Remember (16 page)

A short while later they walked down to the Souleiado shop. Here Nicky selected several bolts of beautiful fabrics in the colorful traditional patterns of Provence, and arranged for these to be shipped to her mother in New York. Then she picked out several address books covered in similar fabrics for girlfriends, and these she took with her, as well as various aprons and other small items.

They continued to meander through the cobbled streets, stepping into all kinds of little shops, sometimes merely to look around and savor the atmosphere. In one shop, Nicky made a few purchases of lavender essence, bags of lavender, and bags of Herbes de Provence.

When the herbs were being wrapped, she turned to Clee and grinned.

“You do know I can buy all of this stuff in New York, don’t you? At Bloomingdale’s, actually. And exactly the same products, too. But it’s not quite the same as bringing it from here.”

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed, accepting the shopping bag from the proprietor and guiding her out of the shop. “Come on, I want to show you the place d’Albertas, it’s very quaint, and then we’d better be getting back to the farm for lunch.”

“Oh God, not another meal,” she groaned, and grimaced through her laughter.

Holding her arm, Clee led her toward the ancient square.

“Speaking of meals, I told Amelie to make a very light lunch, just a green salad, cold chicken and fruit. I’m taking you somewhere very special for dinner tonight.”

“Where?” She looked at him quickly.

“It’s quite a famous restaurant, people go there from all over the world, and it’s elegant. So if you didn’t bring a dress, Nicky, we’d better go and buy one now. There are several chic boutiques around here.”

“It’s all right, Clee, I packed a couple of silk dresses. And my pearls, just in case. So you can take me anywhere.”

Clee’s bedroom was shady and pleasant, the bright afternoon sunlight outside blocked by the wooden shutters, the warm air cooled by the ceiling fan.

They were lying close together on the bed, bodies touching, resting now after their frantic lovemaking. Clee had brought her here after lunch, to rest, he had said, but within minutes the inevitable had happened.

Clee had started to kiss her and touch her, and she had responded ardently, as always instantly on fire whenever she felt his hands on her in that particular way. They had undressed each other, and once they were naked he had taken

her to him swiftly, and once more their wild ecstasy had begun.

It now struck Nicky how odd it was that they had known each other for two years and had never in that time thought of making love.

But in the last few days they hadn’t been able to get enough of each other, were unable to keep their hands off each other when they were alone.

Nicky moved her head slightly on the pillow to look at him. Clee was stretched out on his back, as she was. His eyes were closed, his thick dark lashes resting lightly on his bronzed cheeks. He took the sun well, had acquired a tan since he had been at the farm. His whole body was a golden brown, except for the white triangle below his stomach that had been covered by his swimming trunks.

In repose his face had a sweet gentleness to it, and his mouth, so wide and generous, was endearing. She had a sudden impulse to reach out and touch his mouth, but refrained, not wishing to awaken him.

Cleeland Donovan. She said his name to herself. He was a lovely man, a decent man, who did not have one bad bone in his body. He was honest and just and kind and fair. And so very trustworthy.

Her mother had a phrase for people who were genuinely admirable.

True-blue, she called them. Cleeland Donovan was definitely true-blue.

He was her closest and dearest friend and she had loved him like a brother right from the beginning of their friendship. But now he was her lover. They were sexually involved with each other, and obviously well on the way to becoming emotionally entangled.

Perhaps they already were. She wasn’t sure what would happen, what would become of them, how long they would be together in this way. But she did know she could trust him implicitly. With her life, as he had proved in Beijing. He was that type of man, courageous and dependable and strong. She felt safe with Clee.

She always had, right from the beginning. He gave her a sense of being cared for, of being completely protected.

Clee opened his eyes quite suddenly and caught her studying him.

He reached for her and, pulling her into his arms, nuzzled his face in her neck. He whispered against her ear, “You had such a pensive look on your face when I opened my eyes—what were you thinking about?”

“You, actually.”

“Ah, I see. And what were you thinking about me?”

“I decided you were—true-blue. That’s what my mother calls people she admires.”

She felt him smile against her neck.

He said, “Is that a roundabout way of telling me you admire me?”

Not waiting for her answer, he added, “I wish you felt something more than admiration.”

“I do,” she protested, “I feel a lot of things—” She broke off, pulled away and looked into his dark brown eyes, which were dancing with mischief. “Oh, you! You!” she cried, putting her hand against his chest, making a weak attempt to push him away.

“You were trying to trap me into saying something I may later regret.

” “Who, me? Never.” He grinned at her, and brought her back into the circle of his arms. Stroking her hair gently, he then began to smooth his hands down over her back, and found her mouth with his, devoured it, and ever so slowly he began to make love to her.

Instantly Nicky was aflame, hungry for him even though they had made love only a couple of hours ago. She ached to feel the hardness of him inside her, ached to be joined to him, to be part of him.

As if he could read her mind, he was suddenly on top of her, bracing his hands on either side of her body, pushing himself up above her, looking down into her face.

She reached up to touch him, let her fingers trace a delicate line across his mouth, her eyes focused on his, and intently so.

He returned her glaze unblinkingly, and entered her with that same force he had used the first night they had made love in the garden, and it brought a cry of surprise and pain to her lips. He paid no attention, worked against her harder and harder, and the pain eased and she was opening up to him, flowing to him. She wrapped her arms and legs around his body, binding him to her, her skin against his skin, her breath mingling with his breath.

Clee kissed her hard, almost with violence, and then unexpectedly he arched back and away from her, groaning as if in anguish. “I love you, Nicky,” he cried. “I love you.” She felt him flowing into her as she had flowed into him only a split second before, and at this moment she thought, And I am falling in love with you. But she was unable to say this, and so remained silent, holding him close when he collapsed against her and buried his face in her hair.

lee paused in the doorway of the library and leaned against the doorjamb, staring at Nicky.

“Hi,” she said, smiling, and walked toward him.

The dress she wore had a round neck and no sleeves, it was cut loose and full, and fell in folds from ruching on the shoulders.

Its color was a delphinium blue that exactly matched her marvelous eyes, and as she moved forward the light silk swirled around her like a cloud. The pearls encircling her throat in a choker and the matching studs on her ears looked unusually luminous against her tan, and with her golden skin, golden hair and brilliant eyes Clee thought there was a special kind of sheen about her tonight.

When she stood in front of him he saw, on closer inspection, that she had the inner glow of a woman who has recently been well and truly loved, and who has loved in return. There was a

subtle sexuality about hen-a rosy bloom on her skin, a ripeness around her mouth, and a wise and knowing expression in her eyes.

It was an unmistakable look, and one that a man always recognizes.

“You look gorgeous, Nicky,” he said, taking hold of her bare arm possessively, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she responded, eyeing him appraisingly, noting the excellent cut of his cream sports jacket, the fineness of the cream voile shirt that set off his tan and dark coloring, the expensive wine silk tie, the well-tailored black linen slacks and highly polished black loafers. After giving him another admiring glance, she added, “Good enough to eat, in fact.”

“We’ll leave that for later,” he quipped, breaking into a chuckle.

Moving her forward toward the landing, he went on, “We’d better be on our way. I had a tough time getting a table, and I don’t want to lose it.”

A few minutes later Clee was pulling his car out of the courtyard and rolling down the driveway.

Nicky asked him, “Where are we going? You’ve been so mysterious.

“Have I? I didn’t mean to be.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, then brought his gaze back to the road to concentrate on his driving. Then he explained, “We’re going to Les Baux, a town not far from here, just beyond Saint-Remy. The restaurant is called L’Oustau de Baumaniere. It’s a charming place and the food is excellent. And I know, before you say it again for the umpteenth time, you’ve had enough meals to last you a lifetime. But you don’t have to eat very much, Nick, just a taste. And in any case, I really wanted to take you there because it’s a unique spot, and besides, tonight’s a celebration.”

“What are we celebrating?” She turned to look at him, wedging herself in the corner of the seat, resting her shoulder against the car window.

“We’re celebrating our book—which we now have a title for. And a few other things.”

“Such as what?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

Clee turned on the tape player and the car was instantly flooded with Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. They drove in silence for a long while, listening to the music, and as usual they were at ease with each other whether they spoke or not.

But at one moment, as they were passing through Saint-Remy, Nicky suddenly said, “Les Baux rings a bell—I think my mother had several references to it in one of her books. But I can’t remember ecactly why, or which book, for that matter.”

“Les Baux is very old,” Clee told her. “It’s a feudal city that’s been around for hundreds of years, and it sits on rocky outcroppings high above some of the deep valleys in this region.

It’s mostly ruins now, a sort of ghost town in a sense. Still, it’s quite imposing in its aerie, and it was famous in the Middle Ages, from the eleventh to the fifteenth centuries, when the Lords of Baux ruled the area. They were rather bloody and violent, ferocious men, rough, and yet they gave their patronage to the troubadours—” “Of course!”

Nicky exclaimed. “That’s it! Troubadours. Now I remember. My mother wrote about Les Baux in her book on Eleanor of Aquitaine, when she touched on Eleanor’s patronage of Bernard de Ventadour, one of the most famous troubadours of all. It was at Les Baux that respect for the lady and the ritual of worshiping her beauty began. The first troubadours started writing, singing and playing their lutes there.”

“Exactly,” Clee responded, “and the Baux fortress in its heyday

and at the height of its great splendor was renowned for its Court of Love and chivalry toward women.”

“I’m so glad we’re going there, Clee. My mother will be fascinated to hear all about it when I get back to New York.”

“I’m not planning to take you up to the fortress and the ruins tonight,” Clee said quickly, glancing at her askance. “It’s far too complicated, not to mention a strenuous climb. You’d never make it in those high heels.”

Nicky laughed. “That’s all right, I don’t feel much like sightseeing, or climbing to great heights this evening.”

Soon Clee was pulling up outside L’Oustau de Baumaniere, which was set under the white stone cliffs below the ancient town of Les Baux.

After parking the car, he ushered Nicky into the famous restaurant, where they were greeted pleasantly by the maltre d’, who obviously knew Clee, and who suggested they have ar outside on the terrace.

Ten minutes later Clee lifted his flute of champagne, touched it to hers and said, “Here’s to you, Nicky darling.”

“And to you, Clee.” She smiled at him over the rim of her glass, and after taking a sip of the cold sparkling wine, she said, “Now, tell me what else we’re celebrating, as well as the book.”

He reached for her hand resting on the table, and placed his over it.

“We’re celebrating being alive, being together, being lucky enough to have lived our lives the way we’ve wanted to live them-at least so far.

And most important, we’re celebrating being lovers as well as friends.”

“Oh, Clee, those are lovely things to say and to celebrate, and we are lucky, aren’t we. Most people have so little, really.”

“Sadly, that’s true.”

“And thank you for bringing me here tonight.” She looked around her again—the terrace was ablaze with flowers, the gardens were lushly green, the varied species of trees growing under the white stone cliffs were in full bloom. She said, “This is such a beautiful place, Clee….” Sitting back in her chair, she eyed him carefully. “And what with all its ancient symbolism to do with the troubadours and their songs of love, I’m beginning to think you’re a romantic at heart, however much you might want to disguise that fact.”

“I don’t, at least not with you, and I think you’re right, I am a bit of a romantic,” he admitted, giving her a halfsmile. Suddenly he became more serious and he glanced down into his drink, looking reflective.

The change in him was almost imperceptible, but Nicky noticed it, and leaning forward she asked, “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No, no, of course not,” he answered, shaking his head. He gazed at her for a long moment, his eyes riveted on hers. “I said something to you this afternoon, and because it was said at the height of passion, you probably think that I didn’t really mean it. But I did, and I do, and I’m going to say it again, even if you don’t wish to hear it …. ” There was a small pause . “I love you, Nicky.” She stared at him.