by Susan Lewis
‘Marielle!’ she shouted, putting the phone down. ‘Marielle, I’ve got to talk to you.’
‘Something wrong?’ Marielle asked, all sweetness and light, as she appeared in the doorway.
‘No, the reverse. I want you to tell me what people wear down here for the ballet. Better still, I want you to come shopping with me tomorrow to pick something out.’
Marielle couldn’t have looked more shocked if she’d tried. ‘You want me to go shopping with you?’ she said.
‘That’s what I said. You’ll know all the best places and I want something . . . well, something that’s sexy but tasteful and you have the best dress sense of anyone I know.’
Marielle preened at the compliment. ‘Then we’ll see what we can do,’ she said, giving Penny the once-over. ‘What time do we start?’
‘How long will we need?’
As Marielle’s eyebrows went up, her eyes narrowed. ‘A few months ago I’d have said all day and even then we’d be pushing it, but I guess a morning will suffice the way you are now.’ And with a sugary little smile she left.
After raiding virtually every boutique and designer shop on the rue d’Antibes for the perfect dress, shoes and matching jewellery, at Marielle’s insistence Penny agreed to go home.
‘I don’t know who he is,’ Marielle said, as they walked back to the Noga Hilton car park, ‘and I won’t ask, but obviously this is a special date and you’re not going to be able to concentrate on a thing. So off you go – and take a tip from me: whether or not you’re intending to sleep with him on the first night, wear special underwear. At worst it will make you feel good; at best it will make him feel good. Is he French?’
‘Yes, I guess you could say he is,’ Penny told her.
Marielle smiled. ‘Be warned,’ she said: ‘not all Frenchmen are as good in bed as reputation has it; take it from one who knows. But whatever you do, don’t let your disappointment show.’
‘Such negativity!’ Penny laughed. ‘It takes two, Marielle, which I’m sure is something else you know.’
‘Or more,’ Marielle said smoothly.
‘I’ll take your word for that,’ Penny told her and since she was in such a jubilant mood she kissed Marielle on both cheeks before going off to find her car.
Watching her disappear through the sliding plate-glass doors of the hotel’s shopping arcade, Marielle glanced at her watch and wondered who she should tell about this – Robert Stirling or David Villers? She almost laughed out loud. Why not let Stirling tell David? Now, wouldn’t that be a neat little sting in the tale? Were Penny the Moon Canadian or American she’d know exactly who Christian Mureau was. But maybe Penny did know. Maybe that buffoon Wally Delaney had told her too, just as he had bragged about it to Marielle on the few occasions she’d curled herself round all that flaccid, pale flesh in the back seat of his car. Of course Marielle had already known exactly who Christian Mureau was, but after getting to work on Wally she’d not only managed to slot into place a few more pieces of the puzzle, she’d actually got to meet Mureau himself, at one of the Delaneys’ tedious little soirées over in Vallauris. What a night that had turned out to be! She could almost feel sorry for Penny the Moon, since, were she not immune to such things herself, she might very easily have fallen hard for that man. Still, there was no doubt at all that Stirling would pee himself with excitement when he got to hear about Penny the Moon’s date. What a shame she wouldn’t be there to witness the scenes when Stirling told David and David turned on Penny. But, what the hell, as long as she, Marielle, got what she wanted out of this . . . And there didn’t seem much doubt about that now that Penny the Moon, her new friend, was about to hand it all to her on a plate.
It was the middle of the afternoon when the telephone rang, snapping Penny from her doubtful scrutiny of that morning’s purchases.
‘Hi. Is that you, Penny?’
‘Yes,’ she smiled, her heart tightening at the sound of his partly French, partly American, accent.
‘It’s Christian Mureau,’ he told her, a smile in his voice too. ‘Are you still able to make the ballet this evening?’
‘Yes,’ she answered, a hand moving to her chest as though to deaden the beat of her heart.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t call myself yesterday,’ he said. ‘I was en route from Paris.’
‘Mmm, Wally said. What time did you get here?’ Jesus, Penny, such a gift for the banal!
‘Late last night,’ he answered. ‘Are you concerned about what you should wear tonight?’
Penny wanted to laugh, for only a Frenchman would ask such a question. ‘A little,’ she confessed.
‘Smart, but casual,’ he told her, his voice once again brimming with humour. ‘I’ll have Wally drive you to Cannes,’ he went on. ‘We should meet around seven. I’ll be in the lobby of the Gray d’Albion Hotel. Do you know it?’
‘Yes, I know it,’ she said.
‘There’s a party after the ballet,’ he told her. ‘The choreographer’s a friend of mine. Do you have to be up early in the morning?’
‘Not especially,’ she answered, wondering how, if Wally was going to drive her there, she was going to get home and not really caring.
‘Voilà!,’ he laughed. ‘A ce soir.’
‘A ce soir,’ she echoed, and waited for the line to go dead.
Laughing to herself, though not quite knowing why, she went back to look at the dress Marielle had helped her choose. It was perfect. Smart, but casual. Marielle hadn’t let her down. Holding it against her, she turned to the mirror. The dress was navy, almost black, with a straight velvet bodice buttoned through to the hip and shiny silk pleats to the knee. The neck was scooped, but not too low; the elbow-length sleeves were the same silk as the skirt. With her free hand Penny bunched her hair, wondering if she should wear it up. No, she thought not, and allowed it to fall back around her shoulders.
Now for the inspection of everything else.
Her heart sank. It was true, her thighs were better than they’d been in a long time, a whole lot better, in fact, but try as she might she just hadn’t been able to shift all the cellulite. Her eyes travelled upwards to the distressing mound of her belly. The skin was creamy-white and pleasingly soft to the touch, but no amount of exercise had been able to force it flat. On the other hand, at least her waist had returned and those dreadful ‘love handles’ had all but disappeared. Raising her eyes still further, she examined her breasts with their full, rosy nipples and the faint blue veins beneath the translucent skin. Turning to one side she checked their pertness, though she wasn’t sure that breasts as large as hers could actually be pert. But yes, she reckoned they could, for her nipples were still on the northern slopes and anyway she’d always considered her breasts one of her best features – providing, of course, the man in question liked big-breasted women. Would Christian? she wondered, as a shiver of pent-up desire coasted through her. Again she laughed. Would he even get to see them?
She looked at her watch. Just after four. She had plenty of time before Wally came to collect her. Glancing out of the window she saw that the sun was shining, that the clouds blown in earlier had been swept out to sea by the wind. It was strange how she was feeling, she thought: kind of floaty and unattached and surprisingly calm. And, she thought wryly, not in the least bit professional.
She started as the telephone rang.
‘Hello?’ she said huskily, wondering if it would be him again.
‘Pen?’
‘David!’ she said. ‘Where are you?’
‘At the apartment. I just got back. I called the office, they said you weren’t in today. Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, everything’s fine,’ she laughed. ‘Just fine. How are you?’
‘Yeah, pretty good, I guess. Do you want to have some dinner tonight?’
‘Oh, David, I’m—’
‘I could use the company,’ he said.
Penny’s heart fell. It was so unlike him to admit to a vulnerability that under any othe
r circumstances she’d have cancelled everything to see him. But in this instance she couldn’t. ‘David, I’m really sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve got other plans this evening. Maybe we could do it tomorrow?’
‘Sure. OK,’ he answered. ‘Going somewhere special?’
‘To the ballet, actually.’
‘Sounds good. Well, you have yourself a great time. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’
‘David!’ she called.
‘I’m still here.’
‘Are you all right? You sound a bit down.’
‘No, like I said, I’m pretty good,’ he told her. ‘Did Luke Pleasance come up with some dates yet for New York?’
‘Yes. The beginning of December.’
‘Great. He’s a good guy, you’ll like him. Anyway, I guess I’d better be getting on with things. Enjoy the ballet,’ he said, and rang off.
What bloody awful timing, Penny groaned to herself as she went to run the bath. Other than Christian Mureau there was no one in the world she’d rather see than David, especially when she wanted to close this distance that seemed to have crept between them lately.
Still, there would be other times, she told herself as a tremor of excitement swept through her. Tonight was a night she’d waited a long time for. She wasn’t going to think about what David would say if he, or anyone else she knew for that matter, were to find out who she was meeting, because they would all undoubtedly tell her she was insane – which she probably was, but when had that ever stopped her before?
‘Oh my, don’t you look simply splendid!’ Esther declared when Penny pulled open the front door at six-thirty.
‘Esther!’ Penny laughed, feeling ridiculously pleased and surprised to see her even though the old lady had called to say that she, not Wally, would be chauffering her into Cannes.
‘Would you like a drink before we go?’ Penny offered, embracing her.
‘No, no. No time for that. He’ll be waiting. Do you have a coat? I think you should take a coat. There’s a definite nip in the air tonight. Don’t want you catching a chill now, do we?’
Smiling, Penny turned back inside to collect her coat and make one final check on her hair and make-up. She now knew, from the brief conversation she’d had with Esther earlier, that she had been right about the reason behind the Delaneys hasty departure from the house next door: Christian had got cold feet about trusting her and, suspecting that Esther was more influenced by Penny than was good for any of them, he had ordered the Delaneys out of harm’s way. The reason for his change of heart now was something Penny had yet to find out, but she had decided to ask Christian himself, rather than hear it second-hand from Esther.
It wasn’t until some fifteen minutes later, as they were crossing the voie rapide to head down towards the Palais des Festivals in Cannes, that Penny realized how unusually quiet the old lady had become. Being in such a turmoil herself she’d been quite happy to spend the journey in silence, but now, glancing over at Esther, she couldn’t help wondering what was going through her mind.
‘Just a teensy bit worried,’ Esther answered when Penny asked.
‘About what?’
‘No, no. Nothing really.’
Penny smiled as realization dawned. ‘You’re still afraid that my only motive for meeting him is to get a story, aren’t you?’ she said.
Esther’s eyes remained fixed on the road ahead.
‘And if I don’t get it,’ Penny went on, ‘you’re thinking that I will go to print with what I know anyway. Such as where he can be found these days and who’s working for him to keep him out of the hands of the law.’
Esther blinked rapidly.
‘It’s all right,’ Penny assured her, ‘as far as I’m concerned, this is a date. I’ve left my journalist’s hat at home.’
Esther threw her a nervous smile. ‘He’s a good man,’ she said. ‘I think you’ll enjoy your date.’
A few minutes later they were parking the car beneath the Gray d’Albion Hotel.
‘Wow!’ Penny exclaimed as Esther slipped off her coat. ‘That’s a great suit.’ And for once it was, since its subtle colour and tailoring was much more becoming to a woman of Esther’s age than her usual attire. ‘Are you going somewhere when you leave here?’ Penny asked.
‘Just out for dinner with Wally and a couple of friends. How are you feeling?’ She smiled, seeming to sense Penny’s nerves.
‘Don’t ask,’ Penny shivered.
Esther walked ahead into the lobby of the hotel, Penny close behind her. To the right was the bar with its luxurious carpets, brass rails and mirrors, an extension of the lobby. But Penny’s eyes were sightless. For some peculiar reason she was trying to remember something she had read just a few days before, by Henry Miller. For a moment it felt as though it was the most important thing in the world to remember, but the words eluded her and then she wasn’t thinking about it any more . . .
Esther was walking into the embrace of the man Penny had pictured so many times in her mind’s eye since the night of the vernissage that she couldn’t help smiling to herself now as, seeing him in the flesh, she realized how deficient her memory had been. His pleasure at seeing the old lady was clear and as Penny watched them she began to feel faintly light-headed. Esther was chattering and laughing, but Penny couldn’t hear what she was saying. There was a buzz of conversation coming from elsewhere in the bar, but Penny didn’t hear that either. Then she realized that Christian was looking at her, holding out a hand to greet her. Penny took it and to her surprise he leaned forward and kissed her on both cheeks.
For one insane moment, as her heart seemed to stop beating, Penny wanted to run. Nothing, just nothing, should be as powerful as this. Having never seen him up close before, it was almost terrifying to find that his eyes were so arresting that she couldn’t drag her own away. They were a dark, muddy brown with a light of humour in them that almost, but not quite, disguised an intense sensuality that sent a thrill of excitement chasing through her. His nose was long and straight, his smile was easy, his teeth white and even. His skin was swarthy, his hair, slightly receding at the temples, though dark, was a few shades lighter than she remembered. It was dishevelled, cut short at the sides and curled over his collar at the back. He was tall, though maybe not quite so tall as she’d thought.
‘It’s good to meet you at last,’ he said, and the way he was looking so directly into her eyes seemed to be telling her that she had been on his mind every bit as much as he had been on hers these past few months.
‘It’s good to meet you at last,’ she echoed, feeling, to her dismay, a blush creeping over her cheeks.
‘Can I take your coat?’ he offered.
Penny slipped it off and as he took it her eyes started to dance at the appreciation he showed of the way she was dressed.
‘We’re meeting the others in half an hour,’ he said, ‘just over the road. I thought we’d have a drink here first.’
He turned back to the table where he’d been sitting and Penny saw there was champagne and three glasses.
When they were seated Penny watched the way he turned his attention to Esther, listening patiently and fondly as she wittered on, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her chaperonage was no longer required. Once or twice he caught Penny’s eye, narrowing his own as though letting her know that he was far from forgetting she was there. But as Esther chattered on about things and places and people that meant little to Penny, Penny was glad of the opportunity to study him further.
Though he wasn’t a conventionally handsome man he had the most compelling presence and unbelievably magnetic eyes she had ever come across. When she realized what else she was thinking, that there was nothing about him that in any way suggested he was a wanted man, she almost laughed. What did she expect? That he would go around with a sign on his head, or dress totally in black and carry a little jolly swag bag? He was wearing a brown polo-neck sweater, the most awful fawn checked trousers that appeared to be at least one size too big, tan cowboy boots,
and an expensive-looking brown leather jacket was slung over the arm of his chair. The sweater fitted tightly over his chest and arms, showing the powerful muscles beneath. His movements, his whole demeanour, exuded a confidence that held not a trace of arrogance or conceit.
At some point, she wasn’t sure when or how, he drew her into the conversation and it was a while before she realized that, whenever she spoke, his deceptively lazy eyes were holding her, seeming to reach far into the private realms of her thoughts. She could feel herself responding, as though moving into him, becoming a part of his mind, merging with his concentration. Esther Delaney seemed to recede from the scene, as though they were closing off their surroundings, isolating themselves in the silent discovery of each other.
It was ten minutes or more before Penny realized she had sunk into some kind of stupor and couldn’t remember a thing they had said. Politeness had made him return his attention to Esther and Penny could only hope that her mouth hadn’t fallen open as she’d watched him. Shaking off the stupor was a startling experience, as though she had just brought her head above water. The sounds around her suddenly sharpened and the faint feeling of suffocation was gone. Jesus Christ, she thought, what is he doing to me?
‘Hey,’ he laughed as she downed her champagne, ‘not so fast. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.’
Penny’s bottom jaw went to one side as she sheepishly grinned. Thank God he couldn’t read her mind right now. If he could, he’d probably blush.
‘Have you ever visited the Far East, Penny?’ he asked.
Penny raised her eyebrows, puzzled. Then, belatedly realizing that was what he and Esther had been discussing, she said, ‘No. Never.’
‘Christian’s speciality is oriental art,’ Esther informed her proudly. ‘He’s written a book about it and made a TV documentary.’
Christian laughed at Penny’s look of surprise. ‘I did have a life before all this, you know,’ he told her. ‘Quite a full life, in fact. One I hope to return to one day.’
