Poirot's Chronicles - Hercule Ch. 06byvelvetpie©
A great many people have undertaken to portray Agatha Christie's Belgian detective, Hercule Poirot, but in my opinion, none has done it as well as David Suchet, star of ITW productions of Poirot. It is his image that I use as my visual and those of Hugh Fraser (Captain Hastings), Pauline Moran (Miss Lemon) and Philip Jackson (Chief Inspector Japp). ENJOY!
The concert had been sensational. Joceline glowed on the stage, winning numerous encores and captivating the audience in a way that she hadn't in weeks. Even the orchestra director noticed her effervescence, applauding her from his podium. She took several bows, her shining eyes locked onto Poirot's and her smile grew even wider. Afterwards, Poirot and Hastings collected her from a crowded dressing room of ardent fans and snuck her out into the crisp night air.
"Miss Tarrant, you were fantastic this evening!"
Joceline gave Hastings a hug. "Thank you." She smiled, turning to Poirot who took her hand, giving it a squeeze. "And thank you for bringing him."
"Can't thank me for that, I'm afraid. Your letter took care of that." Joceline couldn't resist grinning at Poirot again who unabashedly returned the gesture. "Listen, I'm going to go back to the hotel. You two go along without me."
"Hastings! What are you saying? We're going to dinner together!"
"Absolutely, Captain Hastings." Joceline linked her arm through his. "I won't hear of it."
Tears of gratitude glistened in his eyes. "Well, I … "
Joceline ignored the blustering man and nearly skipped, sandwiched on the arms of two wonderful men and feeling as if she were on top of the world. "Now, where shall we dine?"
Hastings was losing the battle. His eyes were drooping and he longed to rest his forehead on the clean linen tablecloth just to make the room stop spinning. He surmised that he had had too much to drink but he didn't care. To see Poirot happy, he would have drunk twice as much. His only wish was that he still had control of his legs. Just now, they didn't seem to be listening to his wishes. The combination of fine cabernet, fine sherry and exhaustion finally claimed him and he slumped over in the chair.
Poirot and Joceline were oblivious to Hastings. They slowly moved about the dance floor, hands clutched together over his heart and their bodies pressed close together. His lips pressed softly against her cheek, ear and forehead and she sighed in absolute bliss. After a marvelous dinner of sole almandine and haricots verts, the detective had invited the singer to dance and seven songs later, they were still on the floor, enjoying each other's company.
His smiling lips pressed against her forehead. "I think it is time for us to go."
"I don't want to go yet." She sighed, turning her face to his. "I'm having a great time."
"As am I." Poirot kissed her lips quickly, not trusting himself to give her a more lingering buss. "But Hastings … "
Joceline followed his gesture and saw Hastings slumped over the table. "Oh, my goodness! Yes. Let's go, by all means!"
It took a few minutes to rouse the deeply sleeping Hastings and get him into a taxi. Poirot paid the fare and requested the driver to take him to the hotel. Hastings tried to argue but he was too tired. However, he did not argue when Joceline insisted on giving him a kiss on the cheek and lapsed into a happy slumber. Poirot hailed another taxi and they headed to Joceline's flat so that she could pick up some things. He wanted her in his bed this evening.
"Would you like me to come up with you?"
"No, it'll only take me a few minutes." She leaned over and kissed him, sighed at the feeling of his mouth taking hers. "I'll be right back."
Poirot released her and watched her walk up the short path and open the door with a key. She had barely stepped inside when she screamed and came running back to the car. "What's wrong? What is it?"
"My home! There's blood everywhere!"
An hour later, she was still trembling and Poirot was incensed. The French police had taken care of the scene with their analysis being that the blood was from an animal, most likely a pig but that didn't calm Joceline. With the words LEAVE OR DIE written with the blood and all the walls smeared with it, she could do nothing but tremble. Poirot was incensed because someone had scared the living daylights out of her and she didn't deserve it.
"Monsieur Poirot?" The head officer called him over and gave him a satchel with the few items of clothing and collectibles that hadn't been ruined. "This was all we were able to salvage."
"Merci." Poirot took the case and headed for the taxi that Joceline waited in. Her makeup had run and her eyes looked puffy from crying. He gathered her into his arms and held her close as the tears came again. "It's all right, Lina. You shall be with me from now on."
"Oh, Hercule. It was so … " She sobbed. "There was so much blood!"
"It was the blood of an animal, Lina. Don't let it get to you too much. The good captain has notified the landlord and it will all be cleaned up and taken care of." He tightened his arms around her. "You can stay with me at the hotel or we can find you another place, whatever you'd like."
"I want to stay with you, Hercule." She murmured into the thick cloth of his jacket. "Wherever you are, I want to be there."
"And so you shall be, my Lina." The taxi pulled into the early morning traffic, heading for the hotel.
Poirot left Joceline in the room and immediately went to Hastings' room, informing him of the death threat and the blood. Hastings was appalled, even in a state of half-sleep, and promised to help investigate in any way he could as long as he could get a few hours' more of sleep. Poirot agreed, noting that it was three o'clock in the morning and left his friend once again snoring loudly in the land of slumber.
He used his key when he entered the room and stood in the doorway of the bedroom, his heart fluttering in his chest. Joceline was sprawled out across the bed, her torso covered in one of his white dress shirts. Her long legs stretched out, ending in short toes and she had unpinned her hair, letting the dark waves crest over the pillow, ending in silky curls. He removed his jacket, placing it over the caddy and slipped his shoes off, sitting next to her. He couldn't help himself as he reached for a length of hair and rubbed the strands against his fingers.
For some reason, he felt as he was watching someone from afar, someone wearing his clothes and his skin, touching the hair of this beautiful woman. This shouldn't be him sitting here, should it? This wasn't the life of Hercule Poirot, was it? Where was the detached nature that had served him so well? The quiet cunning, the not-so-subtle arrogance? All of the weapons he usually had at his disposal to keep the world at an arm's length could not serve him now. The walls were down and he had no earthly idea of how to resurrect them.
"Hercule?" Her soft voice brought him back to the present, her eyes gently questioning. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers, curling his tongue around hers. "Is Captain Hastings all right?"
"Oui, mon amour." He said soothingly. "But I should be asking you the same question."
"I am fine." Joceline lifted his hand and pressed a wet kiss to the inside of his palm, letting her lips linger. "You're here with me."
"Lina, I … "
"Hercule, I want you to make love to me … " She sat up, her long hair fanning out over her shoulders. "But there are some things that I want you to know first."
"Lina, it's not necessary."
"Yes, it is." Joceline pulled herself up onto her knees, cupping his face in her hands. "I want to give myself to you, Hercule, but I can't do that without you knowing my past."
Ordinarily, Poirot would push a person like her away but his keen senses and the underused muscle pulsing in his chest convinced him to take a chance. "All right, Lina."
Joceline's story began simply. She had arrived on these shores, wide-eyed and filled with the excitement of a first time visitor to Europe. It was hard to find a job singing. No one believed that a 19-year old woman could sing, especially since she was black, so she was denied dozens of auditions. A friend of hers told her about an opening at Lord Jarrett Wilmouth's estate. Desperate to make a living, she went to the estate, in the hopes of securing a job.
"Jarrett was a handsome man. I guess I got taken by his pretty face." She refused the comfort that Poirot offered, opting to prove her emotional mettle to him. "He took me aside after the first interview and told me that I was the most beautiful black woman he'd ever seen. I was flattered, of course." She knitted her fingers together, fidgeting uncomfortably. "I was young, Hercule … "
He quietly shushed her, wrapping his hands around her and patiently waiting until she was prepared to continue. "I understand, Lina. Please, go on."
"After I was hired, I was so happy. I had a good job with a kind family and Jarrett was so attentive to me. Of course, he couldn't do so in front of his parents but he would catch me at the odd moment and swing me around. Or leave marigolds in the pocket of my uniform. Or touch my cheek when he said goodnight." Joceline paused, her brown eyes filling with tears at the bittersweet memories. "Then, one night, he told me that he had fallen in love with me and wanted to marry me.
"I knew that his parents would never consent but I was living a fantasy, I guess. And when he gave me the ring, I thought he was serious and that I'd found my true love." A jagged laugh burst from her lips and Poirot's heart broke for her. "He asked me to meet him in the green house and we made love." She paused, her voice breaking. "It was the first time for me."
Silence followed her statement and he kept her fingers wrapped in his, warm and surrounded. "And after that?"
"I got pregnant. We only did it … " She was clearly uncomfortable with the words. "A couple of times. Three to be exact and Jarrett was furious with me. He begged me to … to … get rid of it." She took a deep breath. "But I just couldn't. I couldn't extinguish that life growing inside me."
Her fierceness made Poirot swoon. "An innocent life."
"Yes, Hercule. You understand. An innocent life." She sighed deeply. "I quit my job and gave birth to a baby boy." Her voice grew soft. "I decided to give him up for adoption. I got to see him once, when he was born and that was it. I've never heard anything about else about him."
Poirot's deep voice slipped softly into her ears. "You must miss him greatly."
She nodded. "I do. I try not to think about him but I find myself wondering if he's had a good life, hoping that he's had a good life." Joceline gave him a tremulous smile. "What you heard at Beaufort was Jarrett confronting me about our child. He thought I wanted money."
"Why did he invite you to perform at the Fall Gathering?"
"He didn't ask me. His wife, Florence, did."
"Ah, I see." He let his mind ruminate over the new information, then quickly returned to her. He saw so much more now. He saw an innocent that had been wronged, a mother denied the chance to raise her child and an older woman who was interested in an even older detective. "Lina, " He started, looking down at their intertwined hands. "It's been a long time since I've made love. In fact, it's been … "
Joceline covered his lips with her own, seducing him with the softness of her mouth. "Quiet." She murmured against his lips. "I haven't been with anyone since Jarrett." She gazed into his eyes, trembling at the hunger she saw there. "And you made me a promise."
Grateful relief washed through Poirot, closely followed by a sense of awe. Joceline had been with no other man save Jarrett and she wanted Poirot to be her second. The honor he felt nearly brought her to tears. Somehow she knew what he was feeling and she moved forward, kissing him again.
"And I shall honor that promise." He whispered, a surge of pride and passion burst in Poirot's veins. He pulled her to him, burying his thick fingers in her hair as he plundered her soft mouth. She whimpered in his embrace, gasping when his mouth moved down to her neck, nipping and biting the soft flesh before crossing her collarbones and heading for the perfumed valley of her breasts. His quivering fingers worked at the buttons of the shirt, sliding inside and filling his palms with her heavy breasts.
"Oh, Hercule." Her skin tingled when his mouth captured a nipple and she gasped at the sensations that streaked from her breast to her pussy. She reached forward, letting her hand slide along his thigh, shivering when her fingers found the sizable lump in his pants. He growled against her breast, sending warm ripples through her and she unzipped him, reaching in and pulling his thick stalk out.
"Oh." Poirot could only gasp when her warm hand gripped his cock and allowed her to push him onto his back. She unbuttoned his vest and shirt, running her hands through his chest hair and then, she did something that surprised him. She bent down and licked one of his nipples. Poirot nearly screamed in pleasure, his body arching off the bed, bewilderment in his face. She licked again, this time letting the edge of her teeth graze the pink nub. He shouted.
"I think I've found something you like, Hercule." Joceline purred, helping him shrug out of his vest and shirt, then his pants. "Let me see if you like this." Licking like a cat with cream, she let her tongue leave a trail down his furred chest to the thick forest of hair that surrounded his cock.
"No, Lina. Don't!" Poirot sat up quickly, embarrassment coloring his features. "Don't do that."
"It's … it's … "
"It's what?" There were three more buttons on the shirt she was wearing and she casually unbuttoned one. "It's dirty?" The shoulder of the shirt slipped down, exposing her shoulder and breast and she smiled, seeing his prick leap. "It's nasty?" Another button and the shirt slipped down to her waist, pooling around her legs. "It's … "
"It's not proper!" Poirot barked, his eyes riveted to her dark-nippled globes.
"Who said it had to be proper?"
"Hercule Poirot says!"
Joceline smiled. She would have expected nothing less from the great Hercule Poirot, a gentleman's gentleman. She had known that she would have to break down certain things in his personality and this was one of them. "Whatever we do to each other in the course of making love is very proper, Hercule. Now lie back and let me show you."
"No, Lina. I … " She lightly bit one of his nipples and he lost his concentration. "No … " Her hot tongue swirled over the pink disk, laving over and over and Poirot's cock pulsed with each swipe. Her warm breath traced her path back down to his groin and that same tongue slowly licked up one side of his pole and down the other. Poirot forgot to breathe.
The moment his body stiffened, she knew that she had his attention. She swabbed his pole again, up and down, carefully avoiding the dark cap and the clear juice that was dripping from the slit. It seemed that each time she completed a circuit up and down, his cock grew a little longer and a little thicker. His hands fisted the blankets and his toes curled into claws. Hiding a smile, she licked upward, paused a few seconds, then lowered her mouth over the head of his meat pole.
"Merde!" Poirot breathed, his entire body quaking from the warm, wet touch of her mouth. Her tongue curled around the head, tickling the sensitive ridges and slipping into the slick opening. He groaned as she sucked him, roughly tongue-lashing him. "Lina … " It had been so long that it didn't take him long to reach the edge. Before he could warn her, he was cumming, his tube of flesh throbbing in her mouth and to his amazement, she swallowed every drop.
Joceline waited for a few moments, gently licking until his body relaxed against the sheets, then she moved up next to him, pressing kisses to his flaming cheeks. Poirot opened his eyes, gazing at her and she placed two fingers on his lips before he opened his mouth to speak, then replaced them with her lips. She was surprised when he jerked away, grabbing his pants and jacket, his cheeks still burning with the deep evidence of his shame. "Hercule?"
"I must go, Joceline. I will see you in the morning."
"What? You're leaving?"
"I … " His eyes fell to her thick brown nipples and he swallowed, licking his lips unconsciously. "I can't stay."
"Hercule, please! Don't leave! Talk to me!"
Poirot heard the plea in her voice but the consummate professional within him screamed at the physical and spiritual breach. He was uncomfortable allowing anyone close to him and Joceline had crashed through that protective border. But it wasn't just that that made Poirot agree to flee. It was the fact that she had done it so easily that made him fearful. Maybe she was a whore; a talented, beautiful whore that looked for men like him, lonely men that would accept a pretty face without question and would be easy prey.
Poirot cast a last glance at the breathtaking woman in his bed, from the long, silky black hair that brushed her shoulders to the soft mound that rested between her creamy brown thighs, aching for his touch.
"I am sorry, Lina. Au revoir."
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