CultOfTheBlackVirgin (10 page)

“I’m sorry,” said Jo, only half listening. Someone was trying to get her attention.

It was Luc. He was smiling at her. Again.

For the evening meal, the group was moved to the hotel’s dining room, just next door to the bar. The views from this room were equally fabulous, and Jo sat right at the edge where she could easily peer hundreds of feet down and across the valley. Rocamadour was one of the most beautiful places she had ever seen. None of her photographs could come close to capturing its magic, and she wasn’t even going to try to make a sketch.

She was hungry, and fortunately for her appetite, Luc had seated himself at another table, so she could relax as the wine began to flow and dinner was served.

The meal was very good—local walnuts, apples, and cheese were toasted together for the first course, a succulent
cassoulet
was the main, and dessert was a rich custard and fruit confection. She ate it all, and drank as much of the various wines as she could manage. But her mind was not wholly on her food and drink.

True, she appreciated French cuisine, and she fully enjoyed this one, but now she longed for something more. Something equally French. Equally delicious. But forbidden.

During the meal she could hear Luc offering tidbits of information about the foods they ate. He seemed to be particularly knowledgeable about the regional wines.

“I’ve planted a small vineyard on my property near Cahors, about fifty vines. That was a few years ago and just now I’m beginning to get some very good wines.”

He claimed that Cahors boasted some of the oldest vineyards in Europe. “And wine from Cahors has always been famous for its excellent aging properties. I will bring a few bottles for our farewell dinner next week, so you can all have a taste.”

Looking at him, Jo wondered about his life—his family, his friends, his job. By now it was common knowledge that his wife was a dentist and they had an eight-year-old son. Jo wondered if the boy looked like his father.

Then she began to think about her own life, how smoothly it had arranged itself over the past few years. How fortunate she was. And although she wasn’t one hundred percent ready, she supposed she would eventually give in to James. They would marry. Then, after a few years, they would have a baby. As always, James was right—it
was
the perfect time in their lives, and he
would
make a perfect husband and father.

But at this moment she was fantasizing about an act that would threaten all of it. And destroy her self-respect.

Over the past two days, Jo had grown close to Edward and Glenda, who were now sitting across the table from her. The Evans were well-read, interesting and very kind, and had been married for over thirty years. Because Edward was a psychologist, Jo became slightly uncomfortable during the meal when he began to talk about marriage. When she told them she was probably going to get married in the near future, he said that marriage was a compromise for most people. It turned out he’d been doing a lot of couples’ counseling, and was studying the dynamics that evolved within marriages. He was particularly interested in what he called
boundaries
—the constructed wall separating permissible from impermissible activities within a marriage.

“For example,” he said, “while my wife is busy teaching school ten months of the year, I’m free to take a vacation on my own now and then. I’ve been on several other walking trips—one in Greece, and one in Scotland. And while I’m away from Glenda, she never has to worry about my behavior. It’s understood between us that we’ve together erected
boundaries
that, by consensus, will not be crossed.

“Therefore, if I were to catch the eye of a flirty young nurse on the rebound from a failed engagement, I’m free to enjoy her company, her conversation, and not worry that anything potentially damaging to my marriage would come out of it. I can trust myself. And if she pressed me, I would tell her about my boundaries, and that would set her straight.

“This understanding has worked throughout our marriage,” Edward explained. “It’s a shame that so few married couples have well-established boundaries regarding their behavior. That’s why I’m always being pressured into going back to work fulltime. The demand for couple’s counseling is enormous these days,” he said with an ironic laugh, “and not expected to decrease any time soon.”

The subject of conversation began move Jo from discomfort to alarm. First of all, it was too personal, she thought, but more importantly, she couldn’t help feeling it was delivered to her, individually, as part of a lesson.

She interpreted his words as a clear warning about infidelity.

But why warn me? I’m not in any danger of committing adultery. I’m not even married, yet, and once I am I have no intention of straying.

And as far as she knew herself, she would never become involved with a married man.

Never! It’s just a little harmless flirtation. Totally harmless.

But maybe Edward saw something in her that she didn’t recognize? Jo slowly began to realize that Edward, and perhaps Glenda too, had sensed the electricity flying back and forth between her and Luc.

Had anyone else sensed a difference in her behavior?

Oh, please. Relax
.
Not everything is about you. They’re just making conversation. Be nice and converse back, why don’t you? Smile. Be nice.

Luc’s desire for her might be obvious to everyone present, but then men responded to her all the time. They had since she was a girl. Edward couldn’t have known that many had been far bolder than Luc.

She recalled the well-dressed fellow who walked up to her in a restaurant a few years earlier and dropped to his knees in front of her table.

“Forgive me for interrupting your meal, but I must tell you that you are a most exceptionally beautiful woman,” he’d announced, both hands placed dramatically over his heart. Then he solemnly stood up and walked out of the building, leaving everyone within earshot astounded and amused.

And then just ten days ago there was the airline pilot on their flight to Paris. He not only took her hand in his as he welcomed her aboard, he twice came out into business class during the flight to enquire as to the passengers’ comfort. Both times he was smiling at Jo.

The other men in the group had been watching her, too, Jo knew. But that was normal, and she didn’t think anything of it. Usually she just smiled vaguely, or ignored them. Peter leered, and Edward politely observed. Ron’s stony features broke into an uncharacteristic smile whenever she spoke to him. Duncan was especially attentive to her. Once he learned she was interested in wildflowers, he sought out new species along their walks. Jo knew he was really calling for her attention to himself. She thought he was sweet. Only Thomas seemed not to notice the Eve in his midst. She suspected he was nearsighted.

Jo took for granted a lifetime of attention from men, much of it unwanted, but now, for the first time in her life, she was receiving attention that rattled her to the core. She had never wanted attention from any man the way she wanted it from Luc. And at this stage in her life, she had never needed sexual attention less—she and James were on the verge of taking the next big step in their lives together.

And Luc has a wife. He shouldn’t be acting like this.

She shot him a glance across the room, and when he saw the look on her face he responded with a puzzled little frown. She must have been scowling, she realized as she quickly looked at Edward. He, too, had a slight frown on his face. Embarrassed, she looked down at her ring as her fingers twisted and pulled at it.

Jo had had affairs in her time, but she had never, ever had sex with a married man. She had never wanted to.

Until now,
she realized in panic.

The type of attention Luc was giving her was undermining her self-control. It was challenging her sense of who she was—a moral, responsible, sensible woman. Challenging her self-imposed boundaries.

All of a sudden she was afraid. Jo was not inexperienced with men, and until this moment believed she could control herself in any game of sexual politics. But now she wondered if Luc was proving too strong for her.

Do I really know what I’m doing here? Is this game really under my control?

Joanna Clifford had been an obedient, cautious child, maturing early to become a dependable, conscientious young woman who always tried to do the right thing. She was fortunate enough to be generous, and confident enough to step into the background in most situations. Her friends described her as levelheaded.

The only inconsistency in her character had been a tendency to be attracted to unsuitable men. But that had been in her past. Once she fell in love with James she knew she had outgrown her attraction to bad boys, those with more testosterone than sense.

Of course she had made mistakes with a few of these men, but they were minor. She used these mistakes as lessons, and didn’t dwell on the past. In truth, she hadn’t done much that she was truly ashamed of.

And now, hurting James, then flirting with a married man—in public, no less—should have caused her to pause and reflect, then change her attitude and behavior. But at the moment, filled with the sensory and gustatory pleasures of France, she wasn’t herself.

A little tipsy from the wine, and euphoric at just being alive in the same world as Luc, Jo stood up and walked over to the railing at the edge of the gorge. The view was exquisite. Under picture-perfect skies a large, bright moon filled the valley with a crisp, white light. Each motionless tree seemed carved of stone. She was so happy she wished she could spread her arms and glide over the canyon like the swallows.

If only I could fly! I want to soar forever. I want to feel like this forever!

When the last coffee cups were removed and after-dinner drinks were served, the group rearranged itself. The Arnolds went to bed, the Evans moved off to another table and Luc and Duncan came to sit with Jo and Sarah. Jo’s heart began to thrum as she watched Luc take his seat across from her. Tonight he was wearing a dark-colored shirt that, combined with his rumpled dark hair, gave him a slightly exotic look. Again, his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow and his forearms were bare as he leaned towards her across the table. Once more Jo admired the thick cording of veins running along their length just under the smooth brown skin. He looked so alive, so virile. If she only could, she would reach out her hand and touch him in the dim light.

Both Luc and Duncan seemed to have had quite a lot to drink. They were in high spirits as Luc began a story about a group of trekkers from hell he’d taken through this part of France a few years before. He was animated, using his hands expressively to emphasize the details of the story, which he told very well. Soon he had them all laughing along with him.

“One American woman, in particular, drove me to drink more than usual on that walk,” he confessed. “She complained about everything—nothing was as good as she had back home in Montana or Missouri or wherever the hell she was from. For example, she said the Oregon State Caves were beautifully colored inside. The walls were bright red, blue, green. French caves were boring, in comparison. They had nothing on those caves back home. She kept going on and on until I wanted to strangle the silly bitch.”

He leaned closer to Jo over the table, holding her even gaze. She’d been resting her own elbows on the table, but now she backed off and began to fiddle with the end of her braid.

“And that was the least of her slurs against all things French. She would drink only rum and Coke—wouldn’t even try the wines—and refused to eat anything she didn’t recognize. This included veined cheese, artichokes, any kind of organ meats and wild mushrooms. She claimed French food was unhealthy and fattening.”

Jo laughed in the semi-darkness—partly because she was entertained by Luc’s story, but mostly because she was so happy. She was excited by the nearness of his body across the table from her, and the way his eyes sparkled at her.

He drained his glass, reached for the wine bottle and offered to refill Jo’s glass first.

“No, no thanks,” she said as she covered her glass with her hand. “I think I’m done.”

She saw that his eyes held a new intensity—she felt them burning into her, through her dress, through her skin. She knew he was looking at her breasts, for her dress was fairly revealing. She grew warm, and, despite sitting with other people, excited. It was not just the nearness of his body, but the expression on his face aroused her too.

“And what about you, Joanna?” he asked as he leaned in even closer. “You’re an American who seems to be enjoying our cuisine, our wines, our culture? All things French seem to agree with
you
.”

He was making love to her with his eyes. With his sly smiles.

“Um, er, yes. You’re right,” she said, momentarily flustered. “I
am
enjoying everything about this trip. What’s not to like?” she asked as she looked around the room, trying to break his hold on her. She was grateful the darkness hid her flaming face.

“And I’ll be sure to recommend
French Escapes
to everyone back home,” Jo added lamely, not knowing what else to say. Her mouth was suddenly so dry she could barely swallow.