| Subject: The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove Part Three |
Author:
Schnee
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Date Posted: 14:29:52 03/03/01 Sat
In reply to:
Schnee
's message, "The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove" on 14:10:08 03/03/01 Sat
What I take to be reasonable walking distance turns out to be much more than I bargained for. Navigating the inclining cobblestone street neighborhood takes much of my energy. ‘Uphill’ doesn’t quite do it justice. I quickly regret my choice of shoes. And the route I’ve chosen. Next time, I think I’ll ask the Concierge his opinion.
Despite the steep ascent of my route, I find myself at the Palace by 11:45 am. A crowd of tourists has already started to assemble on the Palace Square, awaiting the Changing of the Guard ceremony. I wander a bit, scanning the area for Michael. I see couples with children in strollers and camera-clad tourists, but no Michael. The minutes pass by, and I still see no sign of him. I look to my watch and see it’s nearly 11:55 am. The crowd stirs a bit with the ceremony about to begin. I look to the Palace surrounded by small canons, to see the guards coming outdoors.
Dressed in their summer white regalia, the guards walk forward in line. The hats they wear remind me of constable derbies. It’s not at all what I expected. I guess I had the image of men in red coats and big black furry caps from the palace in London in mind. The kind you’d make out of clothespins at school as a Christmas gift.
The men lift and lower their rifles in unison as they make formation changes. Within two minutes the pomp and circumstance is finished. The crowd applauds and then begins to disperse. I’m beginning to feel like the child whose mother forgot to pick her up after practice. I start walking the grounds in an effort to look like a tourist rather than a woman in waiting.
I rack my brain trying to remember his exact words in case I misunderstood him. But I doubt that is the case. Maybe he changed his mind. I feel foolish and begin to doubt myself. Perhaps he just wanted to see what control he still had over me. Am I simply being manipulated again?
I follow a group touring around the Palace structures. The different styles reflect the portions added over time. But I find the unique combination of rougher stone structures of the original fortress, the later addition of fine white stone towers, and the more modern crème-colored estate ironically appealing.
Reaching the outer wall, I peer downward. I feel a knot in my stomach as I look down upon the steep rocky descent to the sea. It mirrors my precarious life. One misstep could prove to be lethal.
Walking away from the edge, I admit disappointment. Though Michael requested this meeting, I secretly looked forward to seeing him. My life seems barren without his presence in some form whether it’s as mentor, colleague, friend or lover. But perhaps it is something that I need to get used to.
~~~~~
I continue walking, following the herd of eager tourists. The Cathedral towers up before me with its white stone arches. Entering the structure, I gaze at the beauty of its interior. The rows of pews sit affront the ornately decorated alter. A lone tourist snaps a picture at the floor beside me. I look down to see a few white lilies lying atop a marble plate. It is engraved "Gratia Patricia, Princips Rainieri, 1982,"
The final resting place of Princess Grace Kelly. I know very little about her since I was a small child at the time of her death. But seeing this has me feeling reflective and somber. I slowly walk forward and take a seat in one of the pews. Closing my eyes, I pray for all the people in my life that I’ve lost. Just like Sister Theresa taught me as a girl. My prayers gradually turn from departed souls to a lost soul—my own. I long for direction in my chaotic life. I long to trust myself again. Section took as much from me, if not more, than it gave me in return.
Without warning, I feel a hand lightly grip my shoulder. A familiar touch. My body stiffens. I don’t dare turn. I don’t need to. Part of me fears that if I do, the pew behind me will be empty.
“Where were you?” I ask. I get no answer but I can hear him taking in a breath. Instead, his thumb lightly caresses the back of my neck.
Desperately trying not to fall under his spell, I speak again.
“You could have compromised my cover. Knowles saw you with me last night in the bar.” His continued silence begins to irritate me, though I should be used to his brooding silences by now.
“He assumed that you are my lover.”
“He’s very perceptive.” Michael finally speaks.
I turn to behold his green eyes studying me. For the first time since that day, I take a close look at him. A small faint mark below his eye remains as a reminder of the blood tear he shed. I’m thankful that it’s not very noticeable on his beautiful face. But I wish that I had never drove him to shed such a tear.
Michael stands and slowly reaches his hand out to me. I look at him, uncertain of what to expect next. Sensing my hesitation he speaks again,
“I have a more suitable place in mind. For us to talk.”
“Just to talk.” I eye him suspiciously.
“And to eat. I hope you’re hungry.” Michael whispers as he gently takes my hand in his, lifting me from my seat.
For some reason my mind infers more than hunger for food in his tone.
~~~~~
Entering the brasserie, I recall memories from my childhood. We’d come here for brunch or dinner. Mama, Papa, and I. It was a favorite of theirs. I sensed there was some sentimental value, perhaps from a time when they were first married. We came to Monte Carlo several times in my youth. Papa lived for the thrill of the win while Mama enjoyed the boutique shopping. My earliest memories of Monte Carlo were good ones. It was as I grew older that I really began to understand. The man I thought to be a rock was riddled with flaws and weaknesses.
“Michael?” Nikita interrupts my thoughts of the past. I sense a hint of concern in her face.
The waitress leads us to a table, leaving us with a pair of menus. I detect that Nikita’s curious nature is intact. Her eyes scan the room, taking in all the details.
“The folks at the next table. They are not speaking French. It’s not Italian either.”
“They are locals. The language is Monganesque.” I explain.
“This place is off the beaten path. How did you find it?” Nikita inquires.
I pause for a moment, deciding whether to explain. Finally, I answer, “My parents. They brought me here as a child.”
A smile crosses her lips. Her beauty quickens my heartbeat. It’s the most at ease that I’ve seen her in a very long time.
“I’m just picturing you as a boy. Handsome. With auburn curls and innocent green eyes. You were called Michel, right?”
I simply nod. Then, I reach my hand across the table to lightly touch her hand. I sense uncertainty in her eyes, but she does not shun me. Instead, she allows my hand to remain atop of hers. I still see a bit of sadness in her eyes, but the evasiveness is gone for now. Little steps. One after the other.
“What do you recommend?” Nikita asks, as she turns her focus to the menu.
“Let me.” I take the menu from her hand, closing it. Speaking to the waitress in my mother tongue, I order our meals. Sole meunière and a glass of bordeaux blanc for Nikita. For me, lapin à la bière and une blonde pression.
“What’s that?”
“Trust me. You’ll like it.” I answer while still evading her question.
“And what did you say about me?”
I give her a puzzled look.
“Something about a blonde. I just assumed you were talking about me.”
My face betrays the humor of her assumption.
“What’s so funny?” Nikita asks indignantly, but almost laughing herself.
“I didn’t say anything about you. I just ordered a blonde beer on tap.”
“Oh.” Nikita’s cheeks become a little flushed, making her even more attractive to me.
The waitress brings my beer and a glass of white wine for Nikita. As Nikita takes a sip, I consider my next words carefully. The purpose of this meeting was to talk, but I prefer this Nikita. Comfortably at ease.
“Where does Jones think you are?” I decide to ask.
“Shopping.” Nikita answers dryly.
“You risked a lot to free me. And now you take the risk again to see me.” Before I can finish, Nikita interrupts me.
“It’s not as though you ever give me much of a choice.”
“Perhaps. But you were disappointed when you did not find me by the Palace, were you not?”
I can see the frustration in her eyes. I know I’m right.
As she considers her response, the waitress arrives with our meals.
~~~~~
For once, I’m flabbergasted. I understand now. He had been watching me. Probably to be certain I had come alone. It shows that he doesn’t trust me.
And why should he? I betrayed him once already. I used his feelings for me and all times he protected me, against him. I turned the tables. This time I had evaluated his performance. I recommended abeyance. His cancellation.
I saved him from that fate only to rip out his heart and hand it to him. Not only did I refuse to go with him, I also took away the only thing he had left to believe in. Our love. With my calculated words, I turned it into a fraud.
It was hard enough to act the part of cold heartless bitch that day. But I’m finding it impossible to maintain it believably. My emotions keep betraying me.
With the arrival of our meals, I choose to instead focus on the food. Michael had ordered fish for me. And his meal looks very delicious. He sees me eyeing it and simply says, “Rabbit.”
I’m now feeling grateful that it’s his meal. I’ve never eaten rabbit before. I can’t help thinking of the cute furry creatures, wiggling their whiskered noses. Too cute to eat.
I cut the fish on my platter and take a bite. The tangy taste of lemon accompanying the sweet tasting fish delights my palate.
“I take it I chose appropriately.” Michael adds before taking a drink of his beer.
I smile in response. I’m actually quite pleased with Michael’s choice for me. He does know me almost too well.
We actually talk very little during our meal. It’s not an uncomfortable quiet, but definitely an uncertain one. Having finished my fish, I twist my napkin in my hand. I’m caught off guard when Michael lifts a forkful of rabbit and extends it towards me.
“Try some.”
I’m hesitant about it, but he insists. I awkwardly lean forward, allowing him to feed me. My eyes meet his as my lips surround the fork. There’s something almost erotic about it. My cheeks feel flush as I look away. I dab my face with my cloth napkin, as I sense his eyes keenly watching me.
Then, I just about melt when he whispers, “Ready for some dessert?”
~~~~~
Knowing of Nikita’s sweet tooth, I order crème brûlée for her. For myself, I ask for “un plateau de fromages.” After clearing the table, the waitress refills my glass.
“You seem to know quite a bit about Monaco. Did your family come to Monaco often? Or was it just one family vacation?” Nikita asks after some silence.
“We came to Monaco several times on holiday.” I answer sensing Nikita was looking for what she considered a ‘safe’ topic. “My parents were rather fond of the glamorous lifestyle Monaco afforded.”
“I know so little about your life before Section. I had no idea you were a spoiled little rich boy.” Nikita teases.
“We were rather well off. But I wouldn’t consider myself spoiled. My father required that I earn everything I was given.” I answer carefully, knowing Nikita would eagerly dissect my relationship with my father in a heartbeat, if given the opportunity. Switching the focus a bit I continue, “I always loved the more simple things of Monaco. Watching the sailboats on the Mediterranean, playing in the sand of the beach, swimming. All the things little boys enjoy.”
Nikita grins and replies, “I’m trying to picture you as a boy building sand castles. I’m guessing you were the boy who spent hours building the perfect fortress.”
I smile knowing she’s not too far from the truth. I did take my castle building fairly seriously.
The conversation ends as the waitress brings Nikita’s crème brûlée and a selection of cheese for me. A big smile adorns Nikita’s face, as she tastes the sweet desert.
“Cheese? Not what I’d consider a dessert.” She says before licking her spoon clean.
“It suits me. I don’t have your sweet tooth.” I say, defending my choice.
With childlike delight, Nikita eagerly devours each spoonful of the dessert, save the last one. She decides I must take a taste of this ‘piece of heaven’, as she calls it, and extends the spoon toward me with her other hand beneath it.
I steady her wrist, before placing my lips around the spoon. I can see her lips quiver as I lick the spoon’s smooth surface clean. Still holding her wrist, I pull it closer to graze my sticky lips across her delicate skin. My tongue delights in the salty taste of her skin as I flick it against the inside of her wrist. The spoon releases from her fingers, hitting the table with a noticeable clank.
~~~~~
My heart jumps at the clattering of the spoon hitting the solid table. Shivers still run through my body, as I slowly pull my wrist from his grasp and press it against me. I look up to see his green eyes sparkling with strong desire. My own desire for him rattles me. I crave our intimacy. But I fear it at the same time. The operative in me knows that meeting Michael today was a mistake. However, the woman in me found it impossible to stay away.
Knowing what will inevitably happen if I stay, I turn my head to assess my escape route. I see instead a devilish smile accompanied by a pair of startling blue eyes focused on me. Their owner begins to approach our table, filling me with surprise and uncertainty.
“Hello again, Nikita. I apologize for interrupting your meal.”
“We’re actually just finished.” I manage to reply congenially, despite my heightened nerves.
“I hope you’ll have a good appetite in time for dinner this evening.”
I observe Knowles and Michael sizing each other up as my stomach twists with dread. Despite my misgivings, I begin the introductions.
“Michael, this is Richard Knowles, an acquaintance of my husband.” I barely breathe the word husband out.
“I see. Pleased to meet you.” Michael says shaking Richard’s hand.
“I fear I’ve interrupted something, so I’m going to leave you two and head over to the bar area. Nikita, I’ll see you later this evening.” Richard says with a sparkle in his eye.
I sense Richard’s attention toward me is not lost on Michael who’s stance is quietly possessive.
“Yes, I look forward to it.” I manage to blurt out. Instead I’m hoping the ground would just swallow me up.
As Michael places some Francs on the table with our check, I anxiously start moving toward the door. I fill my lungs with the fresh air as I feel the freedom of the outdoors. Barely fighting the urge to run, I turn to find Michael right behind me.
“Anxious to leave?”
“Yes, I really must get back. Thank you for the meal and the company.” I stammer as I turn from him, walking away from the brasserie. But his hands grasp me, turning me back toward him. Carefully brushing the stray hair from my face, he leans in toward me. I close my eyes as his lips gently press against mine. I begin to kiss him back more urgently, my control having slipped away.
As the kiss ends, he backs off and whispers, “It wasn’t all a lie, was it?” It sounds more like a statement than a question. Before I can say anything, he turns and walks away, leaving me to stand there alone with my emotions in disarray.
~~~~~
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