Little Love Song

"And the air out here is particularly refreshing," he agreed, wiping some more icy water out of his eyes.

Valerie conjured up a watery smile, harder than one might think, considering the circumstances.

"Look, shall we go and sit down somewhere we can dry off?"

Valerie looked at him warily. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, there's a good pub about two streets away, if you don't mind a bit more walking. They even have an open fire, if memory serves correctly."

"OK, but -- don't you have to be anywhere?"

"No no, I've finished playing for the night and your friend -- Lucinda? She said she'd take your things and I was to drop you off at her place when I'd tracked you down."

They started walking down the street, their feet making sad, splashy thuds on the wet pavement.

"You spoke to Lucinda?"

"We both ran after you when you left. She agreed I could catch you, as long as I took you back to her."

Valerie smiled. Typical Lucinda trying to matchmake even in a situation like this!

The young man smiled as if he, too, had suspicions about Lucinda's motives.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur Vincente. Lucie can be... Well... She likes getting involved in other people's lives."

"That's OK. Oh, and it's Edouarde."

"Edouarde...?" Valerie put a strong emphasis on the French pronunciation of the name and raised her eyebrows at him.

"Well... Alright -- Edward." They both smiled conspiratorially. "You have to admit, Edward Vincent doesn't have quite the same ring to it, does it?"

"It does to a Frenchwoman!"

"Well I suppose that makes sense. Look, don't blame me. My agent thought it'd add a certain..." He waved his hands as he searched for the right phrase. "Well, je ne sais pas to me as a 'product'."

He giggled at the inescapability of the French phrase, and Valerie felt her spirits lift a little from the bitter and gloomy depths in which they had been sunk. His nose had crinkled up when he laughed, and she could see the little boy he had been. She warmed to him more, even as her awareness of the age-gap between them strengthened.

They chatted away as they walked to the pub, the subject matter limited strictly to inane topics that stayed near the shallow surfaces of polite small-talk.

The warmth, as they entered the pub, was palpable and immediately noticeable. The cigarette smoky smell of pubs was a thing of the past, but a big log fire blazed in an old-fashioned inglenook fireplace, giving off the most wonderful wood-smoke that filled Valerie's nostrils and delighted her senses.

Thursday evening was obviously not a popular pub-going night. The plush banquettes and squashy armchairs were mostly empty, even the prime spots near the fire. Valerie settled herself in the comfortable chair nearest the fire, forced to let Edward buy the drinks due to her handbag now being in Lucinda's possession.

She leaned back with a sigh, clutching her glass of red wine tightly and watching her ankles start to gently steam in the heat. Her silk shirt was still clinging to her uncomfortably, and she gradually became aware that her nipples had hardened and were now clearly visible through her almost transparent shirt. She plucked futilely at the wet silk that had taken on the adhesive qualities of superglue. If Edward hadn't been staring at her chest before, he was now.

Valerie blushed in his direct stare. A glazed look had come across his face, which both amused and embarrassed her.

"Edward...?" He looked up; guilty that he had been caught leering at her.

"Sorry, I..."

She waved her hand dismissively. "Don't worry. There's not much left to the imagination, is there?" She smiled to reassure him, and then asked the question that had been bothering her all evening. "Where did you learn to speak French like that? Only a Frenchman could have noticed that you were not, I think."

"My Step-dad is French, my mum married him when I was about twelve and we moved over there. I had to learn French to get along, even though I went to an English school. Then I decided to go to University over there, so I had to become even more fluent."

"And that's where you learned music?" And such rough, slangy French, she thought to herself.

"Yeah, pretty much. I've always played the piano, my dad was musical. Then, when I moved to Paris, there were so many jazz clubs and things going on -- I started playing with some friends and then I got asked to come back for a regular gig and well, it kind of grew from there."

"But you're classically trained?"

"Actually..." He leant forward, confidingly, and lowered his voice. "I'm not. I just, kind of implied that I was when I got my first job in England, and they believed me because they thought I was French. From then on, all the jobs I've got have been word of mouth and the rumours just," he shrugged guiltily, "grew."

He smirked shamefacedly, and Valerie couldn't help but laugh. It explained a lot though: his youth, for one, his remarkably intuitive renditions of the classical pieces, and his tendency to mix in fragments of jazz and swing music.

"I won't tell anyone," she promised. She wouldn't, either. It amused her to think of those rich and pompous prats paying to see a 'classically trained pianist' who was really a big fat fraud.

They smiled at each other in complicity and sipped from their drinks.

"So..."

"So...?"

"So why did you run out of the hall like that?"

Valerie said nothing, staring down into the ruby depths of her wine.

"You don't have to tell me." He said, misunderstanding her silence.

"No, no, it's OK. It's just... I saw my ex-husband there."

"Oh."

"With his new wife."

"Oh."

"And..." She sighed a heartfelt sigh and swallowed down a rising sob. "She was pregnant."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." She conjured up a strained smile and, looking into his kind eyes, decided to tell him the truth. She was getting into deep waters here, flirting with such a young man. Perhaps revealing the full extent of the baggage she was carrying around would force him to back off a little and save her from making a fool of herself.

"Martin and I were together for a long time. At first we waited to have children because we got married young and wanted to enjoy being together. Then we wanted to have a bit more in savings before we tried for a baby. Then Martin wanted to move to a bigger house, and then he wanted to wait until he got a promotion. By then I was in my late thirties, we'd been married for over fifteen years and we had stopped having sex. It wasn't long after I'd given up any hope of having children and decided to devote myself to my husband that he came home with some divorce papers that he wanted me to sign. And there he is with his new wife, they've only been married a year and she's pregnant already."

She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice and deliberately didn't express her emotions, but the situation was simple enough to understand and her pain was obvious in her clipped words and brusque tone. Edward leant forward and placed his hand over hers as it lay on the arm of her chair.

They sat still for a moment, then Valerie cleared her throat to speak and Edward took his hand back. For a moment, electricity had sparked between them and something had hung in the air like an unspoken question.

"Anyway, Lucinda reckons I need a hobby in order to get over him." Technically it wasn't a change of subject, but after the intimate moment they had just shared the interruption was jarring.

"Well, have you any ideas?"

"Not really. My main hobby was always drawing, but I've made a living out of that, and now my hobby is my work." She shrugged and leant back in her chair. "Perhaps I should take up music. I so loved hearing you play tonight."

"Well, I teach piano. Not 'officially;' not for people who want to do grades, but those who want to play for the enjoyment of it, like me."

This was definitely an invitation. He'd heard the worst of her baggage, seen her at her worst with her hair wet and bedraggled and makeup smeared, but still he was proposing an arrangement that would enable them to spend time together. She felt astonished and a little bit blind-sided.

She was unbelievably attracted to this young man and, despite all of her efforts, he was seemingly oblivious to her resistance and kept on wooing her. She felt her resolve crumble as she gave in to the inevitable.

"That would be wonderful. Merci Edouarde."

"Then I will drive you back to your friend's house, and when you are reunited with your diary, we can make a date."

He stood up, waited for her to stand too, and then ushered her to the door with a hand lightly pressed to her lower back. He opened the door, and Valerie stepped out into the drizzle, the small of her back burning where he had touched her.

* * * * *

Valerie got up and ran to the mirror once more. It had been such a long time since she had tried to be sexually alluring that she was terrified she would get it wrong. She was attempting a naturally sexy look, because it was far worse to think that she might look utterly desperate and over-made-up than to be slightly too casual.

Her hair was twisted back, and she had abandoned her usual black for a grass-green top that made her eyes seem slightly hazel. She had even put on a little makeup, although the bright red lipstick had seemed a bit too overt for the daytime. Lucinda was due any minute to take her to Edward's house, and the week that had passed since she saw him last had wrought a strange change in her.

She had thought about him constantly, to the detriment of her work. All the pages of her sketchbooks had little doodles in the corners, Edward's name, Edward's face, little hearts and cupids. She was acting like a teenage girl. She had even, and she blushed to think of it, started touching herself again.

She had masturbated frantically during the last, sad years of her marriage; the release of orgasm her only outlet -- emotional or physical. When she found herself suddenly single again, something in her had frozen and she didn't want to think about sex or anything remotely sexual in nature. It was amazing how quickly that had grown into a habit, until anything connected with sex made her feel connected to Martin and his betrayal; dirtying her.

This changed when she thought about Edward. His charming smile, his tenderness, his humour and understanding, the way she felt when he touched her: everything about him made her tingle. She thought about him when she had got home after that night; the hot water running over her in the shower as she tried to warm up. An idle thought made her wonder what Edward was doing right now -- was he, too, naked in the shower?

Shivering as she imagined him naked she turned the heat of the water up. She knew that he had broad shoulders, she could tell that from looking at him. She bet his stomach was flat, too, not all swollen and gross like Martin's had become. Yes, she bet Edward's stomach was flat and taut, the muscles down each side slanting diagonally in towards the centre, a sparse trail of dark hair leading the eye down from the navel.

Her hands, lathered in soap, had slipped over her breasts, brushing her stiff, swollen nipples and sending frissons through her tense body. Her eyes closed, she leaned against the chilly, tiled wall for balance as she pictured the last details of Edward's naked body: his cock. She sighed as she thought it. What would it be like? Her right hand stroked down her belly as she thought about it.

It would have to be fairly long, she thought, sliding one cautious finger between the lips of her pussy to rub her clit. Yes, because he was tall. So it would be long and pale-skinned, like him. A second finger joined the first, prising herself apart so she could stroke, her fingers moving round and round in tiny little circles. Dark, thick curls would cluster round the base of the shaft, hiding his balls. She could almost feel the springy hair against her face as she imagined kissing up his thigh.

Flickering, buzzing feelings coursed through her body, setting her breasts and pussy aflame with desire. She longed to be touched, and ran her free hand roughly across her naked body to try to satisfy her urge. The hand between her legs moved faster now, her stomach muscles clenching, pulling in, trying to hasten that magical moment. She felt it growing now, swelling and blossoming: her whole body shuddering from the impact of the orgasm.

She opened her eyes slowly, disorientated. The hot water beat down on the back of her head and the tiles were cold against her flushed cheek. Her knees trembled as she stood up straight. She felt weak, yet cleansed. A new era of her life was imminent, and the thought both terrified and excited her. Her body thrilled with the joy of renewed sexual desire, and Edward was its only object.

That desire had stayed with her all week. Each night before sleep, and even at odd times during the day, she had touched herself as she thought of him. She had longed for today, when she would see him again; spend time with him. Now that the time for her lesson was here, however, she was as jumpy as a cat that'd seen the travelling basket that signalled a trip to the vet's.

The doorbell rang downstairs and she actually did jump. Adrenaline surged through her body and she ran downstairs, her heart racing with fear, excitement and anticipation.

She could see Lucinda's plump form through the rippled glass in the front door, and tried to act calm as she opened it.

"Are you ready?" Lucinda obviously wasn't fooled by Valerie's attempts at cool, calm and collected, but for once was tactful enough not to mention it.

Valerie grabbed up her bag, fumbling as she picked up her keys and struggled into her coat. "Yes. I'm ready."

"Come on then."

They walked down to Lucinda's expensive silver car and got in, all in complete silence.

"You're sure he's OK to give you a lift back?"

"Yes yes. I made sure to let him know you didn't mind picking me up."

"You know, you really should look into getting a car, Val."

"Well, I don't need one very often. It seemed like a bit of a waste of money."

"Hrmm." Lucinda didn't say anything, knowing not to push the point.

They held a companionable silence as they drove the ten minutes to Edward's road. "Number 22, was it?"

"Yes. Just there on the right."

"OK. Well. Take care. Enjoy yourself."

"I will. Thank you, Lucie."

Lucinda smiled tightly, worried that her friend was getting in too deep, too fast, but unable to say anything after her integral role in this 'affaire.' She drove off fast, leaving Valerie standing nervously just outside the door to Edward's house.

She dithered on the doorstep: too eager to see him to run away, but too afraid of her own feelings to ring the doorbell. She drew a deep breath and pressed the buzzer, only to be faced with an open door.

"I saw you from the window."

Valerie smiled as she saw him standing there. He was even more handsome than she remembered, and his warm smile and enthusiastic welcome reassured her that her attachment was probably not all one-sided.

"Please, come in." He stood back to allow her past him, and she gulped as she caught the warm, tangy scent of him. She hoped that her own application of expensive French perfume made a similar impression, and blushed in the dim light of the hall at such an adolescent, insecure kind of thought. She honestly felt about fifteen again, unsure of herself and second-guessing everything he did and said, hoping that it would give her something to go on.

"Would you like something to drink first, or shall we start with the lesson?"

"What kind of drink?"

He smiled broadly. "Well, we're in England, so I ought to offer you a cup of tea, but I also have a very good coffee machine and a bottle of Burgundy, so it's your choice."

Valerie giggled. "I think I would like some wine, but it is probably not a good idea that I drink before I try to play."

"Well, that makes sense. Alright. We'll have the lesson first. The piano is in here."

He took her coat and scarf, and showed her a small front room which was almost entirely consumed by a baby-grand piano. Its sleek black belly curved inside the broad bay window that looked out onto the street, while the keyboard was at an angle to the door. A watery ray of sunlight fell across the mirror-polished top of the piano, and the whole room seemed to be designed specifically for the instrument.

Cautiously, Valerie sat down on the stool in front of it. The keyboard was a deep cream, with hairline cracks crazing the surface; the black keys interrupting the clean sweep of white keys at regular intervals.

She turned to look around at Edward, unsure whether she was doing right. He nodded, smiled and pulled over a stool so he could sit on her left.

"Do you know where Middle C is?"

She reached out a long index finger, stained grey with ink on the first joint, and pressed down on a key.

"OK. Very good."

She smiled in relief, her sudden beam lighting up her otherwise tense and serious face.

"Can you play a scale from Middle C? Just the right hand?"

She played tentatively up the keys from 'C', pausing when she got to her fifth finger, and then playing back down again.

"Alright, so we need to work on scales then." He smiled kindly. "How about tunes? Do you know anything?"

She thought for a moment, feeling like a small child trying to impress an adult. She admired his authority and responded almost unconsciously.

She reached out a hand and started playing a tune she could remember playing with her friend at school; a one-handed piece that was part of a duet. She was surprised and enchanted when Edward joined in, playing the second part of the duet. It was only a simple little thing, but it felt like such an achievement and she delighted in joining with Edward in a partnership of sorts.

They played through a couple of times, until Edward finished with a flourish, leaving Valerie flushed and laughing.

The lesson progressed joyously from that point. Edward showed off a little, playing her one of the pieces he had played at the concert. He then spent some time explaining the basic mechanics of music, such as semi-tones, octaves and the like. The hour passed rapidly, finishing with Edward showing Valerie the fingering required to play scales, an undertaking which required his holding her hand to move the fingers to the correct positions.

She closed her eyes when he touched her, momentarily dizzied by the contact. She opened them to find him gazing at her seriously, still holding her hand.

"Try that," he urged gently, placing her hand back on the keyboard. Her heart racing, Valerie lightly ran her fingers up the keys, stumbling a little on the second octave.

"Good, you just need to tuck your thumb under more. If you arch these fingers," he touched the fingers lightly with his own, "then it should be easier."

Valerie drew in a huge gulp of air. It felt as though they were both hovering on the brink of a precipice, but one of them needed to push a little before they could fall.

"Which fingers, Edward?" She held her hand out to him, her eyes serious and her lips parted slightly.

"These ones." He took her hand in his again, stroking along the length of her two, slender fingers with his thumb.

He sat, looking down at her hand, stroking it lightly. Valerie held herself rigidly still. She had made her move, slight as it was and now waited for him to respond. She hadn't the nerve to throw herself at him any more forcefully than she already had, and needed his encouragement before she would do anything more.

Edward seemed to be thinking, weighing things up in his mind. Keeping his eyes on Valerie's hand he raised it up to his face. Then, looking up at her hesitantly, he bent his head to kiss her fingers.