French Kissing (20 page)

‘You look great, Vics,' I said. ‘Really glamorous. No one would think you were a schoolgirl.'

Vicky beamed. ‘I'm going to put the shoes on as well.'

My mother and I were still admiring Vicky's dress, the vertiginously high gold shoes (she was as tall as me, but had never shared my adolescent angst about her height) and the gold clutch that completed her outfit, when Alex walked in. I became aware of a familiar fluttering in my stomach.

‘I see you've had a successful shopping expedition,' Alex said, his gaze taking in the carrier bags strewn all over the carpet.

‘We did,' I said, adding, ‘Mum, you remember Alexandre?'

‘I do remember you, Alex, of course I do,' my mother said, ‘but I have to say that I wouldn't have recognised you. You've changed a great deal since you stayed with us.'

‘While you, madame,' Alex said, ‘haven't changed at all. I have many happy memories of the time I spent with Anna's family. It's very good to see you again.'

‘Oh, please call me Cheryl,' my mother said, her smile broadening.

‘And this is Vicky,' I said, ‘who is currently modelling the gown she'll be wearing to her senior prom.'

‘
Enchanté, mademoiselle.
'Alex said. ‘I remember Anna's sister as a very small girl – but now you are all grown up.'

‘
Bonjour
, Alexandre,' Vicky said. ‘As I was only three the last time I met you, I'm afraid I don't remember you at all, but I've heard a lot about you. Anna says that you're a brilliant photographer. She talked about you all through lunch.'

As far as I recalled, while I may have mentioned Alex once or twice, it had been Vicky who had dominated our lunchtime conversation with endless wittering about the boy whose (apparently) sole ambition in life was to escort her to the prom. My mother had remarked that she hoped Vicky wasn't distracting him from his schoolbooks.

‘Anna is very flattering about my work.'

Vicky glanced at me, and then she said, ‘Alex, do you think you might be able to take photos at my prom? Anna says you do fashion shoots, and portraits –'

‘Vicky!' I said. ‘You can't expect a photographer like Alex to take pictures of teenage couples at a school dance.'

‘Why not?'

‘Well, for one thing, you can't afford him.'

‘We can't
pay
anyone,' Vicky said. ‘That's the problem. We've completely used up our budget. A boy in my class who's doing A-Level Photography has said he'll step in if we can't get anybody else to do it for free, but it would be
so
much better if we could find a
real
photographer.'

‘When is the prom?' Alex said.

‘It's the last Saturday in June. After all the exams are finished.'

‘I'll still be in England then–'

‘So you'll take the photos?' Vicky said. ‘
Please
say you will.'

‘Alex, you really don't have to,' I said.

‘S'il vous plait, monsieur
,'Vicky said.

‘How can I resist, if you ask me in French?' Alex said. ‘
D'accord.
I will be your prom's official photographer, mademoiselle.'

‘Thank you
so
much! The Committee are going to be ecstatic.'Vicky's eyes were shining. ‘
Merci très très beaucoup.
'

‘Vicky, you are shameless,' I said. ‘You shouldn't have given into her, Alex, but thank you.
'

‘Yes, it really is very good of you,' my mother said.

‘It will be interesting for me to see how students in England celebrate their high school graduation,' Alex said. ‘Vicky, I'll talk to you again before the event. For now, if you ladies will excuse me, I've some photos I need to upload or I'm going to miss my deadline. I'll see you later, Anna.'

‘Á bientôt
,'Vicky said, as Alex left the room.

‘So that's Alexandre Tourville,' my mother said. ‘Didn't he turn out well? Such a charming man.'

‘He's
gorgeous
,'Vicky said. She put one hand on her heart, and fanned her face theatrically with the other. ‘If I'd had a hot guy like him for a penfriend, I'd be as good at French as you are, Anna.'

‘He is very good-looking,' I said. ‘Not that I knew that before he came to England, so I can't say that it was his square jaw and chiselled cheekbones that made me write all those letters to him.'

‘He's a lot better-looking than Nick.'

‘Victoria!' My mother gave Vicky a long, meaningful stare. ‘Remember what I said to you before we came out.'

‘You don't mind talking about Nick, do you, Anna?' Vicky said. ‘Mum said it might make you upset, but it was you that dumped him, so I don't see why.'

‘I expect I can hear his name without being traumatised.'

‘I totally get why you got rid of Nick, now I've met Alex. Does he have a girlfriend?'

‘Alex? No, he doesn't.'

‘You should so get with him.'

‘That's
enough
, Victoria,' my mother said. ‘If Anna wants your advice about whom she should date, I'm sure she'll ask you for it. And you need to go and get out of that dress – your father will be here to pick us up in five minutes.'

‘Oh, but I'd like to show Dad my prom outfit.'

‘And I'm sure he'd love to see you in it, but there won't be time. We're off out to the cinema tonight, and we're on a tight schedule – especially if you want us to drop you at your friend's on the way.'

Vicky pouted, but went off to get changed. My mother started sorting the bags that contained out various purchases into separate piles.

‘How long is it that Alexandre has been staying here with you?' she said.

‘Nearly two months,' I said, ‘and before you ask, I didn't break up with Nick because of Alex.'

‘Did I say that you did?'

‘Well, no.'

‘That would never have occurred to me, if you hadn't mentioned it. Although now I've seen the man you're sharing your flat with, I can't help wondering – Oh, was that the doorbell? I expect it's your dad.'

The arrival of my father put an end to my mother's speculations. Determined not to miss the start of the film, for which he'd booked tickets, he paused only long enough to shake hands with Alex (who'd let him into the flat and introduced himself before I'd got there), offer his services as the bearer of shopping bags, and give me a hug, before shepherding his wife and younger daughter outside to the car.

‘Come and see us anytime, Alex,' my mother called over her shoulder, as she preceded my father down the stairs. ‘Come with Anna next time she visits.'

‘Thank you, Cheryl,' Alex called back. ‘I will.'

‘Ooh, yes, Anna,' Vicky said, ‘you should definitely bring Alex with you –
OK
, Dad, I'm coming.' She clattered after our parents.

When my family had gone, I said, ‘Professionally designed posters and flyers, and now a top French photographer. I reckon my sister has every chance of being voted Prom Queen. Thank you, Alex, I really appreciate it, and even if Vicky doesn't realise quite how big a favour you're doing her, I know she appreciates it too.'

Alex shrugged. ‘An evening taking photographs is never going to be a hardship for me.' His face creased into a smile. ‘Besides, I have every intention of making you my assistant for the night.'

‘Do I get to wear a prom dress?'

‘Only if I
don't
have to wear a tux.'

‘Agreed.'

We smiled at each other.

Alex said. ‘Are you going out tonight?'

‘No,' I said, ‘I may have been single for a whole week, but I've not yet filled every date in my social diary.'

‘Come out with me? We could go to a club, if you like.'

‘I would like. But haven't you already got plans? You're not usually at a loose end on a Saturday evening.'

‘I'm on the guest list for several media events, but I'm not in the mood for networking. I'd much rather have a night out with you.'

‘Then I would very much like to go clubbing with you tonight.'

‘
Bon
,' Alex hesitated, and then he said, ‘Anna … There's something I've been meaning to say to you.'

‘Is there, Alex?' We were standing very close together, so close that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body. I breathed in the tantalisingly familiar, masculine scent of his aftershave. He bent his head and looked at me through hooded eyes. The thought sprang into my head that he was about to lean in and kiss me. Suddenly, my pulse was racing.

‘Those photos I took of you in the studio …'

My voice scarcely above a whisper, I said, ‘The ones where I wasn't wearing any clothes?'

‘Yes. I know that you were worried what Nick might think, but now that you've broken up with him, how would you feel about other people seeing them?'

Or maybe he isn't going to kiss me. ‘Oh – I – I don't know – I guess – I wouldn't mind.'

‘Are you sure? Because I'd really like to show some of them to my agent. I want to reassure him that I'm not just doing commercial shoots while I'm in London.'

‘I'm fine with that.' I looked at Alexandre, my childhood penfriend, who'd turned into this tall, strong, beautiful man now standing so close to me in my narrow hallway, talking about his work and his agent, and it shocked me how much I wanted him to kiss me. How much I wanted him.

‘Great,' Alex said. ‘I'll email them over to him before we go out.' He glanced at his watch. ‘Can you be ready to go into town by 9.00?'

My head was all over the place, but I gave myself a firm mental shake and managed to answer him coherently. ‘Alex! What are you insinuating? It's only seven o'clock now. When have you ever known me to take two hours to get ready to leave the house?'

‘You're right. That's one of the things I like about living with you. You've never made me late for work by hogging the bathroom in the morning.'

I laughed. ‘I'll see you at nine o'clock precisely.'

‘It's a date.'

It isn't a date, I thought, but I wish it was.

I went into my bedroom and surveyed myself critically in my full-length mirror. After a day spent negotiating the scrum of shoppers on Oxford Street, I wasn't exactly looking my best. I only hoped that two hours was in fact enough time for me to transform myself into an elegant, classy, and at the same time highly desirable woman. The sort of woman that a ridiculously handsome French photographer would find irresistible.

Twenty-two

I lie on Alex's bed in my spare room, naked, covered by a pink floral cotton sheet, my head resting on my arm, my fair hair fanned out behind me. Alex is standing beside me. He takes a photograph. Slowly, I push back the sheet so that he can see my breasts, and then my entire body. He lowers the camera, smiles, and strips off his clothes. Then he lies down beside me, and presses his toned, muscular, naked body against mine. Somewhere, a long way off, someone is shouting angrily in French …

I awoke to find myself in my own bed and alone. I knew I'd been dreaming, but I still half-expected to see Alex's dark head lying next to mine on the pillow, and I felt very empty when I saw that he wasn't there. The dream had seemed very real.
Get over it, Anna, it was just a dream.
I realised that I could still hear a male voice, although it was too far away for me to make out what was being said, and it soon stopped. Alex must have been speaking to someone on his phone.

I sat up, yawning, and stretching. The short black halter-neck dress that I'd worn the previous night was draped across the back of a chair. There had been an appreciative glint in Alex's eyes when I'd appeared at nine o'clock wearing that dress, and his gaze had strayed to my legs before he'd told me that I looked great. I'd smiled and tossed my hair over my shoulder (Beth would have been proud of me), and told him that he looked great too. I almost said that the dark red colour of his shirt really suited him, but I thought that might be going a little too far.

‘So which club are we going to?' I said.

‘I thought maybe somewhere a bit different?'

‘Different sounds good.'

‘The last time I worked with Lou, she was raving about a new salsa club that's just opened round the back of Covent Garden.'

‘You never wrote to me that you can salsa.'

‘I can't right now, but I fully intend to be an expert by the end of the night. So what do you think?'

‘What I think,' I said, ‘is that the six weeks of ballroom dance lessons I took four years ago might be about to come in very useful.'

The salsa club was situated in one of those narrow pedestrian alleyways that run between Covent Garden's main thoroughfares. We were welcomed at the entrance by a Hispanic man who told us, in heavily accented English, that the first hour of the night was tailored especially for beginners. Once we were inside, a rickety staircase took us down to a bar with a dance area, where couples of assorted ages were already moving to the music of guitars, piano, drums, and maracas. Alex and I hastened to join them. At the far end of the room, on a small round stage, a pair of professional salsa dancers demonstrated the basic steps, which we and the other newcomers to the club copied with varying degrees of success. My limited experience of the waltz and the foxtrot (ballroom dancing had been a very short-lived enthusiasm of mine) wasn't much help when it came to mastering the fast-paced footwork of salsa, but Alex had no trouble picking up the sequence of movements, and once I relaxed and let him lead, neither did I. We danced until the musicians took a break, and then we sat at the bar, drinking caipirinhas (I made sure I sat at an angle which gave him a good view of my cleavage), until the music started up again. We returned to the dance floor, where we were now joined by the more advanced dancers, the women rotating their hips impossibly fast, the men swinging the women in the air and bending them over backwards so that their heads almost touched the ground. The dance floor was crowded now and it grew very hot, the whole club seeming to vibrate with the salsa beat. With my hand in Alex's, spinning away from him, spinning towards him, his arm sliding around my waist, our bodies moving to the sensual rhythms, I felt as though my blood was pulsing in time with the music. I yearned for Alex to kiss me, and to see where that kiss might lead us. I willed him to feel the same. But although we danced until well past midnight, as soon as we'd left the dance floor, he let go of my hand. His conversation on the way home was all about how much he liked salsa, that he was glad I'd enjoyed it too, and we should go back to the club before we forgot the steps we'd learned tonight. The only kiss I'd had from him was a brush of his lips on either side of my face as he wished me
bonne nuit
. I'd gone to bed wondering if he'd ever see me as someone other than a girl mate with whom he could have a good night out, if there was any chance that we might become a couple.