Chapter Eleven #2
“Oh,” he said thoughtfully. He hadn’t considered this, I’m sure. Then he said in a tiger-like purr, “I’ll be gentle.”
I gasped and shivered, only in part because the water was cold. At the same time, parts of me ached for him to touch me. But there was no reason to think too far ahead. “Then I agree only to seeing what happens.”
He nodded. “Okay. That’s good. I like that. So, in that case, perhaps we can have a drink together after dinner tonight. After Apolline has gone off to bed.”
“I would like to have a drink this evening.”
“Good.” His smile widened. “And then we can see what happens.”
“And then we’ll see what happens.”
“I know what I want to happen now.” He had not stopped grinning, but now his gaze dipped down to my mouth.
“What is that?” There was no one around us, and we were out so far in the water that probably no one was paying attention. Not that anyone cared about either of us.
“I want to kiss you here in the ocean.”
A bigger wave came and the water pulled us toward each other, so close now that I had to put a hand on his chest to keep from rubbing up against him.
The pull was so strong and intoxicating that all I could mutter out was a breathy oui before I was in his arms. His eyelashes were stuck together in spikes from the water, and it dripped down the side of his forehead and off his ear lobes.
“I want you to kiss me,” I said, the words coming out huskily and wanting.
Then, like two stags fighting in a meadow, our mouths crashed together.
His lips were cool from the water, but his mouth was warm inside.
His breath was hot and tinged with cigarette smoke and salt.
The water sloshed around us. And my leg found his and nearly wrapped around it.
There was no skirt between us and a whole sea around us.
I was wet and freezing. It was an incredible kiss.
But before it escalated to something far more inappropriate in a public setting, he set me down and broke away.
The water was colder without the warm contact of his body.
But as I slowly regained my senses, I was relieved that he’d stopped.
I couldn’t let myself get carried away. I needed tokeep my wits about me.
And he’d made his point about precisely what my thoughts should consider.
That kiss and everything it evoked in me, between us, was what I could choose to continue. Or choose to deny myself.
We swam for a while longer and then walked back onto shore. Children played in the waves, piling sand into buckets. Other people were lounging on chairs with books in hand.
Just then, a waving arm a few meters up the beach caught my attention. It was Apolline. She tucked her camera box into the cavernous bag on her shoulder. When it was secured, she headed straight for us, holding her skirt aloft only high enough to keep it from brushing against the sand.
“Did she just take our picture?” I took a step back, putting distance between us. What had we looked like, standing that close?
“Probably not. But maybe.” We started walking toward her.
“How was the water?” Apolline said when she reached us. She was wearing a straw hat with a wide brim and the samegreen dress she’d had on earlier.
“Brisk,” Benoit said at the same time I said, “Freezing.”
“Well, it’s so blessed hot that I may reconsider wading out there myself.”
“I think I’ll go get my robe,” I said, feeling suddenly underdressed now that I was out of the water. They walked with me up the beach.
“You know, on the other side of this channel,” Apolline said, “they use horse-drawn bathing machines that drop you into the water where it’s neck deep and you don’t have to walk in your bathing suit where everyone can see you.”
“Really?”
“I’ve heard that before,” Benoit said. “They’re very uptight about seeing bodies.”
“Everyone has a body, but heaven forbid we should see it. But you know how those Protestants are.” Apolline huffed. Then she gave me a cautious look. “No offense if you’re Protestant, dear.”
I shook my head.
“I’m Jewish; culturally more than religiously,” Benoit said when she looked at him. “But some countries don’t let you swim at all.”
“That’s true,” Apolline said. “Anyway, I brought the camera down to look for pictures. The light is so clear and less sharp now that it’s a little cloudy.”
“I may sit in a chair and read for a while.”
“I may join you,” he said noncommittally.
“Well.” Apolline shrugged. “If I don’t see you two when I come back through, I’ll see you at dinner.”
We agreed, and she ambled off, unconcerned. If she had seen us out in the water in less-than-professional circumstances, she certainly didn’t care. And then Benoit and I were alone again.
“Would you like to sit for a while in the chairs?”
“I would. Very much.” We’d reached the chairs now.
The warm loose sand coated my feet like sugar on a candy.
I slipped on my robe, feeling immediately less vulnerable and swirly.
Perhaps the sun on my skin was more powerful than I imagined.
The beach chairs were comfortable and shaded by pretty striped umbrellas.
I let my head fall back as I took in the vast landscape of sea.
The silence that settled between us was part expectation. And also some relinquishing. Benoit always seemed confident, but now there was a vulnerable tension in his gaze. He was nervous, and it was fascinating.
His long, lean feet were also coated in sugary sand. And sprinkles of it clung to his shapely, delightfully hairy calves. I pulled my gaze away. I couldn’t just sit there and ogle him.
There was a family not far off in front of us; a mother and father, a young girl, and an even younger boy, holding hands and splashing in the breaking waves.
The ever-present threads of loss tightened around my heart the way they always did.
I hadn’t had a family anything like that in a long time, and yet the ghost of it is always there. I sighed and looked back at Benoit.
He’d been watching me. “Did your family ever look like that?”
“If it did, I was too young to remember.”
“What do you remember about your mother?”
“It’s just glimpses now, really. I remember her sitting in her chair and sewing.
I remember her and my father, walking in front of me on the sidewalk.
I remember her room and the things she kept on her dresser.
A little oval box with a lock of my hair in it from my first haircut.
A ring she wore on her finger. The feeling of her. ”
He frowned slightly and looked out at the sea. The family had moved on.
When he didn’t say anything, I asked, “How is your mother doing?”
“I had a letter from my sister this morning. She’s no worse.”
“It must be frustrating to be away, especially when you took your position to stay in the city.” This trip was an inconvenience for him.
He shrugged. “I told Vartre that I would take this trip and no others. She understands the situation.”
“And what kind of care does your mother require?”
“She can’t be left alone anymore. She’s liable to wander off and get lost or start a fire or any number of unspeakable things. It’s like she’s become a child again. And her ability to remember the rest of us comes and goes.”
“That’s terrible.” I brushed sand off the arm of my chair. It was wooden and low to the ground with a seat and back made from blue canvas. The blue and white striped umbrella snapped taught in the breeze and then relaxed.
“It is. I am losing my mother as we speak, and it’s something I can’t seem to stop worrying about. I don’t know what I’ll go home to. Everything could be the same, but there’s a chance that she won’t know who I am. There’s always that chance.”
“I’m so sorry for bringing it up.”
“No. It’s okay. I enjoy talking to you, as you know, and talking about it helps. It keeps me from dwelling on it. You’re a good distraction.”
“Oh, am I?”
“Yes. Very.”
“You know, your mother might not approve of me. I’m not Jewish.”
“No, she probably wouldn’t. Nor yours of me, most likely.” He frowned and patted my arm. “Sadly none of them are in any position to weigh in.”
“Well, I’m sorry your mother’s unwell. And it’s good of you to take such good care of her. Many in your situation would have the parent institutionalized.” The homes for mentally infirm people had a reputation for being far worse than the worst orphanages.
“I couldn’t do that, as hard as it is. We need help at all hours, though. Especially with me gone.”
And it was why he needed the editor position. That part neither of us acknowledged.
“But that’s enough about me. How are things at home with the infamous Charlotte Deveraux?”
“I’m not sure. She left Paris shortly after my story was published. The vicomte’s son then threw over Louise Montmorency and went after Charlotte.”
“Really? I wasn’t sure he had it in him.” Benoit leaned back in his chair and squinted out at the water.
“Do you know him?”
“I know as much as anyone else. I was surprised that they are involved. And perhaps even more surprised that he’s serious about her. Serious enough to brush off the marquis’s daughter.”
“Charlotte is quite talented. And pretty,” I said defensively. “I can see why he fell for her.”
“Good for her, I say.”
“I agree. It’s a far better outcome than I had predicted. I wonder if my overstep pushed it along.”
“Maybe. Does she see it that way?”
“I don’t know. Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that I should have talked to her about the story before publishing it.”
“How did you two leave things?”
“With her screaming at me.” I cringed, and he furrowed his brow. “She left Paris and went home. I need to write to her to explain everything. I got her address in Vernon before I left. But I just haven’t done it.”
“Are you unsure what to say?”
“I don’t know.” I buried my toes in the loose sand. “I guess I plan on starting from the beginning. I didn’t mean to hurt her. But I was such a mess—largely because of you, I must clarify—that I didn’t let myself think about it.”
“Do you do that a lot? Make yourself not think about things?”
“I suppose I do. That and make it worse.” Sometimes, and for no real reason, I made enemies of people who could have been friends.
I judged harshly when I should have asked more questions and been more empathetic.
I was as hard on other people as I was on myself.
Looking back on what I did to Charlotte, I would not make the same decisions I’d made a few weeks ago.
Not that I wouldn’t have written the story, or a version of it.
But I would have spoken to Charlotte first. It had been a journalistic oversight, especially considering I had access to her. I was wrong.
“I think you should go write to her now.”
“Right now?”
“Yes. You’ve allowed it to fester for too long now.
And it’s clear you’re avoiding it because you’re afraid that you’ve irreparably damaged your relationship with your new friend.
” He leaned forward in his chair and turned to face me.
“And the timing is good because she’s probably getting what she wants.
She has one of the richest men in Paris knocking on her parents’ house in Vernon.
He’s thrown over the most eligible bachelorette in the city.
It will be the most talked-about union in Paris this fall.
Charlotte has everything to look forward to.
Your crime is a minor offense in her mind right now.
But you’ve lost sleep over it for how many nights?
You have to let yourself off the hook. Stop being so hard on yourself.
Write a genuine, heartfelt apology letter, and then let me undress you tonight in my hotel room. ”
My jaw dropped. But it didn’t sound like a terrible idea. My stomach fluttered. “Whatever happened to seeing what happens?”
“I’ve recently learned the benefits of thinking ahead.” His eyes gleamed. “But first you have a letter to write.”
“You’re right. I should get it over with.”
“Let’s go now.” He leaned forward and readied himself to stand.
“Now?”
“Yes. Now.” He pushed up out of the low seat and offered me a hand. It was sandy and warm. I longed to feel his hands drag across my skin.
There were outdoor showers for rinsing off the sand, and we headed in that direction. “We could talk through your letter, if you like, while we walk. The way we do any other story.”
“So obviously ‘Dear Charlotte’ is the starting point.”
“Obviously. And then you need a compelling opening.”
“Yes, get to the point in a quick and interesting way. And take full accountability rather than shift blame.”
“Since it’s an apology,” he said.
He was half-teasing me, but it did help. I didn’t know exactly what to write, but I had to stop putting it off. Further delay would make things worse. And I had gained some insight into my misguided motivation, which would make my groveling more effective. At least I hoped.
“Merci.”
He raised a thick eyebrow.
“For what you said about my situation with Charlotte. I have been such a mess over it that I needed to hear an outside perspective.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Maybe not to you. But I have a cold heart. So I couldn’t get there on my own. Anyway, it’s important; not nothing.”
“You don’t have a cold heart, Vanessa.” He stepped closer.
I almost argued, almost insisted that I had no heart at all.
But something happened to me when he was that close.
It had happened so many times now that I could recognize it, even if I didn’t know exactly what it was.
A slight easing of something. A lightening of the fight within me. A letting up. I didn’t hate it.
“You’re just not easy.” He looked deep into my eyes as he spoke. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Inexplicably—again!—his words made me want to soften and melt into a puddle. “Well, thank you for that too.”