Winds of Nightsong. V. J. Banis
of rooms. Instead, he’d taxi over to Madame Clair’s and see if Denise was free for the afternoon. Denise was the whore, crude and crass, whom he’d met on the train the night he first arrived in France. She’d initiated him into the mysteries of sex in his private compartment, and since then he’d been unable to get enough of what she so willingly and expensively offered him.
As he turned from the door of the pension, it opened and the concierge beamed at him. “Good morning, Monsieur Nightsong,” she said. “There is a cable for you on the hall table. It came just after you went out.”
Marcus looked surprised and a bit upset. He wasn’t expecting to hear from anyone, and a cable always meant bad news.
“It is from America,” the old woman said as she held the door for him to enter and motioned to the marble table that sat along the wall of the large foyer.
Marcus tore open the flap and read the cablegram:
ARRIVING SOUTHAMPTON ON FRIDAY ABOARD THE LUSITANIA. CAN YOU MEET MY BOAT? AMELIA.
“Good news?” the concierge asked as Marcus folded the cable and put it in his pocket.
“Yes. My fiancée is coming to England. I’ll meet her in Southampton.”
The old woman kissed her fingertips and threw the kiss into the air. “Ah, l’amour. It is what makes life pleasurable. You must bring your young lady here so that I can meet her. I will fix up rooms for her.”
“I don’t know how long she intends staying, Madame Tourmet. I don’t even know why she’s coming.”
“She is coming because she is in love with my handsome Marcus. Why else?”
“I think it’s more than that. Something must be wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong when two young people are in love. A young lady would never travel across the ocean just to bring bad news. When does she arrive?”
“Friday. We’ll stay in London, I suppose. If she can come here, I’ll send you word.”
Marcus was worried. It wasn’t like Amelia to do anything without a lot of planning. The cable, he’d noticed, had been sent from aboard ship. This was Wednesday, which meant she’d waited until she was almost in Southampton before cabling him. He wondered why.
Of course she hadn’t been too pleased when he’d announced his intention to return to Paris to help his mother straighten out the mess left behind after Raymond’s death. He was no expert businessman, but Leon had thought it advisable to have a family member in the Paris office to keep things tidy and running the way the Nightsongs wanted them run. Marcus knew he was little more than a figurehead, but he was a Nightsong and the employees and officers of the company gave him every courtesy even though he did nothing more than look at their reports and insist upon seeing receipts and expense and production figures the two or three days he visited the offices each week.
He didn’t much like the idea of working as a perfume manufacturer, but it was his father’s business as well as his mother’s and he felt duty-bound to do what he could for them.
“You and Leon are the only two sons I have,” his mother had told him after Peter MacNair’s funeral. “Empress Cosmetics and MacNair Products will belong to you when I’m gone. It isn’t too soon for you to start learning the trade, Marcus.”
But the trade was of no interest to him. Marcus could read a balance sheet and knew how to study a journal and a ledger book. He was quick with figures, but his mind kept wandering away to thoughts of motor acceleration units and pressure gauge readings and numbers of miles per minute. These were the figures that really fascinated him.
Although he felt somewhat guilty about it, he couldn’t help resenting Amelia’s ill-timed visit. There was a race at Le Mans this weekend, which he’d been planning to attend. Perhaps he could talk her into coming with him, but then he’d be forced to stay on the sidelines instead of mingling with the mechanics and drivers and examine the engines of the newer racing cars, his usual practice. He wanted to get grease on his face and hands, smell the oil and gasoline and the burning of rubber.
He touched the pocket where he’d put Amelia’s cablegram. Suddenly he had no interest in going to see Denise. Instead he’d go up to his rooms, change his clothes, and stop in at the Empress Cosmetics offices. There were a lot of things he could do to keep himself busy in Paris until Amelia arrived in Southampton. He didn’t have to see Denise. He didn’t want to see her.
Back in his rooms, he started to think of Amelia’s beautiful face and her perfect, young, exciting body. Maybe he should go to Southampton tomorrow in case her ship docked early. His blood started to race as he considered the possibility that she might even let him make love to her for the first time.
He found himself becoming aroused at the thought of holding Amelia naked in his arms. Denise was nothing but a physical outlet, he admitted to himself. Amelia was the true treasure of whom he knew he would never tire. God, how he wanted her. Denise had introduced him to pleasures he never thought a man could possibly experience. To enjoy those pleasures with Amelia, a woman he truly loved, would surely be like heaven on earth.
As it happened, the Lusitania docked a day late, and Marcus was annoyed at having missed the races at Le Mans. When he saw Amelia stepping down the passageway, however, he felt no emotion except the terrible ache of love. She was carrying a small jewel case and wore a pale blue travelling outfit that set off her dark hair and enchanting blue eyes. She had on a small hat with a long pheasant feather and a tight-fitting, ankle-length skirt that flared slightly at the bottom and clung seductively to the sensual curve of her hips and buttocks.
She ran into his arms the moment she saw him. “Oh my beautiful Marcus,” she cried as she flung herself at him, kissing him unashamedly on the mouth. “I’ve missed you so terribly.”
“Amelia.” It was all he could say. His heart was so full, his love so great. Everything was forgotten, all his restlessness and indecision. He wanted nothing more than to stay in her arms forever.
Once inside their compartment on the night train to London, his thoughts veered in another direction. He remembered having shared a similar compartment with the whore Denise, who’d taken him into her mouth and brought him to orgasm. He was thinking of that now, looking at the delicate fullness of Amelia’s mouth and wondering if she would ever do such a thing. It seemed unlikely, yet he wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything.
“Darling,” he said, drawing her into his arms and kissing her passionately. He moved his hand down slightly and cupped her breast.
“Marcus, behave yourself,” she said, blushing and looking at the raised curtains on the door leading to the corridor.
“I can’t help myself. I want to touch you all over.”
“Marcus,” she admonished, adjusting her hat and patting her hair nervously. “Living in Paris has changed you, I see.” She smiled seductively. “I’m not sure I approve of the change. You’re looking at me quite lewdly, you realize.”
His penis was pulsing to erection as he kissed her again. “I feel quite lewd,” he murmured.
“Please, Marcus,” she whispered, pushing him away gently.
“I want you so badly, Amelia.”
She wanted him as badly and damned her righteous upbringing, her sense of propriety, for keeping her from throwing herself into his arms, ripping away his suit, baring herself to him, and letting him ravage her. She saw the lust in his eyes and lowered her eyelids to hide her own desire. She began to tremble as he took her hand and placed it over the erection that was pulsing under his trouser leg.
She let her hand touch it for an instant and then immediately pulled away. The temptation was too great. She couldn’t trust herself.
“Don’t you want me?”
“Oh yes, darling, I do want you so very much. But can’t we wait until things are as they should be?”
“Damn,”