French Kissing (15 page)

‘You mean – in the photographs – I'd be n-naked?' This was so unexpected that I was completely taken aback. ‘I-I don't know, Alex. I'm not exactly built like a glamour model.'

A flicker of amusement passed over Alex's face. ‘I'm not a glamour photographer. I wouldn't expect you to show any more flesh in my photos than you would on the beach.'

‘So the pictures would be – tasteful?' I was pretty sure I was blushing – I only hoped my naturalistic make-up was heavy enough to disguise my lack of sophistication.

‘
Bien sûr
,' Alex said. ‘But taking some nude shots was just an idea. I completely understand if you'd rather not.'

I thought of the many paintings, and line drawings of nude women – and men – that hung in art galleries all over the world. It seemed to me that Alex, a professional photographer, was just as much an artist as a man (or woman) who worked in oils or watercolour. I reminded myself that photographing girls in various stages of undress was an everyday part of his work. There was a striking photo on his website of a doe-eyed, copper-haired girl, wearing no more than a scattering of russet autumn leaves, that had won a prize.

I heard myself say, ‘It's fine. I don't mind.'

‘Great,' Alex said. ‘Go and strip off in the corner. Use your shirt as a dressing gown.'

Again, I concealed myself behind the curtain. With shaking hands, I took off my shirt and underwear. I stared at myself in the full-length mirror, and thought, am I really going to do this? One part of me felt that getting my kit off was just plain embarrassing, but another part of me, the part that admired Alex's artistry, was flattered that he wanted to photograph my body. Come on, Anna, I thought, it's no big deal. It's not like it's the first time you've ever been naked in front of a guy. I put the shirt back on, took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and pushed the curtain aside.

Alex said, ‘I've switched on the “Do Not Enter” sign above the studio door, so you needn't worry about any of the Light Box people barging in on us.'

I smiled weakly. The possibility that a Light Box employee might come wandering into the studio while I was lying there butt-naked hadn't occurred to me.

Now what did I do? Was there an etiquette for nude modelling? ‘Shall I get back on the bed? D-do you want me to take off the shirt now?'

‘
S'il vous plait.
I'll turn around while you cover yourself with the sheet.'

He swung around on his heel. I dropped my improvised dressing gown to the floor, flew over to the bed, and dived under the cotton sheet, pulling it up to my chin.

‘I – I'm decent now,' I said.

Alex came and stood by the bed. ‘Lie on your front. Turn your head towards me.'

I rolled onto my stomach.

‘I'd like to arrange the sheet so that it's only covering your hips,' he said. ‘Are you OK with that?'

‘Ye-es,' I said.

Alex leant over me, and I caught the scent of his aftershave. He took hold of the sheet and raised it up in the air, letting it fall so that one corner was draped in soft folds across my rear, leaving my back and legs bare.

He said, ‘Rest your head on your right arm – let your left arm hang over the mattress – bend your left leg towards me – that's it –
merveilleux –
close your eyes –'

His voice caressed me, a mixture of English and French, telling me I was wonderful. The awkwardness and tension I'd felt earlier faded away. I thought, I can do this.

He said, ‘Keep your eyes closed – I just need to fetch a prop.'

His footsteps retreated across the studio and returned. I felt his hand brush against my shoulder as he put something down on the bed. A pleasurable shiver ran along my spine. I heard the whir of his camera.

‘Will you try something for me, Anna?' he said. ‘Imagine that you're in your own bed, and it's the morning after you've slept with a man for the first time. Think about your first night with Nick, if you like.'

I imagined how a girl might feel after a night with Alex. A warm glow spread through my entire body.

Alex said, ‘Now, open your eyes.'

I did as he asked.

‘Ooh.' By my head, there was a red rose.

‘
C'est parfait!'
Alex walked round the bed, photographing me from different angles. ‘The expression on your face when you saw the rose was exactly what I hoped for.' His mouth lifted in a smile. ‘Your lover has gone, but he has left a rose on your pillow.
Il est romantique, ne c'est pas?
'

‘It's very romantic.'

Alex took a few more shots and then he lowered his camera.

I hope he likes what he sees, I thought,

‘Anna –'

‘Alex?'

‘We're out of time. We'd better call it a day.'

I sat up, instinctively folding my arms over my breasts. ‘You can't have been photographing me for a whole hour!'

‘Almost. I'll give you some privacy while you go and get dressed.' He turned around and walked to the other end of studio.

The sensuous languor that had stolen over me during the shoot, the
frisson
of pleasure I'd experienced as Alex's dark eyes rested on my naked body, was replaced with an urgent need to be wearing clothes. I clambered off the bed, snatched my shirt up off the floor, and scurried back behind the curtain. It seemed to take forever to hook up my bra and squeeze into my skinny jeans, but once I was fully dressed, I felt a whole lot calmer. I re-packed my suitcase, and joined Alex, who was sitting at the workbench, studying his laptop.

He said, ‘The photos are great, Anna.'

‘You've downloaded them already? Let me see!'

‘Not before I've had a chance to edit them.' He closed his laptop. ‘You make a terrific model.'

I strongly suspected that professional models did not indulge in unprofessional fantasies about their photographer, but decided this was not a subject I was going to bring up with Alex.

‘You made it easy for me,' I said.

‘I hope I did. It's important for a photographer and his model to have a good rapport. His or
her
model, I should say. Particularly as I learnt most of what I know about photography from a woman.'

‘Caroline?'

‘Yes. I like to think I can pass on the skills she taught me to my own assistants.' As always, when he talked about photography, Alex's eyes shone. ‘Lou, for instance, has the makings of a good photographer. She has much to learn, but she is an eager student, and I never have to tell her something more than once. It will be my pleasure to help her, the way Caroline helped me.'

I said, ‘I wish I felt about my job the way you do about yours. Not that I don't like working at Nova Graphics – but it isn't my
passion.
Do you know what I mean?

‘Yes, I do. There are times when I find it hard to believe that people actually pay me money to take photographs. I'm very fortunate.' He got to his feet, and picked up his laptop and camera case. ‘We should make a move.'

‘Sure.' I took a last look around the studio. ‘Where's the rose?'

‘I threw it away.'

‘That rose was a gift from my lover! A red rose – the symbol of true love. And you
threw it away?
'

Alex laughed.
‘Je suis désolé.'

‘I don't know why you're laughing, Alexandre Tourville.' I smiled at him, and he smiled back.

‘Let's get home, Anna. I'm going out later, but I'd like to make a start on editing your photos tonight.

As soon as we were back at my flat, Alex vanished inside his bedroom, dismissing my suggestion that I watch him edit the photos with a firm shake of his head. I went into the living room, and managed to read Verity Holmes' novel for a whole twenty minutes before going and knocking on his door.

‘Would you like a coffee?' I said.

‘Non, merci.
'

‘
Some wine?'

‘Go away, Anna.'

With a sigh, I returned to my book.

It must have been nearly two hours later when Alex came into the living room and set down his laptop on the dining table.

‘Now, you may see,' he said. ‘This is not the only good photo of you that I shot this afternoon, but it is, I think, the best.' He pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit.

I looked at the screen and saw that it was filled with a black and white photograph of me reclining languidly on the brass bed. I was obviously naked, the white sheet barely covering my hips, the swell of my breasts clearly visible above the arm that I'd flung carelessly across my body. A smile played about my mouth, as I looked dreamily at the rose. The scene was bathed in a pale light, suggestive of the early morning.

My voice came out as a whisper, ‘The photograph … It's beautiful … sensual … exquisite. Oh, Alex.'

‘
You
are beautiful.'

‘In this photo, I am.'

‘Let me show you some of the others.' Alex leant over my shoulder, and brought up more of the photos that he'd taken that afternoon. I studied each of them, the full-lengths and the close-ups, the photos of me naked and the others where I was wearing the shirt, and to my delight, I realised that I looked beautiful in every one of them.

‘These photos are amazing,' I said. ‘You've made me look wonderful.'

‘I'm glad you like them. I hope Nick does too.'

Nick. Until that moment, I hadn't given a thought as to how he might feel about my stripping off for a photographer. Or how he might react if that photographer were Alex.

Nick could not find out about these photographs – I couldn't face another row.

‘You're frowning,' Alex said. ‘What's wrong?'

‘It's just that – I don't think Nick would be very happy if he discovered that his girlfriend had been posing for photos without any clothes on. I didn't even tell him about the shoot.'

Alex raised his eyebrows. ‘I didn't realise Nick was so uptight. Or is it just that he's English?'

‘Don't joke, Alex, this is important. I think these photos are works of art, but Nick wouldn't see them that way. So please don't show them to him. Or anyone else.'

‘I won't, if you don't want me to.'

‘Thank you.
Merci.
'

Alex gave a very Gallic shrug. ‘I wouldn't want a photograph I'd taken to cause problems between you and Nick.'

‘When you were photographing me, I got so caught up in the moment, I didn't think it through.'

‘Don't worry about it. I understand. I'll email you copies of the photos I've edited, and you can print off any that you want.' He grinned. ‘You can always hide them somewhere your jealous boyfriend won't find them.'

‘That is
so
not funny.' I couldn't help smiling.

‘It so is.' Alex stretched, and looked at his watch. ‘I have to go out. An American friend of mine, a photo-journalist, is in London for a couple of days, and I've said I'll meet him for a drink. Would you like to come too? He's an interesting man.'

I hesitated. The thought of spending the rest of the evening in the company of Alex and his photo-journalist friend was very tempting, but I was expecting Nick to come round after he'd finished work. Briefly, I considered texting him and telling him not to come.

I can't tell Nick I'd rather go for a drink with Alex and a total stranger than spend time with him, I thought.

‘I'd love to meet your interesting American, but I can't tonight. My jealous boyfriend is working late, but he's coming on here afterwards.'

‘I'll say goodnight, then. You'll probably be asleep by the time I get back.'

‘
Bonne nuit
,' I said. ‘Just so you know,
mon ami,
I enjoyed modelling for you today.'

‘I enjoyed photographing you,' Alex said.

An hour or so after Alex had gone out, leaving me alone, I was lying on the sofa reading the last chapter of Verity Holmes' novel, when I had a phone call from Nick. Whatever it was that he and his hand-picked team were working on (he did tell me, but I'd no idea what he was talking about) was still not completed to his satisfaction. He couldn't see himself getting away from his desk much before midnight.

‘It's best I don't come over to your place tonight,' Nick said. ‘I have to be back in the office very early in the morning. The Frankfurt team are flying in tomorrow, and I need to set up for my presentation.'

If he'd phoned an hour earlier, I could have gone out with Alex.

‘I hope you don't mind,' Nick said, but I did.

Through gritted teeth, I said, ‘It's fine. Don't worry about it. I know this … assignment … you're doing is important.'

‘It's a huge project. If it goes well, it could mean a promotion.'

‘That's good,' I said. ‘I mean, that's great.'

‘I'll see you on Saturday.'

‘Yes,' I said. As an afterthought, I added, ‘Good luck with your presentation.'

‘Thanks –' He broke off to listen to something another person was saying. ‘OK, I'll be right with you – Anna, I'm going to have to say goodnight.'

‘Night,' I said, but he'd already ended the call.

I could have been with Alex right now.

I picked up my book and opened it.

If I'd prefer a night out with a friend to a night in with my boyfriend, what did that say about my and Nick's relationship? I tried to read the last few pages of my book, but the words swam before my eyes.

What did I feel for Nick?

My hand shook, and the book slid from my grasp. On trembling legs, I stood up, went over to the window, and stared unseeing out into the street.

Did I love him?

I cast my mind back over the last year – almost a year and a half – that Nick and I'd been together to the day we'd met, remembering how delighted I'd been to discover that the tall, good-looking man seated next to me at my old friend Polly's wedding was single. Having chatted and danced with him for most of the reception, I'd flushed with pleasure when he asked me to have dinner with him the following week. I'd been on some truly awful dates since I'd last been in a steady relationship, and it'd been wonderful to be wined and dined by an intelligent, well-mannered man like Nicholas Cooper. Soon we were seeing each other two or three times a week, and after a month or so, when he asked if he could stay the night, I'd no hesitation in saying yes. It was a couple of months later that he'd told me he loved me. I'd been so happy that night, contentedly drifting off to sleep in my boyfriend's arms …