Skeleton Dance

'I'm relieved to hear it.'

She stirred her tea and laid down her spoon. “On the other hand, another day like today and I just might change my mind.'

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 11

* * * *

'Mmm,” Julie said luxuriously, “what a lovely way to start the day.'

Gideon smiled. “Not bad.'

He moved his face, only six inches from hers, even closer, to brush his lips along the warm, velvet curve of her cheek. “I'm sorry I was such a miserable grouch yesterday. I sure love you.'

'Mmm,” she said again with her eyes closed, arching her neck to press her face against his.

'You have the world's most absolutely gorgeous submaxillary triangle, did I ever tell you that?” he murmured into her throat.

'Yes, many times,” she said sleepily. “It never fails to take my breath away.'

His fingertips glided over the tender flesh beneath her chin. “The soft swell of your Digastricus—'

'Thank you. Now, shh.” With a practiced motion that was all the more affecting because of its easy, familiar intimacy, she pushed on his shoulder to let him know she wanted him on his back. Having arranged him to her satisfaction, she patted his chest as if she were plumping a pillow, worked her head into the hollow of his shoulder, threw one round, sturdy leg over him, sighed, and fell back asleep. Gideon remained awake but was content—much more than content—to lie without moving, his arm under the weight of her and his fingers curled loosely in her dark hair, utterly relaxed and empty of mind, conscious of little more than her closeness and the clean, sweet, warm smell of her. The window was open; dappled morning sunshine filtered through the slats of the wooden shutters, making patterns on the floor and paler, shifting, green-tinged reflections on the ceiling. Time passed.

'I hope,” he said, when she began to move and stretch, “that in addition to being pleasant, this morning's, um, activity proved to you that I am back in command of my capacities.'

She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “I was worried about your head, not—'

'My head is fine too,” he said. “Everything is fine.” It was, too, or very nearly. “Tell me, what can I do to convince you?'

'Well . . .” She rolled onto her back, yawning. “Maybe if you went downstairs and came back with a couple of cafes au lait, that might do it.'

He kissed her one more time and climbed out of bed. “Give me five minutes.'

Julie snuggled back under the covers and closed her eyes again. “You might want to put on some clothes first,” she said, snickered quietly to herself, and went back to sleep.

* * * *

At one side of the Hotel Cro-Magnon, enclosed by crumbling stone walls covered by trailing ivy, was a private breakfast garden with a few round tables of filigreed metal; a sheltered oasis of shade trees, bright flowers, and potted plants no more than ten yards from the main street. It was here, at an umbrellaed table, with the last droplets of morning dew still shimmering on the leaves around them, that they sat awaiting their breakfasts half an hour later.

'What's your schedule this morning?” Julie asked. “Do you see Jacques Beaupierre first?'

'Yes, that seemed like the right protocol. He's on for ten o'clock, followed at ten-thirty by Pru, who's probably going to be the most informative, then Montfort and the rest of them.'

'You're just doing half-hour interviews? You could have done that over the phone from home. Not that I'm complaining,” she said, taking in the scene around them.

'These are just the introductory sessions, to give me an overview. I'm sure I'll have follow-up questions for them later.'

'M'sieu-m'dame,” said Madame Leyssales, the proprietress, bearing a tray heavily loaded with their cafes complets—big stoneware pitchers of coffee and hot milk, little ceramic pots of jam and butter, and heaped baskets of warm rolls and croissants. Each of the empty coffee cups had a third of a baguette standing upright in it, wrapped in a napkin.

Julie's eyes widened. “Wow, things have changed in France. I seem to remember rather small breakfasts, by and large.'

'It's not that,” Madame Leyssales said as she set the tray down. “It's only that I remember the gentleman and his appetite from the last time he was here.'

'And bless you for it, madame,” Gideon said, tucking in at once. “I haven't had anything since lunch yesterday.'

'Bon appetit,” she said unnecessarily and retired.

It wasn't until the coffee was half-gone, the baskets half-emptied, and the table littered with flakes of croissant, that Gideon sat back with a sigh. “Now, where were we?'

'You were telling me your schedule.'

'Right—Julie, aren't you having any croissants at all? You can't get them like this in the States.'