Renaissance

*

"Have you heard from your agent?" Samantha asked as she drove back to the hotel. It was late afternoon and the wind had turned chilly.

"About the exhibition?"

"Yes."

"Oui, he has been in touch."

"And?"

"He wants to see me in Paris before the end of the week. I'm to bring him examples of what I've done so we can talk about a suitable venue. He's suggesting the exhibition should be in two months' time. There will be a lot of work to do."

Samantha took her eyes off the road for a moment to look at Alain. "Are you ready?" she asked.

"Yes, I think so." He smiled and reached a hand across to stroke the inside of her thigh. "You will come with me, of course?"

"No, Alain," Samantha said. She had been expecting the question and steeled herself for his reaction. "I'm sorry, but no."

"Why not?" Alain asked, his disappointment making him sound petulant. "I told my agent you are my muse, my inspiration. He said he wishes to meet you. And Paris is the city of lovers. You must come."

"Alain, Paris is a wonderful city. But it's dirty, it's noisy, and it's full of people. Auray is the absolute opposite of all those things and, right now, it is where I want to be."

"Pah," he said, dismissively. "Auray is dull. Brittany is dull. This decision of yours makes you dull."

Samantha was deeply hurt but she didn't show it. She also felt that, for someone who so casually dismissed the strong influence of his birthplace on his artistry, Alain was doing Breton culture and its people less than justice.

Alain lapsed into sullen silence. When they reached the hotel, he said he was going to walk up into the town to a bar he knew. Samantha said fine and carried the hamper through the dining room to return it to Philippe. He greeted her with exaggerated warmth, kissing her on the cheek, his obvious anxiety making the words tumble out.

"Ma chérie, please - I have a crisis. Rosalie says her grandmother has had a fall and will have to go to the hospital for an X-ray. The restaurant is full. Would you take Rosalie's place and assist Sandrine for an hour or so? You know I would not ask unless - "

"Of course," Samantha said. She had replaced either Rosalie or Sandrine before, taking food to tables, clearing plates. It wasn't difficult because it was a set menu and Philippe always laid out the meals in the kitchen before serving while the maitre d', François, dealt with the wine and the bills.

"Do I have time to shower?"

"Shower, yes," Philippe said with a grin. "Satisfy the sexual appetites of young Master Gauguin, the impoverished artist, no. I need a little help with the vegetables, chérie."

"Ten minutes?"

"Fifteen. A lady's toilette cannot be rushed."

Samantha laughed. "You are a gentleman, Philippe."

He took her hand and raised it to his lips. "With you, but of course," he said.

Samantha showered and changed but after an hour in the heat and noise of the kitchen she wondered if there'd been any point. She'd worn a silk blouse and skirt and pulled on a cashmere sweater against the chill of the evening, but the sweater was already lying in a heap on a chair and she could feel prickles of sweat on her forehead. The meals were ready for serving and she could hear the noise of diners assembled in the restaurant.

Philippe called out, "Alors - we are ready?"

A chorus of oui's came back and Samantha and Sandrine picked up plates of hors d'oeuvres and carried them through the swing doors into the dining area.

The room was full of people, the tables laden with opened bottles of wine and glasses glittering in the candlelight. Well-dressed diners chatted and laughed and smiled up at Samantha as she placed the artfully arranged appetizers in front of each and moved on to the next.

And then she stopped, astonished and distressed to find herself face-to-face with the last person she expected to see. Richard's wife.

"Dear God!" Denise Roberts said in the sharp, arrogant voice Samantha knew so well from bitter phone calls demanding she quit the apartment and the even more bitter court case. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The man opposite her looked at Samantha and said, "What is it, darling?"

"It's that woman who claimed Richard bought her an apartment," Denise said, fussily pulling on the length of her ponytail that hung across her shoulder and speaking so loudly diners around stopped talking to listen. "Cost me a bloody fortune in solicitor's fees to get her out. All bloody lies, of course."

Samantha struggled to keep her composure. "Your hors d'oeuvre, Madame," she said and was about to put the plate down when Denise said, in a cold voice, "No, thank you. I'd rather not eat anything you've handled."

"As you wish," Samantha said and placed a plate in front of the man.

"As I wish? What the hell's that supposed to mean? Are you being rude to a paying guest?"

Samantha wanted to hurl the food in Denise Roberts' face but she held on her self-control to avoid damage to Philippe's reputation.

"Of course not, Madame," she said.

"I think you are. In fact, I'm sure you are. Get me the manager. Get me the manager," she said loudly. Now."

"Please, darling - " the man said, aware their table had become the focus of attention in the room.

"Oh bugger off, Martin," Denise said. "This bloody woman - "

"Is my wife, Madame," said Philippe Bazon, suddenly appearing at Samantha's elbow. "I must ask you to apologize or leave my establishment. The choice is yours."

"Your wife! Well I don't care if she is your wife, she was bloody rude and I'm not going to apologize - "

"Nor are you going to remain in my establishment disturbing the pleasure of other guests, Madame. I shall instruct François to prepare your bill while you pack."

"Oh I say, Monsieur - " Martin was about to say when a look from Philippe cut him off.

"Come along, Martin," Denise Roberts said. "And you needn't think we're going to pay for this dinner."

"Of course not, Madame. I do not charge peasants. They cannot afford it..."

Several people applauded Philippe's retort and Denise showed her displeasure at their support by dragging her companion from the restaurant and causing as much disruption as possible.

Samantha wanted to cry but she could not. Philippe had come to her rescue and now she must come to his in taking Rosalie's place. But she felt utterly wretched and wondered if she was going to be sick.

That she was not was down to her strength of character and Philippe's ensuring she had no time to think about what had happened. He kept both her and Sandrine so busy they were exhausted by the time the final guests had paid their compliments to the chef for the wonderful meal and departed. Sandrine reached for her coat, kissed Philippe and Samantha goodnight, and went home to her husband.

"You are off duty now," Philippe said. "François will attend to room service. Come and sit and I shall make you an omelet jambon."

Samantha knew better than to refuse, even though she wanted to go to bed and forget what had happened in the restaurant.

Philippe poured her a glass of wine.

"That was nice of you," she said as she sipped the drink and luxuriated in the relaxing effect of the alcohol.

"To call you my wife?" Philippe said as he poured the beaten eggs into the pan. "It was just what came to mind. A pleasant fantasy, no more."

Samantha noticed he had his back to her as he spoke, seemingly intent on the task of adding pieces of cooked ham to the rapidly setting mixture.

"Well, thank you anyway," she said as he set the omelet, cooked to perfection, in front of her. Samantha suddenly realized she was ravenous and helped herself to baguette and butter while Philippe fetched a coffee for himself and sat opposite her.

He watched her eat for a few moments and then said, "Alain tells me he is going to Paris, to talk to Bertrand Desforges about the exhibition. You will go with him?"

"No. I told him not. He was quite angry at my refusal," Samantha said, heaping omelet onto baguette to eat it French style. "But I like it here. I like Auray, the river, the market, the quiet peace of the countryside, and the Breton people.

"But you could go to Le Tour d'Eiffel, the Louvre, to a concert, see the latest movies - " Philippe started to say.

"- Even go shopping, which would be wonderful," Samantha said, a note of regret in her voice. "It's been so long since I spent anything on myself. Some pretty underwear, a pair of earrings, something like that would be lovely. But it just isn't what I want right now. You understand, don't you?"

"Of course," Philippe said. And then he added, quietly, "I cannot pretend to be sorry," he said and refilled Samantha's glass. "It will mean I have you all to myself." He paused for several moments and then said, "Alain is like a child who never grew up," he said. "I suspect because his mother died when he was so young. Perhaps I should have been stricter but - "

Samantha sipped the wine to savor the bouquet and flavor. "Sometimes I wonder if your son has any feelings for me at all, Philippe," she said. "But then sometimes I wonder what my feelings are for him. He's young, virile, and good in bed. But I don't love him and he doesn't love me. I'm a mother substitute, but one he can fuck as well."

Philippe laughed. "Lucky Alain," he said.

"Perhaps. But probably not for much longer," Samantha said and finished her wine.

She stood up. Despite her tiredness she was still in the mood to be made love to, especially as Alain had neglected her needs earlier in favor of finishing the Madonna sketch. "Thank you again for standing up for me," she said.

"But of course," Philippe said and stood up, moving next to her. He put his arms round her and drew her to him. It was a gesture of comfort, not desire, and Samantha responded by kissing him gently on the cheek.

Not long after, lying naked next to Alain, Samantha felt as if her body had become pure liquid. Sweat glistened on her upper lip and the slopes of her breasts. She could feel moisture on the skin of her back from the heat of his chest and belly pressed against her body. Her left leg was hooked over his thigh so her anal opening was fully accessible and sperm oozed from between the gaping lips of her cunt. Oily lube made a slurping noise as he pushed his long, thick cock against the tight muscle of her anus, forcing it to open.

"Oh god Alain," she hissed, "I've been wanting this all day - "

Samantha would have said more but Alain's mouth met hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth at the same time as he buried the full length of his cock deep in her rectum. Several hard thrusts and Samantha felt Alain come, his sperm hot in her bowels. His orgasm set off her own climax, a tribute to her young lover's ability to reduce her to a quivering mass of well-fucked woman. But Samantha knew in her heart this was a leave-taking. Alain had made sure to fuck every hole in her body as a way of marking the end of what they had enjoyed together.

*

Four

When Samantha woke in the morning, Alain was gone. She showered, dressed, and went downstairs.

Sandrine was clearing breakfast plates from the restaurant. "Bonjour," she said with a smile. "Philippe has taken Alain to catch the morning TGV. He said not to worry about going to the market, he has everything he needs for tonight."

"Oh, good," said Samantha, feeling relieved at being spared a long goodbye scene with Alain.

She was about to leave when Sandrine called to her.

"Samantha? Be a little careful. The Royal Navy intercepted a Breton trawler in the Atlantic yesterday. It was claimed they were fishing in British territorial waters. They arrested the captain."

"I'm sorry - I don't - "

"There may be some anti-English feeling in the town for a day or so. It will probably not matter, but - "

"Thank you, Sandrine. It is nice of you to warn me."

Sandrine smiled and Samantha went to spend the morning having her hair washed and the ends trimmed. She returned to the hotel at midday. Philippe's car was in his parking place.

"Hello," he said when she walked into the kitchen. "You are looking radiant this morning."

Samantha smiled at the compliment. "Thank you, kind sir. Alain went off all right?"

"Yes. He said I was to tell you, 'Au revoir'. I told him that, even if things between you and he had changed, it was likely you would still be here when he returned. He shrugged and then the train started moving."

"Like father, like son," Samantha said, meaning the characteristic shrug.

"Yes," said Philippe and his eyes met hers. She wondered if he meant something else. Then he said, "Lunch?"

"Please."

"By the way, I wanted to thank you for your kindness in helping me in the restaurant last night."

Samantha started to say, "There's no need - " but Philippe cut her off.

"An expensive dinner, dancing to a big band, a romantic walk home afterwards in the moonlight? Ah, I can see you do not want all that fussiness," he said before she could respond. "All right, how about a huge pizza, sharing several bottles of Chianti, and a chance to win two hundred Euros playing bingo for a good cause?"

"Philippe, you charmer!" Samantha said and laughed. "That sounds marvelous! Just what I need."

"We will walk up to the town at 7.30."

"Perfect."

*

Samantha loved the informality of being able to go out to dinner wearing a silk shirt and jeans with her hair in a ponytail. She found being with Philippe great fun, especially as he kept the conversation light and entertaining, mentioned Alain only in passing, and seemed genuinely delighted to have her to himself. She felt pleasantly tipsy when they walked to the main room of the Town Hall where bingo had been organized to raise funds for the maintenance of the ruined monastery, the town's oldest treasure. Samantha was happy to support the fund because she adored the monastery's beautiful garden.

She took a childish delight in listening for the numbers being called out and filling them in on her card. Occasionally she found it difficult to understand the caller's rapid French and his jokes, but Philippe translated and made sure she kept up.

At last there was a lull for refreshment and Philippe said, "You must excuse me. All that wine - "

Samantha smiled. "Of course," she said. "I'm going outside for a breath of fresh air."

She stood on the steps of the Town Hall, breathing in the smell of the town, listening to the sounds of people closing their shutters ready for bed. And then she saw three men emerge from a bar in a nearby street and wondered if she should go back inside. She dismissed the momentary fear, everyone she met in Auray had been friendly, why should this be any different?

One man detached from the others and started to make his way to a car parked close to where Samantha was standing. He seemed to find the effort of pulling on a beret and walking in a straight line difficult and Samantha wondered if she should enquire if he wanted a taxi home. But she decided to hold her peace. It was no business of hers if the man had drunk too much.

He dropped his keys and bent to look for them. Samantha could see them glinting in the neon lights and walked over to pick them up for him.

"Merci!" the man said brightly. He shoved his beret back on his head and tried to focus on her. Then he said, in French, "You are beautiful, Madame, you know that?"

"No kidding," said Samantha in English, hoping he'd get in his car and leave.

"Sure," The man said, also in English. He swayed towards her. "Hey, you are English!"

"Yes," she said, hoping he'd think she was a tourist and leave it at that.

"My name's Claude," the man said. "Are you with anyone?"

"Yes, I - " Samantha started to say but Claude cut in.

"I speak English pretty good, no?" he said, breathing beer fumes over her.

"Yes, very good. Now, if you will excuse me, Monsieur - " Samantha turned to walk back into the Town Hall when Claude grabbed her wrist.

"Hey, you're not leaving, are you?" he said.

"Yes, Monsieur, I am," Samantha said. "So let me go. Now."

The other two men who had emerged from the bar suddenly appeared. They walked over to where Samantha was struggling to get free of Claude's grip.

"Hey, Jean-Pierre," Claude called out as the two men approached. "The English lady doesn't want to be friendly. And I asked her very nicely - "

Using her strength against Claude's drunkenness, Samantha slapped the Frenchman's face as hard as she could. He let go of her wrist in surprise and she tried to walk quickly toward the entrance of the Town Hall. But the man named Jean-Pierre stepped sideways and blocked Samantha's path. She stopped, trying to stare him down.

"Excuse me," she said sharply and made to step round him.

"For being English? We do," Jean-Pierre said in a syrupy voice. "Of course we do. But my friend Claude is unhappy you don't want to be friendly."

"Yes, and we're a little unhappy you're English. Just like the Royal Navy." Claude's voice came from behind her. Very close behind her.

For the first time, Samantha felt a stab of fear. The men were Breton fishermen.

Samantha jumped in shock when Claude suddenly slid his hands under her arms from behind and grabbed her breasts. She tried to break free as he mauled her, frenziedly pulling her shirt out of her jeans to get his hands on their soft weight.

"Mon Dieu!" Claude gasped in shocked pleasure when he felt the size of Samantha's breasts.

Cursing herself for not wearing a bra, Samantha spun on her heel and hit Claude as hard as she could with her fist. He staggered but didn't go down. Jean-Pierre immediately grabbed her arms.

"Uh-unh," he said in a cold voice. "I should like the same pleasure as Claude. As will Luc."

A lecherous grin lit up the third man's face, the grin of a man happy to let others take the lead for him.

"Leave me alone!" Samantha cried, hoping someone would hear her and intervene.

"Pardon me?" Claude said, acting surprised. "This is not an attitude that will further Anglo-French détente."

Then he took advantage of Jean-Pierre holding Samantha against the pick-up to rip the front of her shirt open. Samantha's bare breasts, heaving as she breathed hard with anger and fear, glowed creamy-white under the streetlights, her nipples almost violet in color.

"We think détente is so important," said Jean-Pierre, his hands holding Samantha's wrists together as he tried to kiss her.

"Mmmpff - no!" Samantha screamed, twisting her head away.

Jean-Pierre simply stared at her and moved back slightly so Claude could step in and slap her across the face. Samantha felt so stunned she wondered if she was going to pass out.

Claude started to scrabble at the buttons of her jeans, his drunken hands fumbling to get them open. At the same time Jean-Pierre said softly, "Oh I think the answer should be, 'Yes, please, monsieur," and bent his head to run his tongue over the nipple of Samantha's left breast, his eyes meeting hers as he moved to the right breast, wanting her to like what he was doing and defying her to stop him.

Straightening up and attempting to kiss Samantha again just as Claude hooked his hands inside the waistband of her jeans to push them off her hips, Jean-Pierre suddenly found himself unable to stop straightening up.

He was carried forwards in a rush, his body flying past Samantha as he was grabbed from behind and rammed into the driver's door of a BMW, the impact knocking him out cold.

"Now that's going to be expensive," Philippe said as he took hold of Claude's shirtfront with one hand to hold him steady and then punched him hard in the face with the other. Claude crumpled to the floor. Luc didn't stick around for his turn but ran off as fast as he could.