Laura's Locket

by Tima Maria Lacoba

  He sat opposite me. ‘A close friend owns several here. I simply asked him to find out where a beautiful girl called Laura and her two friends were staying.’

  ‘All that trouble, to find me? Why not slide your card under my door?’

  ‘You may not have seen it till the morning, and I couldn’t wait.’ His smile was devastating, and it took a while before my pulse returned to normal. He was so self-assured and thought nothing of waking me at one in the morning. Were all European men like that?

  ‘How did you get up there?’ I asked. ‘It’s four storeys up.’

  ‘My secret.’ He sat back in his chair and smoothed back his hair like a preening cat, his sensuous lips curled in a smile.

  My heart lurched into my mouth as the thought of him being a cat burglar entered my mind. What if he regularly scaled walls and climbed along rooftops to enter the rooms of rich tourists?

  ‘Are you a cat burglar?’ The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them and I clamped my hand over my mouth.

  He laughed, a genuine deep-throated chuckle. ‘No, I promise you I am not a cat burglar or any such thing.’ He stopped and regarded me a while. ‘Your candour is refreshing.’

  A polite way of putting it! I have a habit of saying what other people only think. ‘Who are you, Philippe? What is your last name?’

  ‘Reynard. My home is in Paris. A friend asked me to join him here for a few days and I wasn’t going to come, but now… I’m glad I did.’ He gazed at me so intently, my stomach bunched into knots.

  ‘We’re, ah… leaving in a few days.’ I wasn’t sure whether to tell him our next destination.

  ‘Amalfi Coast?’

  I’m sure my jaw dropped. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Sorrento’s usually the starting point for most tourists on their way there. Positano, is it?’ He leaned forward and eased the wooden coffee table that separated us out of the way with his foot. It must be lighter than it looks, I thought. ‘Where will you be staying?’ he asked.

  ‘I really shouldn’t tell you. I… know nothing about you. I shouldn’t even be sitting here with you.’

  He chuckled again. ‘Quite right to be cautious.’ Then he sobered and grasped my hands in his. ‘But you have nothing to fear from me. I would never hurt you!’ There was such earnestness in his voice and eyes, I wanted to believe him… did believe him.

  ‘We’re staying at the—’

  ‘Tell me the night before you leave. That way we must keep seeing each other until then.’ Philippe had released one of my hands and lightly pressed a finger over my lips. He then slowly traced the outline of my mouth, his eyes holding mine captive as every nerve in my body tingled.

  I was lost for words. No, mesmerized. How could a girl not be flattered, when the best looking guy she’s ever seen was asking her out? And he was a man: elegant, charming and sophisticated, and so unlike the boys I’d known in high school. I guessed he was at least in his mid twenties. I glanced at his mouth and wondered what kissing him would be like; how his lips would taste.

  He inhaled long and deep, then gave me a broad smile. Had he read my mind? I averted my eyes and pulled my hand from his grasp as heat flooded my cheeks.

  The piped music in the foyer now swelled, as though on cue, and a mellow male voice began to sing. Philippe stood and offered me his hand. I accepted, and we danced, arm in arm, swaying to the music. He held me tighter with each new tune. I inhaled the spice and leather of his scent and brushed my cheek against his.

  My heart fluttered as the dreamed-of holiday romance had begun. I wanted to enjoy it; for my sensible side warned me this couldn’t last. He lived in France and I lived in Australia. This was probably as much a holiday romance for him as it was for me. Another thought occurred to me—maybe he did this often, with other tourist girls. Maybe he was married with half-a-dozen kids.

  ‘Anything wrong?’ He pulled back and gazed down at me.

  ‘I… I don’t know you, Philippe. Are, um… are you… married?’ Please, God, don’t let him be married!

  ‘Ah, so that’s what’s worrying you.’ He chuckled. ‘No, I’m not. No woman has a claim on me.’

  It was a strange way to assure me, yet instantly I relaxed and rested my head on his shoulder.

  ‘That’s better,’ he murmured in my ear, then brushed my hair aside. His cool lips skimmed the length of my throat.

  A warm sensation rippled through me and as we continued to sway to the rhythmic sounds of the piped music, our bodies seemed to meld into each other. A perfect fit. We were the only two people in the world, and when the music stopped, we continued to the music within us. And we talked. He was interested in everything about me—my education and friends. Did I have a boyfriend back home?

  ‘Not a steady one,’ I replied. Apart from one I’d dated in my senior year, I’d never been that keen on the boys in my school. They were so immature.

  ‘I’m a portrait artist.’ He stopped and gazed intently at me. ‘Let me paint you, Laura. Beauty such as yours should be immortalized.’

  My breath left me and I longed to say yes. Yet, an inner voice whispered caution. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Promise me you’ll think about it.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Now I’ll take you back to your room. I’ve kept you up long enough.’

  ‘I’m not tired.’ I could have stayed in his arms all night.

  ‘You will be in the morning.’ He trailed his hand slowly down the side of my face and neck as his eyes held mine. His head suddenly swiveled to the side and he frowned.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing. I… thought I heard something.’ Whatever it was, it had altered his mood. ‘Come. Back to your room.’ Philippe took my hand and escorted me to the door of my suite. ‘Meet me tomorrow night?’

  ‘Same time?’

  He shook his head. ‘I have a confession. I only asked you at such a late hour to see if you’d come, and you did.’ He gave me a slow, seductive smile.

  ‘Only out of curiosity,’ I replied in response to the slight smugness of his tone.

  ‘Curiosity satisfied?’ He leaned toward me, his gaze riveted on my mouth.

  My throat dried. ‘Um… I’ll let you know tomorrow night.’

  Philippe chuckled. ‘Does eleven suit?’

  ‘Why so late? Can’t we meet for lunch?’ Could I keep sneaking out late at night and not tell Beth and Angie? What if something happened and I wasn’t there? They’d panic. I couldn’t do it to them.

  ‘I’m sorry, but… I have work to do. Only my nights are free.’

  ‘Oh.’ I leant back against the door of my suite wondering what to do.

  Philippe braced his hands on either side of my head and waited. His face was so close to mine, our breaths mingled, and my heart hammered in my chest. My gaze wandered to his mouth again. I could almost taste his lips and wanted him to kiss me. But he didn’t.

  ‘You can’t or you won’t?’ he said.

  His comment stung and my gaze shot back to his eyes. What I saw in those blue orbs both frightened and exhilarated me—an unfamiliar intensity, and hurt, desire and a whole host of other things I didn’t understand. It was irresistible, yet if I gave in, it would also be irresponsible.

  ‘Yes or no, Laura?’ His voice took on a pleading tone.

  ‘Yes, all right. Tomorrow night at eleven.’

  He smiled, grasped my hands and brought them to his lips.

  The sensible part of me thought of a thousand reasons why I should say no, but I’d stopped listening.

  * * *

  The next day, the rain had stopped and the seas were calm enough for us to take the ferry to Capri. As we wandered through the remains of Emperor Tiberius’s palace, admiring the beautiful wall paintings and statues, I yawned. Several times. I couldn’t take them in. Not only was I tired, but my mind was on Philippe and our rendezvous tonight. I experienced a thrill every time I thought of it—which was often.

  ‘What�
�s with you, Laura?’ Angie said. We were back in our hotel room and I crashed onto my bed. ‘You’ve been vague all day.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m just… tired, that’s all.’

  ‘Why?’

  I grabbed the pillow and shoved it over my head, mumbling, ‘Late nights.’ Since it was the truth, I didn’t hiccup, which I tended to do whenever I tried to lie.

  That night we ate in the hotel restaurant, and while Beth and Angie took to the dance floor at the disco afterwards, I excused myself and sauntered back to our suite to try to get a few hours sleep.

  My wristwatch alarm went off. It was nearly eleven. I’d changed into another outfit before going to bed, so all I needed to do was comb my hair and brush my teeth. Would he kiss me tonight? The butterflies in my stomach danced at the thought.

  The lounge area of our suite was dark when I stepped out of my room. The doors to the girls’ rooms were closed, so it was hard to know whether they were asleep or still out dancing.

  I guess I can always take a peek!’ I thought as I tiptoed to Beth’s room and placed my ear against the door. Not a sound. ‘Beth?’ I whispered. No answer. They must be burning up the dance floor. Taking a deep breath, I left our suite and ran down the corridor toward the elevator.

  Philippe was waiting. He was in black leather, and his beaming smile erased any concerns I had about keeping my meetings with him a secret from my two best friends. He had a bike helmet under one arm, and held another one. ‘Put this on, Laura. We’re going for a ride.’

  ‘Out of the hotel?’ I assumed we’d stay in the guest lounge. The cashmere sweater, tiered woollen skirt and boots I wore weren’t suitable for a wintery night jaunt on a motorbike.

  ‘I don’t think they’d let me ride it in here, do you?’ He gave me a heart-stopping, lopsided smile.

  Before I had the chance to reply, Philippe grabbed my hand and made for the exit. A silver motorcycle stood beneath the gleam of a full moon. Its sleek lines resembled a powerful animal ready to spring.

  ‘Yours?’ I asked.

  ‘Mine.’ He removed his black leather jacket and placed it around my shoulders. ‘Put this on.’

  I slipped my arms into the sleeves, still warm from his body, and hugged it to me. ‘Philippe, I don’t think this is a good idea.’ A tinge of fear crept through me. It was one thing to meet in the confines of the hotel, but another entirely to go with him somewhere unknown. After all, I’d only known him a couple of days, or nights, to be precise. I also remembered the promise I made my parents.

  Philippe took my face between his hands. ‘You’re afraid. Don’t be. As I said last night, I would never harm you or expose you to danger. Please, trust me.’

  I desperately wanted to, but the sensible part of my brain was screaming at me to turn around and go back to my room.

  ‘If I promise to bring you back here within a few hours, walking through these doors,’ he pointed to the hotel’s sliding glass doors, ‘and safely in bed by three, will you come?’

  There was a deep yearning in his eyes I couldn’t resist, and somewhere within me, I knew he spoke the truth; that I was safe with him. I stopped listening to the sensible part of me. ‘All right, I’ll come.’

  His lips lightly brushed mine and my pulse went into hyperdrive. ‘Put the helmet on,’ he said. ‘There’s a place I want to show you.’

  ‘Aren’t you cold in just that T-shirt?’ I asked while I buckled the chinstraps.

  ‘Don’t feel it. Ready?’ The engine roared to life.

  ‘Ready.’ Wrapped warmly within Philippe’s jacket, I straddled the seat behind him, slid my arms around his chest and felt the stone-hard muscles beneath the cotton fabric. I inhaled the scent of leather and spice—Philippe’s scent.

  We sped into the night, through narrow cobblestone streets and along the serpentine, cliff-side road. He handled the bike with such confidence, managing the twists and turns with ease in the dark, I found myself enjoying the freedom of the open road, even the biting cold wind on my face.

  A few minutes later, Philippe slowed down, turned off the road onto a lookout, switched off the engine and cut the headlight.

  For a moment we were swallowed up by the dark, until my eyes adjusted to the silvery glow thrown by the full moon. There it hung, like a celestial pearl, its ribbon of light casting a liquid trail over the sea. It appeared close enough to touch. Just a step away. Only the crashing of the waves on the shore, far below, revealed how close we stood to the edge.

  I inhaled deeply, letting the salty flavor fill my lungs. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, as I removed my bike helmet.

  ‘Smugglers used these coves for centuries. There are caves all along this coast. But that’s not what I brought you here to see.’ He swung off the seat, lifted me off the bike and pulled me into his arms. My heart thundered in my chest as his intense gaze bored into mine. He brushed the back of his knuckles down the side of my face. ‘Soon, I’ll kiss you the way you should be kissed.’

  My knees almost turned to marshmallow at his words, and my breath stopped somewhere between my lungs and my throat.

  ‘Not much further now, but there are many steps. I don’t want you to trip.’ He hoisted me into his arms and began to descend a steep set of stairs leading down to the beach.

  ‘What about you?’ I asked. If he tripped we’d both go for a ride!

  He laughed, kissed me on the nose and took the stairs two at a time. I couldn’t look and instead, I gazed up at the stream of unfamiliar northern stars that blinked in and out of the clouds.

  When he reached the bottom, Philippe lowered me to my feet. Less than a hundred feet away was a small hut, its windows alight with a cosy glow. With my hand in his, Philippe led the way to, what I assumed was, a fisherman’s hut.

  There was no one else around; no winking lights from yachts out to sea; no glare from headlights of passing cars; no human voices. Apart from the crunch of our boots on the pebbled shore, the lapping of the waves on the beach—and the erratic thumping of my heart—all was silent.

  We were alone. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, I wasn’t afraid.

  He opened the door to reveal a fire in the grate. On the wooden table and along the windowsills, thick white candles spluttered in the draught from the open door. Fishing nets were strung across the ceiling and walls. The aroma of burning wood mingled with a strong scent of the sea.

  ‘You did all this?’ I asked.

  ‘I wanted it to be perfect,’ he said, and his lips grazed my neck.

  My body shivered in anticipation. Was this the night? But why here? ‘Why so far away?’

  ‘No interruptions.’ He closed the door behind me and turned the key.

  My heart gave another thump.

  A coloured rug covered the floor. Philippe knelt down and drew me after him. ‘I have something for you.’ From his pocket he extracted a small, blue silk bag. I could see an outline, but couldn’t make it out. He untied the string and lifted out a silver, filigree heart-shaped locket.

  I sucked in a breath.

  Philippe leant toward me and placed it around my neck. ‘So you’ll never forget me,’ he said, then pulled me close and kissed me.

  His lips were soft and warm; gentle yet demanding. He lowered me onto the rug and pressed my mouth closer to his, all the while caressing my cheek with one hand. ‘Have you ever been French kissed?’ he asked after a while.

  ‘Yeah… kind of.’ My voice shook. The boys I’d let kiss me in high school had tried that, and it disgusted me. Their wet, slobbery attempts at thrusting their tongues into my mouth had filled me with revulsion. I wasn’t keen to repeat the experience.

  ‘Obviously unsuccessfully.’ His gaze burned into mine. ‘Let me show you how it’s done.’

  Philippe angled my head, placed his mouth over mine again and deftly parted my lips. His tongue glided over my bottom lip, then the top, before venturing into my mouth, seeking admittance and a response. My tongue tentatively rose to meet his, and Philippe caught it.
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  I never thought I’d enjoy the feel of a man’s tongue, gliding and sliding over mine, tasting, tantalizing me, and leaving me begging for more. How much time we spent locked in each other’s arms, I don’t know, but my lips were beginning to grow numb from all the attention they received.

  Philippe’s hand caressed my breast beneath my sweater. He lifted his head and gazed down at me. ‘I love you, Laura. Do you think you can love me back?’

  His declaration took me by surprise. ‘So soon? I mean… I don’t know. I’ve never been in love before.’ Did constantly thinking about him, and not being able to concentrate on anything but him; wanting to be in his company only, all the time, constitute being in love? Then maybe I was.