Lose Yourself (The Desires Unlocked Trilogy Part Two) (21 page)

‘Are you all right?’ Leonardo has appeared by her side, tucking his arm under her elbow. ‘You look a bit pale.’

‘Glen is here,’ Valentina says.

‘Where?’ Leonardo says angrily. ‘I wouldn’t mind having a word or two with him.’

‘He seems to have disappeared,’ Valentina says, looking through the crowd, which has multiplied in size since Leonardo’s arrival. ‘Theo just ran off on me in mid conversation to talk to him.’

‘Well, it must be important.’ Leonardo tries to console her. ‘Did you tell Theo that Glen has been following you?’

‘Not yet,’ she sighs. ‘I guess you’re right. Maybe Theo is trying to work out some kind of deal with him.’

‘Look, do you want to get out of here?’ Leo suggests. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Sure; I just need to go to the ladies’ first.’

Valentina squirts some fancy soap into her hands and turns on the tap. She looks at herself in the mirror above the sink. With her new hairstyle she does look different from usual. Theo had said he liked it. Despite her hurt at his abandonment in the gallery, it gives her a tiny buzz of pleasure to think he has noticed the way she looks tonight. The door of the ladies’ opens and the last person she wants to see comes strutting in: Anita, still dressed as Valentina’s mother in the Bridget Riley dress and black wig.

‘Valentina, there you are!’ Anita exclaims. Her wig has gone a little wonky and her face looks flushed, her eyes slightly unfocused. She appears to have drunk too much champagne.

Valentina takes out her lipstick and repaints her lips, coolly surveying Anita in the mirror. Her rival rips off the wig and tugs at her blond hair, so that it comes lose and falls around her shoulders.

‘Thank God,’ she says. ‘The wig was making me itchy.’ She grins at Valentina, revealing a slightly crooked mouth of teeth. Not such a perfect face, after all. Yet her expression is so open and friendly that it makes Valentina feel guilty that she wants to steal Theo away from her.

‘Are you enoying yourself?’ Anita asks her.

‘Sure, although I’m not so keen on big crowds,’ Valentina admits.

‘Me, neither,’ Anita says. ‘I’d love to get out of here but I can’t find Theo. Have you seen him?’

Valentina suspects it is better not to let on about Glen. It is just too complicated to explain and, besides, she is pretty certain that Anita doesn’t know about Theo’s alter career as an art thief.

‘No, I haven’t seen him in a while . . .’ she says, putting away her lipstick and tucking her clutch purse under her arm.

‘Can I ask you something personal?’ Anita says, swaying on her heels.

‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ Valentina says, tightly, but it is as if Anita hasn’t heard her.

‘You and Theo knew each other in Milan and I am guessing you went out together, right?’

‘It was just something casual,’ Valentina mutters.

‘I have seen the way he looks at you,’ Anita says, hiccupping softly before she continues. ‘I don’t think it was too casual for him.’

Valentina walks past Anita towards the exit. She is suddenly annoyed. How dare this woman interrogate her about her private life? ‘Well, it’s long over, so it shouldn’t concern you now,’ she snaps.

Anita catches her arm with her hand. She can feel her fingers digging into her flesh, and it forces her to look into Anita’s face at her big doll eyes and plush pink lips.

‘I am sorry; I didn’t mean to offend you,’ she says. ‘It’s just, I have a question for you because . . . well . . . maybe you can shed some light on something that is bothering me about Theo.’

Valentina shakes the other woman’s hand off her. She should leave right now and not continue this conversation but, of course, curiosity gets the better of her. ‘What would that be?’ she says, primly.

‘Well, when you and Theo were dating . . . or together, or whatever it was . . . did you sleep together?’

Valentina glares at Anita, incredulous at her impertinence. She has no intention of answering her question.

‘You see,’ Anita continues, her words slurring slightly, ‘I’ve never been in this situation before, dating a man for a couple of months who neither wants to break up with me nor take it to the next stage . . .’

‘What stage?’

‘Sex.’

The word drops in front of them, its openness forcing Valentina to look directly into this pretty girl’s face. She can hardly believe her ears. Is Anita Chappell telling her that she and Theo have never slept together – despite the fact they have been dating for several months?

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Anita continues. ‘I mean, he tells me I am beautiful and we kiss but, you know, when I start making moves, he just backs off.’ She sighs. ‘It’s getting very frustrating.’

‘I really don’t think I should talk about this with you, Anita,’ Valentina says. ‘It’s a very personal matter.’

‘Yes, but you know Theo and I wondered, how long was it before you two slept together?’

Valentina cannot stop the words from slipping out. ‘The first night.’

‘Do you mean that the first night you met, you had sex together?’

Valentina nods. She feels like a bitch as she sees the other woman’s face fall.

‘But that doesn’t mean it was a good thing,’ Valentina adds, for some reason wanting to make Anita feel better. ‘I mean, look, we broke up, didn’t we? Maybe he doesn’t want to sleep with you yet because he respects you . . .’

Anita doesn’t look convinced, and nor is Valentina.

Leonardo and Valentina find a little wine bar around the corner from the gallery. They order a bottle of ripasso and a plate of Manchego cheeses, olives and bread. Valentina begins to feel better as soon as she is sitting in a quiet corner with Leonardo. Her friend leans forward, tips her chin with his elegant finger, and looks deep into her eyes.

‘So, Signorina Rosselli, what’s up?’

She takes a sip of her wine and thinks for a moment. ‘What did you think of Theo’s new girlfriend, Anita?’

‘She is a very attractive young lady,’ Leonardo says, grinning mischievously. ‘And not only that, she seems to be talented and intelligent too, as well as wealthy. What more could you ask for in a girlfriend?’

Valentina gives Leonardo’s arm a gentle slap. ‘Oh, stop teasing me! You know what I mean.’

‘Well, I did think she was a nice girl . . . but too nice, too easy a woman for my dear friend, I believe.’ Leonardo feeds her an olive.

‘She told me that they haven’t slept together yet,’ she tells him.

Leonardo looks as shocked as she was to discover this fact. ‘She must have been lying. I can’t believe that!’ he exclaims.

‘Really . . . I think it could be true. She said he would neither break up with her nor sleep with her.’

‘How very queer,’ Leonardo says, taking a sip of his wine.

‘It gives me hope,’ Valentina admits, ‘that he really does mean it when he tells me he still loves me, and yet I don’t understand why he can’t just drop Anita.’

‘You just need to trust him, Valentina.’

‘Do you think she was telling the truth, Leonardo? Do you really think that they haven’t slept together?’

‘It is rather surprising,’ Leonardo agrees. ‘But then, I can sort of understand Theo’s decision.’

‘In what way?’

Leonardo smiles at her wistfully. ‘What I am about to say is going to shock you a little.’

She takes a sip of her wine, waiting for him to continue.

‘I have decided to take a break from sex for a while.’

Valentina splutters on her wine. ‘Are you joking? You, of all people? Why?’

‘It’s to do with the break-up with Raquel. I feel a little derailed. I need to get back on track. I don’t want to sleep with anyone when I am feeling so vulnerable emotionally.’

‘But surely having sex is going to make you feel better?’ Valentina argues.

‘Always so direct, my dearest Valentina.’ He pauses, taking a slice of bread and dipping it in the olive oil. ‘I don’t agree with you, though. It might, in the short term, but I want to sort myself out first.’

‘But you and Raquel had an open relationship. I don’t understand why you are so upset by it,’ Valentina persists.

‘Because she broke my trust . . .’ Leonardo looks irritated all of sudden. ‘I really don’t want to talk about it, Valentina. Let’s just focus on you and Theo, shall we?’

‘But does that mean you won’t even sleep with me?’ Valentina asks, realising that it is not only Leonardo’s shorter hair that makes him look different. There is something else – a stillness about him tonight.

‘Yes, Valentina. It especially means I shouldn’t sleep with you.’

Later, as she tries to fall asleep, she mulls over Leonardo’s words: ‘It especially means I shouldn’t sleep with you.’

She doesn’t understand why he wouldn’t want her to comfort him. They have always been able to do that thing – sex with no strings. Why now has he refused? She is feeling so insecure about Theo. Leonardo always has the effect of making her feel more confident.

She tosses and turns, trying to get to sleep. She wishes Antonella were here so that they could share a cup of tea and a chat, but she is on her own in the apartment. Antonella went back to Mikhail’s hotel with him, and Isabella never returned. Goodness knows what she is up to. Something about Antonella’s aunt annoys Valentina. Is it her refusal to act her age? Surely Valentina should think it is cool that Isabella is so liberated and unapologetic about the fact she is in her mid-fifties and still having fun. Valentina suspects her irritation with the woman is because, deep down, she equates Isabella with her mother. She behaves in a way she imagines her mother would. After all, they were part of the same scene in Milan in the sixties and seventies, a time which Valentina suspects was way more experimental and promiscuous than now. It is weeks since Valentina last spoke to her mother. In fact, it was New Year’s Day, nearly four months ago. She had phoned her because her mother hadn’t been in touch over Christmas. As usual, she had cracked first.

Her mother, the eternal narcissist, had spoken about herself most of the time. She was ranting on about working as a healer in New Mexico. The idea, of course, was ridiculous to Valentina. How could her mother be a healer when she couldn’t even fix her relationship with her own daughter? Eventually, her mother had shown an interest in Valentina’s life, asking her about recent photographic assignments. Valentina was careful not to tell her about any of her erotic photography. She knew her mother would love the idea of it, but somehow, somewhere along the line, she knew she would take credit for it or tell her that she had done that already. The conversation came to an uneasy pause and Valentina built up to saying goodbye but, before she got her chance, her mother spoke.

‘So, Mattia told me that it didn’t work out with that American guy.’

Could she not even remember his name? ‘His name was Theo, Mamma.’

‘Yes, Theo . . . what is it? Steele? No, no – Steen, that’s it. A Dutch surname, just like your father’s name: Rembrandt.’

Valentina took her opportunity to change the subject. She didn’t want her mother asking about what happened with Theo. She didn’t need to hear the ‘I told you so’ and the ‘Remember, Valentina, we are free spirits’ speeches. Besides, it was rare that her mother mentioned her father. Valentina had thought then about what Garelli had said in Venice: ‘Your father would be proud of you.’ She had put it to the back of her mind since she’d returned to Milan, and not re-examined it. Now she might get some answers.

‘Why am I called Valentina Rosselli and not Valentina Rembrandt, after my father?’ she asked.

‘Because I think it sounds better,’ her mother said.

‘But Mattia’s second name is Rembrandt.’

‘Yes, because I thought that sounded better, too. Mattia Rembrandt: very strong. Masculine. Valentina Rosselli flows better; it’s more feminine – better for a girl.’

‘Mamma, why did our father leave?’

Her mother didn’t answer for a moment. ‘That is a very big question, Valentina,’ she said finally. ‘I would rather not talk about it on the phone.’

‘So, if I came to America, you would talk about it?’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You should know the truth, now you are grown up.’

‘Can you not just tell me on the phone? America is a long way and I am not coming to see you any time soon.’

‘Please, Valentina. It is a complicated story. I will tell you when you come. Just give me a date and I will buy you a ticket.’

‘Mamma, I don’t want to go to America. Besides, shouldn’t you come back here, to Milan? This is, after all, your home.’

‘Not any longer.’ She could hear her mother’s voice had hardened. ‘I have to go; I have an appointment.’

And that had been it: unsatisfactory, as usual. Valentina clenches her fists and grips the sheets tightly, her eyes squeezed shut with rage. Her mother has always made her feel a poor second to everything else in her life. Valentina owes it to herself to confront her father, no matter how frightening the prospect is. She was so close the other day, until Glen came along. She must go back to Hampstead and do it before she leaves. Yet, as she finally drifts off to an uneasy sleep, she is still not sure she will find the courage to do so.

As the sun sinks, leeching blood shadows
across
the grey roofs of Paris, Maria lets Felix wash her. He fills the sink with hot water and then, taking a tiny bottle from his waistcoat pocket, he sprinkles a few drops into the water. Immediately, the aroma floats through the steam into the room. It is spicy sweet – a mysterious combination of freshness and warmth.

‘Oh, what is it?’ she asks him.

‘L’Heure Bleu. It is a perfume by Guerlain.’

‘The Blue Hour,’ she whispers, trying to banish the thought of where Felix got the perfume and who the original owner might have been.

‘It is the smell of dusk,’ Felix says. ‘It is the anticipation of night, before the stars come out.’

He gently washes her, encasing her body in the scent, so that she feels velvety and seductive before they have even left the room.

She dresses while Felix goes out to buy some cigarettes. She is glad now that she brought her ruby-red dress – the one she modelled on Dior’s ‘New Look’. She hopes she is stylish enough for Paris. It is, after all, a home-made dress. When Felix returns, he is lugging a large brown suitcase into their bedroom.

‘Where did that come from?’ Maria asks him.

‘Madame Paget has been looking after it for me,’ he says, before casting his eyes over her. ‘Darling, you look stunning.’

She blushes with delight at his comment, while still regarding the case
.
It is huge and leather bound, the size of a trunk
.
She wonders what on earth could be inside it. ‘Why have you waited to collect it until now?’ she asks him.

‘Because I forgot it was here, and I was thinking you might need it.’

Maria frowns in confusion. ‘I only have two dresses with me, Felix. I think my own case is adequate.’

He comes over to her, puts his arm around her waist and draws her to him. ‘And so pretty you look in your dress, too,’ he says, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. ‘But I would like to buy you a few more clothes, if you’ll allow me.’

‘Won’t that be expensive?’

‘Don’t worry about money. I have plenty.’

She is astonished by his comment. In London, Felix had behaved as if he was living like all of them in the house, on a restricted budget. So how can he afford to buy her a new wardrobe to go inside this huge trunk?

‘Whose case was it?’ she asks him, feeling a prickle of concern.

‘It was mine,’ Felix says emphatically. ‘And now it is yours.’ He kneels down and clicks it open.

The case is empty. It is lined with red silk and has an array of little pockets and compartments within it. It is the most luxurious trunk she has ever seen in her life. It looks big enough to sleep in.

‘Goodness! It’s very grand,’ she says.

‘Well, my dear, I was once quite grand myself.’ He stands up again, strokes her hair, and plants a kiss on her lips as if to reassure her. She wants to ask him,
In what way were you grand?
Who are you?
But he is so happy at his gift to her, so excited by the thought of buying her clothes, that she doesn’t want to break their harmony.

Felix sneaks his hand under her dress and touches her. His physical presence is clouding her judgement. Something about the trunk bothers her. She doesn’t want to accept it, but it seems rude not too. Felix begins to stroke her back and forth, and she gives a tiny gasp of desire.

‘You look luminous tonight,’ he whispers. ‘I want to show you off to my friends.’

She looks at him with such longing, not caring anymore about the case. She just wants him now, the ache between her legs blossoms, so that she leans into his mouth and begins kissing him.

He backs her across the room until she is up against the wall, right by the little window. She can hear the sounds of Paris: the odd truck trundling by, the squeak of a bicycle that needs oiling and the heels of Parisian women as they walk along the cobbled streets. He pulls back from kissing her.

‘So, sweet Maria, will you play a little game with me?’

She nods, her longing making her speechless. He unbuttons her dress and she slips out of it. He takes it from her, carefully spreading it out upon the bed, before turning back to her and admiring her in her bare skin. He stands in his shirt sleeves, his hands on his hips, and she can see his desire for her pushing against the material of his trousers. He is waiting for her, she can see it in his eyes, and his look makes her feel wanton and reckless. She steps away from the wall, and reaches forward, grabbing his belt with both hands and pulling him to her. His clothes feel rough against her silky perfumed skin. She tugs at his shirt, while he loosens his belt and lowers his trousers. Now he is in charge again. He lifts her up and she opens her legs, instinctively wrapping them around his waist. He pushes up into her, groaning with satisfaction.

‘You fit me so perfectly, my darling, I believe we are made for each other.’

He carries her back to the edges of their room. Maria is slammed up so hard against the wall, she can hardly move. She clings on to him, letting him pound into her. She wants it to go on and on. She never wants this feeling to stop. They are like two rare birds, let out of a cage, spiralling in the sunshine, united and elated in their abandon. She is climbing with him, up and up into the oneness of that millisecond when all her life feels worthwhile, just for this precious moment of completion.

Afterwards, they slither down the wall and she sits on his lap, his power curled beneath her, brushing against her nakedness.

He breathes into her neck. ‘Do not doubt that I love you, Maria,’ Felix says.

She tries to twist her neck around to look him in the face, but he holds her tightly and all she can do is feel his lips on her neck as he speaks.

‘Never doubt it,’ Felix repeats.

‘I don’t,’ she says, her voice trembling with joy to hear him say he loves her. ‘I love you, Felix. You are the man of my dreams.’

‘Or maybe your nightmares,’ he whispers, and his words make her shiver.

‘Don’t say such a thing,’ she begs him.

‘But, Maria, I worry that I will stain your perfection. I am not good enough for you.’

‘Hush, don’t say such things.’ She pushes aside his dark words and changes the subject. ‘What game is it that you want me to play with you?’

‘Would you do something courageous for me, Maria?’ he says. ‘Will you forego wearing any knickers tonight?’

She wriggles off his lap and turns to look at him, expecting him to laugh, yet Felix looks deadly serious, his eyes challenging her.

‘You want me to wear nothing under my dress?’ she asks him, incredulously.

He nods. ‘Just your stockings and brassiere, and this.’ He pulls out what looks like a piece of jewellery from his trouser pocket. It is a very thin strip of velvet with a clip at either end, like those on her suspender belt. Part way down and embedded in the velvet is a small golden ball, about the size of a marble.

‘What is that?’ she asks him.

‘Let me show you.’ He grins, looking boyish again.

He makes her stand and then crouches on to his knees. He kisses her pussy. ‘Oh, you smell so sweet, darling,’ he says, before taking the velvet, one end in each hand, and bringing it under and between her legs. He lifts it up and she feels the cold golden ball knock against her flesh. He then attaches one of the clips to the back of her suspender belt and brings around the other end of the velvet to clip it to the front. She doesn’t understand the purpose of this garment. The gold ball is against her bottom. It feels stupid.

‘I don’t understand—’

‘I have not finished,’ he interrupts, putting his hand underneath her and pulling the ball along the velvet. His fingers pass over the most private part of herself with the ball and it makes her jolt involuntarily. He moves on so that the ball is positioned just in front, against a part of her body that Felix has led her to discover this week – a part of herself that is constantly craving more attention from him. She feels him fingering her, opening her up. Her knees are buckling as she weakens. Now she feels him positioning the little gold ball inside her warm, tender flesh. He pulls back, looking pleased with his work.

‘Now,’ he says, ‘I can imagine that little ball is me, touching you all night long. Keeping you primed.’

She moves, feels the ball rolling against her flesh. The sensation is an exquisite combination of pleasure and intrusion. ‘I think you should undo it,’ she whispers. ‘It is too much.’

He looks amused. ‘Are you on the edge, Maria?’

She nods.

He kisses her on the lips. ‘Do you think you are brave enough to see how far you can go?’

‘I’m not sure,’ she says, uncertainly.

‘You can take it off any time.’ He pauses. ‘You can take it off now. This is for you, Maria. It is about
your
enjoyment.’

She is not sure what to say. Part of her is scared of what will happen to her body when they go out. She is not in control. And yet another part of her is excited. What
will
happen if she lets her body run wild? She is reminded of Lempert talking about dance, of the challenge of balancing tension and release, of its parallels with life. Isn’t this little game of Felix’s all about that? She is a trained dancer. She should be able to handle the pressure of a little gold ball nudging her sex as she walks around a room. And yet there is a Maria inside her screaming to be released.

‘All right,’ she whispers, much to her own surprise. ‘I’ll try it.’

Felix strokes her face tenderly with his finger, kissing her again on the lips.

‘I find this very erotic, my darling. I like to imagine your nakedness so exposed and yet untouchable in company. I like to imagine you on the edge, desperate for satisfaction.’

She sits on a chair in front of the mirror, looking at her parted red lips, her eyes dark with desire, her ripe body in the red dress. She sees a reflection of Felix standing behind her. Her knight, but not so shining now: he is a tall, shadowed figure with glittering eyes. She senses his secret self and she wonders if he is right, if maybe he is too dark, too broken for her. Yet her love binds her to him. She believes it lights the way for both of them, so that he will let her heal him.