Perfume Of Provence

“It’s magical!” She gasped, running over to the balcony, and then he was behind her again, his arms encircling her, his head buried in her hair as he nibbled her neck. She turned to him and began to unbutton his shirt. Suddenly they were pulling at each other’s clothes, panting and gasping as finally their bare skin made contact. Jean-Michel dropped to his knees on the soft wool rug, pulling her on top of him. Rosie moaned with pleasure as his kisses covered her body. Her fingers dug into his back as desire flooded through her. Never had she felt such longing. Nothing in the world existed apart from him. She was empty without him.

He slipped his arm under her and carried her across to the large bed. The whole night stretched ahead of them. At dawn their love-making reached a new height of passion as, exhausted and still excited, they clung close to each other, unable to move apart. When sleep finally overcame them they fell into a light sleep, closely entwined.

The first rays of sunlight fell across the pillows and they awoke simultaneously and looked into each other’s eyes. Jean-Michel spoke first, his voice husky with sleep.

“Rosie, will you marry me as I’m sure that I’m not married and you’re not married at all?”

“Yes, Jean-Michel, yes, yes, yes, I will marry you!” Rosie hadn’t hesitated for a moment. They slept on as the sun moved across the room, picking out the story of their clothes strewn across the floor.

Rosie awoke from a dreamless sleep, finding herself still wrapped in Jean-Michel’s arms. She studied Jean-Michel’s face lying close to hers. She softly stroked his cheek, brushing the dark lashes with her fingertips. So he wasn’t a dream. Had he really proposed to her before they fell asleep?

Rosie’s eyes stretched wide in amazement as she suddenly remembered her acceptance. This was madness. Every fibre of her body made her feel it was right — not only right, but everything that she wanted. Yes, she wanted to marry Jean-Michel. But was her body making life decisions? What about her brain? Was she suffering some mad rebound sickness in the fallout of her relationship with Luke?

She slipped from the bed, pulling the thin counterpane around her as she went out onto the balcony. She realised she was looking at the market square and there, just in view, was the waterfall that had so amazed her yesterday. Could it really have been yesterday? The market traders were setting up their stalls; their voices rose up to her in the still morning air. She stretched, feeling the wonderful languor of her body in the cool air. Was this a holiday romance run wild? She looked back into the room and saw that Jean-Michel was sitting on the bed watching her. In that moment she knew that she would always love him and that her life was to be with him.

“Would you like that coffee now?” Jean-Michel called out to her. “I seem to remember promising you a coffee before our bodies took over last night.” He moved towards her, superbly at ease with his nakedness.

“Bonjour, ma belle Rosie!” He kissed her tenderly on the top of her head. “Are you wondering how it all happened?”

“Yes, I suppose I am in a way and yet it all seems so right,” she answered, looking him straight in the eye. If he should waver now then she wanted it all to be over quickly. If he showed the slightest regret or doubt…

“You do remember you promised to be my wife, don’t you?” he asked, raising his dark eyebrows quizzically although his eyes were very serious.

“Yes, I do!” she replied, equally solemn.

“Does that mean ‘yes’ you do remember, or ‘yes’ you still do want to say I do?” He was making light of the words but his look was more intent than ever. “Because if you have any doubts I want to know now. I can’t bear to—”

Rosie interrupted him, placing her finger on his lips.

“That’s exactly how I feel too. I have not the slightest doubt. I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I’ve heard about love at first sight and this must be it!”

“Thank you, merci, ma belle Rosie. That is so much what I wanted to hear you say in the bright light of morning. I awoke earlier whilst you were still asleep and had a dreadful fear that it was too good to be true. I know it sounds crazy but I was sure from the moment I saw you walking down that goat-path… So now we know what all the fuss is about…love at first sight…un coup de foudre!”

“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?”

“Definitely not.” Rosie laughed, washing down the last crumb of her croissant with the sweet orange juice. “I shall just finish my coffee and then I’m going back to the hotel to change. What time do we have to leave Nice?”

“Well, as soon as possible really.” Jean-Michel looked at his watch. “It depends…you wouldn’t consider going on the back of my motorbike, would you?”

Rosie opened her eyes wide. “Motorbike… er…I have ridden pillion once before. Well, why not? I shall just have to keep my arms tight round you!”

“Fantastic!” Jean-Michel’s face was alight with enthusiasm. “I’ve got a spare helmet and I’ll take it really slowly — it’s a great road!”

“Not another vertical road!” Rosie laughed. “OK, I’ll dash round to the Windsor and change straight away.”

“Just wait whilst I shower and I’ll take you round.”

“No, I know the way — I walked into the market yesterday. The walk along the prom will wake me up and it’s a wonderful day.”

“It certainly is.” Jean-Michel pulled her close and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “It’s the best day of my life. I’ll miss you — what time shall I pick you up?”

“An hour from now? Say eleven o’clock?”

“Fine, I’ll see you in the lobby of the Windsor. No need to rush — you are supposed to be on holiday!”

“That’s exactly what the concierge said to me yesterday. But imagine, if I hadn’t dashed off to Eze I would have just missed you and been totally miserable for the rest of my life!”

They kissed again as if they were to be parted for ever and finally Rosie pulled away from Jean-Michel and ran out of the flat. The market square still had an early-morning atmosphere. The cafés were beginning to open their umbrellas; the stall-holders were lazily spreading out their goods and chatting to each other. On the north side the paving slabs were running with water as the fishmongers hosed down their white marble slabs, making way for the baskets of lobsters and shellfish waiting in the shade. Rosie made her way across to the stone archway towards the promenade. Once again her mind reeled at how quickly her life had changed since yesterday. Less than twenty-four hours since she had walked under this same arch, lonely and unsure of her future. She gave a wide smile to no one in particular and looked up to the sun.

“Bonjour, ma belle!” a voice called out from behind her.

And another added, “Ciao, bellissima…e in amore?”

She turned and blew a kiss into the air towards the two stall-holders that had called out to her. They replied with whistles of approval as she swung out of sight and along the promenade.

The concierge she now knew to be Henri was still on duty in the lobby. He greeted her with a friendly smile, his bushy eyebrows raised slightly in amusement.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Fielding! Il fait beau, n’est-ce-pas? Are you doing more of the rushin’ about?”

“Oh, yes, I’m still rushing around like mad…someone I think you know is picking me up at eleven. I must dash!”

“Is the dash like the rush?” he asked with a smile.

“Exactly, you’ve got it!”

“Then I think mademoiselle is very good at it, non?”

“Oui, Henri, very good indeed — à bientôt!”

She ran across to the lift and, by the look of bemusement on his face, she knew he was speculating just how she knew his name and exactly who would be collecting her at eleven. Well, people who didn’t rush or dash about had plenty of time for speculation.

CHAPTER FIVE

Rosie was back in the lobby at precisely eleven but Jean-Michel was already there waiting for her. He was talking to Henri, his hands waving wildly as Henri listened intently. As though sensing she was near, Jean-Michel broke off abruptly and turned towards her.

“Et voilà — elle arrive!” He kissed her on both cheeks and then once more on the first cheek again. Then he handed her a large leather holdall, saying, “I’ve brought you a helmet and some clothes to put on over your own. I’m afraid they’ll be rather big.”

Rosie peered into the bag and saw the studded cuff of a dark leather motorbike jacket. She wrinkled her nose.

“Do I have to?”

Both men answered as one.

“Oui!”

Rosie sighed. She had thought her white jeans and pink cotton sweater sufficient cover for the ride — it was such a hot day.

“OK — I’ll put this lot on top of what I’m wearing. Can you find room for my handbag on the bike?”

“No problem — it’ll fit in the box behind the seat. I’ll wait for you outside.”

“I won’t be a moment!”

Both men laughed as though sharing a joke and Henri said, “We are just saying how you are good at this rushing about… Now I understand this word so maybe I use it every day.”

“As long as you don’t start rushing around yourself, Henri. Remember this is the South of France.”

“You’re right, I don’t think it would be good for me…and by the way, before you rush off…” He drew nearer and said discreetly into her ear, “Congratulations, felicitations! Un vrai coup de foudre — this is surely the love at first sight, and somehow I know you are made for each other. For so long a time I have been hoping my good friend Jean-Mi would find true love.”

“Thank you, Henri.” Rosie became serious for a moment. “Thank you very much. That visit to Eze — well, it was all your idea and we have you to thank.”

“Maybe, but I think it is more the destiny…and all this rushin’ around ’ere and dashin’ about there, bien sûr.” He smiled. “But thanks to Jean-Michel, I shall be pleased to drink your health with my wife tonight.”

He winked and reached under the desk and showed her a bottle of champagne.

Back in the lift again Rosie regarded herself in the mirrored wall. “Felicitations!” she said to her reflection. “What a delicious word!”

As the sun soared towards its zenith they were high above the coast, winding slowly through the Sunday quiet of small villages and roaring between the silver-grey olive groves. Rosie soon became accustomed to the throb of the big bike and the warm air rushing past as she held Jean-Michel tightly encircled in her arms. She was just about to shout at him to try and find out how much further it was when Jean-Michel slowed down and turned to the left, between two rough-hewn pillars supporting an arch. Rosie could just make out the name ‘Château de Fleurenne’ chiselled into the worn corner stone. The tall gates of intricate, wrought ironwork had the air of being permanently open as they gently rusted into the red earth. Tall, leafy plane trees lined the sandy driveway. As the bike throbbed slowly forward through flickering shadow and sunlight she caught brief glimpses of the view between the pale-flecked tree trunks. Quick snapshots of a heavenly landscape under an azure sky.

Jean-Michel steered the bike carefully between the potholes and bumps and then drew to a complete standstill and turned off the engine. The heat and silence enfolded them and Rosie drew in a breath of delight at the sight of the château spread out before them, basking in the sunlight that had faded it for centuries. Pale pink-washed walls and chalky grey shutters, bleached terracotta roof tiles and…there was someone on the terrace at the top of the crumbling stone steps. Standing tall and imperious, metallic grey hair pulled into a chignon, a pale grey dress, one hand raised to her eyes and the other holding a walking cane — there could be little doubt that this was Grandmère.

Jean-Michel pulled off his helmet and helped Rosie to unbuckle hers. Her hair spilled loose and he ran his hand lightly over it.

“Come and meet Grandmère!”

Rosie got off the motorbike, her legs feeling distinctly wobbly. She unclipped the large leather jacket that Jean-Michel had insisted she wear over her sweater. The lower half of her body was clad in the equally enormous pair of matching trousers and, emerging out of the bottom, looking ridiculously small, were the famous loafers. “Well, my appearance should certainly impress Grandmère anyway!” said Rosie, mostly to herself, as she followed Jean-Michel up the steps.

“Bonjour, Grandmère!” said Jean-Michel, kissing the tall, elegant woman three times.

“J’ai le grand plaisir de te présenter, Rosie Fielding — ma fiancée! Rosie, je te présente, Madame de Fleurenne — ma grandmère.”

The two women shook hands politely. Rosie had the absurd feeling that she should bob a curtsey, an idea made even more ridiculous when she thought of how she must look in the huge motorbike leathers.

“Enchantée.” Madame de Fleurenne smiled courteously and then turned back to Jean-Michel, continuing in fluent English, “Really, Jean-Michel, you are quite extraordinary! First you telephone to say that you are bringing your future wife to meet me and then you bring her all the way from Nice -— in this heat — on the back of your monstrous bike.” She turned with a sweet smile to Rosie.

“My dear girl, you must be exhausted. Come inside and recover from such a ridiculous journey. Really, Jean-Michel is quite impossible.”

She placed a cool hand under Rosie’s chin and then kissed her lightly on both cheeks. Her smile changed from sweet to impish as she inhaled, her nostrils quivering.

“Hmm, Jean-Michel’s favourite soap — verveine — and is that an overtone of your own perfume?” She sniffed the air like a bloodhound, her long Roman nose held high. “Yes, definitely 24, Faubourg by Hermès! An interesting choice for one so young.”

Rosie stood still on the spot, dumbfounded, her eyes wide. Before she could say anything, Grandmère was continuing.

“You must forgive me, my dear, terrible manners, of course, and only a party trick. I meet so few new people these days, especially with a fine taste in perfume. Now, you will want to freshen up, yes? Then you must tell me all about this sudden news. Jean-Michel is a wicked boy to telephone on a quiet Sunday to tell me he is bringing his fiancée to meet me — just comme ça!” She waved a delicate, beringed hand in the air and moved slowly through the front door ahead of them.

Rosie glanced at Jean-Michel and whispered, “I don’t need to tell her that you are a bad boy — she knows it already.”

As she moved ahead of Jean-Michel he slipped his hand down the back of the loose waistband of the leather trousers and lightly pinched her bottom. Rosie suppressed a yelp and a dreadful desire to burst into helpless giggles. But Madame de Fleurenne was speaking again.

“Jean-Michel, do go and find Celine — she is probably in the kitchen. She will show Mademoiselle Rosie to the guest rooms.”

“No need to disturb Celine, Grandmère, I’ll take Rosie upstairs and—”

Madame de Fleurenne interrupted. “Jean-Michel, please do as I ask.”

“Oh, and, Jean-Michel, could you fetch my bag from the back of the bike?” added Rosie in as arrogant a voice as she could manage without bursting into laughter.

Jean-Michel sighed and raised his hands in the air. The two women looked at each other in satisfaction.

“You speak wonderful English, madame,” said Rosie. “I wish my French was as good.”

“I lived in London for two years when my husband was alive. We both adored London — and nowadays it is essential to speak English, or maybe I should say American! Who needs to speak French any more?”

“But it’s the most beautiful language,” said Rosie, adding, “And your château…it’s simply incredible!”

“I may agree with you about the French language but my poor old château… It was beautiful once upon a time like a fairy tale but now…now it is sadly neglected.”