Chapter 17 Noah
Noah
Honor lets me take her for lunch. Not Club Cinquant-Cinq, like I would have liked, because it’s far too conspicuous, but Villa Marie, a beautiful boutique hotel in nearby Ramatuelle. The best way to pitch it to Mum is to be casual.
‘D’you mind watching Serena and Rollo for a couple of hours?’ I ask her. ‘Honor mentioned she wants to check out Villa Marie for a possible work thing next summer, and I thought I’d accompany her over, maybe grab a spot of lunch.’
It works a treat, and here we are, sitting under a cheery tomato-red parasol at a charming table at the edge of the terrace.
The view is spectacular: across the hotel’s lush tropical gardens and the surrounding pine forest to Pampelonne Beach and the sparkling Mediterranean sea.
Although we’re well shaded here, Honor is wearing the biggest sunhat I’ve ever seen, with a huge, floppy brim that appears to be getting the better of her.
I squat down further in my seat so I can meet her eyes.
‘Is that the kissing equivalent of a chastity belt?’
‘Ha ha. It’s so I can be incognito.’
‘Nothing about you says incognito.’ She’s in a white, backless linen jumpsuit, her hair pulled back under the offending hat.
She’s painted her mouth a bright tomato red that matches our parasol and seat cushions, and I’m itching to kiss it.
Even among the wealthy, polished and chic French clientele here, she stands out.
It’s a huge thrill to have managed to sneak Honor Chapman out of the house and off for a public, if incognito, lunch date.
‘You’re sweet.’ She blows me a kiss. ‘But if it stops you from being able to get close to my mouth in public, then it’s multitasking effectively.’
‘Are you totally incognito today, or do you have an alter-ego when you go out in disguise?’
‘Hmm.’ She pouts at me and adopts a ridiculous French accent. ‘I zink today I am Gabrielle. My first and second ‘usbands both died, and I ‘ave taken a young lover. ‘E is very sexy.’
‘Jesus. That sounds suspicious. Remind me never to marry you, Gabrielle. But I’m very happy to be your young lover.
’ I brush my white-chino-clad leg—when in the South of France—against hers under the table.
‘I wish we could get a room here. I can’t get enough of your skin.
If I could just have you wrapped around me, naked, for another hour or two, I’d happily join your first two husbands in heaven. ’
That white jumpsuit is something else. Its little shoulder straps kiss her glossy shoulders. I’d give a kidney right now to bury my nose in her collarbone and tug her jumpsuit down and off. God. I discreetly rearrange myself under the starched white tablecloth before leaning in.
‘I have a confession to make.’
She adjusts the brim of her hat so she can see me better and narrows her eyes at me.
‘What?’
‘Well, I have two confessions, really. One, I’m getting hard right now, just imagining taking that jumpsuit off.’
Her perfect red lips curl up.
‘And two. You might run a mile when you hear this, but I feel awkward not telling you that I have fantasised about you a lot. A lot.’
‘Since you met me, you mean?’
‘Um.’ Heat is rushing to my face. ‘Well, yes. Obviously. But also before. Years ago, when you were on TV.’
‘Seriously?’
I can’t look at her. I fiddle with the heavy knives at my place setting.
‘I did so many night shifts when I was a resident. And I used to find it impossible to unwind when I got home. I was always overtired and wired. So I developed a bit of a routine. Come home, eat a couple of bowls of Weetabix on the sofa while I watched you on Sunrise, and then I’d head off to bed, think about you, and I’d, er, bang one out, and then I’d sleep like a baby. ’
‘What?!’ She leans in further, drops her voice. ‘Look at me, Noah. You mean you jacked off over me? What exactly do you mean by think about you?’
I laugh nervously and do her the courtesy of reestablishing eye contact. This was possibly a huge mistake. She could well be offended, or seriously creeped out. ‘I think that should stay between me and my dick, if you don’t mind.’
‘I do mind. You can’t leave it there.’ She lowers her face to mine. ‘So baby Noah, gorgeous, sexy junior doctor Noah, gets home from a night of saving lives and watches me and gets himself off on it? Tell me what you thought about.’
‘Ah. Um. It was a long time ago.’
‘Don’t give me that. Shoot. Pun intended.’
Good Lord. I’d forgotten who I was dealing with: a master interviewer, someone trained to extract information from her victims. I’m falling prey to the precise skill-set that used to turn me on.
‘Okay. Ah.’ I discreetly wipe the sweat from the back of my neck with a napkin.
‘I’m definitely not showing off my most evolved self, all right?
It was everything, really. Those shift dresses you always wore, especially the sleeveless ones.
You always looked so elegant and put together.
And you never lost your cool. You had—have—this cut-glass accent and you were always so charming but composed.
No one ever cracked you. You were badass.
Especially when you were interviewing politicians.
That was always my favourite thing. You wiped the floor with them. And it was very sexy.’
‘Interesting. So.’
She reaches around the side of the table furthest from the rest of the diners for my hand, and I take it, running my thumb pad over her delicate fingers.
‘That’s what does it for you? Me breaking politicians’ balls?’
I exhale. I’m not sure if the churning in my stomach is worry or desire. ‘Kind of. I liked the challenge you represented.’
Her lips purse. ‘Elaborate.’
This is a very poor decision on my part. Shit.
‘I used to fantasise about being there with you, on set. And when you were done, we’d go back to your dressing room, and…’
‘I’d break your balls?’
‘I’d help you channel all that adrenalin. Help you wind down. Ideally on your sofa.’
‘How would I be?’
‘You’d be completely amped up at the beginning, and then purring like a kitten at the end. In my arms. And your sexy little shift dress would definitely be on the floor.’
‘I can live with that.’ She pauses for a drink of her rosé. ‘I just have one question. Would you be in a white coat?’
‘Scrubs, probably.’
‘Oh, God. Baby Dr Noah in scrubs. I can’t even. Will you wear them for me sometime? In real life? And do you have a stethoscope?’
‘I don’t use them at Good Vibes, if I can help it. I don’t want to scare our guests. But I have plenty of old pairs at my flat.’
‘Done. I’ll wear a slinky shift dress that says I regularly break politicians’ balls before breakfast.’
I grin at her. Her insinuation that this thing may have legs after we get back to London and reality later in the week makes the muscles around my heart loosen up in relief.
I take a sip of my wine. ‘Would you believe, I even have a perfectly good sofa?’
Honor’s security guard, Di, gets us back home in one piece, giggling and buzzed from the rosé.
Clearly, Honor has no secrets from her. I’ve been nursing a semi all through lunch; I resort to covering my lap with Honor’s ridiculous hat in the car.
Honor is pressed up against me and I allow myself to imagine how it would be if we had the chateau to ourselves this trip: how miraculous it would be to lie naked with her on one of the daybeds and have the sun warm our skin.
Di drops us in front of the door to the courtyard before taking off to put the car in the garage. The shrieks of hilarity from the pool area hit us before they’re even across the courtyard. I brush my fingers against Honor’s.
‘Sounds like nobody’s missed us.’
Then comes a booming voice that neither of us can mistake.
‘Jump, Rollo! Cannonball! CANNONBALL!’
Honor stops still in the courtyard. I turn to her as if she holds the answers, but her face is frozen in utter horror.
‘Shit,’ she says. ‘It’s fucking Jackson.’