Linnet And Gilles

15

Linnet And Gilles

    Linnet and Gilles drove south under a freezing grey sky. For some time neither of them spoke. Finally he said: “Okay?” and touched her knee gently.

    “I’m nervous,” she admitted in a low voice.

    “Moi aussi,” he agreed.

    “You?” said Linnet in amazement.

    Gilles smiled a little. “That’s very flattering, ma mie. But yes: men get nervous, too, you know, on these occasions.”

    “Oh.” Linnet thought about it. “I won’t know whether you’re good or not,” she ventured in a consoling tone.

    “I think—you will!” he gasped, choking helplessly. “Don’t make me laugh, darling: I’ll have us off the road!”

    Linnet hadn’t meant to make him laugh but she was glad she had: she smiled a little.

    Gilles drove on for some way in silence, smiling. Finally he said: “Maman usually stays at the George V, tu sais. That is, unless Pauline and Mathieu aren’t using their appartement.”

    Linnet nodded: they’d stayed at Mathieu’s and Pauline’s flat the week before Roma’s birthday. Gilles had explained, a little awkwardly, that Mathieu’s original intention had been to sell it to raise his share of the tontine money, but although technically he had done so, it was Pauline’s wealthy mother who had bought it. It was an extravagance, really, to keep the place on, he said: Mathieu rarely used it, and Pauline went up to Paris only to buy yet more household linen or on a redecorating spree. Their country house was much more convenient for the ULR factory at which Mathieu, who headed their knitted fabrics branch, had his office.

    “But I thought perhaps you would prefer somewhere where we can be quite anonymous,” he said.

    She nodded. “Yes.”

    “Good. I’ve booked us a suite in a nice, anonymous modern hotel. They tell me it’s very Americanised, but we won’t have to eat there.”

    “No!” said Linnet with a choke of laughter.

    “What’s the joke?”

    “Nothing,” she said weakly. “You’re just so French.”

    “Am I?”

    “Ouais. Extrêmement.”

    They had been speaking French; after a moment he said awkwardly in English: “Darling, would you rather that we spoke English when we’re together?”

    “Non, non, pas du tout,” replied Linnet mildly.

    “T’es sûre?” he said anxiously, touching her knee.

    Linnet replied that of course she was very sure.

    “Alors... okay,” he said. He drove on, frowning a little.

    Linnet looked at him doubtfully but didn’t say anything.

    At last he sighed and said: “Linnet, if you get homesick, you will tell me, won’t you?”

    “I haven’t been homesick,” she said in mild surprize.

    “No, but— Well, I know a complete change in your lifestyle will take some getting used to, darling. Just tell me, if—if things seem to be going a bit too fast for you, okay?”

    “Okay.”

    “I mean it,” he said, suddenly gripping her knee fiercely.

    “Yes. But I really haven’t been homesick.”

    “No. But—well, tell me if—if I do things you don’t like, sweetheart. Don’t bottle it up.”

    “I told you I didn’t like it when you tried to trick me out in white mink!” said Linnet with a choke of laughter.

    “Ouais,” he said with a silly grin. “But you looked so sweet in that coat, mignonne.”

    “I absolutely couldn’t be the only lady in Paris getting round in broad daylight in a white fur coat!” said Linnet, laughing.

    “Eugh... Well, you could wear it to the opera, tu sais,” he said on a hopeful note. “And as an evening coat in general.”

    “Did you say I ‘could’ or I ‘could have’ worn it?” she returned suspiciously.

    “Eugh—I was extrapolating, merely,” he said meekly.

    Linnet snorted.

    Gilles smiled a little but said: “Well, you’re happy with the brown coat, then, darling?”

    Linnet would rather not have worn real fur, actually. Though she knew it was illogical: after all, she ate meat. “It’s very warm, I can’t help liking it. And the hat.”

    “Yes,” he said doubtfully. “The black was smarter, I think.”

    Linnet swallowed a smile: Roma had also thought the black coat was smarter and so had Marie-Claire. “It was too smart. I felt as if it was in charge and not me when I had it on. And I love the brown shade,” she said, stroking the coat’s skirt. “It’s a soft sort of colour.”

    “Yes; you do look very sweet in it, my darling.”

    “Thank you!” she said, laughing. “But I’d have looked so much smarter in the black!”

    “Not so much like you, though. No, on the whole I prefer you in the brown.” His eyes twinkled. “For day wear.”

    “Gilles!”

    “Non, non, I won’t buy you anything extravagant behind your back, c’est promis!” he said hastily.

    “I should hope not! Fabien said that you’ve had to liquidize a lot of things to pay us the stupid tontine money.”

    “‘Liquidate’,” he said faintly.

    “Hein? Oh!” said Linnet, laughing. “Yes! I get those words mixed up in English, too.”

    “You have written to Jimmy?”

    “What? Oh: yes. I expect he’ll be able to get away at Easter. I think they’ll have mid-semester break around then.”

    “But darling, didn’t you suggest he should finish his course over here?”

    “Yes, I did, but he’s started his final year, now; I don’t know whether he’d want to transfer. And he’d have to wait until September to start here, wouldn’t he?”

    “Eugh—oui, c’est vrais, mais…”

    “He is capable of managing his own life,” said Linnet mildly.

    Gilles bit his lip. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

    “That’s all right. I wrote to Buffy, too. She’s getting a fair bit of work but I think she’ll probably come over. Only I’m afraid,” said Linnet with a twinkle, “that if she comes, we’ll get Mrs O’D. and Marilu as well. –At the least.”

    “Not the Jocelyn woman?” he said, shuddering.

    “I hope not! Though Buffy seems quite keen on investing in her health farm idea.”

    “Darling, we can’t let her throw her money away on some wildcat scheme!”

    “It isn’t a wildcat scheme,” said Linnet firmly. “Jocelyn’s got loads of common sense, and she knows her market; I think she’d really make a go of it. Only it will need a fair amount of capital. And if Buffy eventually wants to go home to Australia to settle it’ll give her—well, an interest. I know you can’t conceive of it,” she added with a smile, “but after all, she grew up there, she may well decide she doesn’t like Europe after she’s tried it. She’s pretty keen on swimming and that sort of thing—tu sais?”

    “Oui, oui, but darling, even in Europe we don’t have winter all the time!”

     Linnet looked out at a flat, cold landscape of greys and fawns under a low grey sky and shivered a little, even though the car was warm. “Non,” she murmured.

    Gilles sighed. “Darling, if you’re cold I can turn the heater up.”

    “No, I’m fine,” she said in surprize. “My coat and hat are so cosy!”

    “Yes, but you’re not used to our climate, after all,” he said anxiously. “And you found Paris so cold—”

    “It was the wind,” she murmured.

    “I know. Well, this time Jeannot can drive us everywhere. I will not have you shivering on the pavement for one single instant,” he said, frowning.

    “I won’t be shivering in my new coat. –Will it still be cold at Easter, Gilles?”

    “Not as cold as it is now, no: not nearly. It can be very chilly, though. And windy, I’m afraid.”

    “I’ll tell Buffy to bring her warmest clothes, then.”

    “Oh. Yes, certainly,” he said weakly.

    “Gilles...”

    “Yes, my darling?”

    Linnet swallowed. “I’m afraid Buffy might make a pest of herself about being a bridesmaid, if she’s still here in May. Her and Marilu, actually,” she gulped.

    “Oh, dear!” he said in English with a laugh, sounding just like his mother. “But you have explained that we decided on a very simple ceremony, non? Just the civil ceremony, before the mayor of Touques le Minard?”

    “Yes. But judging by her last letter, it didn’t sink in,” said Linnet in a hollow voice.

    “I think we’ll have to face that hurdle when we come to it!” he said, laughing.

    “Oui,” she said faintly. “Um—those prêt-a-porter things aren’t on at Easter, are they?”

    “Eugh... It depends when Easter falls!” he said with a laugh. “But not this year, no: they’re in March.”

    “Thank God!” said Linnet fervently. “Otherwise she’d insist on going!”

    “Mignonne, was it so dreadful at the Collections with Marie-Claire and Isabelle?” he said in some horror.

    “Eugh, well… I quite liked the ones by that man with the Italian name,” replied Linnet feebly, smiling bravely.

    “Valentino?” he croaked.

    “No. Isabelle likes his, she always buys something from him, she said. No, it definitely wasn’t him.”

    “Armani,” he said with a smile.

    “Yes, I think that was it. They were very restrained. Sort of... classic.”

    “The House of Armani specializes in that look, yes. So it wasn’t so very bad?”

    Linnet chewed her lip and admitted: “To tell you the truth it was pretty awful. Well, I didn’t like most of the dresses, and it was very hot in those places where they have the shows, and some of them had really loud pop music. But it was the ladies, mostly. Isabelle seemed to know them all... It wasn’t so bad when Roma was with us, but of course she only came to a couple.”

    “The women were unkind to you?” he said, frowning.

    “Oh, no! And Isabelle was very kind!” said Linnet hastily.

    Gilles laughed a little. “There, I told you she would be! Although we couldn’t stand being married to each other, she is after all the mother of my daughters, and we really manage to get on quite well if we don’t have to live in the same house.”

    “Yes,” said Linnet, nodding. “It was silly of me to think that—that she might resent me.”

    “I did try to explain that she’s much happier with Zizi than she ever was with me. He appears to take the sort of life she likes to lead in his stride. Added to which, his bank balance doesn’t even notice it if she buys some horrid creation from the hands of Signor Valentino or M. Lagerfeld and wears it only once!” he added with a laugh.

    “Yes. Well, it wasn’t her, Gilles, it was the ladies we met. They looked at me as if...” Linnet’s voice trailed off.

    “Comme si?” he prompted.

    “As if I was a specimen,” she said in a low voice.

    “On a microscope slide?”

    “Yes.”

    “Society bitches,” explained Gilles calmly.

    “Yes,” she said with a sigh, “I suppose they were. One or two were very kind to me, though.”

    “I’m glad to hear it,” he said grimly, making a mental note to get out of Marie-Claire just whom they’d encountered.

    “They were all...” Linnet broke off.

    “Oui, mon ange?”

    “It’s hard to explain: it was the impression they gave, it was so—so off-putting. Well, they were so tanned, and very heavily made up, even though most of them were really old! I don’t know, I suppose they were smart... Only I thought— Well, their skins looked so leathery,” said Linnet dazedly. “They looked so hard!”

    “I see: Isabelle introduced you to the international jet-set!” he gasped, laughing helplessly.

    “Some of them were American or English,” she agreed dubiously.

    “Of course!” he gasped. “Also Italian, German, Austrian—!”

    “I think some of them were, yes. But the funny thing was, Gilles, they all looked the same!”

    “Naturally! But I think you at least avoided the crush?” he murmured.

    “There were stacks of people there.”

    “Oui, oui: but to get in?”

    “I didn’t notice any crush,” said Linnet blankly.

    Gilles smiled. No, he hadn’t thought so: not in Isabelle Fleuriot du Hamel’s company. “That’s good.”

    “It’s a pity Rose didn’t want to stay for the rest of the week. Marie-Claire kept pointing out film stars and people like that, only I didn’t recognize any of them. Some of them were men, even,” she reported. “Why on earth would they want to go?”

    Gilles at this laughed so much that he nearly drove off the road again. “See and be seen!” he gasped when he could speak.

    “Ugh,” said Linnet, making a face.

    “En effet. Okay, darling, you needn’t go again. One may just call in at the nice houses, tu sais? And ask to be shown day wear or evening wear, or whatever one—”

    “I couldn’t!” she gasped in horror.

    “Not alone. Maman will take you, or Isabelle would be only too glad to, I’m sure.”

    “Gilles, it’s a waste of money!”

    “But you need some nice clothes for special occasions, darling.”

    “What special occasions?” said Linnet in a hollow voice.

    “Mais... When we entertain: sometimes I need to give a nice dinner, for business contacts, that sort of thing; and then if we go to the opera or a concert—that sort of thing, darling. And when people ask us out to dinner.”

    “Roma doesn’t do that sort of thing, does she?” she said faintly.

    “Not so much now, she is an elderly lady, after all, but every so often she would play hostess for me, certainly.”

    “I see,” said Linnet resignedly.

    “I—I thought I had explained to you what sort of life I lead, darling,” he said on an anxious note.

    “I suppose you did... I suppose I didn’t take all that much of it in.”

    “Non, peut-être pas,” he said uneasily. “Well, we won’t hurry it, darling. There’s the big engagement party coming up, but then—well, I expect Pauline will want to give one or two dinners for you, and there’ll be the people we know from the district—but apart from that we’ll just have a quiet time until the wedding, okay? Then a nice quiet honeymoon. And of course I don’t expect you to plunge into a mad round of entertaining the minute we get back from it: nothing like that. We’ll just take it slowly.”

    Linnet nodded weakly.

    “Okay?” he said anxiously.

    “Okay,” she croaked. “Just take it slowly.”

    “Good!” he said, smiling.

    Linnet shrank into her brown mink, quailing.

    “This is nice,” she said in a small voice, once they were alone in their hotel suite.

    “Oui,” he agreed, smiling at her.

    Linnet swallowed. All at once he seemed so big and strange and... unknowable.

    “I’ll order some coffee, shall I?” he suggested. “And perhaps a brandy, okay?”

    “Oui, merci,” said Linnet in a tiny voice. She went over to the window and stared out at a pearl-grey Paris under a soft pearl-grey sky.

    “What can you see?” he said, coming up behind her.

    Linnet had jumped. “Lots of roofs,” she admitted. “It’s very misty, isn’t it?”

    Gilles put his hands gently on her upper-arms. “Very misty.”

    “Pretty, though,” she said faintly.

    “Yes, very pretty, I think. –Voilà la Tour Eiffel, tu vois?”

    “Oui,” said Linnet faintly. “You can only just see it. Do you think it’s going to rain?”

    “I think it’s going to rain or even snow,” he said, putting his face gently into her neck. “Also I think,” he added with a smile in his voice, “that after we’ve had this coffee and brandy we’d better go to bed and get it over with; don’t you?”

    “Oui,” she said weakly.

    Gilles gave a faint laugh. He held her gently to him, and didn’t say anything more.

    Linnet could feel he had an erection. She felt excruciatingly embarrassed; her ears burned.

    After a few moments Gilles sighed and put his arms right round her, crossing them under her breasts. He held her tightly, pressing against her.

    “What if I hate it?” she said faintly.

    “I hope you won’t. But don’t condemn me after one try, will you? We will have the rest of our lives to work on it, after all,” he said mildly.

    After a moment Linnet admitted: “I’m awfully nervous.”

    “Oui.”

    When the waiter came in Gilles went over to him quite naturally and signed the chit and thanked him for bringing the drinks and tipped him. Linnet couldn’t even look at the man, she was sure he could see perfectly well that... How could Gilles be so calm about it?

    “Come and sit down,” he said. Linnet jumped and gasped. She went and sat on the sofa, avoiding his eye.

    Gilles positioned the tray on the coffee table and sat down beside her. “I asked for milk, would you rather have milk in it, ma mie?”

    “Yes, I would, thanks.”

    He poured a cup of milky coffee and added a good slug of brandy.

    “Dutch courage,” he said mildly in English, handing it to her politely.

    Linnet nodded mutely.

    He poured some brandy into a glass and sipped it slowly. “We could pretend this whole thing didn’t exist and just go out for a civilized dinner,” he noted.

    “I couldn’t possibly!” she gasped.

    “As a matter of fact I don’t think I could, either. –Drink it up, darling.”

    Linnet drank the coffee without looking at him.

    “Which would be the least terrible approach, do you think?” he said.

    “What?” she gasped.

    “To kiss you on this quite pleasant sofa, kidding myself that you’re actually enjoying it, whilst all the time you’re rigid with terror wondering when I’m going to drag you into the bedroom; or to go and get into bed straight away? –Cold, as it were.”

    Linnet bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Gilles,” she said in a small voice. “Am I spoiling it for you?”

    “Well, no. –Though an impartial observer might well judge you were!” he assured her hastily.

    She gulped.

    “But I’m glad to know the possibility you might be spoiling it for me has crossed your mind,” he added detachedly. “Come on.” He stood up and held out his hand.

    Linnet took the hand but avoided his eye, and allowed herself to be led into the bedroom.

    Gilles switched the electric blanket on even though the room was pleasantly warm. “Now we get undressed,” he explained politely.

    “Don’t joke,” she said faintly.

    “I’m sorry, mignonne,” he said, coming up to her. “Come here.” He held her very gently against his chest. “I do love you, you know,” he said in her ear.”

    “I know. I’m sorry,” said Linnet faintly.

    “Just kiss me—okay?” He kissed her gently. He could feel she was doing her best to respond. He released her with a little sigh. “Tu veux faire pipi?”

    “How did you know?” she gasped.

    “A mixture of instinct and experience, I think. –Go on, the bathroom’s that door there.”

    Linnet went into the ensuite.

     When she came back he was sitting up in bed—obviously naked, though he’d pulled the bedclothes up to his armpits. “If I promise not to look, would you get undressed and get into this nice big bed, darling?”

    “All right,” said Linnet in a shaking voice. “Shall I put my nightie on?”

    “Yes, my dearest, by all means put your nightie on if you would like to,” he said gently.

    Trembling, Linnet retrieved her nightie from her case. She turned away from him and removed her dress, petticoat and bra, and got into the nightie. Then she removed her boots, tights and panties in its shelter. Gilles looked dreamily up at the ceiling while this operation was going on but from time to time glanced sneakily at her. He wanted very much to laugh but nobly refrained.

    “Okay, now you pop into this nice big bed.” He held up a minute portion of the covers, not enough to actually reveal the shocking spectacle of a man’s naked body.

    Linnet crept in beside him.

    Gilles had drawn the curtains and turned off the main light while she was in the bathroom. There was only one bedside lamp on. He switched it off and slid down in the bed. “Come on, darling, cuddle up,” he said.

     Linnet slid down in the bed. He put his arms gently around her, nightie and all. “That’s better,” he said, kissing her softly.

    He held her for some time, stroking her back very, very gently. Eventually she said faintly: “That’s nice.”

    “Yes.” He slipped his hand under the nightie and went on stroking her back.

    After quite some time she gave a shattering sob, threw an arm round his neck, and cried loudly in English: “Oh, Gilles! I love you so much! But I’m so scared!”

    Gilles switched to English. “Yes, I know, my dearest. It’s okay. I love you; I won’t do anything horrid and I won’t hurt you,” he said into her hair.

   Linnet sobbed for some time.

    “Now,” he said when the sobs had died away and she was merely sniffing: “just sit up a little, my angel, drink a little brandy, okay? It will make you feel so much more warm.”

    “‘Warmer’,” she corrected, sitting up, sniffing. “We could speak French, if you like.”

    “I think maybe it’s better if you stick to English, just for now. Then you won’t have to think. All right?”

    “Yes. If you don’t mind.”

    “No, I don’t mind.” He found a box of tissues in the bedside cabinet. “Blow your nose.”

    Linnet blew her nose while he poured them each some brandy. “That’s better, is it? Does it make you feel warmer?” he murmured, after she’d got most of it down.

    “Yes,” she said, putting a hand on her tummy and smiling weakly at him. “I feel all warm inside.”

    Gilles’s nostrils flickered. “Good,” he said faintly. “Just—just let me... “ He laid his cheek against her belly, just where her hand had been. “I love you,” he said into the nightie.

    “I love you, too,” whispered Linnet.

    A period went by in silence. Then Gilles said: “Ah, mon Dieu, this is so nice! You’re so soft, darling. –Darling,” he said, turning his face into her belly. “Mon amour,” he said in a muffled voice.

    Suddenly Linnet’s body spasmed and she clutched his shoulders. “Oh, Gilles!” she gasped.

    “So: that is better, a little, I think?” he said, sitting up with a smile. “Just a little better?” he said, putting his hand on her belly.

    “Yes. I feel so funny!” she gulped.

    “Good. Kiss me now?”

    He kissed her gently. She responded timidly. Gilles felt his ears get very hot; his body trembled and he had much ado not to just push her thighs apart and get into her. “My darling!” he panted into her neck, hugging her tight and putting a lot of his weight on her. He began to kiss her neck. Then he mumbled down to her breasts. Whether or not it was the nightie she’d worn under her new dressing-gown the morning they got engaged he didn’t know, but the lace was certainly scratchy.

    “Scratchy,” he said faintly against it. “Shall we take this silly nightie off, mignonne?”

    She gulped.

    “No, very well, not until you wish it,” he said, smiling a little. “But this is permitted, I think?” He massaged one breast gently, over the nightgown.

    “Yes,” said Linnet faintly.

    At that he sat up and kissed her much more passionately. Again she responded timidly and again his blood raced and he had to hold back with all his might. He slid a hand under the nightie; then he slid it all the way up and cupped the breast. “Come down in the bed a little, my darling,” he said after a few moments.

    They both wriggled down. He kissed her lips softly, cupping the breast, and said into her ear: “This is so very nice for me, my angel. But I—I want you to enjoy it, too. Ah… will you understand, if I say that I’m so excited to be in the bed with you that—that I don’t really need more stimulation, myself?”

    “Um—yes,” she said in a bewildered voice.

    “What I mean is,” said Gilles, swallowing, “is that I could come—that is to have an orgasm, tu sais—at—at any moment, if I—if I let myself.”

    “Um—ye-es...”

    “Only I don’t wish to, just yet. I—I would so like to do nice things for you, ma petite.”

    “I thought that was what you did, though?” she fumbled. “Um—I mean, I thought doing it was it.”

    Gilles had rather thought she might do, yes. “I see. Even though that Andy person, he puts his member into you so roughly, you thought you were supposed to enjoy it, just like that?”

    “Yes. Well, I thought the fact that I didn’t was just me. I mean, I never can do things right.”

    “Well, that is quite wrong,” he said. He peeled the nightie delicately off one shoulder and kissed the pale skin there. “Mm, that’s nice! –Yes, that is quite wrong,” he said, squeezing her breast very gently with the hand that was still up the nightie, “and there are of course many excellent books on the subject that I could recommend, and which apparently you do not have, in Australia. Only I would rather give you a practical demonstration!” he ended with a chuckle.

    “Um—yes,” said Linnet blankly. “All right.”

    “Not all right, all wrong!” said Gilles, laughing and kissing her. “Come very close, ma mie, cuddle up—yes, very lovely,” he said faintly as the little belly pressed against his cock. “Ah—yes.” The hand that had formerly been on her breast was now holding her back; he slid it down, raised the nightie and slid the hand up over her bum and back. At the same time he kissed her slowly.

    This went on for quite some time. Until, in fact, Gilles had begun to think desperately that he was just going to explode, like that, against that delicate satiny little mound of her tummy. Then she said in a groggy voice: “Oh, Gilles.”

    “Yes; lovely, hein?” She was still lying on her side, pressed against him; he raised the nightie with some difficulty, and began gently to stroke her flank, working his way down over her belly. He could hear her breathing against his shoulder: she didn’t say anything or make any noise at all. Soon he was stroking down over her breasts and belly, and down over the thigh, just barely brushing the bush in passing. Linnet was still silent, but her breathing had quickened.

    He kissed her gently and suddenly she thrust herself against him and kissed him fiercely back. “My darling!” he gasped. He hauled the nightie right up to her armpits and covered one nipple with his mouth. “Ma chérie!” he said indistinctly. Breathlessly he kissed her all over her upper body, mumbling his face between the breasts. Linnet gasped a little. He buried his face in the little soft mound of the belly and kissed that, too.

    “Ooh!” she squeaked.

    Blood thundering in his ears, he nibbled at the belly. Then he moved his face down and buried it in the bush.

    “What are you doing?” she gulped.

    “Something very delicious, ma mie.” He pushed his cheek gently at a thigh but it remained immobile. Smiling a little, Gilles slid a hand between her knees. The hand slid up.

    “Don’t scratch me,” she said faintly.

    “What? Non, non, my angel, I shall not scratch you in the least!” he said with a tiny laugh. He could feel she was tense again but somehow he wasn’t inclined to treat this as a tragedy. “Just move this so-nice pale leg, okay? Yes, very good.” He stroked the silky inner thigh gently and she gave a little involuntary shudder. Smiling, Gilles buried his face in the bush. For a moment he just breathed her in. Then he found he had to concentrate like crazy on not coming. When he’d finished gritting his teeth he was at last able to apply his tongue. Just at first there was no reaction, and he had time for an instant’s panic.

    Then she gasped: “Oh! What are you doing, Gilles? Is that normal?”

    He gave a muffled laugh and pushed the thighs further apart. “All this,” he said, looking up for an instant, “is very normal indeed. I think I can guarantee that you will enjoy it, too.” He kissed the inside of the thigh. Linnet’s legs trembled. “Ah-hah!” he said, pushing his face up there.

    After about five seconds—though naturally he wasn’t timing it—she gasped. Gilles went on teasing at her until she actually squeaked. Then he got his tongue into her. It seemed like less than five seconds, though he realized he might have been flattering himself, before she was flooding for him; then she grabbed his shoulders and squeaked: “Oh, Gilles! Oh, Gilles!” Gilles concluded she’d really started to enjoy it, and went on doing it for some time.

    At last she gasped: “Oh, Gilles! I feel so funny!”

    Gilles looked up, panting. “Yes! That is supposed to happen!” he gasped.

    “It’s so—it’s so—”

    “Oui, oui, mon amour. Just—eugh—just let yourself go. Yell if you need to.”

    “Ye-es... Your face is all red,” she discovered.

    “Yes: because I hold back, you see. I—eugh—restrain myself? I want very much,” he said, pulling a face, “just to be very greedy and put my cock right into you now.”

    “You can,” she said shyly.

    To her mystification he gave a loud laugh and said: “Ça—oui! But I shall not, for a few little minutes: I shall put my tongue back there instead: you like it, hein? Yes,” he said, as she blushed and nodded. “Good. Just wait, darling, I put a condom on now, okay?”

    “Mm,” she said, nodding.

    He scrambled over to the bedside cabinet and drew a condom on. He made no attempt to turn away from her but, dim though the room was, he could see she was determinedly not looking. He laughed a little and rolled against her. “Okay: now I kiss you more down there, yes?” He covered her mouth with his. Linnet kissed him eagerly. “You want it down there, yes?” he said, licking her chin delicately.

    He felt her face flame. “Yes,” she gulped. “It’s lovely!”

    “Oui, ma petite Linotte,” said Gilles with tears in his eyes: “it’s lovely.”

    He got down there again. This time Linnet gasped and her whole pelvis jolted up towards him. So he kept on doing it, and she gave a squeal and grabbed his shoulders again. It was possibly about ten seconds later—though again he wasn’t timing it—that she moaned and thrust herself at him. Gilles’s face went very red once again and he grabbed her thighs fiercely and pulled her onto him, and Linnet drew a sharp breath and flung back her head and shrieked. And throbbed and pulsed all round him and shrieked again.

    Gilles held out until the third shriek, at which point he hauled himself up, fell on her, thrust his cock up there without even being capable of wondering if he was being too rough in the style of the unlamented Andy, groaned once, threw back his head, took a deep breath and yelled and exploded.

    … “Ah, mon Dieu,” he said weakly about ten aeons later.

    “Oui,” said Linnet very faintly.

    He rolled off her and pulled her against him. “Ça y était, hein?”

    “Mm? Oui,” she murmured.

    Quite some time after that he managed to say: “Was I too rough, my darling?”

    “No, it was lovely,”

    “No; I—I mean when I—I put it in you,” he said anxiously.

    “No. Well, I suppose you were quite rough... I liked it. I mean, I was sort of—of having it,” she said, swallowing loudly, “and it was nice when—when it was in there.”

    “Ah... I see. You liked the sensation of the vagina clenching on the penis?”

    Linnet gulped. “Yes.”

    “I’m sorry, my sweetheart; that was too clinical, hein? It’s difficult to say these things in a foreign language.”

    “Dis-le en français,” she said, hugging him.

    Gilles repeated it in French. Linnet, blushing, assured him she had loved it. “Good,” he said in French with a sigh, leaning his cheek against her hair. “And I could tell you liked my tongue, you don’t have to say.”

    “Yes. I never knew people did that as—as sort of an everyday thing.”

    Gilles gave a strangled yelp of laughter. “Twice a day if possible, or even three times, if they’re lucky!”

    “Mm. –Are you all right?” she said as he then made a muffled noise against her hair.

    “Oui—non. Oui, mais— Merde! Hug me, ma petite Linotte.”

    Linnet hugged him while he cried into her shoulder.

    “Are you okay?” she said timidly when he seemed to have stopped.

    “Oui. Sorry. –I was so worked up. I thought perhaps I might not be able to make you enjoy it, after all.”

    “It was lovely,” she said, kissing his shoulder.

    “Oui. Embrasse-moi.” He kissed her strongly. “Yes, lovely, all of it.” He rolled onto his back, sighing, and drew her head onto his shoulder.

    She pulled the covers up neatly. Gilles smiled a little, but didn’t comment.

    Linnet woke up around ten-thirty that evening needing to have a pee. She crept quietly out to the bathroom. She didn’t know that at this point she might use the bidet, so she didn’t. She crept quietly back into the bedroom. Gilles was fast asleep, breathing quietly. Linnet got back into bed with infinite precautions not to wake him. She had no idea that she might remove the condom for him and dispose of it, so she didn’t. She just snuggled up to him and went back to sleep. Because one of the other things she didn’t know was that a gentleman who has taken a young lady to bed for the first time at around five in the afternoon is generally required, if he intends staying the night, to perform at least once more before breakfast.

     During the next week Gilles began to teach her these things, and more. Linnet learned a lot. In fact she learned rather more than he knew he was teaching her. Such as that when he got very vainglorious and boastful it meant that, far from keeping it up for at least half an hour, he was going to put it into her and go off, boum, in about ten seconds flat. Or that when he said he was only teasing and this would only be a friendly one he was very probably going to put it into her and go off, boum, in about ten seconds flat. But also that when he said he would like a nice long fuck before he gave her a nice little come he would not infrequently go on much longer than Andy had and be much more exhausting. All the keywords, of course, she learned in French.

    Gilles had known he wanted her very much. But he hadn’t realized until he started having her just what sort of an insatiable desire had him in its grip. They had a few scenes of tearful remorse where he waxed very sentimental over the slight body that he’d been, franchement, rather rough with. But Linnet only hugged him and said she didn’t mind, she loved him. He tried to teach her what a sixty-nine was but found he got far too excited the minute her lips touched him, so he put that by for later on. A treat in store, as it were!

    Of course he talked a lot in bed. He talked far more and far more freely about his business affairs and his family and his interests than he had ever talked to her before. Linnet listened dazedly. After quite some time something Roma had said came back to her forcibly, and she realized that he’d been very lonely, poor darling Gilles. She didn’t say anything about it to him, just listened with more concentration than ever when he talked, prompted him when he paused, and tried to show him she really was interested in his interests. Gilles didn’t realise how much he was revealing: not just of himself but of what he’d had to sell to raise the tontine money. Linnet was silently horrified when it dawned that he’d got rid of his polo ponies and his racehorses. And a lot of shares in various things that sounded blue-chip solid to her. She began to wish she hadn’t agreed to tying the tontine capital up. And, having no real grasp of how much he still in fact owned, silently decided she would be very careful about what she spent on stupid things like clothes.

    Naturally they didn’t simply lock themselves into their hotel room. Not after the first two days, at any rate. For one thing, Gilles admitted frankly, he didn’t have the stamina. Nor did she, agreed Linnet, giggling. He took her to concerts and the ballet. Linnet had never seen a ballet: it was Les ballets de l’Opéra and they did Le Sacre du printemps, which Gilles always thought they did rather well. She was electrified. Not revealing the immense relief this had been to him, he continued to take her to the sorts of things he himself enjoyed: largely museums and galleries during the day, music in the evenings. The Mahler concert was totally beyond Linnet and if it hadn’t been so loud, she would have nodded off during it. She was literally overwhelmed by the Beethoven; when Gilles made the mistake of taking her on to supper afterwards she came over all shaky: he had to get a Cognac down her and take her straight back to the hotel. “It was too much!” she gasped, as he popped her into bed and asked anxiously if she felt a little better and should he ring for a doctor. “I sort of felt my heart was going to burst!”

    After that he did take her to a doctor, but the doctor pronounced her very well indeed. Well, yes, a nervous type, M. de Bellecourt, but there was no need to worry. And she had a splendid medical history: nothing but the usual childhood diseases. German measles? Yes, she had had those, most definitely, he confirmed with a twinkle in his eye. If he might say so, he thought that Mlle Müller had been in need of rest only.

    Gilles took her to more concerts but avoided the overwhelming Herr von Beethoven, for the nonce. And did his best to let her get more sleep. As much as was within the bounds of human capacity.

    Linnet was in a daze of happiness. It wasn’t just the lovely things he did in bed, or the fact that when her whole body got hot and excited in his presence she now knew why and knew that he could do things that more than justified this feeling. No, it was being able to be with him all the time. It was wonderful. Even the day he had to go into his office, and rang up Annie, and Annie came and took her on the tour of les égouts, was wonderful, because then she had the pleasure of him coming home to her.

    They rang La Rance several times, of course, but Roma reported that the arrangements for the engagement party were coming along splendidly and she didn’t want the two of them under her feet.

    Rose reported that Fergie was fine and she was fine. She didn’t say that part of this fineness was caused by several unnecessary trips to Tôq that she’d made on very flimsy excuses indeed—which Roma might have wondered about if she hadn’t been so busy with the engagement party. And her sister mustn’t dream of coming back, she’d only be a nuisance.—She had previously committed the heinous crime of saying to Roma and Rose in a puzzled voice that she didn’t see that the ballroom needed decorating for the engagement party, it was nice as it was.—Linnet admitted that she’d just as soon stay in Paris, if Rose was sure they didn’t need her? Rose retorted that Bernadette could do with someone to mince liver: did Linnet feel up to that? Shuddering and giggling, Linnet agreed she didn’t.

    There was plenty to do: Gilles had tickets for the opera, there was a Schumann concert a couple of days after that— Okay: they’d stay on for the concert and go back to La Rance the day after that, d’ac’, mignonne? Linnet agreed happily. But she mustn’t mind, Gilles added anxiously, if he had to spend some more time in at the office. Linnet agreed happily that she wouldn’t mind. If Annie and Fabien were busy she’d just walk around with her Guide Michelin, or Jeannot could drive her places if it was too cold to walk.

    So they stayed on in Paris.

Next chapter:

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