Where the Heart Chooses (5 page)

* * * *

We made love, and I watched her, and I could
almost climax just from that. The startled whimpers and moans, the
shudders that rippled through her body, the abrupt flush that
covered her torso, the voluptuous sighs of satisfaction told me
clearly how new and unexpected these feelings were to her.

I used my mouth and fingers, taking my cues
from her, taking her higher and higher, and before she realized it
she was flying, and I was there to catch her when she came
down.

We showered, taking care not to get our hair
wet, and made love in the tiny shower. She pushed me against the
damp tile of the wall and kissed her way down my body, then dropped
to her knees and parted the curls that shielded my femininity, and
licked and nuzzled and tormented that nub until I shattered into a
million pieces, held upright only by her body as she surged up and
leaned into me, her thigh pressed high against my heated core.

I could taste myself on her lips.
Open-mouthed, she absorbed my gasps and moans.

We staggered back to the bedroom and tumbled
down onto the bed to make love again.

Finally, between kisses, we fell asleep.

I woke to Folana trailing her fingertips
over the indentation of my waist, up to the curve of my breast. My
nipples peaked, and her soft sound of pleasure echoed mine. She
dragged her tongue across first one, then the other, and blew a
warm puff of breath over each of them.

“I never dreamed it could be like that.”

I stroked her black hair. “Now you just need
to find a man who will help you realize how good it can be between
a man and a woman.”

“Why?” She sounded shocked.

“Why limit yourself? The realm of sensuality
should be boundless.”

“Would you be jealous, Portia?”

“Would you want me to be?”

She hesitated a moment, then shook her head.
“I’m…I’m terribly fond of you, you know, but I don’t love you. I’m
sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I was glad she wasn’t in love
with me. I would have hated myself if she were, especially since
nothing could ever come of it. She had the Complex and the work she
did for Sir Joseph, and I…I had what was expected of me.

“I’ve heard about Sebrings.”

“What have you heard?” I stroked my
fingertips over her high cheekbones.

“You only love once.”

“That’s a fairy story.”

“Is it?”

“What are you asking, Folana?”

“Do you…Am I…”

The light was fading, and I sighed. “I’d
better get dressed.”

“I imagine that’s answer enough.”

“I’m sorry.” My purse was on the dresser. I
rolled off the bed and crossed to it, aware of her eyes on my nude
body.

“Don’t be.” She echoed my words of just
moments earlier. “I’d like to think of you as my friend. I…don’t
have many.”

“I’d like that.” I held the red pack of Pall
Malls toward her. “Cigarette?”

“No, thanks. I prefer Gauloises.” The
shoulder bag she seemed to favor was beside my purse. I tossed it
to her, and she caught it in midair. “You could have looked in my
bag for them.”

“That would be the height of rudeness, sweet
girl.” I put my Pall Mall between my lips and lit it, then returned
to the bed.

Folana was just taking her French cigarette
out of the gold case. “A gift from Sir Joseph,” she said softly
when she saw me staring at the case. It was very ostentatious.

I stopped her from reaching for a book of
matches. Before I’d gone to The Best of Times, I’d found a little
antique shop and purchased a small token for her to remember me by.
Perhaps I should have gotten her a cigarette lighter as a farewell
gift. Perhaps another time…

I tipped my head toward hers, cupped my hand
around the strong fingers that had worked such magic on my body,
and lit her cigarette with the glowing end of mine. The smoke we
exhaled simultaneously intermingled and then dissipated.

“It’s getting late, and Lady Portia will
worry.”

“And no doubt you need to finish
packing.”

“Mmm,” I murmured noncommittally. I drew in
another lungful of smoke and swallowed it, letting it dribbled out
through my nostrils. All my packing was done. I left nothing to the
last minute.

“What will you do?”

“Once I get home?” I plucked a flake of
tobacco from my tongue and looked around. “Ashtray?”

She laughed again. “In the top drawer.
That’s where Bart keeps it. There isn’t much room for anything, as
I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

Sure enough, a battered metal ashtray,
souvenir of some seaside resort, was in the drawer, beside plain
white undershirts and underpants. The ashtray was spotlessly clean,
and I wondered briefly whose doing that was. According to Folana,
not the housekeeper’s.

I took it out and crushed the cigarette in
it, and handed it to…to my friend. For while what we’d shared was
precious, I knew it would never go any further than this.

“Are you not going to answer me now,
Portia?” She tapped the ash into the ashtray and brought the
cigarette back to her lips.

I sat on the edge of the bed, gave her a
slight grin, and began to roll on my stockings. “Once I get home,
no doubt I will eventually find someone suitable to marry.”

“Suitable to whom?”

My family? My country? Me? I shrugged. There
was that legend passed down through generations of Sebrings, of the
men and women of my line loving once and only once. I’d enjoyed
hearing those lovely fairy tales when I was a girl, but I was a
woman now, and I knew that lovely fairy tales were all they
were.

For a brief moment I thought of Tidewater,
the prestigious all-girl preparatory school the women in my
mother’s family attended, and the young man I’d dated my last year
there. Jason was good looking and smart, his touch was gentle, and
his breath was sweet when we kissed. We were considering becoming
engaged to be engaged after I graduated Tidewater—Father would
never permit me to marry any sooner than after I’d earned my
degree—until he was awarded a Rhodes scholarship. He promised to
write, and at first he did, but then his letters became fewer and
fewer until the last, informing me he’d met someone new.

I’d considered the possibility that he might
be the one, but on reading that last letter, all I’d felt was the
mildest of regrets, and when Tau Zeta Epsilon invited me to
tea
my second semester at Wellesley, I did so heart
whole.

Cressida St. James turned out to be a lovely
young woman—I met her and Jason at a ball a few weeks after I’d
arrived in London—and I bore neither of them any ill will.

Folana blew out a stream of smoke. “Will you
tell him about us?”

“Perhaps.” I made sure the seams of my
stockings were straight. “Men seem to be aroused by the idea of two
women together. Oh, I won’t mention you by name, never fear.”

“I don’t fear, oddly enough. I have to thank
you for that.” She reached for the sky-blue tap pants and pulled
them on over her long legs. I watched, wishing there was time to
strip them off and take her back to bed. “I think Sebrings are very
good at keeping secrets.”

I shrugged again and slid my arms into the
sleeves of my sweater, and tugged it down over my head.

“You hair’s gotten untidy. Let me plait it
for you.” Folana took a brush from her bag and set to work on my
hair. Once it was smooth and untangled, she separated it into three
lengths.

“You do that very well.” I closed my eyes,
relishing the feel of her fingers in my hair.

“I learned how when I was a goat-herd.” She
left it at that, and I didn’t pursue it.

I heard the door to the flat open, and
someone entered, whistling a jaunty tune. There was a pause, and
then a male voice sang out, “Oi, you lot decent in there?”

“Yes, Bart. Sounds like he got lucky.” She
didn’t seem at all jealous.

“Damn. Want me to fry you and your friend a
chop, Duchess?”

“
No
!” Folana turned to me, merriment
in her eyes. “Bart could burn water!” She grew serious. “He and I
are leaving tonight.”

“Back to Tangier?”

“Yes.”

Tangier, not Crete, where she was reputed to
have family. Folana had no family. I stood up, stepped into my
skirt, and pulled it up over my hips.

“I have something for you. I’d planned on
giving you this after our tea, but you distracted me.”

“You expected to see me before this
evening?”

“No, I was going to send it to your flat.” I
reached into my purse, took out a small jeweler’s box, and handed
it to her.

“I have nothing to give you.”

“On the contrary. You’ve given me an
afternoon filled with the most exquisite passion.”

Folana pressed the catch, and the lid
snapped up to reveal the jeweled brooch. She removed it from the
box. “Violets.”

Three flowers, each with five flawless
amethysts for petals. The leaves and stems were formed from
emeralds.

I smiled regretfully, thinking of the lovely
flowers in Lady Portia’s conservatory. “I wanted to give you the
real thing, but they would only have lasted a few days.” I took it
from her and pinned it to her breast. “I don’t think we’ll see much
of each other, Folana.” I drew her head down to mine and kissed
her. “And I’m sorry for that. I think…”

“You think too much, Portia. What you’ve
given me…Oh, not just this very pretty brooch,” when she saw my
puzzlement.

“Then what?”

“The knowledge that two people can find each
other in this mad business…”

“I beg your pardon? I’m a civilian in these
matters.”

“Of course you are.” She smiled and brought
my palm to her mouth, and then folded my fingers over the brief
caress, as if to insure I never lost it. So fanciful of me. “I
promise you this: if you ever have need of me, contact Sir Joseph.
He knows how to get in touch with me.”

Yes, he would, wouldn’t he?

I couldn’t promise her the same. When it
came down to it, Folana Fournaise answered to no one but herself. I
didn’t have that freedom.

I gathered up my purse and we walked out of
the bedroom. “Take care, Portia.”

“
I
stenhozzád
, Folana.
Farewell.”

I gathered up my jacket and the parcel from
The Best of Times, and left her there in Bart Freeman’s flat, while
smoke curled in the kitchen from the chop that burned, and he
watched in affronted impotence.

Her laughter followed me out the door.

Late the next morning I flew back to the
States.

* * * *

A tall, dark-haired man carrying a briefcase
approached me in the first class passengers’ lounge. “Miss Sebring?
I’m Bradford.”

“How do you do?” I held out my hand. “Thank
you for offering to accompany me home.”

“It’s my pleasure.” His grip was firm but
not painful. “I have some work I’ll need to catch up on, so I hope
you won’t mind. I picked up some magazines for you to read on the
flight.”
Vogue, Mademoiselle, and Ladies Home Journal
, as
well as
True Confessions
and
Modern Screen
.

“That’s very kind of you.” I sighed and
thought of the
Anna Karenina
I’d planned to read in the
original Russian.

“Not at all, not at all.”

Once we had boarded and fastened our
seatbelts, he took a file from his briefcase and buried his nose in
it. He only set it aside when the stewardess wheeled the cart with
our dinners on it down the aisle.

It was 4:47 P.M. when our flight landed at
Friendship International. The country was still on Standard Time,
and the sun had already set.

Bradford escorted me to baggage claim and
remained with me until Tony arrived.

“Sorry for the delay,” he said. “Miserable
traffic this time of day. Thank you, Bradford.” Tony shook his
hand.

Was Bradford going to get a commendation for
seeing I made it across the Atlantic in one piece?

“You’re welcome, Sebring. Miss Sebring, it
was a pleasure. I’ll just be going now.” He smiled, although it
never reached his eyes, and then nodded and hurried out of the
terminal.

I had no doubt I’d never see him again, and
so I dismissed him, instead studying my oldest brother
carefully.

“You look tired, Tony.”

“So do you. Only you’ve the excuse of
enjoying the London nightlife.”

“Mmm.” It was as good an excuse as any. I
pointed out my luggage to a skycap, and he stacked them on his
cart.

“Did you buy out London?” Tony asked
dryly.

“I’ll have you know that this is only one
trunk more than I left with!”

“Considering all your other luggage were
suitcases?” He laughed and shook his head. “The car is just over
there.”

He took my arm, and we walked to his El
Dorado, our conversation remaining desultory while there was a
possibility of being overheard.

“How are the parents?”

“Doing well. Looking forward to their
anniversary. They’re expecting us at the house in Chevy Chase.” A
small
pied à terre
Father kept for those times when he was
working at State. “How was London?”

“Its usual self, although you’ll be
interested to know that the British Museum has lost its charm.”

“Ah.” Tony bit his lip to keep from laughing
and turned to the skycap. “This is the car.”

Once my luggage had been piled into the
trunk and back seat of the Cadillac, he tipped the skycap. The man
looked at the bills in his palm, a broad smile on his dark face,
and he touched his cap and strutted back to the terminal, whistling
what sounded like a Fats Domino song.

My brother opened the passenger door for me
and waited until I had settled myself on the wine-red leather of
the front seat. I crooked my finger, and he leaned down as if to
assure himself of my comfort.

“I wasn’t being flippant,” I murmured. “You
do look tired. Are you all right?”