A French Kiss in London (4 page)

When she remained silent for a few seconds, groping for an answer, Giovanni whistled.

“Uh-oh! It’s obvious. Come on, Sis, tell all! Who is he, what’s his name?”

“But I didn’t say anything,” she protested around a sheepish grin, aware of how well her brother knew her.

“You don’t have to say anything. I can hear from here how loud and fast your heart is beating. Clearly, there’s a guy involved.”

“Oh, it…I don’t even know what to say. I met a guy. He’s a biologist at Hope, but...”

“Interesting. What’s his name?”

“Gérard Léon,” she drawled, nearly swallowing her tongue in an attempt to give the name its correct pronunciation.

Giovanni choked out a laugh.

“French, huh? I heard they’re the best lovers in the world. Is it true?”

“Giovanni! I’m going to hang up if you don’t cut it out! I’ve barely met him and it’s not what you think.”

“Why not?” he asked on a sigh, already knowing the answer.

“You know why. I don’t want a man in my life. I had one and it didn’t work out. I don’t want any more bouts of unjustified jealousy, quarrels and sleepless nights. I’m better off alone and independent, without anybody to demand explanations, and without anybody to take care of.”

Giovanni blew out a breath.

“Are you going to give up men for the rest of your life, just ‘cause you stumbled over a wrong one? Tony wasn’t for you, that’s that. But you have to move on, Linda.”

“I know you’re right, but…” She measured her words carefully. “It’s not all about Tony, although I regret what happened. It’s just that…I don’t need a man to be happy.”

“Maybe so. But if you
find
a man who makes you happy, you’re an idiot if you let him walk just because of your stubbornness and overly-feminist ideas!”

She laughed, knowing he said it all out of love, not malice. And, over all, knowing he was right.

“If I promise I’ll go out with him, will you stop preaching?”

“For now. But just because I have to go. I’m going to wake up at six tomorrow morning. Linda, don’t go out with him just to shut me up. If you honestly like the guy, give him a wholehearted chance.”

“What if I’ll regret it?”

“Better like that, than to regret all your life you haven’t tried.”

She smiled wistfully.

“My wise big brother…I feel so much better for talking to you. You’re the only one who knows how to listen. Thanks!”

“Don’t mention it, baby. Miss you, love you! I’ll call you one of these days.”

“Love you too. Good night!”

She placed the phone on the nightstand, holding it for a few moments longer, as if holding the hand of her brother. She missed him so much. He had been her friend, protector, confidant and advisor, had been there for her since the day she was born. He was the only person to whom she could open her soul, the only one who knew her better than anybody.

She left the bedroom door open for Pirata, then shimmied into silk pajamas. She experienced a strange sensation as the fabric glided down her body, creating a delicious friction against her skin. As though she was being subjected to a special kind of awakening, she became aware of her breasts and their sensitive peaks. They tightened when she remembered Gerard’s kiss, of his embrace, so strong and passionate. She wanted to hold him, to absorb all the heat and tenderness of a man.

No, she wanted
that
man—only him. No one else, not even her ex-husband had awakened in her this acute need for love and lust. Pirata startled her as he jumped on the bed and came to bump his head against her.

It looked like tonight she would have to content herself with the furry mass of cattish affection. At least she was sure her spoiled and devoted companion would never leave her.

Chapter Four

Gerard picked up the insistently ringing phone, while he still studied the stack of papers in front of him.

“Hello!”

“
Bonjour, copain!
How are you?”

“Ah, Jean-Paul,
mon ami
! I was about to call you. As we speak, I’m revising my notes, getting ready to make some duplicates. How are you? Progressing? Got any good news for me?”

“I’m afraid not,” Jean-Paul replied in his raspy smoker’s voice. “Looks like I can’t come to London after all.”

Just then, Carolina entered and placed a cup of coffee on Gerard’s desk. He inclined his head in a
thank you
gesture, then resumed his conversation with Jean-Paul.

“What do you mean you can’t come? I thought we had it settled. I told you I can’t take time off right now to travel to the end of the world!”

“Well, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to,
mon cher
. I have two new cases that require my full attention. Besides, you’re younger and more up to travelling. Take pity on your old friend. You’ll love this country. Look at it like a short sightseeing tour,” said the old Frenchman.

Carolina listened, looking amused, her plump hip braced on a corner of Gerard’s desk. Clearly, her interest was piqued and she was dying to know what they were talking about. Gerard said into the phone, “I’ll try to work it out somehow. We’ll be in touch then. Keep me posted.”

He raised his eyes to the nurse, a questioning look on his face.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked.

“Yes, there is something wrong.” He frowned. “Looks like I’ll have to take some time off, pretty soon.”

* * * *

Linda parked right in front of the gallery. With her usual carelessness, she occupied a parking place and a half. She climbed out of the car, grabbed her purse, and then stood for a moment looking up at the gallery’s display. Although it wasn’t big and imposing like the National Gallery or other such architectural gems, the building had an archaic elegance and prestige.

She opened the ornate wooden door and entered. The interior was quiet and cool, but lacked the mausoleum atmosphere specific to this kind of places. Her footsteps tapped on the black and white tiles, which were disposed in a chessboard pattern.

All around, in strategic places, well illuminated and tastefully arranged, were sculptures, paintings and other decorative art objects. In the middle of the room reigned an imposing Apollo. Due to the very light color of the wood and the golden varnish she had used, the statue resembled an angel.

It was her most impressive project, judging by both the dimension and the quality of the sculpture. She’d made it from a piece of a massive tree, brought from a park in Italy. During a storm, the tree trunk—which couldn’t be encompassed by the linked arms of two men—was struck by lightning. Giovanni had made sure the piece that had remained intact was shipped to her workshop.

The sculpture had the figure of a warrior, a straight and haughty posture. He held a bow and quiver, its strap stretched over his bare, smooth chest, and he wore the skimpy clothing she imagined would suit the Olympus God of the Sun.

Studying the statue with different eyes, now she noticed in the motionless features a slight resemblance with Gerard—the strong chin, high cheekbones, straight and perfectly proportioned nose, the firm, sensual lips. Those impassive eyes seemed to transmit to her a secret known only by the two of them.

I see him everywhere!
she thought, exasperated and still astonished by the impact he had on her only after a few hours spent in his company. She’d never experienced such a feeling. And, although she was frustrated and intrigued, the fragile root of a joyful, crazy, adolescent attraction was taking residence in her heart.

Lost in thoughts, she jumped when she saw Francesco, the gallery’s owner. He walked toward her, a greeting smile warming his face.

Francesco was a middle-aged Italian with dark hair, tanned skin and classical features. She’d never seen him wear anything but elegant black suits.

“
Bella mia
!” he said in his baritone voice, which seemed to fill the entire room. “I was wondering when you planned to stop by,” he continued in impeccable English, spiced with just a hint of Italian accent.

“Francesco!” She kissed his cheek. “You scared me.”

“Your works are so captivating that even you remain hypnotized at their sight.”

She laughed.

“Not quite. I see you have everything arranged. It’s fabulous,” she remarked, gesticulating to encompass the room.

“We have to be ready for Saturday, my dear. The grand opening is getting close. The press, television, newspapers, all are waiting anxiously for the big event.”

Studying her denim shorts and white tank top, he winced visibly.

“I am confident you plan to wear something more, ehm, chic than this outfit, for the occasion.”

“Oh, my, Francesco! How can you say such a thing?” she said, feigning offense. “I’m going to wear a black tank top,” she joked, then laughed at his panicked expression. “Just kidding, darling! Don’t worry. I won’t embarrass you, or the gallery.”

“Ah, you almost gave me a fright,
cara
! Will you have a drink? Coffee, soda?”

“No, thanks. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay long. I have some more places to go. I only stopped by to see how things are and to congratulate you. Everything looks lovely!”

“Thank you, but the artists have all the merits.” He smiled, running a manicured hand through his graying hair. “I’m so glad you came by. We’ll keep in touch by phone. Soon, I will give you all the details for Saturday.”

“Okay. Then I’ll see you around.
Ciao
!” she said, waving to him on her way to the exit.

“
Ciao, bellezza
!”

She drove to the clinic, under the pretext that she wanted to know more about Gerard’s treatment. She hoped to pass unnoticed, but remembered she didn’t know where his office was. Carolina was at her desk, as usual. She lifted her head when Linda entered, seeming surprised to see her. The woman’s brows went up when Linda asked her where Dr. Leon’s office was. Not daring to question her, Carolina promptly led her to a corridor, gave her further indications and then returned to the reception desk.

His office door was marked by a sign with his name etched in gold letters. Linda knocked discreetly, her heart hammering with nervous anticipation.

“Come in,” he said.

When she entered, she caught him massaging his tired eyes. As he opened them, they remained fixed on her long, tanned legs. His gaze lifted slowly, meeting hers.

She smiled at him and hooked her thumbs into the pockets of her denim shorts.

“Hi, Doc!”

“Hello!”

He stood and headed toward her. When he kissed her cheek, she breathed deeply, enjoying his divine masculine scent of soap, aftershave and man.

“What brings you by?”

He indicated the chair in front of his desk, but she declined to sit. Instead, she went to the window, feeling the weight of his gaze on her.

“I had business in the area and I thought I’d come by, to see what else the children need,” she lied, looking out at the rush-hour traffic.

She turned around to face him, then noticed the shadows under his eyes, and his wrinkled shirt. Several buttons were unfastened—more than was prudent for her imagination. Even tired and unshaven, the man looked gorgeous. He unleashed inside her an undefined, but apparently infinite desire.

“You seem tired. Is there something wrong?” she asked, feeling her cheeks grow warm, afraid he could read her reactions to his presence.

He sighed, dragging his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know if you could put it quite like that, but we do have an unpredictable situation. Looks like I have to take some time off as soon as possible and leave for Romania.”

“Romania? Dracula’s land?” she exclaimed, shocked. “What the hell do you want to go there for?”

He laughed indulgently, indicating the mountain of papers spread on his desk.

“Well, I have a friend—actually he was a good friend of my father’s—who lives there now. He’s a doctor too. In the past years, he collaborated with another Romanian doctor and they devised a treatment made from a plant called
hellebore.
It seems to give good results in certain types of cancer. True, the results differ from case to case and the treatment is not effective on every patient, or in every form of the disease. Like the snake venom treatment, the best results are obtained in incipient stages, if the treatments can be applied locally. Especially in the beginnings of skin cancer.”

“And he wants you to go there to share the treatment formula with you?” she asked.

“Yes. In exchange, I prepared copies of all my notes, observations and research to share with him.”

Linda approached the desk, intrigued, and inspected the scattered papers.

“Chemical formulas, observations, reports…Here is all your work related to the serum made from snake venom?”

“Just about anything that could be put on paper.”

“And do you trust this person?”

“Absolutely.”

She continued studying the notes on the desk, while he sat back in his chair, studying her.

She directed her gaze to him.

“You could make a fortune with this thing. Why give it for free to that guy?”

He gave her a long look, appearing offended by her implication.

“I’m not interested in money and fame, Linda. I became a doctor because the most important thing to me is healing, bringing comfort to my patients, not profiting from their tragedy,” he said, his expression intense and earnest. “Those who do that aren’t true descendants of Hippocrates, they’re just crooks. All my work is measured in the number of people I help, not in stacks of money.”

Something glowed warmly into her entire being. All at once, she felt her heart was lighter, ready to fly toward the nameless fulfillment that she longed for.

“You are a noble man,” she said truthfully, with a trace of admiration. “I respect that very much.”

“I’m a man like any other,” he replied, reclining in his chair. “I have flaws and qualities, nothing special compared to others. Still, I like to think I have a better sense of humor than most,” he added, smiling. “Please, sit down. I feel uncomfortable sitting while you stand. Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thanks.”

She sat in the chair facing his desk.

After a few moments of silence he asked, “Dracula’s land?”

She started laughing, and so did he. When their laughter subsided she said, “That’s all I’ve heard about Romania.”

“That’s about all the rest of the world has heard too. In fact, Jean-Paul tells me it’s a very beautiful country, with extraordinary landscapes and an admirable history. There are numerous predictions and speculations that there, in the heart of the Carpathians, is the physical projection of Shambala—the spiritual center of the Earth. You know, the more or less mythical land of the initiates who hold the balance of the world.”

“Really?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“Yes. I told you, it’s an interesting country, extremely controversial. It intrigued me ever since I listened to Jean’s stories. Speaking of history, do you know how all this Dracula story started?”

“I have no idea. You realize that an intelligent person doesn’t believe in vampires and other such nonsense. But I suppose in every legend there’s a grain of truth.”

Gerard smiled, linking his hands on his desk.

“Actually, there was once in Romania a ruler called Vlad Tepes—which means
Vlad the Impaler
. He was called so because he literally impaled all thieves, criminals and all those who broke the law, as well as his enemies. They say people were afraid of him to such an extent that, when he put a golden cup on the edge of a fountain, nobody dared to take it. When it was gone, they all knew he was no longer ruling.”

Linda shuddered.

“So much cruelty! I think that man was a monster!”

“Granted, those punishing methods weren’t too gentle, but we have to take into consideration that in those times, around fifteenth century, cruelty wasn’t unusual. Not only at royal courts, but worldwide. Besides, the most horribly punished were the Ottomans—a people who, from the beginnings of history, tried to subjugate the entirety of Europe and beyond, having a personal ambition to conquer Romania.”

“Hmm, what an odd thing. I didn’t know all of this, but it didn’t even occur to me to read about it,” she confessed meditatively. “So, all these atrocious torture methods have created the image of Bram Stocker’s vampire monster?”

“This, along with other bits and pieces of elements gathered from here and there, or invented. For example, Vlad’s father, called Vlad Dracul—which means
The Devil—
was part of the Dragon’s Order. Their symbol was a creature resembling a dragon from Oriental Mythology, with claws and fangs. This kind of distorted legends created false myths, which mystify history. In reality, Romanians consider Vlad Tepes one of their country’s best rulers and a character they can be proud of. If it weren’t for him and a few other Romanian rulers, all European states would be Turkish colonies now.”