Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of sexual content.
Background
At a meeting in the Paris Embassy, Charles, who is working for MI6, is asked to renew his liaison with Helen Culverson, which he does, perhaps more ardently than they anticipated.
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The closing paragraphs of Chapter 58
... Helen reappeared, a dish of oysters in hand, and dressed only in a seductive smile and my white shirt, the tail of which hung negligently around the bare skin of her thigh.
"Oysters to begin with, I thought ... in memory of The Dog Who Smokes," she said as she placed the dish on the table and handed me one of the glasses. "To us," she said, clinking hers against mine.
She took a small sip, then held her glass up to look at me through the beads of straw-coloured wine. "Now come and tell me all about your visit to my dear sister, Kayla." She slipped her arm around my waist and drew me in close, nibbling at my earlobe as she whispered, "You were going to tell me, weren't you?"
Chapter 59
"Of course," I murmured as I turned my head, brushing my lips against hers. "Now, how about giving back my shirt?"
"Not just yet, you impetuous man. It is my second skin. I should feel naked without it."
For a moment, the image of a snake shedding its skin crossed my mind, but Helen was no snake. I was sure of that. The creature in my arms was decidedly warm-blooded and mammalian. More intoxicating than any champagne.
She steered me towards the table. "Come, let's eat."
Picking up an oyster, she dribbled a few drops of Tabasco sauce onto it before passing it to me. "Some like it hot," she said in a voice that oozed sexuality. Yes, dribbled. Definitely not drizzled.
I eased it free from its shell with my fork and slid it into my mouth. I held it there for a lascivious moment to relish the briny taste before biting into the soft flesh to release its sweet, metallic flavour. She watched my every move, her lips slightly parted.
As soon as I swallowed, she picked up another oyster between her fingers. Selecting a wedge of lemon, she squeezed until two or three drops fell. As the acid splashed against its firmness, the oyster twitched. She raised it slowly, holding my gaze as she took it between her teeth and tugged. Slurping it into her mouth, she bit fiercely into the adductor muscle, tearing it from its shell.
I winced.
Eventually, we rose from the table, spent shells strewn, and the last of the champagne lingering in a lipstick-stained glass. In my mind, I swept her up into my arms and carried her across the threshold into her boudoir. Perhaps wisely, I refrained from putting this fantasy into practice, instead escorting her to the bedroom with as much chivalry as I could muster and shutting the door behind us.
Our lovemaking transcended words, taking us to peaks of ecstasy that I had not thought possible. In yielding so much of myself, I have never been so vulnerable. Yet, paradoxically, the bonds forged between us that night gave a new sense of invulnerability. Replenished and fulfilled, I now felt a new certainty as I drifted into the world of dream. Together we would be able to take on the world.
A few hours before dawn, Helen stirred restlessly and threw a negligent arm out, rousing me from my sleep. Fearing that she was having another of her recurrent nightmares, I pulled her towards me, cocooning her in my arms. "It's all right, darling - just a bad dream."
She sat up suddenly, rubbing her knuckles into her eyes. "Where am I? What's happening?"
I calmed her with a kiss. "You're quite safe. There's nothing to worry about."
She wrapped her arms around me in a tight embrace. "You're never to leave me, Charles. Never, ever. If you so much as look at another woman, I shall kill you." Her intensity took me by surprise and as we lay there, flesh to flesh, heart to beating heart, I swore everlasting faithfulness and my undying love.
When morning came, I slid quietly from the bed, leaving Helen in a deep, untroubled sleep as I made preparations for the coming day. Scooping up the debris from the night before, I descended to street level to deposit it in the bin. On my way back upstairs, I met Madame Bisset.
"Good morning, Monsieur Charles. I see you have had a good night." She winked knowingly. "You look like the cat who swallowed the canary."
I blushed in a way that rendered any other response redundant and heard her chuckling to herself as I regained the safety of Helen's apartment and closed the door.
I had just finished brewing the coffee when Helen appeared. "Are those croissants I smell in the oven? Mmmm." She crossed the floor to give me a lingering kiss. "You're a good man, Charles. A very good man."
"Yes, I know."
She gave me a playful push. "Not that good!" Then, with a smile that set my heart soaring, "Yes, that good, and then some."
"You're not so bad yourself - for one who stripped the shirt from my back. Next thing, you'll be stealing my heart."
"Not stealing, I hope. I thought you were giving it of your own free will."
"You're right - exchange is no robbery. I have yours in my pocket, have I not?"
"I'd hoped it was in your chest, lying next to your own. Two hearts beating as one." She took her coffee and croissant to the table and sat down. "Now, tell me about Kayla."
So, I told her. I told her about André's arrest and the meeting that was being set up with Alain Gaudin and about Kayla's cocaine habit. However, I didn't mention the way Kayla flirted with me when she was riding the Big C, or how much that aroused me. After all, it didn't represent Kayla's true feelings, did it? And my response was something I had well under control.
It turned out that Helen already knew about her sister's flirtation with the Snow Queen and about André's arrest. She also knew that it had been André supplying her with the nose candy, and she was worried sick.
"Thank God that creep's out of her life, at least for the time being. I've no doubt she'll find an alternative source, though."
"She already has. One of Bellini's mob was with her in La Divette. I saw them together just before she had her last fix. I'm pretty sure that he supplied it."
"That doesn't surprise me. Montmartre was Bellini's patch before Jeanne brought in les stups and had him arrested."
I refilled Helen's coffee cup and passed her the milk, absorbing the impact of what she had just said.
"You know about Jeanne and her work with the Narcotics Squad? That is a surprise."
She looked at me thoughtfully. "Really? The surprise is that you know about it, Charles. It seems that you still have secrets to share."
"No, Helen, secrets shall never come between us."
Confident in the new depth of our new relationship, I went on to tell her about MI6, my mission to deliver the package to Gaston Arnoux, and my meeting in the Air Attache's office. The silence that followed felt as if it might last forever, but was eventually broken by the wailing of an ambulance siren in the street below.
"You have had a busy few days, haven't you, my poor darling? What a fine mess you've got yourself into! Drugs, terrorists, espionage, murder - you don't do things by halves, do you?"
I looked at her ruefully. She was right. A fine mess. But how much better I felt for having been able to share it with her.
"You've come a long way since some broad stuck a toothbrush in your back and told you to remain very still."
"Yes, a long way."
"... and if last night was anything to go by, you're beginning to get the hang of the new James Bond persona. I think I am going to enjoy sharing a world of intrigue with my intrepid hero."
There was a definite twinkle in her eye.
Author Notes
List of Characters
Charles Brandon - the narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Group Captain Bamforth (alias Sir David Brockenhurst) - an intelligence officer with MI6 and Air Attache in Paris
Helen Culverson - Also a travel writer, whose relationship with Charles is complicated by her relationship with Jeanne Durand.
Kayla Culverson - her older sister, who disappeared somewhere in Bangkok and has surfaced again in Paris.
Madame Jeanne Durand - a French magazine editor and undercover agent with the French Drug Squad.
Madame Madeleine Bisset - Helen's landlady in Paris
Mr Bukhari - a Pakistani businessman (now deceased)
Ian 'Bisto' Kidman - an ex-RAF friend of Charles's.
Monsieur Bellini - a denizen of the French Underworld.
Andre (aka Scaramouche) - an actor in Montmartre and friend of Kayla's
Dr. Laurent - a veterinary surgeon in Versailles.
Father Pierre Lacroix - vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church.
Madame Lefauvre - an old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip.
Francoise Gaudin - an intellectually disabled woman living in Versailles.
Alain Gaudin - brother of Francoise, a gardener at Monet's house in Giverney
Estelle Gaudin [deceased] - mother of Francoise and Alain, a prostitute
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased] - Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious letter of 1903 was addressed.
Jack and Nancy Wilkins - a Wiltshire dairy farmer and his wife.
Colonel Neville Arnoux [deceased] - of whom we may hear more later.
Gaston Arnoux - Owner of an art gallery in Paris, recently assassinated by Charles Asserted to be leader of an ISIS network
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