Breaking and Entering (11 page)

‘You know, there
is
a resemblance to Pippa,' he managed to say at last. ‘Something about the eyes. They may be a different colour, but the expression's rather the same, and their mouths are similar too. See the shape of that top lip?'

Penny wasn't looking. Her head was in her hands, her shoulders shaking silently. ‘Don't cry,' he muttered desperately. ‘Look, tomorrow I'll ring the embassy and see if there's anything they can suggest, any way of tracking him down.' Even as he said it, he knew that it was hopeless; tried another tack. ‘He can't simply walk out on you, Penny, not if you're married. You have rights in law, and …'

‘I … I don't want him back,' she blurted out, with another burst of tears. ‘That's why I'm so upset. It's only just dawned on me, this minute – I've been kidding myself all through our so-called marriage. I've always made excuses for him – to myself, I suppose, as much as other people. When I got fed up because he was away again, or out, I'd fill the house with my sisters' kids or invite my friends and neighbours round. But all I was really doing was running away from the fact that he and I had nothing much in common and couldn't even communicate. Actually, it's you who've made me see it. You've got this way of listening – really listening seriously, as if what I say's important. Phil's always interrupting. Sometimes he even wanders out of the room when I'm in the middle of a sentence. I hadn't realized till now that it makes me feel like shit. I'm not worth five seconds of his time – and nor is Pippa.'

Daniel sat in silence, indignant at Phil's rudeness, yet wary of getting too involved himself, or being seen as something he wasn't. He didn't want Penny putting him on a pedestal, or trying to come too close – not until he'd made some sense of his own contradictory feelings. He was already conscious at some level that she'd been acting on him all afternoon like a powerful sort of magnet, making him behave completely out of character.

Again, he used his cigarettes as a convenient excuse, fumbling for the packet, edging down the bed. It would be dangerous to light one until he'd shifted a safe distance from the tinderbox of her hair.

‘Please don't smoke so much, Dan. I'm beginning to worry about your lungs.' She leaned over and removed the cigarette, so teasingly and graciously, he couldn't bring himself to object.

‘And I do care about your lungs, you know. In fact, I care about all of you. You're such a lovely person. Phil's friends are only interested in making money, or buying themselves new office toys, but you're different altogether – someone with ideals. I could see that when you talked about your work – the way you're so concerned about those African kids, and get all steamed up about the unfairness in the world, when most people couldn't give a damn. And I love the way you treat Pippa like an equal, instead of talking down to her.' He wanted to break in, cut short this tide of adulation, but the thought of Phil and his constant interruptions made him hesitate. And, anyway, such praise was rather gratifying. Jean-Claude might compliment his work (occasionally, untypically), but no one had ever told him before that they cared about the whole of him.

‘Put your arms round me, Dan. I'm feeling really down tonight, and horribly alone. If I've got to accept that it's all over between me and Phil, then it means I've got to start again from scratch, and frankly I'm scared stiff.'

He was terrified himself, thrown by her request. He placed one tentative arm on her shoulders, noticing his hand was sweating. She responded instantly, turning towards him as if hungry for some comfort, and looping both her arms around his neck. He allowed her to cling on to him, hoping he was soothing away her problems, making her forget the squalid ill-lit room: the dark shadows in the corners, the damp-stains on the wall. It was comfort for him, too, in fact: the warmth of her, the softness, the way she was nuzzling against him with an eager childlike trust. She had called Phil ‘her other half' (and the term had stuck in his gorge), but wasn't
he
in that position now as their two bodies seemed to merge?

‘That's nice,' she whispered. ‘Cosy.'

No, he thought with alarm – cosy was no longer the right word. Her breasts were pressed so close he was becoming sexually aroused, overwhelmed by their solidity and fullness. He longed to see them naked, to cup them in his hands and feel their marvellous weight. He tried to imagine the nipples – small and pink like those little cone-shaped sweets he had eaten as a child, or maybe longer, darker, already standing up. It was all he could do not to move his hands from the safety of her waist and let them creep inside her top, touch her bare warm flesh.

‘Relax, Dan, you're so tense. Isn't it nice to cuddle up, and just let go of all the hassles for a while?'

He daren't let go – not of anything. She was still using words like ‘cuddle', affectionate and childish words, while his obstreperous erection was growing more and more insistent. He must control himself, for Christ's sake! She had asked for help and comfort, not some sordid grope. He removed his jacket and placed it on the bed, ran a nervous finger round the collar of his shirt. He needed more than just a collar – something tight, relentless, which would cover his whole body, keep everything in check. She was looking at him anxiously, so he put his arms round her again; let her rest her head against his own.

Her cheek felt wonderfully soft, and he could smell almonds on her breath – a faint relic of their tea. He remembered how she'd licked cream from his thumb, once they'd both abandoned their cake-forks; the way she'd scavenged crumbs from her plate with one greedy moistened finger. Her mouth had been distracting him all day: that deft pink tongue flicking out at lunchtime, to retrieve a swirl of sauce, or to first-aid Pippa's hand when she'd grazed it in the park. Would it really hurt to kiss her? – just one brief and gentle kiss, a child's kiss on the cheek.

There was a muffled grunt from Pippa, turning over in her sleep. He sprang away from Penny as if her cheek were blistering hot. He had forgotten all about the child – deliberately, perhaps. ‘I doubt even a bomb would wake her,' Penny had assured him, but could he really take the risk? A kid of four might be terribly disturbed if she woke to see her mother in a clinch. He glanced at her with something close to fury, tempted to haul her out of bed and deposit her on Phil's doorstep, let the bloody man look after her himself.

‘What's the matter?' Penny asked. ‘You keep bobbing around like a jack-in-the-box.'

‘I … think I've got something in my eye.' He started rubbing it and blinking, to convince himself it was true. He was utterly confused: ashamed of his spiteful reaction towards an innocent child, yet still struggling with both anger and frustration.

‘Here, let me have a look.' She gently pulled the eyelid down and peered into his pupil; he sitting on the bed, she standing over him, with that enticing, troubling cleavage displayed to him again.

‘I can't see anything,' she said, stooping even closer. ‘But I'll palm it for a moment.'

‘Do what?'

‘Just hold my palm across the eye, so you can't see out of it. That often helps to soothe tired eyes, and I suspect yours
are
simply tired. You told me yourself you've been working all hours, and didn't get much sleep last night.'

He made a heroic effort to relax, expelled his breath in a protracted sigh. Her palm was hot and moist, and pressed so firmly over his eye that his lashes fluttered against it every time he blinked, which he was doing far too often – nervousness again.

After a few moments, she took her hand away. ‘How's that?'

‘Fine,' he mumbled, more concerned about concealing his erection. He crossed his legs, studied a burn-hole in the carpet.

‘Or shall I kiss it better now?' She laughed, made a
moue
with her lips, kissing the empty air. ‘I always do that for Pippa, and d'you know, our doctor said it works. I mean, it's not just psychological, apparently, but has an actual physical effect on the nerve-endings or something.'

Yes, he was experiencing that effect – the most intense exquisite pleasure, sensuous and slow – surely no mere medical procedure? He had never had his eye kissed; wouldn't have believed that the sensations could be so powerful. Did Penny know what she was doing to him, or was she simply playing, treating him as her child? She was using her tongue as well, now: running it along his lashes, then across his eyebrow. It seemed to thrill each individual hair, each smallest pore and follicle, spark off miniature explosions which shocked through every fibre of his body, as if his eye were a lightning-conductor channelling a violent force. It was torment not to touch her, not to reach his hands out and trace the slow curve of her hip, or ease that provoking zip down and …

He jerked abruptly back. The harsh wail of a siren was ripping through the room, shattering the silence. It shrilled to a crescendo, then faded just as quickly; a second siren taking over with the same nerve-racking urgency. He yanked at his tie, loosening its constricting knot. ‘What the devil's going on?'

‘Don't worry,' Penny said. ‘We had the same last night, but it died down pretty quickly. I think it's the police out on a drugs raid.'

He was amazed by her sang-froid. She seemed as unperturbed as Pippa, who hadn't moved a muscle. The child was sleeping on her stomach, her breathing slow and rhythmic, despite the pandemonium below – slamming doors and pounding feet, voices raised in fear.

Suddenly, on impulse, he pushed Penny back on the bed, using the cover of the noise outside to commit his own small crime. If Pippa could sleep through such a racket, it wasn't very likely she'd be woken by one brief and gentle kiss.

It wasn't brief – or gentle. He had no idea what the hell was happening to him, except he was no longer English Daniel, shy of English Penny, but had become that shameless French kid on the bench, devouring his Parisian girl with lips and teeth and tongue. And the girl was equally hungry, opening her mouth and revelling in the kiss, making tiny breathless gasps through it, while her hands clutched at his back.

Then, unbearably, he felt her grip relax, her wild lips pull away. ‘Oh, Dan,' she whispered. ‘We really shouldn't …'

‘Call me
Daniel
,' he said. It was imperative that she used his proper name; took him absolutely seriously. This was a serious moment. Without knowing how or why, he was aware that he had broken through some barrier, crossed some boundary.

‘Call me Daniel
always
,' he insisted, then moved his mouth lower, to her breasts.

Daniel crept downstairs, praying the concierge wasn't up and about yet. Usually he sneaked out in the early hours when the foyer was deserted, but today his watch said nearly ten to seven. It was a miracle he had slept at all (let alone so long) in that narrow, lumpy, creaking bed, with sirens blaring through his dreams – another proof of Penny's magical powers. He had spent the whole weekend with her, the best weekend of his life, and they'd fallen asleep exhausted, last night, with her still underneath him; had woken only ten minutes ago in delight and consternation. It was far too risky with Pippa there for him to stay so late, and he was still blessing his good fortune that she hadn't woken first, or heard him as he scrambled into his clothes. They would have to be more careful. She was showing signs of jealousy, and continually fretting about her father: when was he coming back from his holiday, and why couldn't she talk to him on the phone?

He smoothed his uncombed hair, ran a hand across his stubbly chin. He really ought to be behaving more responsibly, feeling more concern about the kid, but it was difficult to worry after such an enchanted week. His character seemed to be changing. He was becoming less obsessional, an almost carefree hedonist who could saunter past the concierge (just emerging from his lair), smile at the stout cleaner, and feel only a faint frisson of embarrassment.

He stepped into the street, gulping fresh cold air – a contrast to the stale fug of the bedroom. A smudge of moon still lingered in the sky, and the light was blurred and grudging, no match yet for the garish yellow street-lamps, the frenetic neon flashing red and purple. He had come to like this area; preferred the Hotel Manchester to all the hotels in Paris, including the fabled Ritz. Penny hadn't made love to him in the Ritz.

He broke into a run as he turned the corner into the main thoroughfare, dodging the jet of water from a fiercely gushing hose. The street-cleaners were out, swooshing down the gutters from their automated vans. ‘
Bonjour
,' he nodded to the man behind the hose, tempted to peel off his clothes and enjoy an instant shower, waltz along the pavement in the buff. He felt a bond with everyone this morning: the delivery boy with his orange plastic crates, the mangy dog sniffing round the lampposts, the cyclist in his waterproofs wobbling down the road. He hadn't even noticed it was drizzling. The sun had shone all week, and everything had seemed brighter and more spring-like – especially at the weekend when he was free to be with Penny all day, as well as half the night.

He was relieved to see a cruising cab, waved it to a stop. He had already blued a fortune on cabs, returning to his flat in the middle of each night, but he would never get to work on time if he hung around for a bus. He still had to shave and change, grab a bite of breakfast. Penny had said she liked him dressed more casually, but a polo neck and cords weren't quite the thing for the office, and anyway his clothes were creased – had spent their startled night spreadeagled on the floor of the hotel room.

He climbed into the cab, grinning to himself, surprised he didn't feel more tired after a run of such late nights. But he was wired up to a drip-feed labelled ‘Penny', which pumped adrenalin and elation into his veins. If he were to leap out of the taxi and gallop alongside, he knew he'd overtake it easily – a Hermes with winged feet. He contented himself with leaning forward and peering out of the window, gobbling bricks and mortar for his breakfast, washing them down with water from a fountain, admiring its stone nymph who was caressing a smug dolphin with a fervour very similar to Penny's.