by Jules Wake
First things, get the doctor’s verdict, she told herself as the lift went up. She was still accompanied by two footmen, pushing Cam’s wheelchair in which he flopped listlessly like an old man. She wished he’d open his eyes. Just so that she’d know he was still in there and not as close to death as he looked.
With every bump and jolt of the wheelchair, she saw pain spasm across his face. At least it meant he was still conscious.
At last they were outside the room. She fumbled with the key and with relief opened the door to see a large double bed in front of her. If she could just get Cam into bed, then she’d feel a lot better.
Both footmen loitered in the door.
‘Oh for goodness sake,’ she muttered. Were they after a tip? What now? She sighed and took her handbag off her shoulder and dumped it on the coffee table. Crossing back to the bed, she peeled back the covers and waited, making it quite clear there would be no tips until Cam had been transferred from the wheelchair into the bed.
The protracted vomiting had obviously left him spent, the minute his head hit the pillow he fell into a deep sleep. She looked at him breathing deeply and evenly. Out for the count. He looked grey and in the short space of time since they’d arrived, the lines on his face had deepened.
She glanced down at his clothes. The jeans were filthy, mainly mud from the grass verge he’d collapsed on and his usual white T shirt was exceptionally grubby. Oh God, she couldn’t tuck him into the crisp white cotton sheets like that. The clothes were going to have to come off.
T shirt first, then she’d summon courage to do the bottom half. Needs must. Nurses did this sort of thing all the time.
Taking the bottom of the cotton hem, she lifted it and slid the front upwards, before sliding her hand under his back to pull up the bunched fabric. His arms weighed a ton but she managed to lift them over his head. He stirred and muttered, struggling against her slightly but was too weak to do much and didn’t even manage to open his eyes.
Focusing on the T shirt and not on the gorgeous torso revealed, she bundled it into the hotel laundry bag. It would be pervy to look at a defenceless man. Wrong. Completely wrong. Robert would be … Robert wouldn’t be anything because he wouldn’t ever envisage her in this situation. She would never have envisaged herself in this situation.
Even though she knew she shouldn’t but because she could, she gazed down at Cam’s motionless body. Her mouth went dry. It had to be said she’d never imagined herself within touching distance of a body like this. He was like every fantasy man rolled into one, the stuff of movie stars. Dark hair dusted the golden skin of his lean chest before arrowing down, across the sharply defined muscles of his stomach, into the snug-fitting jeans.
Would he wake if she touched that expanse of skin? Or if she let her fingers smooth along the collar-bone? She’d never felt this stark bolt of desire before and couldn’t help drinking the sight of him in. What would it be like to run her tongue around the flat dark nipples, teasing the light circle of dark hair? Trace her fingers over his ribs and then up over the firm pectorals, touching their firm, satin smoothness? Stroke her thumbs over the lean hip bones above the waistband of his jeans?
Heat flushed her skin and for a moment she felt light-headed, her fingers itching to touch. Instead she forced herself to consider the belt buckle of his jeans. She needed to finish undressing him and get him into that bed and covered up. Pronto.
With clumsy fingers she set to work on the belt and then not looking up at his face, she busied herself with the zip. Reaching round his waist to shimmy the jeans down his hips, it was impossible not to touch naked skin. He was cool and a little clammy, so she worked quickly sliding the jeans off his hips to reveal snug black briefs which she tried hard not to look at. Moving to his feet, she pulled off his socks and tugged the denim down.
He groaned and doubled over, his arm grasping his stomach.
‘Cam?’
He groaned again but didn’t answer.
She pulled the duvet around him and tucked him in. Grey pallor tinged his cheeks and damp curls clung to his clammy face.
Gingerly she perched on the edge of the bed for a minute studying the strong masculine jawline. He was all man that was for sure, his mouth with the fuller lower lip was a firm slash across his face, framed with bold cheekbones. And she should be ashamed of herself, the man was sick and here she was ogling him. What the hell was wrong with her?
Watching him sleeping wasn’t going to get her very far. Hopefully reception would send a doctor up quite soon.
Leaving his side, she turned around and took in the room properly. It was more like a suite, with two sofas facing a coffee table and a very large flat screen TV. Walking over to the window, she discovered that the double French doors opened out onto a tiny balcony dominated by a brasserie table and two chairs.
Even the carpet beneath her feet seemed so much deeper than anything she’d ever seen. Keen to see everything, she checked out the bathroom and let out a sigh. Bathroom perfection – a walk in shower with a dozen different heads, two sinks, low lighting and a long low bath, complete with Jacuzzi jets.
At least she’d be comfortable while Cam was out for the count.
Itching to try the shower and wash away her travel grime, she started to strip off. Where was her bag?
Damn. Pulling her T shirt back on, she went back to the lounge area. Where was it? The concierge must have forgotten to bring it up.
Making up her mind, she lined the waste paper basket under the window with one of the hotel’s laundry bags and placed it beside the bed. She also left a towel there and a brief note saying she’d be back soon, although looking at him, she doubted very much that he would be waking up for a while.
The concierge frowned haughtily as if she’d maligned his honour. ‘Monsieur had the bag on his knee. That is the only bag I saw.’
‘No, I had one. I left it with you when I gave you the keys for my car.’
‘Where?’
‘Outside, on the pavement. I put it on the pavement.’ Nooo. She tugged at the necklace around her neck. Surely he’d picked it up. Her bag had all her clothes, clean knickers, toothbrush and the black dress. OK, that might not be such a great loss but she couldn’t spend the rest of the trip in these jeans.
‘Outside?’
‘Oui.’ Quite why she tried French, she wasn’t sure. He seemed to be understanding her just fine. Unfortunately.
‘Ze pavement?’
‘Oui.’
Non, I took the keys for the so beautiful car…’ A brief flash of horror crossed his face. ‘Madam. Pardon.’
He rushed from behind the desk out through the lobby, down the stairs onto the busy pavement. Laurie followed a few steps behind to find him anxiously scanning the street this way and that.
He caught sight of her and lapsed into a torrent of passionate French punctuated by a steady stream of ‘pardons’.
Breathe. It wasn’t the end of the world. She could cope. Her passport, purse, money and Kindle were all in her handbag. Nothing was irreplaceable. She could buy more knickers, T-shirts and jeans.
Although perhaps she ought to let the concierge know, as his wild gesticulation and furious pace of French put her in mind of some bizarre combination of Fawlty Towers and Monty Python.
The manager was called, the under-concierge was called and the head receptionist. They convened in the lobby, where Laurie waited not understanding a word of the conversation.
She couldn’t help feeling it wasn’t anybody’s fault, just a communication breakdown. It could be reasonably argued that she had abandoned the bag. It could also be argued that the concierge had taken one look at the car and forgotten everything else. Six of one and half a dozen of the other. Although how you translated that into French, she had no clue.
The upshot from the manager, who kept shooting daggers at the concierge, was that Laurie should claim on her travel insurance. The hotel was not responsible for luggage left outside the hotel, only for luggage
left with the concierge within the hotel.
After all that had happened today, Laurie couldn’t summon the energy to argue. Did she even have travel insurance? Best to check with Ron.
A quick call to the solicitor’s office in England got her no further ahead as Ron was out. Leaving a message with Mrs Lacey, she explained the situation and asked him to call as soon as he got back.
The plus point from the fracas was that the manager hastily agreed to hurry the doctor up.
In the meantime she would have to rinse out her underwear in the bathroom tonight and pray her knickers dried by morning.
The uber-chic pharmacy made her even more aware of her travel-weary, unwashed state. It seemed only to stock expensive face creams and perfume at first sight but then she realised the glossy walls hid cupboards full of well-packaged creams. The white-coated assistant that stepped forward was immaculately made up and just looking at her made Laurie feel grubby and under-dressed in her well-worn travelling clothes.
She blushed, wondering how bad she looked.
‘Can I help you?’ the French woman asked in perfect English. God, how did they do it? What was it that gave her nationality away? She looked down at her rumpled T shirt and shabby jeans and loose fitting ballet flats and then back at the woman’s five denier hosiery, low-heeled glossy court shoes and snow white coat. Her thick brunette hair was caught neatly in a barrette; not a single stray hair had escaped.
‘My friend is ill? He has food poisoning and the doctor suggested I get him some …’ she read from the scrawled note the doctor had left her.
The woman waved her hand as if to dismiss any doctor’s knowhow. ‘How long has he been sick?’
‘Since lunchtime.’
She then rattled off a series of questions about his condition, how long he’d been vomiting for before concluding with a friendly professional smile. ‘Sleep is probably the best thing. It’s the body’s way of recuperating.’
Her English was as flawless as her advice. It was exactly the same as the doctor’s.
‘You should get him to drink some fluids. This is a special hydrating solution which will help.’
By the time Laurie had finished she had a carrier bag full of medical goodies and a fine selection of face creams, lotions and potions, most of which were free samples the pharmacist had pressed upon her when Laurie had told her about her missing luggage.
The language barrier had proved easily overcome and the pharmacist’s detailed advice made her feel much better than the doctor, who had shrugged a lot. At least she could play nurse with a bit more confidence now.
As she made her way back to the hotel, she’d skirted a market buzzing busy with people carrying bulging string bags, zig-zagging from one side of the market to the other, chattering and pointing at all the delicious fresh produce.
Unable to resist the rich spicy scents wafting from a charcuterie stall, she halted her journey. Another five minutes wouldn’t make so much difference and she was intrigued by the gourmet feast on display. From pale delicate meats, to rich blood red slices, the stall had the biggest selection of meats and pâtés she’d ever seen. May be she could buy some to have for supper. She’d already passed a bread stall which had called with its fresh baked scent and there was the cheese which looked wonderful, as well as all the fresh fruit and vegetables. The peaches, plump and fleshy, looked irresistible.
It was so different from schlepping around Sainsbury’s. It would probably be a good idea to buy in supplies for the room, so she wouldn’t have to leave Cam on his own again.
With bread, cheese and fruit and other goodies stashed in plastic bags, she suddenly realised another twenty minutes had elapsed. She really ought to get back.
To her relief and slight irritation, Cam was still sound asleep when she got back to the room which felt stuffy and dark after the sunshine and scents of the vibrant market.
She threw open the French doors to let in some fresh air and stepped out onto the miniscule balcony. The sound of the street below made her feel slightly less alone.
At least Cam hadn’t been sick any more.
Conscious of the loss of her bag, she rinsed out her knickers, squeezing out as much moisture as she could. She put the shaving light on in the bathroom. If Cam woke and needed the bathroom it wouldn’t be pitch dark in the room.
Settling down with her bread, cheese and wine, she suddenly remembered the bottles of wine Philippe had pressed upon them. There was one in Cam’s bag.
Feeling incredibly decadent, she opened the bottle and poured herself a glass of the pale straw Sancerre. It was every bit as good as she remembered. And very moreish.
By eight o’clock she’d almost finished the bottle … in fact it seemed a terrible waste to leave that last bit, although when she poured it, it filled her glass to the brim.
Cam still hadn’t woken. Several times during the evening she crossed to the bed to check he was still breathing. Whoops, the table leg caught her out. Had it always been there? The room span a bit but she managed the twenty steps. His colour looked better although his face suddenly seemed a bit blurry round the edges … or maybe that was her. In fact everything seemed a bit blurry.
The wine was very delicious though. Shame Cam didn’t have two bottles in his bag.
Bag. She needed to replace her bag. Shopping. Where did one shop in Paris? Blurrily she remembered her Kindle Fire. The interweb. She could google ‘where to shop in Paris when all your clothes have been nicked by some bastard’. For some reason the touchscreen seemed to have a mind of its own and she couldn’t get the words typed in, in the right order. Abandoning the searches, she picked up the hotel magazine.
Personal shopping at Galeries Lafayette. Now that sounded good. Get someone else to do the donkey work. She didn’t like shopping. Too complicated, too much choice and she’d never got the hang of knowing what suited her. That’s what happened when you grew up with your dad and he didn’t know anything about girls’ clothes. This sounded the bees’ bollocks.
Picking up the phone she called reception.
Chapter 13
When her eyelids began to droop, she glanced at the bed; it appeared to be moving slightly but it didn’t seem to bother Cam. He’d barely moved and if it wasn’t for her persistent checking … before the room started spinning … she could have been easily persuaded he was dead. Which was a good thing, as he wouldn’t be aware of her in the bed with him. She giggled softly to herself. It was all right, she’d sleep in a dressing gown. That would be … thingy. The word eluded her. Although, come to think of it, he wouldn’t know if she rifled through his bags and pinched one of his lovely white T shirts. The idea had merit. The thick heavy knot on the front of the dressing gown would be uncomfortable. Woozily, she unzipped his bag and removed one of the neatly folded T shirts.
While she was at it, she removed his wash bag and put it in the bathroom. For a moment she dithered in front of the mirror, her image swaying rather oddly. She really, really, really couldn’t borrow his toothbrush but she could nick a bit of toothpaste. Rub it round her teeth with her fingers. What else did he have she might be able to borrow? The deodorant she’d help herself to in the morning.
Feeling very tired, she slid into the cool sheets, careful not to rock the mattress or disturb Cam.
She lay looking up at the ceiling, arms rigid by her side. In. Bed. With another man. Another man who wasn’t Robert. Turning onto her side, she stared across at him. Apart from Robert she’d never shared a bed with any other man. Ought to make the most of it. She giggled softly to herself, aware that she really wasn’t making much sense. He did have a delicious chest thought. Really quite yummy. Just an arm span away.
Cam shifted in his sleep, turning towards her, the sheet slipping down. She blinked, sudden awareness at his proximity, dousing her with sense. Her libido needed a good slap. Turning her back on him, she clicked out the light with a determined snap of her fingers.
Sleep took a long time coming but eventually
her heightened awareness of another body in the bed dimmed and she fell asleep.
A long low groan startled her from sleep. Next to her in the dim light she could see Cam clutching his stomach, almost curled double.
Reaching out she grabbed his shoulder, he looked up, his face taut and white.
Quite how she knew, she had no clue, but she had to get him to the bathroom. Quickly she slid out of bed and rushed around to his side of the bed, pulling him towards the bathroom.
His breath came in pants as he stumbled after her.
‘It’s OK, Cam,’ she led him through the door, the white sanitary ware glowing slightly from the low light cast by the shaving fixture and guided him to sit next to the toilet on the floor.
When she saw his finely chiselled abs spasm, she pushed his head towards the bowl, grateful for the shadows as the poor man retched again and again.
It seemed to last for ever, his body shaking with effort as his stomach once again tried to force its contents out. All the while, she soothed his hair back from his face, the curls damp and clammy.
Eventually he lay his forehead on the seat, breathing hard as if totally spent. Checking he was propped up, she stood and soaked one of the hand towels with warm water and filled a tooth glass with cold water.
‘Here sip this, and spit it out, don’t swallow it,’ she murmured not sure if it was the best advice or not. As he did she wiped his face gently with the hand towels, slipping it around the back of his damp neck.
‘Thanks,’ he whispered hoarsely.
She eased him back, to prop him up against the bath again. His head lolled back. He looked exhausted. Unable to help herself she rubbed his shoulder.
He leaned towards her as if enjoying the comfort. She slipped her arm along to his other shoulder and he leaned into her, his head drooping down to rest on her chest. The long dark curls tickled slightly and she went to stroke them away, her fingers tangling in the soft hair and massaging his scalp. With a stuttered sigh, his body softened and he snuggled into her. Her heart filled and swelled at the sensation of giving comfort to Cam while he was so vulnerable. It made her want to take care of him. Mother him. She kept up the gentle caress of his hair, savouring the quiet moment in the dark. A lone tear slipped down her cheek. Had her mother ever held her like this? She couldn’t remember. Dad, on the other hand, had been a whizz with Lucozade, books, back rubs and cuddles whenever she’d been poorly.
