Special Relationship (27 page)

"I'm Alex Anderson, staying with Nick
Hensen?"

"Yes, she said, let me just f
ind the reservation. Here it is, you are in the Eiffel Duplex, for two nights with extended check-in and stay. Please fill out the reservation card and I'll get someone to show you to the suite."

What are these notes actually worth? she wondered as she handed the
porter some euros after he had shown her to the suite.

He'd
opened the doors to reveal a terrace overlooking the Eiffel Tower and a panoramic view of the city. A white linen-clad table for two stood to one side of the terrace with a welcoming bottle of champagne, in a bucket with ice still frozen, showing that it had been recently delivered, and two crystal glasses on top.

Fuck it, Nick
Hensen you have done well for yourself, she thought as she walked up the stairs to the accommodation above.

She went back to the terrace and, after a struggle, finally managed to open the champagne.

She took a glass back to the marbled bathroom, where she turned the taps on the deep-soak bath, added bubbles, and switched on the flat screen TV. When the bath was nearly full, she stripped, and got in to relax before Nick's return. She recognised her nerves in anticipation of what might follow.

After the water started to cool, she trimmed her pubic hair into a a perfect triangle, dried herself with the fluffy white towels and
moisturised her legs. She then went to the bedroom where she dressed in a satin robe. She left it untied, as she laid on the bed and waited.

"I'm in here," she said as the door opened and he called her name. Part of her wanted to tie the robe but it was still open as he entered the room.

He looked at her. "You are so beautiful," he said.

"I think I've fallen for Paris," she said.

"Who's she?" he asked as he moved towards her and gently parting her robe further to reveal more of her luscious breasts.

"Oh, we were having some fun a little time ago, but I had to ask her to go as I don't do threesomes," she replied, undoing the belt on his trousers.

He grabbed her buttocks through the satin and the ticking sensation she felt as he his hands played with her rear while his tongue teased her nipples brought her close to orgasm far more quickly than she wanted.

Eventually greed got the better of her. "I need to go now, Nick," she whispered. He thrust into her and they came together in an outburst of desire.

They spent the rest of the weekend exploring the city by day and each other by night. They grew tired of neither.

On Saturday, they battled the crowds at the Louvre to see the Mona Lisa. She remarked that the most famous artwork in the world was smaller than she expected and asked him what it was that made it so special.

“Depends how you view her and from what perspective. Sometimes she seems happy and sometimes she seems sad.” He paused. “A bit like you, “looking at her for reaction.

She looked back, saying nothing, but thought that sometimes this man whom she barely knew was too smart for his own good.

After the museum they sat in the sun by the Seine and watched the tourist boats pass by. Opposite was the Notre Dame
, resplendent in the bright sun. She read in the Paris guide book she had bought that the cathedral dated back as far as the 12
th
century.

She
leant across and kissed him. “Thanks for inviting me.” He put his hand inside her shirt to caress her back and then embraced her tightly.

In the evening he had booked dinner and a show, at her request, at the Moulin Rouge.
But before they went in, he insisted that she have her portrait sketched by one of the many artists who plied for business from tourists in the Place du Tertre.

"Every newcomer to Paris has to have th
eir portrait done," he told her. "Or you won't come back," making up his own version of Rome's Trevi Fountain legend.

Then, when she'd finally agreed, he teased her. "Nose not quite right," watching the artist at work as she sat there self-
consciously on a small seat in front of the easel. "Ears a bit big too," he laughed.

"Shut the fuck up, Nick. Or I'll get him to sketch your manhood for which we will get a discount in materials used."

"That is so below the belt, Alex!"

"You are right there," she grinned.

The artist seem unperturbed by their banter and carried on with her portrait. The finished work did her justice and she looked very nearly as beautiful on paper as she did in real life. He showed Alex the result and she thanked him – "Merci, I'm flattered" - before he scrolled it up and handed it to Nick. "Very beautiful lady," he said in the best English he had.

"You bastard," she said as they walked hand in hand to a cafe where they sat outside and he introduced her to pastis, a
liquorice-tasting drink which he told her had kept brilliant but nearly mad Parisian writers and artists the right side of insanity throughout history, just as gin had fortified the spirits of the money-makers of London.

"Acquired taste, I think," she remarked, pouring more water into the mixture in her glass.

In the Moulin Rouge, she playfully covered Nick's eyes as a string of sexy, scantily-clad women danced on stage. "Can't believe I brought you here," she said. "It's only because I saw the movie."

"The food's good," he said, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

"Don't pretend the highlight is the food, Nicholas."

That night back at the hotel both were tired from their hectic day but that didn't stop them enjoying each other once again before they both faded into at
exhausted and contented slumber. Alex's last thought before she slept was that everything seemed just like a dream.

But it was her nightmare that woke Nick while the cracks in the curtains showed little light. First he was aware of her
murmuring then she became louder and started to turn frantically.

She was becoming more and more distressed while Nick debated whether to wake her. Before he had time to decide she was yelling words that he could not make out. Then she lashed out at him, hitting him below the eye, before jolting upwards, shaking and crying
frenziedly.

He grabbed hold of her. "Alex...Alex..it's just a dream, darling," hugging her tight. She sobbed on his shoulder and he felt her tears trickling down his back. "What was it?"

A more tormented face he had never seen before in life or in pictures as he looked at her. The agony she showed in that moment would stay etched in his mind for ever.

"Did I hit you?" she asked.

"Yes, I think I'm going to have a real shiner in the morning," he smiled as he lifted her face up.

"I'm so sorry, Nick."

"What was it?"

She seemed to be wondering whether to tell him something, her mouth opening as though she was about to talk, but then, after she had calmed down, she rested her elbow on the pillows and leaned her head on her hand, still looking at him.

She inserted her index finger into her mouth as though making a lock for the secrets she was not prepared – at that time, anyway – to reveal.

He brushed her hair away from her face and caressed the side of her face. "You can tell me, Alex."

"It was nothing. I was just fighting someone in my nightmare and it seemed so real that I thought the attacker was here... and I struck out."

She rubbed her eyes and, as she recovered further from whatever had traumatised her, she pecked him on the lips and
asked him to hold her tight. She turned round from him and he cuddled up to her back, her long legs entangled in his.

"You can sue me if you want," she
murmured.

In the morning Nick examined his eye in the bathroom mirror and the results of her nightmare were clearly evident, if not bad enough to suggest he'd been involved in any serious brawl. "Shit, Alex, what is it with you?" he thought as he rubbed some of her moisturiser over the small bruise and accompanying scratch.

She came to the bathroom naked and hugged him from behind. "I'm so sorry," she said. "Although I was asleep, it seemed so real."

He turned round to embrace her. "I think they call them night terrors. Question is why why you have them. Did something bad happen to you, Alex?"

She said nothing and after a long silence he decided he didn't want to press her. "Come on, our last day here, we've got things to do – and if anyone asks why I have a black eye I won't hesitate to tell them that I was attacked by my partner in the middle of the night."

It was the first time he had referred to her as his "partner" and it made her feel even closer to a man she had at first determined to reject. "Shall I order us some breakfast for the terrace?"

"Yep, I'm going in the shower," he said, patting her rear.

Shorty afterwards, she still in her robe, him in jeans and T-shirt, they ate pastries and fruit
on the terrace with the city's mighty metal structure towering above them. "It doesn't have emotions, does it?" she said, looking up at the construction.

"No, must have seen a lot in its time, but just stands there all day, every day, impassive to what goes on below."

"I envy it," she said.

It had gone midday before they were both ready to see some more of the city and Nick arranged a car for later to take their bags to the station in time for the return
journey home, freeing them up to walk around at leisure.

They took the metro to the Arc De
Triomphe and climbed the steps to the top of the world-famous monument. The views were magnificent and Alex, with her hair blowing in the light breeze, looked around her excitedly as he pointed out the landmarks. Then they walked along the Champs-Élysées hand in hand, stopping only so she could browse the shops.

At the end of the avenue, they dodged the traffic – “The cars just don't stop!”
she complained as they crossed the Place de la Concorde into the Tuileries garden. There they sat by the side of a fountain and looked back at the Arc from where they had walked.

“That would have shed a few pounds,” she commented.

Nick laid back down on the grass and she flopped down beside him before resting her head on his firm stomach. “Not that you need to lose any pounds,” she complimented him.

“Don't want to go home,” she told him..

“Me neither.”

“Been good, apart from when I hit you,” she said, looking round to check on his face. “Oh dear, still there,” she added, trying to contain a giggle.

He looked back disapprovingly while caressing the back of her neck. “I know I'm not meant to say this so earlier in our relationship, but I really do love you, Alex Anderson.”

“You don't know me,” she warned him gently.

“I do know you, I just don't know about you,” he replied with a rather piercing look into her beautiful eyes.

“Come on, let's see Paris while we've got the chance,” she said, squeezing his side and getting up to brush the grass from her skinny lime jeans.

They walked for miles through boulevards, avenues and back streets, stopping every so often to sit outside a cafe to people watch. They laughed at their attempts to order in French and when Nick's egg mayo baguette arrived as a tuna salad, Alex broke into tears of laughter. “I did say oeuf” he remonstrated.

“Why don't you go and explain in your fluent French?” she asked, her sides aching.

Only the impending departure of the train to London and their increasingly weary legs forced them to admit it was time to make their way to the Gare du Nord.

Neither had a clue where they were but they found an empty taxi stand. After pressing several buttons and waiting patiently, wondering if any car was going to turn up, a white Mercedes with a Taxi
Parisian sign on its roof finally came into view.

At St Pancras, Christos was waiting
diligently at the end of the platform as the train pulled in. “What happened to you, boss?” he said, looking at his eye. Alex squirmed. “Accident with a door, mate, it'll be gone tomorrow.”

In the car he asked where he should take them and the couple talked quickly in hushed tones before Nick told him, “My place, please, Christos.”

In his Park Lane apartment they sat listening to jazz and talked about Paris. “It went so quickly,” she rued. “I could have stayed for a month or two. The hotel was fantastic and the city, well, I know we we did just hit the tourist trails but for a taster it was perfect. And, of course the company wasn't bad.”

“You'll stay here tonight?” he asked.

“Let's see,” she said, drinking a red wine as jazz played in the background.

“
Wynton Marsalis?”

“My, you are a jazz geek, young lady.”

“Used to put this on in New York. I had a tiny one-bedder in Brooklyn. The only reason I rented it was because it was quite high up and had a balcony – which was almost as big as the apartment and certainly more appealing. So on Sundays I used to put him on vinyl and hear that beautiful sound with the crackles from the record. Could sit there all day listening to the music and reading the paper or a book.”