Paradise Found (15 page)

Mellowed with good food and free-flowing wine, you never knew; that was what he meant. He might not know, but she did. She was on her mettle now and she had no intention of being manipulated by his playful feather caresses and led into indiscretion by his oh-so-innocent and oh-so-lethal charm.

Madame Poussin gave them an effusive welcome. Zoe didn't understand a word the woman said, but ‘clucking' was the same in any language. Matt translated for her. ‘Madame didn't expect anyone to come on such a night. She is distressed at the thought of letting you sit down to eat in those wet clothes, and she would be delighted to loan you something to wear while she takes your things through to the kitchen to dry.'

Madame Poussin was considerably shorter than Zoe and very plump. She was as round as a butter-ball. Thinking of herself in Madame's clothes made Zoe want to laugh. It was an effort to keep her mouth straight as she answered Matt. ‘Please tell Madame that I'm very grateful, and that it's a kind offer, but I won't trouble her. I'll soon dry out.'

This was duly relayed to Madame Poussin, who threw up her hands as another unintelligible spate of words issued from her
mouth.

Matt again turned to face Zoe, conspiratorial laughter in his eyes—although when she came to think about it, perhaps he wasn't laughing with her but at her. ‘Madame says it's no trouble, and that you will be more comfortable and her mind will be happier if you will permit her to fix you out, or words to that effect. I think you'd better go with her, Zoe. Otherwise I don't think there's much hope of our being fed.'

‘What about you? What about your wet clothes?' He shrugged. ‘No mention about that. Perhaps I'm supposed to be made of hardier stuff. That, or I shall suddenly be besieged to follow some equally insistent male.'

‘I hope so.'
I hope Monsieur Poussin turns out to be a roly-poly midget and you look every bit as stupid as I'm going to look.
Her eyes flashed this message to him; then she put on a brave smile, nodded her acceptance, and allowed Madame to conduct her to an upstairs room.

A wardrobe door was swung open, and although Zoe didn't understand the verbal instructions, the accompanying gestures encouraged her to choose something.

Still Zoe hesitated, not wanting to select Madame's best apparel. With an understanding grin, Madame decided to make the selection herself and took out an
exceptionally
pretty dress with a tiny green and blue star pattern on a white background. It was, if Zoe was any judge, exactly her size. Madame then beckoned for Zoe to follow her and this time led the way into a bathroom, pointed to the large fluffy towel on the towel rack, and left Zoe to get on with it.

When Zoe joined Matt again she felt clean and tidy, her hair restored to its former bounce and silky texture.

His eyes flicked over her with approval. ‘Madame was right. Her daughter must be about your size. Anne-Marie's dress could have been made for you.'

‘You rotter. You could have told me.'

‘You're too quick at jumping to conclusions, Zoe. That should serve as a lesson,' he said, taking her elbow and guiding her into the dining room.

It had a subdued, cozy intimacy, with the candles and soft lighting throwing a warm rosy glow everywhere. Red tablecloths were on the tables and snowy white napkins had been folded to resemble water lilies.

Only two other tables were taken, giving the tiny dining room an almost spacious look. It would have appeared to be bursting at the seams if it had been fully occupied. A corner table was set for them.

‘I ordered for you. Is that all right?'

Zoe sank comfortably into a deep wall-seat upholstered in dark red velvet, relaxing amid
the
eye-pleasing decor and the luxury of feeling dry and deliciously pampered. ‘Yes, lovely.'

‘The womenfolk wait on the tables, Madame and her daughter, Anne-Marie.'

At that precise moment Madame appeared. A bottle was presented for Matt's inspection. He gave an affirmative nod, and pale golden liquid flowed into tall, thin-stemmed glasses.

Zoe raised her glass to her lips, savoring the bouquet with her nose before satisfying her palate.

Madame departed and Matt resumed speaking. ‘Jean-Claude is the chef. He takes his art seriously. He creates each course, rather than prepares it. It could be a—'

‘Gastronomic treat,' Zoe said as a trolley of hors d'oeuvres was wheeled alongside the table by a young French girl.

Zoe's mouth moistened at the sight of all the silver dishes, each arranged so that the artistic assortments of delectable, and delectably colored, foods tempted the eye as it invited the juices to flow. There were crisp celery curls; tomatoes filled with white breadcrumbs, garlic, and herbs; stuffed eggs and thumb-sized artichokes; sardines; mussels in a marinade; tiny pink shrimps in lemon juice; thin slices of sausage and ham; tiny French beans; and black olives glistening in a dressing of oil and herbs.

The French girl heaped Zoe's plate and set
it
before her. Zoe asked Matt if this was Anne-Marie. On being told that it was, Zoe then asked Matt to thank her for the loan of the dress. This done, Matt faced Zoe and relayed Anne-Marie's reply. ‘She says it's her pleasure. She also says that she didn't realize how pretty the dress was, but perhaps it looks that way because you are so much prettier than she is.'

‘Thank Anne-Marie, but tell her that's not so. She's much prettier than I am.'

‘I will, but with tongue in cheek. Either you're very modest, Zoe, or you don't look in your mirror often enough.' Anne-Marie walked away moments later, her lips turned up in pleasure at Matt's words. ‘Before Anne-Marie arrived, you interrupted too quickly. I hope it will be a gastronomic treat. But what I was going to say was that it could be a lengthy business. While you were upstairs putting on Anne-Marie's lovely dress I phoned Les Charmettes and spoke to my mother. I explained our predicament.'

‘I'm glad you thought of that and managed to get through. I wouldn't like Hannah to be worried.'

‘She wasn't. You, I, and the car were missing. She did some simple arithmetic and came up with the right answer. She knew that you would be safe with me.'

‘And Tony?'

‘Ah, now, that's a different matter entirely. Mother said that he's been most agitated and
so
she would be happy to put his mind at rest.'

The horrible mocking grin was back on Matt's mouth. Far from being at rest, Tony's mind would be even more agitated, wondering what was happening and what they were up to, and Matt was reveling in that knowledge. Tony knew that she was still attracted to Matt, and he didn't trust Matt any more than she did.

‘Everything satisfactory?' Matt inquired, his voice as bland and as smooth as the mayonnaise coating the eggs.

It was another of his remarks with a double meaning. She answered as if she had recognized only the innocent one. In the best French tradition, the vegetables were either raw or almost raw. She crunched on a bean. ‘Entirely.' Her tone was as sharp as the well-seasoned vinaigrette dressing the bean had been dipped in.

Anne-Marie returned to whisk away the plates. The first course had done its trick, awakening but not satisfying, rousing and exciting tastebuds for what was to come: bass grilled with fennel, which was a speciality of the region. That was followed by duck with grapes and wine sauce. Matt hadn't ordered dessert ahead. He chose French apple pie, distinguished from the English version by a top ‘crust' made of sliced apple instead of pastry. Zoe asked for the tiniest portion, a mere token taste, of a light as whipped cream
bavaroise
dashed with Grand Marnier. Her wineglass
had
been refilled during the meal, and she declined the brandy Matt tried to press on her with her coffee.

Zoe enjoyed the fragrance coming from the enormous iridescent glass that Matt lifted to his lips in an abstract and wholly contented way. He had sat across from her during the meal, but now he joined her on the cushioned wall-seat. The gentle lighting, the shimmering glow of the candles, softened the hard planes of his face. It seemed impossible to believe him capable of a devious or culpable act, yet evidence that he was came from the strong fingers that encircled her wrist and drew patterns in the palm of her hand in a disturbingly intimate way. The pressure of his hard thigh against hers increased her feeling of excitement.

The brandy swirled as he offered her a sip from his glass. It was no accident that her lips were directed to the spot where his hand touched. The brandy exploded with an aromatic warmth in her mouth and throat; her lips tingled as though at his kiss. He lifted the glass to his own mouth, covering the exact same spot. His eyes caressed her over the brim, and again her lips burned as if he'd kissed them.

It was getting near decision time, and Zoe knew it, but she didn't seem capable of lucid thought. Seduced by the good food and wine and Matt's sumptuous attentiveness, she
wanted
to float forever on this euphoric cloud of content. The rest of her body wanted its share of the shivery things he was doing to her hand under the discreet cover of the tablecloth. Feeling that she was under the influence of some mesmeric pull, she snatched her fingers away. His eyes mocked her as his fingers concentrated their wicked attention elsewhere, subjecting her thigh to the sensual torment.

She hadn't noticed that the dining room had filled up until Matt drew her attention to the fact. ‘More refugees from the rain, do you suppose?'

‘It could have stopped raining,' she said.

‘Exactly what I was afraid of.'

The illusion of privacy had already been dispelled, so it was no intrusion when Madame Poussin came to their table to present the bill and ask if they had enjoyed their meal. Matt translated her words for Zoe, who asked, ‘Will you add something extra for the loan of the dress?'

‘I already have,' he said, tucking a quantity of francs into the folded slip of paper.

Zoe beamed a smile at Madame, which was returned in full measure. More conversation passed between Madame and Matt, during which time a wry little smile touched Matt's mouth, setting Zoe's curiosity alight.

Her eyes followed Madame's disappearing back. ‘What was that about?'

‘Your
clothes are dry and in the upstairs room where Madame escorted you earlier. She said for you to make your way up there and change back when you're ready.'

‘That wasn't all she said.'

‘No.' Laughter gleamed from beneath his half-lowered lids.

‘Aren't you going to tell me? You delight in teasing me, don't you?'

‘You're so delightful to tease. Perhaps, if you're a very good girl, I'll tell you later.'

She knew that she would get no more out of him for now. ‘I'll go change out of my borrowed finery,' she decided.

Upstairs again, she took off Anne-Marie's dress and hung it on the outside of the wardrobe for Madame to find. In her own simple suntop and skirt she went back downstairs to where Matt was waiting for her. Madame and Anne-Marie came to say goodbye, and in this they were joined by Monsieur Poussin. Matt took her hand as they walked out.

It was a beautiful night, the stars burning vividly in the sky. It was impossible to believe it had rained so heavily, except for the fact that the air was even more redolent of flowers, the way it always was after a storm.

The drive back to Les Charmettes was companionably silent. Matt parked the car in the drive. It was a natural place to park, but it was also out of sight of the house.

Zoe's
instincts didn't have to be all that alert for her to know that she should make a run for it. She would have, too, but for the detaining hand that came out to clamp round her wrist. Her lips tingled as they had earlier in anticipation of the real thing. The promise of his kiss hovered in the air between them as his fingers moved up her arm, sending dangerous flames of passion through her veins. His mouth came so gently to hers that, although the kiss was expected, the fiery explosion it set off took her by surprise. It was like a fever attacking her brain and weakening her pulse, reducing her resistance to a whimper that escaped her lips before the delicious onslaught began again.

The heat burned her up and melted her bones. His hands filled themselves with her breasts, before wandering up and over her shoulders, down her spine, molding her to him, closing round her hips. Then his voice was rasping against her forehead, vibrating with impatience. ‘This damned car is too restrictive. Why aren't we in bed together, Zoe? We could have been. We still could be.'

She tried to form the word ‘no,' but it wouldn't come.

‘I'm human, Zoe. I'm tired of just making it so far. I want all the joy.' His voice cracked. ‘That's ironic.'

‘What is?' she managed hoarsely.

‘It's too near the bone to what Madame
said.'

‘After that, you're going to have to tell me.'

‘I suppose I am. Madame said she knew we were going to be very happy together, and that you would give me a lot of joy.'

‘She said that?' The way Matt said it made it seem coarse, and Madame Poussin was the epitome of sweetness and refinement. Then it clicked. ‘Madame saw my engagement ring and thought that you and I . . . ?

‘Yes.'

Suddenly Zoe was angry, angrier than she could ever remember being in her life. ‘How very quaint of Madame. You can get all the joy you want without marriage—but not from me. I admit that I almost lost my head for a while, but I'm on an even keel now. I've been here before. I was nineteen and ready to give everything. And almost did. No man had ever touched me in that way before. You said you'd come back. When you didn't I died a thousand times of humiliation. It won't happen again.'

‘It wouldn't, Zoe, I can explain.'