‘Very well,’ he agreed and led the way to the table. He pulled the garden chair out for her and once she was seated he moved the large umbrella closer, so that they would be completely in the shade. Sitting down opposite her, he picked up the bottle of water and filled their glasses. After taking a sip, he asked, ‘Shall we finish the champagne, or would you prefer white wine with lunch?’
‘I’d like the champagne, please,’ she replied, knowing very well that the wine would go to her head, and that was the last thing she wanted.
‘Excuse me, I will only be a moment,’ he said, rose and strode across the terrace towards the French windows, obviously going to retrieve the champagne.
Tessa’s eyes followed him, and she thought he looked very fit. He was tall, muscular and well built, with broad shoulders, but there was no fat on him and he appeared much younger wearing the white shirt and cotton trousers than he had in a suit. Perhaps he
is
still in his forties, just as Lorne said, she thought. On the other hand, he
had
said he was too old for her. But what exactly did that mean? How could anyone ever calculate something like that? It just wasn’t possible. Some people were mature for their age, others rather juvenile; that was actually the reason age did not matter one iota in her opinion. Everyone was different; it was impossible to generalize. She was thirty-two but considered herself to be very mature for her age. On the other hand, would he? This was a man unlike any she had ever known; he was unique.
He returned to the terrace almost at once, carrying the silver bucket that contained the pink champagne, and fast on his heels followed Hakim, holding a tray with two clean champagne flutes on it.
‘Voilà!’
Jean-Claude exclaimed, putting the ice bucket down on the flagstones, while Hakim placed the flutes on the table, then hurried off. A few minutes later the houseman came back carrying a small metal table; he put the champagne and the water on this, nodded politely and disappeared once more.
Pouring champagne for her, Jean-Claude said, ‘Lourdes, my cook, has prepared a simple lunch, rather light. It’s far too hot to eat anything heavy.’
‘Yes, it is,’ she agreed, wondering whether she would be able to eat at all. She had no appetite, but, this aside, she was unexpectedly tense and nervous once again. She had begun to relax a short while ago, after their rather honest conversation, but now, suddenly she was oddly at a loss, ill at ease, inadequate, she who was normally so self-assured. In fact she felt like a schoolgirl as she sat here opposite this sophisticated man in his elegant garden in the middle of Paris…overwhelmed by him, the situation, and her reaction to him.
As if reading her mind, Jean-Claude suddenly said, ‘It is very difficult…getting to know a person, feeling at ease with them. I understand that, I am part of this…but it will be all right…trust me.’
‘How did you know?’ she asked softly, staring at him. ‘It’s as if you read my mind.’
‘I have no magical powers, I can assure you,’ he murmured, shaking his head.
Oh, but you do, she thought, making me so nervous. I’ve never ever felt like this before. But she remained absolutely silent, picked up the crystal glass and sipped the pink champagne. Not wishing to speak about their feelings at this moment, she changed the subject. ‘The library here is one of the most elegant and beautiful rooms I’ve ever seen. But you don’t work in it, do you?’
‘No. However, I often sit there and think.’
‘So where
do
you write? Do you go to an office somewhere?’
‘No, I don’t. I work here in the apartment. I have an office upstairs, I’ll show it to you later if you like.’
‘I’d like that. Did you write
Warriors
up there?’
‘I did–’ he broke off, drank some of the champagne and then said rather rapidly, ‘I gave you my book as a courtesy, because you were at the party, you don’t have to read it, you know.’
‘Oh, but I’ve started it already,’ she answered, and then blurted out, ‘I couldn’t sleep last night.’ Instantly embarrassed by this admission, Tessa sat back in the chair with a jerk, colour flooding her face. Then she went on, very quickly, ‘Anyway, I picked up your book and discovered I couldn’t put it down. I became terribly involved. You know a lot about wars and terrorism and politics, don’t you?’
He nodded. ‘Why couldn’t you sleep?’
She swallowed several times and was about to tell him some ridiculous lie, then opted for honesty. ‘I was thinking about you.’
Jean-Claude took a deep breath. ‘I know. I had the same problem.’ His piercing gaze rested on her unrelentingly until she finally blinked and looked away.
Wanting to draw her back to him at once, he said, ‘I’m glad you understand French, it’s important to me.’
She wanted to ask him why, but did not. ‘Where did you learn to speak English?’ she said instead and striving for normalcy, added redundantly, ‘It’s perfect.’
‘I took lessons when I was very young, just a boy, and I studied, worked hard. When I was twelve or thirteen, thereabouts, I’d decided to be a writer, and I longed to travel, especially to America and England. For that reason I wanted to have total command of the English language.’
‘Well, you do.’ She wondered what was wrong with her. Why did she keep telling him what he knew?
The arrival of Hakim with the cold vichyssoise soup curtailed their conversation for a moment. When he had served her the soup she picked up her spoon, took a mouthful, but discovered she could hardly swallow it even though it was delicious. Food was the last thing on her mind at this moment.
Once Hakim went hurrying off, Tessa said, ‘You’ve covered many wars as a writer, but surely that’s dangerous.’
‘Life is dangerous.’
She did not respond.
‘You
know that, Tessa.’
Her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Lorne has told you things about me,’ she asserted.
‘No, he has not. I saw him two weeks ago, when he was flying from Istanbul to London via Paris. We had dinner together, and it was then he told me about the abduction of your child. But that’s all’
‘I see.’
‘He was worried about you.’
‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘But putting yourself in the middle of a war is like asking for trouble, isn’t it?’
‘No. I don’t take risks…at least not in wars.’
There was a long pause. A suggestive look entered his eyes and they lingered on her face. He smiled at her, a warm, loving smile.
The magnetism of him reached out to her, was a palpable thing, and in an effort to break the spell he had cast on her she picked up her flute of champagne. Much to her dismay her hand trembled so badly she was startled. Trying to stop the shaking she took a few deep breaths, and steadied herself finally, put the flute down without spilling the champagne.
Although he did not say anything she knew he had noticed. How could he not have?
Hakim came and cleared the table, returned with the omelettes and departed yet again. She tried to eat without much success, and after a few seconds she realized that Jean-Claude was not eating either.
Becoming aware of her rather fixed scrutiny, he said, ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Neither am I.’
‘I think we’d better get it out of the way, deal with it.’
‘What?’
‘The physical aspects…of this situation. Come, Tessa, come with me.’ He stood up and so did she and together they left the garden.
In the entrance foyer he turned to her and said, ‘I told you I would show you my office. It’s up there.’ He indicated the staircase and led the way to the second floor.
After opening the door for Tessa, Jean-Claude followed her into his office, and just as he was about to take her in his arms the phone rang.
‘Merde,’
he muttered to himself, pushed the door closed with his foot and hurried down the room to his desk. Picking up the receiver, he discovered it was his sister Marie-Laure on the other end of the phone.
Speaking to her warmly, listening for a moment or two, his eyes came to settle on Tessa, who was looking at the photographs hanging on one of the walls: photographs of himself with other writers, politicians, actors, philosophers, painters, friends, the beau monde of Paris, of the world. Endeavouring to make the conversation with his sister very fast, he explained he was in a meeting and couldn’t talk long; he had been on the phone for only a few seconds yet it seemed like a lifetime to him. At last he managed to hang up, and as he did so Tessa turned, stared at him. At once he saw the pent-up longing on her face, the yearning for him in her eyes, and he recognized she was as overwhelmed by desire and sexual tension as he himself was.
He came around the desk very quickly, found himself rushing towards her, and she fell, almost stumbled into his arms. A small cry escaped her as she clung to him, and then a second later she buried her face in his shoulder. She was trembling so much Jean-Claude was alarmed, and he tried to calm her, stroking her back, holding her tightly, very close to him, murmuring gently to her. ‘Tessa, it’s all right, relax,
chérie,
relax,’ he whispered against her silver-gilt hair.
Finally, she looked up at him, raised her face to gaze into his face. He felt swamped by those unique silvery eyes. Looking down at her, being so close to her like this made him catch his breath, and yet again he was thunderstruck by her heart-stopping ethereal beauty. She parted her lips ever so slightly, then licked her lips with the tip of her tongue.
Inflamed by this, no longer able to resist her, he brought his mouth down on hers, crushing it, and then his tongue went into her mouth, and they savoured each other. This intense moment of absolute intimacy sent a thrill running through him, and he held her closer than before. They went on kissing, standing in the middle of the floor, lost in each other, lost to the world, oblivious to everything except themselves and their feelings.
A moment later, still clinging together, they sank onto the sofa, and he continued to kiss her passionately, just as he had wanted to the previous evening and every minute since then. At last she was exactly where he wanted her to be, in his arms, about to become part of him as he would make himself part of her. To be possessed by her, to possess her in return, that was what he craved.
After a short while he got up impatiently, began to unbutton his white shirt as he strode to the door and locked it. When he came back to her she was waiting on the sofa, having undressed, her long, lithe body stretched out for him. How beautiful she was, he thought.
A second later he, too, was undressed, his clothes thrown carelessly on the floor. He lay down next to her, overwhelmed by desire, and took her in his arms. He held her as close to him as possible, listening to his heart slamming against his ribcage in unison with hers.
Eventually, pushing himself up on one elbow, he looked into those extraordinary eyes again, and she returned his intense gaze, touched his face.
‘Jean-Claude,’ she said in a low voice.
‘Yes, darling?’
‘I want you so much.’
‘No more than I want you.’ He kissed her brow, her eyes, her small firm breasts, stroked her long body, and her stomach, caressed her languidly, taking his time. His hands fluttered over every part of her until she was moaning softly, her pleasure apparent as she responded to his touch, and touched him in return.
When his hands and mouth came to rest in the silky hair between her legs she could no longer restrain herself, and she cried out in pleasure. It was with tenderness and expertise that he brought her to a climax, felt her cresting on wave after wave. Moving onto her, positioning himself between her legs, he entered her swiftly, murmuring against her hair,
‘Chérie.
Ah my Tessa, my love…’
‘Jean-Claude, Jean-Claude,’ she sighed, and put her arms around him. She held onto him tightly, wanting all of him.
It seemed to him that they were rising and falling together in slow motion. Their bodies fit perfectly, and they moved in perfect rhythm, as though they were one entity. Passion spiralled upward and they began to move faster and faster, panting, gasping as they crested and came together in an explosive climax. He felt as though he were falling down into some silvery, light-filled space, taking her with him, knowing he could never ever let her go.
They lay together on the sofa in a soft haze of pleasure, both of them slightly dazed. Pent-up desire and longing for each other had been assuaged, all tension had fled, and there was only joy and fulfilment between them.
Against her hair, Jean-Claude said, ‘Are you all right?’
‘Very all right. Except I’m thirsty.’
He kissed the tip of her nose, pushed himself up off the sofa and crossed the room.
She watched him, thinking how well he moved, and in such a positive, determined way. At one moment last night Lorne had called him a man of action, because he was always rushing off on assignments, covering wars, taking on foreign projects, and she noted how fit he was, what good shape he was in.
He had gone through a door into another room, and when he came back out carrying a bottle of water and two glasses, she asked, ‘Do you have a kitchen up here?’
He laughed. ‘No, it’s the bathroom. But I put in a refrigerator for water and soft drinks, and there’s a coffee pot.’ Placing the glasses on his desk, he fiddled with the bottle, poured the water and carried the two glasses over to the sofa.
Tessa sat up, swung her long legs to the floor and took the glass from him. ‘Thank you. I’m very dry, it must be all that champagne you gave me.’
Sitting down next to her, glancing at her quickly, he exclaimed, ‘I suppose you’re now going to say I got you drunk and seduced you.’
‘No, I’m not. You did that last night, in Marie-Hélène’s foyer. In front of half of Paris.’
He laughed out loud, enjoying her.
‘Touché.’
‘Do you have a robe or a shirt I can put on? Oh look, I can wear this,’ she said, reaching for his white shirt on the floor.
‘Let me get you something else, that shirt’s not clean, I’ve worn it.’
‘That’s why
I
want to wear it.’ She buried her face in the shirt. ‘It smells of your cologne.’ Standing up, she slipped the shirt on, fastened a couple of buttons, added, ‘And it smells of you.’