Kate Fitzroy - Perfume Of Provence

“Oh, I was way ahead of you — I fell in love with you at the airport!”

“Then why did you give me the cold shoulder? I had to pretend to make a phone call I was so put down…”

Rosie laughed. “And I thought you were phoning your wife… Just think — we’ve wasted a whole day of our lives.”

“And a night!” added Jean-Michel, putting his arms around her and hugging her to him. “By the way, where did you waste last night?”

Rosie put her hand to her mouth in dismay. “The concierge at the hotel — he’ll wonder where I am!”

“Surely not — people in hotels just come and go. Which hotel is it?”

“The Windsor. No, I’m sure he will be worried. He was so kind and he gave me the directions to Eze. Without him we would never have found each other.” She looked at Jean-Michel in concern.

“The Windsor, I know it well — it must have been Henri Amiel. Was he a big burly man with greying hair?”

“Yes, don’t tell me you know him!”

“Everyone in Nice knows Henri. He plays the clarinet. The hotel is famous for its jazz clientele — especially during the Cimiez festival. Henri is one of the world’s great movers and shakers. Now it is no surprise to me whatsoever that we found each other. I must send him a bottle of champagne. Bravo Henri! You know, Rosie, talking about champagne — wouldn’t it be better than coffee?”

He went into the kitchen that was divided from the main living area by a glass brick wall. She heard the fridge door open and close and then he was back by her side.

“ Et voilà — coffee is served!” He came close to her and held the ice-cold bottle against her arm. Rosie squealed and ran to the bed with Jean-Michel in pursuit. He deftly turned the cork in the bottle and there was a soft pop as he caught the cork in the palm of his hand. The pale golden wine frothed up the neck of the bottle and Jean-Michel quickly filled the flute glasses and passed one to her.

“To perfection for ever!” They clinked glasses and began to sip the cold, yeasty champagne. He refilled her glass and then quite carefully poured some between her breasts. She drew her breath in sharply as the icy liquid dripped down her body. Then he bent forward and she felt his strong tongue licking her skin. She slowly poured the contents of her glass over his back, running her hand through the bubbles and down his spine. He gave a low laugh that was almost a moan and set the bottle and both glasses down on the floor with impatient hands. Their bodies came together wet and slippery, moving slowly in a new rhythm. Rosie arched her back in pure animal pleasure. The night’s love-making had taught them each other’s desires. Now they were one in a new and yet familiar form, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.

Finally they lay side by side, sated and content. Rosie felt herself drifting towards sleep until Jean-Michel moved and turned towards her, brushing her hair gently from her face and kissing her forehead. He whispered into her ear.

“There is something I want you to do for me but I don’t dare ask you.”

Rosie stayed silent for a moment, wondering what more she could do that she hadn’t already done during the last night and this morning. She turned towards him and whispered back, “You must ask — we can have no secrets or hidden desires between us…ever.”

Their heads stayed close together as he whispered back, “Will you come and visit my grandmother with me today?”

Then he burst out laughing as she threw the pillows at him and then sat astride him, pinning his arms down as she kissed him.

“You are a rotten tease but, yes, of course, I’ll come and see your grandmother with you. I shall tell her what a bad and wicked boy her grandson really is!”

He sat up holding her on his lap and pulled her hands gently behind her back as he nuzzled his head between her breasts.

“But I’m a good boy!” he insisted, looking up at her with a wicked smile. “I’m the golden boy of her life and she won’t believe a word you say against me. Anyway, she will be in a very good mood when she hears that I have held off from the takeover for a while longer. Will you really come with me today?”

“Yes, I’d love to if you don’t think I’ll be in the way whilst you speak about your business affairs.”

“Oh, that will only take minutes. Not that I wouldn’t rather we stayed here.” Jean-Michel looked wistfully at the rumpled bed. “I suppose I really do have to ring her and say we’ll be there for lunch.”

“Will that be all right — it won’t be too short notice for her?”

“Goodness, no — Grandmère will just relay the call to her cook. Believe me, Grandmère is never inconvenienced. Her life runs on the smoothest of tramlines. That’s why it will be so difficult for her to face a big move away from the château.”

“Château, cook — what is all this? It sounds very grand.”

“Yes, I suppose it does, but the truth is that it was very grand — once upon a time in the good old days — but now it is crumbling to an abrupt end. I shall go down in history as the de Fleurenne who sold out,” Jean-Michel said glumly, releasing her hands and standing up.

Rosie stood beside him and said, “You never know — something may just come along to improve matters. But if we are going to visit Grandmère I need to shower — get back to the Windsor hotel and find some respectable clothes.”

“No rush, it’s only nine — you go and shower and I’ll make some coffee…really coffee this time!” Jean-Michel smiled. “We must be able to drink coffee together if we’re going to be married!”

Rosie went into the shower room, which was as ultra-modern as the rest of the apartment: steel, slate and glass and a selection of essential oils in metal canisters. She looked at the large bath that was sunk into the centre of the slate-tiled floor. Perhaps next time? Rosie found herself grinning idiotically at the thought that there would be a whole future of next times here with Jean-Michel. She turned on the shower taps and stood under the blast of water that cascaded out of the wide shower head. She slowly massaged her body with the creamy scented soap that hung on a rope next to the taps. She was tender and aching all over from Jean-Michel’s fervent love-making and the weight of his body. She luxuriated in the sweet aching. The aroma of coffee filtered through to her above the fresh scent of the soap and she let the water pour over her for one more sensuous moment, and then wrapped her hair in a large towel and put on the robe hanging by the door.

Jean-Michel was sitting out on the balcony, a tray of coffee, croissants and orange juice on a table at his side.

“Hot croissants!” Rosie exclaimed. “How did you manage that?”

“I keep some in the freezer for moments such as this. Not that I have ever had a moment quite such as this before!” he added hastily. “Actually I have a cleaner who keeps an eye on the flat when I’m not here and she keeps the fridge and freezer topped up with essentials.”

“Like champagne and croissants!” Rosie laughed.

“And oranges — I love fresh orange juice. Here, try it.” He poured her a glass from a tall jug. “The market is so near that I can get everything I need in minutes. This flat is the best thing I ever did — apart from meeting you, of course. I bought it five years ago when it was just a derelict attic.”

“You’ve made a wonderful job of the conversion. I love it,” said Rosie, looking round at the interior. “And this balcony is wonderful… The view just takes my breath away.”

“I’m really glad you like it. Not everyone does…so many stairs to climb and the open-plan space. But it is my retreat. My books and music are here, my favourite paintings…and now you!” Jean-Michel pulled the towel from her head and ran his fingers through her wet hair. “I’ve never seen such beautiful hair. It’s the colour of a shiny new chestnut in the morning sunshine… Last night it was dark bronze. And your eyes are exactly the colour of the Mediterranean in winter…clear turquoise-green eyes… When you open them wide I drown in you.” He sighed heavily. “Don’t you think I should telephone my dear grandmother and tell her we can’t make it for lunch after all?”