Hold Back the Night (7 page)

After that Domini stayed away from the shed, and Sander stayed away from her. Every time she saw him, his face turned grim. At first she tried smiling, until she realized that only deepened his frown. If he chanced upon her in the street, he looked through her as though she weren't there. If their paths seemed likely to cross in the house, he would turn and retrace his steps, slamming some door pointedly behind him. If he was with Nicole he would immediately drape his arm around his mistress's hip, spreading his long fingers in an intentionally possessive way. The sound of the bedsprings became aggressive.

Before too long Domini got the message. As a matter of course, she took to bedding down with a pillow pressed to her ear, just in case. She learned to pretend that Sander was invisible, just as he pretended with her. She threw herself into her classes and started to paint with a fury and dedication she had never shown before. She dated some of her fellow boarders and even let one of them kiss her, a disappointing and repugnant experience because he tried to deepen the kiss right at the outset, something she was too naive to expect at all. No one had ever described kissing to her and she had never read a contemporary romance. Startled by the affront, she bit his tongue.

It wasn't until later, lying in her bed and thinking of Sander, that she realized she wouldn't have done that to him. But then, he mightn't have done that to her. She made a mental note to ask Berenice or her father if that kind of kissing was natural. They always answered such questions without reserve and had once given her a remarkably explicit text on the subject of sex, complete with line drawings. The drawings hadn't covered mouths. She knew more about the act of love than she did about kissing.

She thought about Sander all the time. She wanted not to but couldn't help herself. She visited his Right Bank dealer several times, thinking that if she could not touch him, she could at least touch his sculptures. Their beauty and power enthralled her, but she touched only those sculptures that were not of Nicole. Those Domini hated even looking at. They made her feel as if she herself was only half ripe.

Much of the time she was dizzy with wanting, imagining the feel of him from the few fleeting contacts she had had. She was sure she was in love with him; she had read the great classics of literature and had formed the opinion that love, true love, involved quite a lot of heartbreak and pain. And if this was not love, what was it? Racked with the agonies of unrequited adolescent desire, with no past experience to guide her and no close friends to consult, she imagined it must be love.

A frank conversation with Berenice, during a weekend visit home, provided a lot of specific information about kissing. Berenice's gently amused smile held no censure. Domini decided she had been too hasty with her teeth and resolved, as a cure for her preoccupation with Sander, to let the next importunate student have his way. But there was no next. Domini's teeth had inflicted a good deal of damage; the story had spread like wildfire. No one tried to kiss her again.

And so she suffered. Her flesh was on fire, but she also had her pride. Never in her life had she been rejected, and Sander's rejection was a revelation to her, just as the physical impact of him had been a revelation. She made up her mind that she would never speak to him again in her life, not if he went down on bended knee and begged, a vision that occupied many of her young erotic dreams. Oh, if only he would!

The next few weeks made Domini a little wiser about the world, and she began to understand that one could not be as frank and forward in Paris as her father had taught her to be. Forthrightness might be fine in the environment where she had been raised, but in this setting it only raised brows and set tongues to buzzing. She became somewhat more guarded in her ways, but even so there were times when some innocent remark would set a roomful of fellow students to roaring while Domini looked around her in bewilderment. At such times her natural resilience stood her in good stead.

Gradually she came to realize that her upbringing had been unique, not merely because her father was a great and famous artist but because he was a thoroughly unconventional man. She had been brought up as a child of nature because Papa was a child of nature; for all his genius, a man as rustic and unsophisticated as the great crude stone he kept in his courtyard.

During those weeks she filled several portfolios with charcoal sketches, still life studies, vivid watercolours. She painted a few canvases in oils and acrylics and stored them carefully on their stretchers, sure they would someday be important. Great artists always suffered with some great love, and she was suffering, wasn't she?

She also made friends, attended classes, and discovered Paris ... not just the Paris her father had shown her, the city of the Louvre and the Arc de Triomphe, of the Palais-Royal and Notre Dame, of the Place de l'Opera and Napoleon's Tomb. New smells and sounds and sights had always intrigued her, and so alone or with her new friends she explored Montmartre, stood on worn cobblestones on impoverished streets where Piaf had once starved and sung, found out-of-the way parks, shared cheese and wine in humble bistros, spent a whole day riding the m£tro, splashed her fingers in quaint fountains unlisted in any guidebook, discovered what it was to see a movie. She was enthralled and sometimes even forgot Sander.

It was at the Eiffel Tower, on a chilly morning in late November, that she spoke to him again. With no classes that particular morning, as other students in the pension had, she had gone on a sketching trip alone, but she had become dissatisfied with the angle from which she was rendering the lacework of the famous metal structure. She left the Champ-de-Mars and paid her admission to the tower itself, thinking to look over the surrounding streets from on high and choose a new vantage point for her work.

She was moving towards the rail on the top level when she happened to see him at some distance, brooding over the view. His eyes flicked in her direction, caught by the bright beacon of her hair. He swerved away from the rail at once, his goal the elevator that was about to make the long descent, but its doorgate closed before he could reach it. Domini hugged her new nutria-lined corduroy coat close to her chin and pretended that all her attention was directed towards the view, but for once she took no pleasure in the panorama of Paris laid before her in such spectacular detail. Of course she wouldn't approach him! Did he think she had no pride?

Two minutes later she risked another quick look around, only to see that Sander was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he had moved around to the other side in order to avoid her? It seemed a natural conclusion. She turned on her heel, looking neither left nor right, and aimed for the only instant escape route she could think of.

They practically collided at the top of the stairs. Sander stared and she stared, and then suddenly, in unison, they burst into laughter.

'It's a long way down to the next level,' said Domini when she was able. 'Am I that bad?'

'Worse,' said Sander, but with laughter in his eyes. Domini's legs turned to liquid; it was the first time he had smiled at her in weeks. In hip-hugging suede trousers and a heavy white cable-stitch turtleneck, with his dark hair curving over its high collar, he looked immensely virile and vital, a man who enjoyed life, a man who would be good at teaching a woman what it was to be a woman.

'I'd run all the way to the ground if I had to,' Sander went on, his eyes still fixed on her in friendly fashion, 'just as they did in
The Lavender Hill Mob
.'

'What's that?'

'An old movie, a good one. Too bad you're too young to have seen it.'

'Until a few weeks ago I'd never seen a movie in my life,' Domini said, tilting her head to one side with an artless and age-old coquetry the knowledge of which had been born in her bones. She was breathless with his nearness and wanted to prolong it. 'I'd never seen television either. Papa won't have one around, even in a hotel suite.'

Sander laughed again, delightedly, as if he had just opened a Christmas present. 'What an astonishment you are,'he said.

Domini knew it was a compliment of sorts. She glanced down the dizzy descent of the airy spiral staircase, with solid earth nearly a thousand feet below. She felt lightheaded, and not just from the view. 'Have you ever tried the stairs before?'

'Once.' He smiled. 'But not all the way down, heaven forbid. What about you?'

'Never,' she replied, excitement leaping in her eyes and in her veins. 'I'd like to go all the way!'

Sander frowned, perhaps uncertain of her meaning. 'Not with that sketch pad, you wouldn't,' he cautioned dryly, but Domini laughed with the joie de vivre of a child. Abandoned to the happiness of the moment, she ripped the day's efforts off their heavy backing and flung them to the air. The pages fluttered, caught by a high breeze, soaring like her spirits.

'Dare you! We'll catch them at the bottom!' she cried and took off with a flying leap before he had even agreed to the challenge. At ten revolutions of the stairs she was giddy; at twenty she was reeling; by the time she had gained the halfway mark all Paris was reeling. When she reached the bottom, her head was spinning like a top, her chest aching with laughter, her inner ears ringing at the wild distortion of balance.

Sander was close behind. Still reeling himself, he caught her before she had staggered very far. The sketchbook pages, some still fluttering down at a distance, were forgotten. They clung together, Domini laughing to the point of tears, conscious of Sander's deep amusement, too, too far gone to be aware of the curious glances of others.

And then suddenly their mouths were also clinging. To Domini it seemed the most natural thing in the world ... his mouth was there and she met it. She did not need Berenice's advice to know what to do, because her body had known all along and needed only the right instructor. She responded out of pure instinct, and her lips parted as eagerly, as unselfconsciously, as a rose responding to the natural rhythm of the seasons, unfolding when its particular moment of maturity has come. This time, if the kiss had not deepened of itself, she would have invited it. But Sander's lips had opened against hers with no holding back, and it seemed to Domini that his need was as deep, as urgent as hers. His mouth was hungry, his tongue searching, his hands commanding. She closed her eyes and drank in the taste she had so thirsted for, the taste of a man. It was all she had imagined and more ... as exhilarating in its own way as the crazy descent from the tower, an experience that would for Domini be forever linked with the bittersweet memory of her first kiss.

Sander broke away long before Domini had any thought of doing so. He gripped her arms to steady her and looked down into her face, his eyes now dark, devoid of laughter. 'I think we'd better go at once,' he said huskily and unsteadily.

For the first time Domini became conscious of curious spectators. She held Sander's gaze and quivered with expectation, because she was sure no man could kiss so passionately without demanding more. 'This isn't the right place to make love,' she agreed happily, with all the directness of her nature.

Sander's face tightened. 'Is there a right place?' he muttered grimly and somewhat obscurely, bundling her towards one of the omnipresent taxicabs of Paris. Throughout the trip to the pension he remained silent, his head thrust back against the seat and his eyes resolutely closed. He didn't touch Domini. His expression was not prepossessing; he appeared to be in a black and brooding mood. Wary because of his previous rejections, Domini sat well away from him, her throat in a knot, wondering what his enigmatic pronouncement had meant. Did he intend to make love to her or not?

He escorted her up the squeaking stairs of the pension and came to a standstill on the second-floor landing near the door of her room. Domini avoided his eyes, wanting any advances to come from him. 'Thank you for bringing me home,' she said, and because she wasn't accustomed to hiding her feelings, her voice betrayed her lovesickness and her longing.

Sander nodded in acknowledgment and remained silent for a moment. Then he said unexpectedly, with far more warmth than usual, 'I went to the Louvre yesterday. Did you know they'd moved your portrait to a more prominent place?'

It had been in a prominent place before. 'Papa will be pleased,' Domini said, feeling a stiffness in her lips because she had not yet grown accustomed to this kind of polite, meaningless talk. If he wanted to come into her room, why didn't he simply say so? And if he didn't want to come in, why didn't he simply leave?

'The yellows look good in the new location,' Sander said quite gently. Domini knew he was trying to set her at ease but it didn't help; her fists were clenched in misery. Sander sighed and added, more abruptly, 'Did you know that unicorns are never yellow?'

She shook her head, still not looking at him, still unsure of his intentions. She opened her door, not enough that it looked like an invitation, but enough to suggest that she was ready to let the encounter come to an end.

'White is the right colour, according to legend. Yesterday, after the Louvre, I also went to the library to look up unicorns.'

'You were that. . . interested?' Domini said, her pulses fluttering as she darted one swift glance at him. Might he be leading up to something after all?

'You intrigue me,' Sander said soberly. 'I can't understand what makes you tick. I had the crazy notion that the unicorn might provide a key, perhaps because it's only a myth, as unreal as.. .as you are.'

'I'm made of flesh and blood,' she said, trembling, hurt.

'Of course you are.' He smiled, his eyes warming. 'And feelings too. But there's a quality about you that's very rare, and your father captured it in his painting. Since the first time I saw you, I haven't been able to get it out of my mind.' He spoke swiftly, not allowing Domini a chance to comment. 'I was interested in one quote I read at the library, and I wish I had read it weeks ago. It came from a book written in the thirteenth century, when men were mystics and really believed in mythical animals. Perhaps you should hear it; it might help you understand my feelings towards you and what I'm about to ask of you.'

'Tell me,' she said, still holding her breath.

'Here it is then, not exact but as near as I can remember. It's to do with hunting the unicorn. According to legend, it can be caught in only one way ... by placing a young virgin in the area where it roams.'

Domini really looked at him now, her eyes widening and her heart racing. She was sure he could only mean one thing. His eyes were unreadable but his mouth was encouraging, more encouraging than she had ever seen it before. Hope leaped in her blood, like champagne bubbles, bursting into life when the bottle is opened. She gazed at him and thought she understood, and gladness rose inside her like a freed bird. Sander wanted her; he wanted her!

'No sooner does the unicorn see the virgin,' Sander went on with a dark enigma in his eyes, 'than he runs towards her and lies down at her feet, and so suffers himself to be caught. I wish that ...'

'Sander, is that you?' called a woman's voice. Bringing his recitation to an abrupt halt, Sander turned to the source of the interruption, and so did Domini. It was Nicole, craning over the banister, clad in a striped jersey minishift as skimpy as it was flattering. When she saw she had been correct in her guess, she came down the stairs, yawning. Clearly she hadn't been up for long; her hair was still tousled, and although her eyes were made up she had not yet donned her usual dark red lipstick for the day.

'Did you remember the croissants?' she asked Sander.

'No.' The word was somewhat curt. He made no apology and gave no explanation, and to Domini it seemed that he too was annoyed at the interruption, a matter that tended to confirm her conclusions. Oh, why had Nicole turned up just at the critical moment? Sander had been about to state his desire for her; Domini knew it with every yearning fibre of her infatuated heart.

'But you promised, cheri.' Nicole pouted. She draped manicured hands over Sander's arm in a possessive gesture that caused Domini an agitation of emotion she didn't recognize, because she had never before experienced intense jealousy. 'Will you take me to a cafe, then? I'm famished.'

Sander nodded his assent. 'Go on upstairs, Nicole,' he said crisply. 'I'll be with you in a moment. I want to have a word with Didi.'

Nicole flicked a glance at Domini, her almond eyes thoughtful. Well aware of Sander's quarrel with the younger girl, she was instantly curious. 'Are you two making friends?' she asked lightly, smiling.

'So it would seem,' Sander replied dryly. 'Now go, Nicole, this is a private matter.'

Nicole's eyes narrowed briefly, but she took one step towards the stairs. 'Don't be long, cheri. It won't take me a minute to put on my lipstick.' She gestured towards Domini with a watchful half-smile that seemed too patronizing. 'I don't suppose you have anything to say to your new little friend that can't be said in one minute.'