October 2016
And so it begins again. Genevieve promises not to say a word to Emma but her silence has a price tag. In her warped view of reality, she believes she can win me back and she seems to know no boundaries: falsifying documents, lying to the inspectors and now tracking me down in France and stalking Emma. She opens her assault by ordering me to visit her in Limoges.
“We’ll take it slowly. Remember what we had.”
She’s rewritten our history by pinning my defection on the investigation into Dorek’s death and how it affected me.
“You were under so much stress. I see it now. I was implicated in those bad times—you looked to Emma for security.”
Does she honestly believe that I’d ever leave my wife and child for her? She’s mocking, she’s dangerous—and she’s irresistible.
Some days Genevieve drops into the bar without warning, knowing I’ll be there. We play a dangerous game: not speaking—ratcheting up the sexual tension. I sense Henri watching me.
One lunchtime, I make a fruitless drive into Limoges and Genevieve’s not at home. I drive back, hot and grumpy, and stop in at the bar. There she is, perched on her favourite bar stool, chatting with Emma.
“l’ll fetch Mollie today,” she’s saying, lifting her eyes to meet mine with a mocking smile. “I haven’t seen her for a while.”
Since my return, Genevieve’s role in picking Mollie up from school has become redundant so I’m surprised when Emma nods in agreement.
“Mollie will be delighted. She’s been asking when she’ll see you.”
It’s a stomach-churning moment. I feel bad about betraying Emma—truly, I do, but Genevieve has brought danger back into my life which was, frankly, turning rather middle-aged. I thought I was inoculated against her, but she’s rekindled the thrill, the adrenaline charge. I’m hooked.
The Bergers have suspended work while I fit the flooring so my solo schedule at Les Quatre Vents becomes my alibi. Emma’s sick of the building site and busy with the bar and with Mollie. She’s unlikely to turn up and surprise me. Besides I have the car and she makes do with her pushbike.
As my footsteps pound the Limoges pavements towards Rue Jean Jaures I wrestle with a conundrum: cheating on Emma makes me feel sleazy, grubby; but when I leave Genevieve’s apartment sated, I’m cleansed. We fall into a routine and she gives me a key.
The next day, I arrive early, thinking to catch her still sleeping. I fantasise about slipping under the warm sheets beside her, ready to fuck her as she wakes up. But I’d forgotten those early starts back in London. How she taunted me to join her for a six-a.m. run. As my key scrapes in the lock, she yanks open the door wearing a white cotton wrap over a black silk nightdress. Demure on the outside but, peel away the layers, and uncover the vamp beneath.
“Darling!” She smothers me with a kiss. “Join me in the shower?”
She pads across the hall and I hear the hiss and fizz of water from the bathroom. I showered before dropping Mollie at school, but I strip off and scatter my clothes on the floor. The glass door of the shower cubicle is misted over but she opens it, laughing, as water splashes onto the tiled floor. She grasps my hand and pulls me inside. With her dark hair slicked back, her forehead is sleek as a seal. Our bodies lock together beneath a tropical gush from the shower and she rubs almond-scented gel all over my body. I suck her nipples, push her against the tiled wall and listen to her soft moans.
Afterwards she towel-dries her hair and leaves it snaking down her back in loose, damp tangles.
“Breakfast?”
I follow her into the kitchen. She flicks back a cloth to reveal a plate of fresh croissants—so she was up and out at the boulangerie before I arrived. My fantasy of finding her in bed, waiting for me, is intact until another day. I despise myself, but I can’t resist her.