A Rage to Live (17 page)

She had a way of touching something tender in him. It was her vulnerability. Change? What could she possibly change into that he would find attractive? How sweet of her to offer, to want not to let him down. Unused to a flirtation such as this one, Kane cared that she should feel not as, but more, chic than any of the Parisian beauties who would be there this evening. ‘No you won’t. And may I kiss you?’

‘Yes, please,’ she answered him, an unmistakable shyness in her reply. Leaning forward without touching her, he pressed his kiss upon her lips. It was light and very sexy. He gazed into her eyes.

‘Now you kiss me,’ he suggested. She hesitated. ‘Kiss me, Circe,’ he demanded.

It was she now who leaned forward and placed her lips on his. He felt the nervous tremor in her kiss. It was a brief kiss, a hesitant kiss, without passion, with not a vestige of sensuality in it. ‘You don’t know how to kiss a man.’

The hurt was obvious on Cressida’s face. He tilted her chin up so he could see her better in the dim light of the Rolls. He kissed her again. This time his kiss lingered longer on her lips. There was a depth of feeling in it. He nibbled and licked her lips and slid the point of his tongue back and forth between them. This time she gave in to his kiss and hungrily used her lips to caress his. Her kisses, like everything else about her, were new and fresh and had promise. All the pent up sensuality this girl had been holding back was coming to the fore. ‘Ah, that’s much better. I’ll teach you everything, even how to kiss.’ The joy in her face was a delight to Kane.

‘No, you won’t go back to your hotel, not to change your clothes, not even for a toothbrush. I’ll take you shopping. Now where shall we go?’ He rubbed his chin while he thought about it. Cressida looked embarrassed. He was smiling and clearly having a good time and that took the edge off her embarrassment. That she should make him happy seemed the most important thing in the world.

It was still raining when they stepped out of the Rolls and on to the pavement in front of the House of Dior. ‘Will this do?’ he asked, looking down at his very American waif.

‘I prefer St Laurent.’

‘What a cheek!’ he managed, before throwing back his head and laughing.

‘But I can’t afford either one of those designers. I have one hundred and eighty-six dollars to spend in Paris, and back in the States I have to get from the airport to my college on that as well.’

‘You don’t understand, do you?’

‘I do. You want me to look well dressed, and I can’t afford to unless I return to the hotel and change. You know, I do have some label clothes I could impress you with, if it means so much to you. My father sees that I’m well dressed.’

Cressida only managed to enchant Kane further. ‘I’m right, you didn’t get it. You would make a terrible hooker. You will have to learn to use men, not just cast spells on them. Men love to be used by women. It adds excitement to the game of seduction. Men like to buy women pretty things. Now do you get it? We don’t need your one hundred and eighty-six dollars. And, madam, the house of St Laurent it shall be.’

Chapter 14

Cressida lived her life always being carried by events. Life is hard, things happen, you roll with them. Make the most of every event, good or bad. They can be dealt with the same, with as much objectivity as you can muster, otherwise you become a victim of life. Byron’s advice.

She was enjoying, without reservation, every minute of this new development. It was difficult to tell when she stopped being overwhelmed by her encounter with the Picasso painting and Kane, but it was most probably between the House of Dior and the House of St Laurent. It was difficult, nearly impossible, to think of anything, sitting next to Kane in the luxurious comfort of the back seat of his Rolls, except of being sexually ravished by him.

Cressida was not at all nervous at the prospect of giving up her virginity. Relieved more like it. To give it up to the man you love, the one man in the whole world that you ever wanted in an erotic way, was to release untold desires, pent up fantasies. The excitement of becoming a woman in the arms of your dream prince … all the waiting was worth it.

Of course there were vestiges of anxiety. Would he like her? Would she be sexy enough for him? She was a princess of inexperience. And, indeed, what would it be like, having sexual intercourse? How would it feel? Would she know what to do? She hadn’t much idea. A porn film. A girlfriend’s bragging, another’s distaste for the act. She had giggled, she had laughed, she had even sympathised, but those girls and their sexual dramas had never done anything for her curiosity, or prepared her in any way for the main event of her life, now unfolding in the rear seat of a posh car crossing the Pont Neuf in Paris.

She had no idea how to handle this event. She had always lived for the moment, in the moment, and couldn’t change if she wanted to. She would follow her instincts. They had after all taken her this far with Kane.

The traffic appeared to be easing up and they whizzed round the Place de La Concorde, Cressida looking out of the window watching a rain-drenched Paris flying past. Was she on a magic carpet? Yes, of sorts. She inched her hand across the seat and found Kane’s, slipping
her fingers between his. It was the first intimate thing she had voluntarily done since he had picked her up.

Kane looked down at his hand entwined with hers. It was such a little gesture and yet it affected him profoundly. It was more intimate than any kiss she could have given him, more erotic than friendly. An aggressive rather than a passive move towards him. Kane was suddenly enamoured of as well as charmed by his new young lady.

It began to be fun for Cressida, sitting there in the darkened car, cocooned from the weather, holding his hand. This was no time to tell him, ‘I’m Cressida Vine and I have loved you my whole life.’ Time. She would give him time to discover it himself. A hint dropped, something he might see in her eyes, her walk, the sound of her voice, anything might trigger his memory of her. He would recognise her and would stop playing his game of strangers in the night, who should always remain strangers in the night.

One thing at a time. The shopping. How was Cressida going to deal with the shopping? Kane would have to be reimbursed. She would have to tell Byron and he would have to send Kane a cheque. But for the moment she knew she would have to pretend to accept Kane’s gifts, and could only hope he would not be too extravagant.

Walking from the car under a huge umbrella held by the doorman, Cressida tugged at Kane’s coat sleeve. He gave her his attention and she said, ‘I think I had better tell you, I’m not a very good shopper. I’m rather bad at coordinating.’

‘A pretty young girl, and not a good shopper?’ He gave her an amused smile. ‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Honestly, you’ll have to help me. I don’t want to let you down.’

Ignoring that, he took her by the hand and they entered the building. ‘I know, your daddy takes care of you. Sees that you are well dressed. You’ve already told me that.’

Cressida thought he was mocking her, and didn’t like it much. It was true except that it wasn’t. Well, not exactly. There was a standing order, had been for years, at Josephine Smith’s in New Cobham. Every year Mr Smith upgraded her wardrobe with pretty new things. Even her jeans, simple white shirts and shoes. Her new clothes always arrived with directions pinned to them: ‘This is for evening. Formal.’ Or: ‘Less formal, day wear.’ ‘Casual wear.’ ‘Right for a ball, wrong for a house party.’ Cressida was dressed by Mr Smith and his assistant, whom she called collect when there was a hole in her wardrobe or she didn’t know what to wear, what was right. No one ever thought it was odd, her friends envied her, and she never thought it unusual because Byron liked her always to look well but didn’t know how to dress a girl, and her step-mother … well, she didn’t want to know.

What need then did Cressida have to know about shopping? She was more interested in sailing and architecture, paintings and literature. Buildings and gardens. Pretty clothes too, of course, if they came without effort and didn’t take up too much of her time. Well, here she was with a shopping problem. She would do her best and be very subtle about reimbursing Kane.

But to enter St Laurent with Kane Chandler was much more than a shopping experience. It was an event. He was recognised immediately. Attractive sales girls scattered through the salon looking for the
vendeuse
who when she descended the grand staircase was accompanied by the master designer himself together with his partner. There were handshakes and introductions. ‘Like Odysseus, while on my travels I encountered this young lady. Circe, meet my friends.’

Immediately Cressida and Kane were swept away to a private salon. Cressida hardly said a word, never asked a question. The men were charming, amused that she had been brought to them to be made over for Kane. It was suddenly like a theatre production: the curtain was up and the drama or farce, she didn’t know which, was on.

At last Kane gave Cressida some of his attention. ‘I don’t have time for all this. You must look wonderful for this evening. I think, from top to toe.’ He looked down at her water-soaked shoes and turned to the
vendeuse
who clearly had a keen interest in him. ‘We have been caught in the rain.’ He removed Cressida’s soggy beret from her head and handed it to one of the assistants. ‘Not just something for the gala this evening, some day wear too. We need a lot of things. A long weekend, day and nightwear.’

Cressida did not miss the knowing looks that passed between several of the people attending them. ‘Lost luggage, you understand? Not even a nightgown to sleep in does Circe have.’ There was a certain look in his eye that told them what was needed here. They had after all dressed his women on other occasions. ‘Well, I leave it to you all to do what’s needed.’

Cressida surprised and silenced them all when she finally spoke up. ‘I only need a dress for this evening, that will do.’ The unheard of, an open cheque book in St Laurent, and she only wanted a dress! The women standing around almost gasped.

‘Circe.’ Kane took her hand and led her away from everyone. ‘Now be a good girl. They know what to do. What
I
want them to do. You are going to look beautiful for me, and you’re not going to tell them about us, nor the game we are playing. And you are not going to give your real name or your address. We are going to be a mystery romance. Monsieur Bergé and Monsieur St Laurent will bring you with them to the Opera House this evening. I have to go. Things to do.’ He touched
the tip of her nose with his finger. ‘Don’t let me down. And don’t run away. Just think about my Picasso and how erotic you were feeling in front of it.’ Bending close to her, he whispered in her ear, ‘I long to know, did you come standing in the rain while you were mesmerised by the Minotaur? How many times did you come?’

Cressida’s face flushed red. He began to laugh. ‘Ah, I see more than once. How delightful.’ Then, slipping his arm through hers and still laughing, he returned to place her in the hands of the House of St Laurent. The doyennes of the famous fashion house were clearly amused at his possession of this innocent. ‘Most definitely from top to toe,’ he repeated, taking a strand of her still damp, straggly hair between her fingers. ‘I think Carita, or maybe Alexandre? Well, I leave it to you.’ And he walked away.

Cressida touched her hair and turned to the
vendeuse
, too embarrassed to speak to the fashion master himself. ‘How does he know about things like ladies’ hairdressers?’

‘Because,
chérie
,’ said the kindly woman, ‘he loves women, everything about them and the way they’re put together. It is good for you to know that he is famous for that: his passion for beautiful women. Now come along, you are going to have a wonderful time. You want to make him happy, don’t you?’

Cressida did, and so she stepped into a world that was truly foreign to her, and one she had never experienced before. Swept along on a cushion of love for Kane and wanting to please, wanting to experience a sexual oneness with him, she allowed herself to be swept up by events. She gave her entire self up to these people to do with her, make of her, what they wanted. And all for the love of him.

The endless stream of people in attendance on her, trying to please her, making her over, was impressive. ‘Does mam’selle like this, does mam’selle like that? Mam’selle, turn this way, that way. Would mam’selle walk a few steps, we must see how you move in the garment.’ Someone asked, ‘How do you feel?’ Her reply was, ‘Like a car being overhauled.’ At first no one understood. She explained, and they agreed that she was ‘
charmante’
, a delight.

Cressida was manicured and pedicured, facialled, bathed and perfumed. Her hair was styled, but was still kept long and soft and casually sexy. The colour, miraculously, was not touched. The man from Carita said, ‘Women would kill to be a natural blonde like you.’ The make-up man lectured, and plucked her eyebrows, and lectured, and she learned from him how to accentuate her assets. His verdict was she was a sensuous beauty who had forgotten to look in the mirror. She must remember his lessons well, and she would never be without a man. Cressida was getting an education that would last her a lifetime.

Three and a half hours, and the budget of some small third world country later, the bevy of people who had worked so swiftly and hard for Cressida were standing round the entrance of the House of St Laurent clucking with pride and waving their ward a fond farewell. But not before the boot of Kane’s Rolls was filled with boxes of various shapes and sizes, and Cressida and two of the most famous men in the fashion world stepped into the car.

‘Not Circe but Cinderella, I think,’ said one of her two escorts, looking delighted with his latest creation.

At the Opera House, after presenting their invitations, the three were allowed to enter the lobby. Only the staircase, famed for its grandeur, was lit by candles, and peopled with some of the most beautiful women, attractive and interesting men, that the Parisian music and high society worlds had to offer. Beautiful, glittering women and black dress-suited men drank champagne and dined off Limoges while standing on the stairs.

On the first landing stood a table draped in red damask lit by massive silver candelabra whose ivory candles cast a soft warm glow over the cavernous lobby. Eighteenth-century silver platters proffered
fois gras en croûte
, oversized bird’s nests piled high with quails’ eggs, rolled cones of smoked salmon filled with shrimp mousse, bite-size brioche, baskets of them, melba toasts, a mound of them, a massive bowl of Beluga caviar set in a block of ice embedded with flowers and encircled with tiny blinis. The party was served by a phalanx of chefs and red – coated waiters.

At the foot of the staircase played six harpists, women dressed in black silk with flowers in their hair. The sound was celestial. The setting was unimaginably impressive, like some great movie or theatre where a drama was about to unfold. There was something surreal about the cavernous hall, the lighting, the staircase of beautiful people. It was many different things to many people but all sensed that the decadent and erotic were at play. It was not wasted on a single person there. There was a very special kind of excitement in the air, beautiful, ethereal, dangerous. And passionate. This was not a party for the timid.

Cressida was dazzled. She had never been to anything nearly as exciting as this. In spite of all her travels with her father, she had remained a sheltered girl, living a simple, frugal but comfortable life. This was extravagance, beauty, the exotic. It fired her already overstimulated imagination. She knew the building well, as a lover of music with a fondness for Paris and its architecture. But what had that to do with this evening? Clearly nothing. It was as if she were seeing the Paris Opera House for the very first time. She had never
dreamed that it could be used with such flair.

She searched eagerly for Kane. He was lost to her among the nearly two hundred guests. None of what she was seeing held any meaning for her without him. The famous and glamorous faces that surfaced were those that appeared in the glossy magazines or social columns that her girlfriends were always reading, and Vicki admired and wanted someday to join. But they held no interest for Cressida. Though she did have to admit that as a group they sparkled, gave a certain
joie de vivre
to the evening, that did spin a web of sorts.

She wanted to dash up those massively wide marble stairs and push the revellers aside to find Kane. Cressida felt jealousy for every woman there, just as she had done as a child when she was shoved aside for his female companions. Impressive, magnificent, an overwhelming spectacle, it meant nothing to her. That she looked more beautiful than she had ever imagined she could raised her feeling of self-worth. The knowledge that there was not a woman who could take Kane away from her, for this evening anyway, gave her an edge, a confidence, she never knew she had.

She and her escorts were halfway between the entrance and the foot of the staircase when people realised they had arrived and started down the stairs to greet them. As the crowd thinned out on the stairs, Cressida spotted Kane surrounded by several tall and very chic-looking women. She watched him kiss a lady, caress a near-naked breast, and was appalled. Her first inclination was to run away. What was she doing there anyway? How had she let things get so out of hand that she was here at all? Was this all a dream? Would she wake up and find she was not even in Paris? Had Kane not come back into her life and wanted her? She looked down at her gown, touched it. This was no dream. The satin and taffeta were real, she could feel them on her fingertips.