‘I know… and this place has done you good, Nick.’
‘Thanks for inviting me, and thank you for coming down for the weekend. It’s been… well, wonderful, Clee. You’re so good to me, such a wonderful friend.’
She reached out, touched his arm resting along the edge of the pool.
He caught hold of her hand, held it tightly. Then before he could stop himself he pulled her to him, put his arms around her and kissed her on the mouth.
At first he met resistance, then she partially responded, letting her body slacken, her mouth go soft under his. But abruptly she pulled away, looked up into his face, and stared long and hard at him.
He could not read her expression; it baffled him.
He said rapidly, catching hold of her hand again, ‘Don’t pull away from me, Nicky. This isn’t a cheap shot, and surely after knowing me for two years, you must realize that.’
She was silent.
‘I mean this,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked in a voice that was barely audible.
‘I’m not sure,’ he replied, as always being honest with her. ‘Except that since Beijing you’ve become very special to me. Look, you were always special, but now it’s different. And you’ve been on my mind a great deal.’
She made no comment to this, extracted her hand from his and swam away, heading for the far end of the pool.
Clee followed her, doing a fast crawl. Pushing himself up and over the edge, he scrambled out of the water, hurried over to where she stood near the chaises under the trees.
Her head was turned away from him and she was shivering under the light breeze.
Clee reached for one of the large beach towels on a chaise, went to her, wrapped her in it, then quickly took a step back. ‘You’re cold,’ he said.
She swung her head finally and looked directly at him, but still she did not speak.
They were motionless, staring at each other.
Neither one was able to break the intense gaze that stretched between them and which held them in its thrall.
It seemed to Clee that her bright blue eyes were impaling his, and inwardly he flinched. Yet he discovered he could not look away. And oh God, how he wanted her, wanted to take her in his arms, to make love to her. He understood something else: he wanted to possess her completely, and be possessed by her. And yet he was unable to make a move in her direction, was momentarily paralysed, his breath strangled in his throat.
She spoke first. At last breaking the silence between them, she said, ‘Clee… oh Clee…’ and then paused as though she were afraid to finish what she had to say.
Long afterward he would remember the inflection in her voice quite precisely, would recall the way she had said his name at that exact moment, for it was the inflection that had told him everything. Longing had been implicit in her tone.
‘Nicky darling,’ he said in a voice thickened by desire, and moved swiftly towards her.
She rushed forward into his arms.
He wrapped them around her, held her tightly, keeping her close to him. He could feel her heart hammering against his chest, keeping time with his own. He kissed her deeply, passionately, almost roughly, the way he wanted to kiss her, and she responded with ardour, her lips pliable, yielding, as he moved his tongue against them. Instantly, they parted slightly so that he could slide his tongue inside her mouth, and their tongues touched, lay still, touched again. It was a moment of the greatest intimacy.
Her hands were on the nape of his neck and in his hair, then moved onto his shoulders and his back, and he loved the feel of her fingers, so strong and supple, on his skin. Pulling her even closer, he slid his hands down her back, pushing her buttocks against him, moulding her body to his body, fitting her into him.
Nicky pressed herself closer, as filled with desire for Clee as he was for her. She was slightly dizzy, her legs were weak, and her whole body trembled as she leaned against him, clinging to him. He was tremendously aroused. She could feel him through the thin fabric of her bikini.
Clee brought his mouth to the hollow in her neck, kissed it tenderly, slipped the beach towel off her shoulder, let his mouth linger there, covering her with his tender kisses.
Eventually he relaxed his hold on her, took her face between his hands and looked down into her eyes. In the dusky light he saw a look of intense yearning reflected on her face. It was for him. He knew then that she felt the same as he did, and this inflamed him further.
Taking her by the hand, he led her over to the chaise. Gently, he pushed her down onto it and then sat on the edge. Leaning over her, he covered her mouth with his, all the while fumbling with the towel and then the top of her black bikini. Suddenly the fastening on the back came loose and he pulled the top away so that her breasts broke free. Cupping them between his hands, he kissed first one and then the other.
‘Clee.’
Immediately he stopped what he was doing and looked at her. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m afraid,’ she told him in a voice so low he could hardly hear it.
‘Of me?’
‘No.’
‘Of yourself? Is that it, Nicky?’ he asked, speaking as softly as she had, and reaching out he gently touched her cheek with his fingertips, wanting to reassure her.
‘I’m afraid of… of… of making love… it’s been so long,’ she whispered.
‘It’ll be all right.’ As he spoke he took her in his arms. ‘Trust me,’ he said against her hair. ‘Trust me.’
Releasing her, Clee stood up, offered her both his hands.
Taking hold of them, she looked up at him questioningly as he pulled her to her feet.
He said, ‘Let’s go over there,’ and nodded toward the copse.
***
Clee spread the towels on the grass and they slipped out of their swimsuits and lay down together under the trees.
Nicky was shaking inside, filled with desire for him. But it was a desire tinged with fear—a fear of disappointing him, of failing him, she realized that now. She wished she were not so tense, and she tried to relax her taut body, then turned her head to look at him, touching his face with one hand, her eyes focused on his.
Clee smiled slightly, again hoping to put her at ease.
It was the same lopsided boyish smile he had smiled at her the first time they had met in the bar of the Commodore in West Beirut, and one she knew so well by now, but tonight it seemed to tug at her heart. A rush of feeling for him rose up in her. A curious thought struck her. Had she been emotionally involved with Clee for the past two years without knowing it? Was he the reason no other man had interested her in all that time?
This thought was stopped in its tracks as Clee pushed himself up on one elbow, bent over her body and began to fondle her breasts. He brought his mouth to one of them, kissing the nipple. Instantly, it came erect under his lips, and he moved his mouth to the other one, kissing it in exactly the same way.
A small moan trickled out of Nicky’s throat, and she put her arms loosely around him, her fingers slowly trailing down over his shoulder blades until they came to rest in the small of his back.
After a few seconds, Clee raised his head, kissed her passionately on the lips, devouring her with his mouth and his tongue, and all the while he continued to caress her breasts. Eventually his hands wandered down onto her flat stomach and her thighs, touching and stroking her silky skin until the tension in her dissipated.
Soon her body was limp, pliable to his touch. He moved his own body so that his head rested on her stomach, and he kissed it as his hands fluttered down onto her inner thighs. Lightly, gently, his fingers caressed, explored, probed, until she opened herself up to his hands and his mouth as a flower opens under warming sunlight. As he savoured the velvet texture of her he was consumed by a raging desire. It took all of his self-control not to take possession of her immediately.
Nicky lifted her lids, looked down at Clee, brought her hands to his shoulders, closed her eyes again, luxuriating i
n the feel of his strong yet sensitive hands on her body. Her senses were reeling. They had tumbled into each other’s arms so unexpectedly, so suddenly she was still slightly shaken. And yet she knew their coming together was right; she felt this deep within herself. He was arousing her fully now, bringing her to the edge of ecstasy, his tongue and his fingers centred on the core of her. Overwhelmed by their mutual sensuality, the erotic feelings he engendered in her, she gave herself up to him completely. She was transported, floating, as he continued to touch and kiss her. He did so with such sureness and expertise, he might have been making love to her in this way for aeons of time.
He stopped for a moment and moved her legs, pushed her knees into a bent position, and then he slipped his hands under her buttocks, brought his mouth to her again, touching her so lightly she could scarcely feel it. An exquisite sensation shot through her and she began to quiver. ‘Oh Clee, don’t stop, please don’t stop,’ she whispered.
‘I won’t,’ he said, looking up, then he bent over her again and his mouth and hands went on loving her with sensitivity and delicacy, and consummate skill.
Clee was so inflamed by Nicky’s mounting excitement he thought he would explode, and he ached to be inside her with every fibre of his being. But she had made it clear to him that she had been celibate for a long time, and he wanted to give her pleasure, to ensure she was totally relaxed and ready for him by bringing her to fulfilment first.
She cried his name again; her quivering increased, and she gripped his shoulders harder. The desire she had for him was acting as an extraordinary aphrodisiac, and he had to bring her to a climax quickly now, so that he could take her to him, possess her finally and give himself to her.
The very moment her quivering evolved into a deep, racking spasm he lifted himself onto her and went into her with a power and force that made both of them gasp.
Nicky clung to him, wrapped her legs around his back, and cried out, ‘Clee, oh Clee, oh my God,’ and he brought his mouth down hard on hers and they began to move in unison, instantly finding their own rhythm.
Their passion mounted. He moved against her harder, more urgently, thrust himself deeper inside her, and Nicky was as unrestrained as he, her body arching up to his. She cleaved to him.
Suddenly Clee stopped abruptly, pushed himself up on his hands and gazed down at her.
Nicky opened her eyes, and returned his gaze. Her look was questioning.
‘You’re beautiful, Nicky.’
‘Oh Clee…’
He held her with his eyes, staring deeply into hers, and just as they had been mesmerized by each other a short while earlier so they were again. Their eyes locked, held fast; they looked deeper and deeper, as if peering into each other’s hearts and minds and souls.
Clee thought: this isn’t only sexual desire, though God knows it’s stronger with her than I’ve ever known it to be with anyone else. I love her. That’s what this is all about. I love Nicky. I’ve loved her since Beijing.
As she looked up into Clee’s dark and brilliant eyes, her scrutiny fixed, intense and probing, Nicky began to understand something: she had been waiting for him to come to her as a lover for months, even though she had not realized it until this moment in time. With a little spurt of surprise, she thought, I’m free of Charles at last. Perhaps I’ll be able to love again… perhaps I’ll fall in love with Cleeland Donovan.
Clee began to move again, slowly at first, loving her with his eyes. She opened her arms to him, and he devoured her mouth and tongue with his own once more, and she moved against him, picked up his rhythm. He increased his speed, and so did she, matching him all the way.
Nicky was filled with a sudden intense heat. It flooded up from her thighs to suffuse her whole being, and she clung to him tighter, her hands biting into his shoulders, his name on her lips. Clee felt her warmth enveloping him, and he plunged deeper into her, moving faster and faster. He murmured, ‘Come to me, my love, become part of me.’ And she did, and so did he, and as he flowed into her they were truly joined, became one.
He called her name, heard her shouting his, and they soared upward together, higher and higher, until he was weightless and floating in a bright blue sky the colour of her eyes. Floating into infinity, holding her in his arms as if to never let her go. He never would. She was his love. His only love. There never had been anyone like her before; there never would be again. She was meant for him, just as he was meant for her, just as this was meant to be.
He opened his eyes at last and looked down at her.
In this bosky corner of the garden the light was dim. But several small spots were hidden in the leafy bower above their heads, so he could see her face. It was flushed, and he saw that it was filled with pleasure and happiness. Her eyes were wide, and very, very blue as they looked back at him unblinkingly, and he noticed they held an expression he had never seen in them before. Was it adoration? Did she feel the same way he did? She had to… this joining had not been one-sided.
‘Nicky,’ he began, but before he could say another word she reached up and put her fingertips on his mouth.
‘Don’t say anything, Clee.’
‘But Nicky, I—’
‘Sssh,’ she said and put her hands around his neck, pulled his face down to hers. She kissed him softly, wrapped her arms around him and held him close to her. And she felt a little more at peace with herself—for the first time since Charles Devereaux had vacated her life.
THIRTEEN
‘Eh voilà, Mademoiselle! Your American picnic,’ Clee said, placing the large wooden tray on the coffee table in the middle of the library. With a wry little smile he added, ‘I’m afraid this was the best I could do, babe.’
Nicky jumped up off the sofa, went over to the low table and sat down on the large cushions Clee had arranged on the floor earlier. She scanned the food he had prepared and immediately began to laugh.
‘Oh Clee, how marvellous! You’ve managed to find some of my real favourites. Chunky peanut butter, Skippy, no less. I love that brand. Oh, and grape jelly to go with it. Tuna-salad sandwiches, and bacon, lettuce and tomato on rye. Pickled cucumbers. Hellmann’s mayonnaise. Where did you get all this? Especially the rye bread?’ Her surprise was apparent.
Clee’s mouth twitched with laughter. ‘The rye came out of the freezer earlier this evening. My sisters bring it when they come to stay. They also bring loads of other American things for me, stuff I can’t always find in France. Amelia puts some of it in the freezer, such as the rye bread and the bags of bagels, and the rest goes in the pantry. Now—’ He picked up a can of diet coke, pulled the tab, and went on, ‘—how about one of these to wash it all down?’
‘I’d love it, and come and sit over here with me,’ she said, patting the cushion next to her.
‘I will in a minute. Let me put the video in first.’ Stepping over to the bookcase, he continued, ‘Which movie did you choose in the end?’
‘It’s called Somewhere I’ll Find You, with Clark Gable and Lana Turner playing foreign correspondents who… get involved with each other on a foreign assignment.’
‘Aha!’ he exclaimed. A wide grin spread across his face. ‘How appropriate. I couldn’t have chosen better myself.’
The minute the film was rolling, Clee went and sat down on the cushions, leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose, then picked up a tuna-salad sandwich and settled back to watch.
They laughed a lot during the film. It had been made in 1942 and was somewhat unrealistic. It had a sweetness, an innocence about it, and this made it seem dated to the two of them—both tough news veterans accustomed to difficult, often harrowing foreign assignments.
‘Hey, Nick, this is really sappy stuff,’ Clee muttered at one moment, looking at her through the corner of his eye.
‘I know. But a lot of old movies are.’
‘Not Casablanca, now that’s held up pretty well.’
‘You’re right, but occasionally this one does have a ring of truth to it, especially
when Gable’s on the screen.’ The legendary star was Nicky’s favourite, and a few seconds later, when Gable said, ‘I don’t print anything until I’ve heard it twice and seen it three times,’ Nicky punched Clee on the arm and cried, ‘That’s going to be my motto from now on!’
He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, a look of mock horror crossing his face.
‘Wait a minute,’ Nicky said swiftly, ‘you’ve got to admit Gable plays a terrific newspaperman, with just the right amount of dash and panache. And he is gorgeous.’
‘True, true.’ Clee turned her face to his and kissed her lightly on the mouth. ‘And so are you,’ he said softly.
When the movie was over, Clee began stacking the plates and glasses on the tray. ‘Do you want to watch another film, or shall we go downstairs and have coffee on the terrace?’
‘Coffee on the terrace sounds great,’ Nicky answered, and followed him out.
They sat at the kitchen table waiting for the coffee to brew, and as Clee peeled an apple and offered pieces to her, he said, ‘I’m coming to New York around the tenth of July. I have to go to Washington to photograph the President and Mrs Bush for Life. After that I’ll be in New York for them until the end of the month. Is there any chance of working on the book together then, do you think?’
‘Yes, of course, I’d love to, and I know I’ll be there, providing a war doesn’t break out somewhere—’
‘In which case,’ Clee interjected, ‘we’ll be covering it together.’
Nicky nodded. ‘I guess so. Anyway, Arch and I will be working on another special during July and August, so I’ll probably be writing the script and doing the preparation. But that doesn’t prevent me from starting on the book. Do you have a title yet?’
‘No, I don’t and any and all suggestions will be gratefully accepted. That coffee smells great, let’s get some and go outside.’
***
They sat on the terrace together, not talking, enjoying the peacefulness and beauty of their surroundings. It was well past midnight and glorious. The great arch of the sky was like inky black velvet scattered with tiny crystal beads, and there was a full moon. The breeze ruffled the trees and wafted the scent of honeysuckle towards them.