Crossfire (26 page)

Richard Renault arrived, the cyclist Stefan knew indirectly after his telephone call to Marcelle. She hadn’t been exaggerating about his good looks. He looked like a model from a fashion catalogue, complete with a ready toothpaste smile, and he had a plastic-looking blonde on his arm, just as Marcelle had predicted.

Right behind Richard was Fabrice Ancel, a dark-haired, pale-skinned, sensitive-looking young man, the current French amateur champion. Marcelle kissed him, and he blushed furiously.

The last of that batch of guests was Marc Morelle, a well-known decorator. He hugged Marcelle and kissed her on both cheeks. He looked as if he would have liked to do the same to Stefan, but satisfied himself with a handshake when he saw the warning look in the mercenary’s eyes.

Louis Gautier arrived with Pierre-Henri Petton, Directeur Sportif of Ultima-Fabelta. The manager was a big, brawny man with a rugged face. He greeted Stefan, eyeing him up and down a few times, trying to assess the newcomer’s impact on his star rider.

Next, the younger element of Ultima-Fabelta arrived in a flurry. Delphine Bresset, Gaetane Bozec, Sandrine Quellec, Sophie Hallegueu and Danielle Bonnamour were all attractive and enthusiastic young ladies, and their adoration of their captain was obvious to Stefan. This didn’t stop them dragging him away from her side as they made their way to the bar.

Soon, everyone had migrated upstairs to the barbecue fires. Music played in the background, muted by animated conversation.

~ . ~

Stefan managed to catch up with Marcelle at last, finding her getting a cold drink at the bar. She looked flushed and happy, and he had to suppress an impulse to kiss her.

She smiled when she saw him. “Are my girls giving you a hard time?”

“They don’t have a chance with an experienced playboy like me.”

“They’re good girls, all of them. I couldn’t ask for more. But they’re quite harmless, I give you my word.”

“I believe you,” he said with a smile, “don’t worry.”

“These people are my closest friends.”

“From the ones I’ve spoken to, I can see they’re a no-nonsense bunch, and good friends to have,” he agreed. “How on earth did you manage to organize all this at such short notice?”

“It was easy. The meeting at Pierre-Henri’s place only lasted about an hour. Then I drove to Paris, and on the way, I used the car phone to call all my friends. My teammates were at the meeting, and I asked them to spread the word. Voila! A party is organized. Of course I had to let the guards at the gate know what the guest list was, so that everybody could enter.”

“I’m impressed,” he complimented her. He eyed the contents of her glass. “You’re drinking fruit juice?”

“Yes, I can’t be tipsy when my father gets here. I have to start training again soon, anyway. Pierre-Henri has scheduled us to ride a three-day Criterium series in Belgium next weekend. I’m looking forward to it.”

A shout drifted down from the roof. It was Claude’s voice. The meat was ready.

“Come,” she said, taking his hand. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

Later, he saw her in intense conversation with Pierre-Henri. The team manager spoke close to her ear, as if they didn’t want anybody to overhear their conversation. After Pierre-Henri had finished speaking, she said something to him before turning away, her eyes searching the crowd, no doubt looking for him.

Stefan looked down and pretended to be interested in what Delphine Bresset, a petite blonde with a wide smile, had to say. He felt Marcelle’s gaze linger on him for a few seconds, but when he looked up, she had disappeared.

Later, he searched the crowd and found her talking to Claude with a puzzled expression. He wondered what the conversation was about, although he had a strong suspicion. He was sure she would speak to him about it later, so he put the matter from his mind and set about enjoying the party.

Stefan spoke to Eugene Bertrand, finding that he enjoyed the company of the slender motorcycle racer. Eugene had lived in the complex from the start, and loved to talk. He needed little encouragement to start talking about Marcelle and her life before Stefan knew her.

An hour or so later, Stefan saw her coming up the stairs with a slender man who looked to be in his middle to late forties. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that this was Francois Cheval. The resemblance was unnatural, except that Marcelle’s hair was darker than that of her handsome father. She spotted Stefan and winked at him, taking her father’s hand and leading him to the mercenary.

“This is my father, Francois Cheval.”

He put his hand out to meet Francois’ outstretched hand as Marcelle turned to her father, “Papa, this is Stefan Burger. He’s my stepbrother visiting from South Africa.”

Francois Cheval shook his hand, his light gray eyes twinkling. “Please, call me Francois. So, you’re another of Annette’s children. You have the same light hair and blue eyes as your mother.”

“We don’t have the same mother, Papa. Stefan is from my stepfather’s previous marriage. He’s older than I am by six years.”

“Oh, Marcelle’s stepbrother, not half-brother,” Francois addressed him again. “And you are friends? After what happened?”

“I didn’t know my father, apart from occasional visits. I don’t hold Marcelle responsible for his death. Anyway, it was all a long time ago and best forgotten.”

A shadow passed over Francois Cheval’s face. “You’re right. Still, I blame myself...”

“Don’t be silly, Papa,” she interrupted him. “It’s over. No point in dragging it all up again!”

“I’m sorry, chéri,” Francois responded, shamefaced. “Please forgive me.”

She hugged him. “Of course. Now let’s enjoy the party.”

“Good idea,” the slender Frenchman agreed, turning his attention back to Stefan. “Please forgive me for getting so morbid.”

Marcelle winked at Stefan as she led her father away in the direction of the grill, where Claude had more meat ready.

~ . ~

At nearly four in the morning, the guests started leaving. Soon they were alone.

Marcelle groaned when she saw the debris. “I could ask the cleaners to come in tomorrow morning. They live on the premises, to service the apartments, but since you’ve been here, I’ve told them I won’t need them until further notice. It would be a good idea to stick to that rule, I guess.”

“I’ll help you clean up.”

“Thanks. We can do that in the morning, though. For now, the fires are still burning, and I’m not tired at all.”

“What do you what to do then?”

“I have some marshmallows in the kitchen. Let’s roast them over the fire,” she suggested enthusiastically.

He smiled. “That sounds great. We can watch the sunrise.”

They settled in front of the fire, each holding a marshmallow on the metal prong of a barbecue fork.

Marcelle’s marshmallow was ready first, and she ate it with relish, licking her fingers. She speared another, and held it over the hot coals. “Come on, you’re falling behind.”

He ate his marshmallow, remarking, “I feel like I’m ten again.”

“Why?”

“That’s about the last time I did this.”

“You’ve missed a major part of your childhood,” she said with a smile. “I remember camping trips when I was fifteen, when the cycling club went on tours. We always roasted marshmallows over the fire. It was a tradition. That’s why I’m so good at it.” She held a cooked marshmallow out to him. “Taste this; you’ll see what I mean.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, tasting the sweet, “yours are superior to mine.”

“Anything you can do I can do better,” she said archly. When he didn’t reply, she explained, “You know, from the song. You must have heard it.”

“Yes,” he replied.

She turned to him, alerted by a strange tone in his voice, and caught him staring at her.

She blushed. “What is it?”

“You’re beautiful,” he said, fighting a desire to kiss her.

She refused to get serious. “Firelight does wonders for a person. Even you’re beginning to look presentable.”

He smiled, the tension relieved. “And when the first rays of the sun hit me, I’ll turn back into a frog, isn’t that right?”

She laughed. “Then I’d have to kiss you.”

The conversation continued in this tone, and Stefan marveled at how comfortable he felt in Marcelle’s presence.

At last replete, they relaxed on a double swinging chair that hung from a steel frame. The waterfall at the deep end of the pool gurgled merrily. He pushed at the ground with his foot to start the swinging motion of the chair.

They watched as the dawn sent pink fingers across the sky, heralding the coming sunrise. Birds started chirping, welcoming the new day.

Marcelle stole a glance at her companion’s perfect profile. “You know Stefan, when my friends do me a favor; I like to know about it, so I can thank them.”

He had put the matter from his mind. He straightened in the chair, and turned to her. “What do you mean?”

“Pierre-Henri told me he had spoken to the two gentlemen who pardoned my crime. After a few drinks, their tongues loosened, and it turns out that an order came from high up, to squash the whole affair, as the two Dutch girls had been guilty, not me. So Pierre-Henri asked them whether it came from the Minister of Sport, and they said no.” She paused, watching his face. “The order had come from the French president himself, and from the Dutch premier.” When Stefan remained silent, she continued, “I spoke to Claude. He told me what I suspected, that you’re the only person I know with enough influence to pull a stunt like that.”

He said nothing, apparently more interested in the sunrise than looking at her.

She tapped him on the arm. “So what do you have to say?”

“I’m supposed to answer to that?”

“If you had a hand in rescuing me, I would like to know,” she said. “We’ve always been honest with each other. I see no reason why we shouldn’t continue that way.”

Stefan sighed. “Yes, I helped you.” He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”

“How did you do it?”

He hesitated. “Marcelle, my occupation brings me into contact with a lot of influential people. Many of them are in my debt. I simply called in a few favors. The two people in question both promised to do their utmost.”

“Claude said you had a lot of influence, but cashing in favors from heads of state? That’s impressive.”

“I didn’t do it to impress you, only to save you from unjust punishment.”

“Well, I’m impressed, relieved, and thankful. Thank you for saving my worthless skin, and thanks for being honest with me.”

“I’ll send you my bill.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s watch the sunrise,” she murmured, moving closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. Stefan relaxed and placed an arm around her shoulders, pulling her even closer.

They woke from their slumber at ten, the heat of the sun on their faces.

Two hours later the apartment was spotless again, the dishwasher working away at the multitude of glasses and crockery. Exhausted from their activities, they retired to the bedroom for a well-deserved rest.

* * * *

Chapter Twenty

Stefan wore just a pair of red shorts as he lounged on the oak chest at the foot of the king-sized bed, and watched Marcelle as she packed clothes for three days of racing in Belgium. He thought she looked like a delicious ice cream in her white shorts and short pink top.

The air-conditioner hummed, coping with the heat wave sweeping Europe. Outside, temperatures were in the region of 32 degrees Celsius.

Both of them hated the idea of spending the next four days apart. The team bus would leave early on Thursday, and the first race was on Friday afternoon, with Marcelle returning on Sunday evening.

She often found her eyes drawn to the mercenary, fascinated by the good looks that had returned as his health had improved. His wounds had healed, and the raw scars would soon fade to join the many scars marring his tanned upper body. She could see he had regained the muscle and weight he had lost, courtesy of the gym upstairs. He was healthy enough to travel home, but she didn’t want him to leave. She worried that the ice would overwhelm her when he left, and she would be stuck in limbo again.

She closed the last kitbag. “I think we deserve a swim.”

“That’s the best offer I’ve had all day,” he said with a smile, getting up from the oak chest. “I’ll get changed. Meet you at the elevator.”

She changed into a purple bikini, and threw on a white terry-cloth wrap. She grabbed a large beach-towel on the way to the elevator where he waited, a towel draped over his shoulder. They rode up to the pool in the elevator.

Stefan threw his towel onto a chair, and dived cleanly into the cool clear waters. He surfaced. “The water’s great.”

He feasted his eyes on Marcelle’s slim body as she took off her wrap, dropping it with her towel. She walked gracefully to the edge of the pool, and he whistled in appreciation, rewarded by a shy blush from her. She dived into the pool, trying to escape his admiring gaze. As she surfaced, she swam over to him, and without any warning ducked him.