Kit lay back on his lumpy bed after Sylvie had left, feeling exhausted, exhilarated, surprised that she was able to arouse him into such a frenzy of lovemaking. She didn’t laugh at his inexperience.
‘Slow down,’ she whispered, pausing while he recovered before gently massaging him into yet another blissful arousal. Then she lit a cigarette for him while he stared up at the ceiling, stunned by how he had responded to her caresses.
Sylvie was no amateur in the art of seduction. As she wrapped her limbs round him, her deep kisses took his breath away. What had he been missing all these years? Kit felt lighter, freer, introduced to another world far away from his past.
Yet at the very climax, he thought of Flora in his arms, receiving him so willingly. They had fumbled their way into the act of love. Sylvie showed no such tenderness as she pounced on him.
She came to the bar two days later and whispered over the counter. ‘Come to my room, number thirty-one. I’ll be waiting and I’ve got a little surprise.’
Kit couldn’t wait for the end of his shift but some of the French artists were roaring drunk and singing.
She was waiting when at last he got away but to his disappointment, she was not alone. ‘Denise and I, we’re going to put on a little show for you. Sit down and drink this, and I promise you’ll have fun.’
The two girls danced around and then jumped up on the bed, shedding their clothes, garment by garment, laughing until they were both almost naked. They lay down and proceeded to remove their silk undies and caress each other, until Sylvie opened her legs to Denise’s fingers.
She moaned with ecstasy. ‘Come and join us, darling. Don’t be shy.’ She beckoned to Kit.
Kit was feeling a strange drowsiness as they undressed him and began to work on him, first one, then the other, until they were a tangle of writhing bodies. He entered first the one and then the other in blissful ignorance of which of the girls was which. It seemed that they played together for hours but then suddenly Sylvie jumped up.
‘You’d better leave, darling. Don’t want you to be found, or you’ll lose your job. Monsieur Sella is a stickler. I hope you enjoyed our little soirée. Plenty more where that came from. Perhaps we’ll bring a boy for you?’
Kit stumbled out, creeping away in a drunken stupor down the corridor. He couldn’t remember much, but what he could recall felt oddly uncomfortable. He woke in the morning with a thumping headache and was late for his morning shift. He had strange bruise marks all over his body and needed a swim in the sea to freshen up but there was no time. Had he really slept with two women or was it some fantastic dream? He couldn’t quite recall how it had all happened. All he could remember was a gilded headboard and the scent of warm perfumed bodies. Now he found it hard to concentrate, as if his mind was strangely disconnected from his body. There was a dry taste at the back of his mouth. What had Sylvie put in his drink?
The life of the rich was different from anything he had ever known. They lived in a dream world of sunbathing, dining and dancing. They had a coterie of hangers-on, artists and writers, even the dancers who rehearsed each morning for Miss Morris.
Kit watched Sylvie leaping recklessly off the rocks into the sea. A photographer was capturing her dancing shapes. What had this got to do with Glasgow tenements, battlefields or beggars on the narrow streets? He hoped that at least the wealthy paid for wages that found their way back into the pockets of the poor. He never passed a street urchin without giving something. In those first days, when he fled from Cannes, he had come near to begging himself.
When he met up with Sylvie again on the beach, he insisted they be alone. ‘It’s you I want to be with.’
But she sighed. ‘Darling, don’t be clingy. We’ll be leaving soon.’
‘Will you write to me?’ Kit asked, stunned by her coolness.
‘Of course not, I’m a dancer, not a secretary. Besides I’ll be too busy…’
‘I could come along with you and find work.’ Why was she saying such things?
‘Now you’re being tiresome. We’ve had fun, haven’t we? You’ll know now how to please a woman. You’re quite sweet, but not really my type… you think too much.’
‘I’ve been your summer distraction?’ Kit snapped, realising Sylvie was dumping him.
‘Precisely, darling, time for both of us to move on.’ Sylvie fingered the waves in her hair. ‘Look, I’ll be late for my hair salon. I’ll come up for a nightcap before I leave, if you like.’
‘Don’t bother, I can drink alone,’ Kit said, turning away from her.
‘Dangerous pastime, sweetie, you’ll turn into an old soak.’ With this she darted away. Kit was shocked. How could he have dreamt Sylvie would want him sticking around? It amused her to seduce him, tantalising him with her beauty and experience. He felt ice water rushing through his veins. To be just a summer fling left him feeling cheap and redundant. Time to move on indeed.
Rejection was not the only legacy of his summer affair. Kit soon began to feel pain whenever he peed. A humiliating trip to the hotel doctor confirmed his worst fear. Sylvie had given him more than a good time. The mercury treatment was painful and expensive, taking up all his savings.
Worse still was that feeling of being corrupted by a superficial and dazzling world. He was not a millionaire, nor ever would be. Sylvie would find new lovers who would suffer the same fate as himself. He thought of Liliane’s invitation to love her and of how he had deserted Flora Garvie. He felt ashamed. There was a saying back home: ‘If it’s so pleasurable, it’s sinful’, especially when it came to sex. Perhaps there was truth in that after all.