her to sit down and pushed a handkerchief into her hand.
Kate wiped her eyes and blew her nose gratefully; although she couldn’t help thinking that if Josh ever had thought she was beautiful, he would have changed his mind by now. Crying was not her best look. Some people can cry elegantly, but Kate knew perfectly well that she was not one of them.
‘Thank you, Josh. I’m sorry I made a scene. You can go back in if you want to. I’ll be fine in a minute.’
‘Sure, I’ll leave you here crying, shall I? I think not. No, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stay.’ He left her briefly, to fetch another chair from a stack in the corner, and Kate looked after him in surprise. Alain had hated scenes, and detested Kate crying, particularly in public. She had, until now, assumed it was a man thing. But maybe it wasn’t.
Josh put the chair in front of her, fished another hankie from somewhere, gave it to Kate, then sat down and took her free hand in his.
‘Now. Why are you crying?’
The question set her off again, so it was a while before Kate could reply.
‘You know what? This will sound really stupid, but I don’t really know.’ Kate wiped her eyes and blew again. Josh squeezed her hand and stayed silent.
‘I guess it’s because Madame is looking old. I’ve known her for more than half my life. She’s part of me. I don’t want to think about losing her.’
Josh smiled at her. ‘She is looking a little frail, I agree, but I don’t think you need to worry about losing her for a while yet. She still seems to have a fair amount of fight left.’
‘Do you think so? I suppose you’re right. I’m probably being silly. I guess I’m kind of sensitive to the idea of losing people at the moment.’ She looked away, unable to meet his eyes.
‘That’s understandable.’ Josh ducked his head around so that he could look into her face. ‘But is that all there is to it?’
Kate swallowed and felt the t
ears welling up again. Her hand clenched around his as she felt a band tighten around her heart.
‘No. No, it’s not all. Did you see her husband? Did you see how his hand was shaking?’
‘Yes, I did notice. I think he might be in the early stages of Parkinson’s. Why?’
‘Did you see Madame? Did you see how she helped him to hold his glass? Did you see how he looked at her?’
Once again, the tears got the better of Kate and she let go of Josh’s hand, to try to find a dry spot on her crumpled hankie. Josh absently ran his hand through his hair, looking a bit lost. As soon as Kate had a hand free, he took it again and held it firmly.
‘Yes, I saw. I thought she handled it really well. Respectfully and lovingly. But why should it make you cry?’
‘Oh Josh, don’t you see? That’s what I want!’
Understanding began to dawn on Josh’s face, but all he said was, ‘What? Parkinson’s?’
As jokes went, it wasn’t very clever, but it succeeded in making her smile, albeit somewhat shakily.
‘No, silly.’ She sighed. ‘Madame met Monsieur when they were both fifteen. They got married when they were nineteen and have been together ever since. In all the time I’ve known them I have never seen them ever be anything but loving to each other. I’m sure they fight sometimes. I can’t believe Madame is always sweetness and light, even to that darling man. But they’re still together, aren’t they? And now they’re getting old and it seems they only love each other more.’ She raised her tear-swollen eyes to look at him.
‘That’s what I want. That’s what I’ve always wanted. I want love like that. I want “happily ever after”. I want “in sickness and in health, till death do us part. For richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, as long as we both shall live.” Is that too much to ask?’
She smiled again – or tried to.
‘I know life isn’t a fairytale, Josh. But I thought I had it all worked out. I had a plan and I was working through it and I thought I’d made it. I thought I’d found a happy ending. I thought he was “the one”.’ She tried to take a deep breath, but it was hijacked by a sob. ‘How could I have been so wrong?’
She lurched out of her chair and turned away, torn between her anguish and her horror at spilling it out like this in front of him. She felt like a fool. A fool for wanting love so much, a fool for trusting the plan to bring it to her, a fool for believing in Alain, a fool for not seeing that it was over and, maybe worst of all, a fool for letting that fiasco turn her into a simpering idiot in front of Josh.
What was the matter with her? Wasn’t it just a moment ago that she had been feeling good and celebrating moving on? And now here she was, feeling gutted again, like a giant, gaping wound bleeding all over Josh, who surely hadn’t signed up for this. She had to pull herself together.
She patted her eyes as best she could with the sodden handkerchiefs, blew her nose and turned to apologise. But before she could speak, she found herself pulled into a fierce embrace. At first she stiffened, horrified that Josh thought she needed to be rescued again. How many times was he going to have to pick up the broken pieces this evening? He must think she is the most dreadful crybaby.
She wanted to pull away; to show she could be strong. But she hesitated too long and in the end, the comfort of his sympathy was more than she could resist. Cursing herself for her weakness, she relaxed against his chest and wept.
Josh, too, was wrestling with some unfamiliar emotions.
For a start, he was feeling a powerful urge to kill Alain. This was disturbing. It wasn’t as if he was the kind of man who regularly felt moved to violence against complete strangers. Nor was he in the habit of feeling over-protective towards the women in his life (with the possible exception of Jo). But the sight of Kate in pain seemed to have woken a caveman inside him, and he found himself itching to hit something.
He was also fighting the temptation to kiss her. In normal circumstances, the temptation to kiss a beautiful woman wouldn’t give Josh a second’s concern. He would just act on it. But these circumstances weren’t normal. Kate was on the rebound. She was vulnerable and she was his sister’s best friend and he was supposed to be looking after her, not seducing her!
Besides, he was uncomfortably aware that this was no ordinary desire. He didn’t want to merely kiss Kate. He wanted to possess her. To kiss her until her breath was gone and until he had driven even the memory of that bloody Frenchman out of her mind, and every other part of her, for good.
As impulses go, it was about as wrong as it could be. It wasn’t appropriate. It wasn’t sensible. It wasn’t even civilised. But he was afraid that if he held her for much longer he was going to act on it. He had to put some distance between them before he did something unforgivable.
Gently, gingerly, feeling as if he was peeling off a piece of his own heart, he slid his hands to her shoulders and separated himself from her. Surprised, she lifted her head; her face was so sad and full of longing that he could almost have cried himself, although in his case it would have been from frustration. Every muscle in his body was aching to haul her back into his arms and make her forget. It took all of his resolve to keep her at arm’s length and speak instead.
‘Are you okay?’
Kate wondered how she should answer that question. She definitely felt calmer. She seemed to have cried herself out, at least for now. But she couldn’t help wondering when her unruly emotions might ambush her again.
This night was supposed to be about moving on and learning how to have fun again, with a handsome man as her guide. Yet all she seemed to be doing was collapsing all over him. The thought made her cringe. Some impression she must be making!
Then there was the apparently unavoidable, but nonetheless disconcerting, effect he was having on her libido. She was beginning to think that nothing short of death would put a dampener on that. When she had gone into his arms, her distress had been real and all-consuming. Yet for at least two and a half of the roughly three minutes he had held her, her pain had been subsumed by the sensation of every nerve ending in her body standing to attention and agitating for closer contact.
Even now, when he had pushed her away and clearly wanted the embrace to end, all she could think of was what it would be like to kiss him. She should have been answering his question, but instead her eyes were tracing the contours of his mouth, wondering what his lips would feel like against hers. Her lips twitched in anticipation and she felt herself sway, ever so slightly, in his direction. Horrified, she pressed her lips together to try to dispel the thought, but all that produced was a mental image of him forcing them apart with his tongue. That definitely was not an image she could afford to indulge – not if she wanted to maintain any shred of composure.
Desperately, she bit down, hard, on her bottom lip, to quell its wayward fancies and dragged her gaze up to his eyes. They looked sad. Oh God. He was thinking that she was still miserable, and feeling sorry for her, when really all she was thinking about was jumping his bones. What kind of sad nymphomaniac must she be? What would he think if he knew?
Embarrassed, she dropped her eyes and noticed that her tears had left a wet patch on his shirt. Oh, for goodness sake! How much more could she do to this poor guy? But at least it gave her something to say. Ignoring his original question, she exclaimed, ‘Oh, I’m sorry!’
‘Sorry for what?’
‘For your shirt,’ she said, reaching out to spread her hand over the spot. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t. Because now, pouring down her arm in a tingling rush, was the answer to the question her butterflies had posed earlier in the evening: his chest did indeed feel as good as it looked. Right now, that was information she could do without. She wanted to snatch her hand away, but she couldn’t, because Josh had covered it with his and was holding it against him as if it were a lifeline.
Words seemed to have deserted both of them. So they stood there in silence, separated only by scruples, pride and the length of her bent arm.
&nb
sp; Which of these three would have given way first, they weren’t destined to discover. The sound of a door opening behind Josh brought them both to their senses and they sprang apart as if their hands were on fire – which, as far as Kate was concerned anyway, didn’t feel that far from the truth. So when Jo appeared in the doorway, they were standing, somewhat oddly, two feet apart and looking in opposite directions, as though they were mere acquaintances who had happened to bump into each other and were trying to be polite but were a little bored with the conversation.
For once, Jo refrained from comment. Instead, she remarked, ‘Oh, there you are. What are you doing out here?’ She paused. ‘On second thoughts, don’t answer that. I really don’t think I want to know. Whatever it was, you need to stop it and come back inside. Your dinners are getting cold and your absence is beginning to create comment. Clare thinks it’s romantic.’
Kate couldn’t have cared less about her food, but the consciousness of being talked about was enough for her. Moving faster than she would have thought possible in the deadly heels, she made it to the door before Jo had even managed to turn around. Then, with Jo and Josh trailing behind her, she all but ran back to the table, fuelled by equal parts embarrassment and the resolution never to be alone with Josh again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kate’s chicken was indeed cool by the time she got to it, but she wasn’t inclined to complain. She wasn’t inclined to talk at all, in fact, and was relieved to find that the conversation at the table was sufficiently lively to prevent her having to say much.
What she was inclined to do was drink. She liked a wine as much as the next person (assuming the next person was partial to a few wines from time to time) but, as a rule, she liked to stop well short of legless. Tonight, though, she thought that she might make an exception.
The evening was turning out to be even more difficult than she had feared, albeit for slightly different reasons. She had been scared of facing Crystal without a fiancé; now she was scared of her finding out her fiancé was fake. She had been scared of being alone, without a partner; now she was scared of being alone with her partner. She had been afraid she’d break down in front of her friends; instead she had lied to her friends and broken down not only in front of but all over a lovely bloke who must, by now, think she is a complete nutcase.
