A BRIDGE TO DREAMS - PART THREE to THE END

A BRIDGE TO DREAMS
PART THREE
‘I’ve got to make a move, Minette, time’s running out. Only ten weeks left.’ She spoke as they sat under the oak tree looking out over the valley late one night. ‘Look. The moon’s full. I’ll have to choose soon.’

As things turned out the choice was made for her. It came a few nights later when a sick goat prevented her from putting eye to spy hole.

Returning to the house, she took a pathway between the barns where the moon’s light failed to penetrate. She’d walked this way a million times before, never nervous. Tonight was no different until Minette, her shadow, hissed and spat an angry warning. Ahead outlined against the moonlit end of the pathway were two figures, one short and round the other lanky and angular.

Madeleine hesitated as a voice breached the night air. 'Well, if it ain't the beautiful Mademoiselle.' The Alcoholic slurred his words and staggered slightly, supporting himself against the barn wall to stop himself from falling. 'Comment va tu, ma poule'. ‘Where are you going, my chicken?’

Madeleine imagining politeness might win the day and as yet not frightened decided not to react to the over familiar form of address.

'Très bien, merci. Et vous aussi j’espère.' Very well, thank you and I hope you are too.’ It took all her strength of spirit to say the words.

At this Scarface, for he was the second man, joined in, not with words, but with a sneer which set the scar on his cheek in motion. His face closed against hers and she recoiled as the smell of rancid food and cheap brandy enveloped her. His arm encircled her waist before she had a chance to move. And he held her tight.

'Very well, thank you, she says Didi, And she hopes we’re the same. Snooty little bitch.' His tone mimicked Madeleine's as his shoulders rolled inside his sleeveless vest giving life to the tattoo of a scorpion on his neck.

'Seen her around the place and she's always Miss Hoity Toity.' His shaven head dipped from side to side, his face contorting into an expression that terrified Madeleine.

'Please let me pass.' She felt her heart thumping against her ribs, her stomach roiling.

'Not so fast, ma poule'. Scarface had picked up the flash of irritation in her eyes as his mate addressed her earlier and he now stressed it as he spoke.

The Alcoholic, upright again, stretched his arms in a barrier across the alley. 'Oh, come on cherie, give us a kiss. Haven't met a nice girl like you since La Fête de Saint Sebastian.' His body shuffled suggestively in front of her, his fat stomach thrusting forwards almost touched hers.

Saliva drooled from between his fleshy lips. Madeleine knew if he were alone she could easily deal with him. One good push would put him on his back. The threat came from the other man who had planted himself firmly alongside her. His grip around her waist tightening.

'Mais oui, quelle bonne idée.' he chanted and giggled obscenely 'Me first Didi.'

'Let me pass. I'm warning you...' Without giving thought to what might follow Madeleine stamped hard on Scarface's instep, 'My father....'.

‘Warnings now is it? Well let me tell you dear papa is drunk in the bar and couldn't care a toss about you. And if it's a bit of rough you're after, Miss Hoity Toity, I'm your man. I'll not be satisfied with a kiss either, so you might as well get used to the idea that...'

At that moment Madeleine sensed someone else enter the narrow path behind her. Fear curdled into terror. Now she knew how a rat must feel when cornered by the terriers in the hen-house.

The arrival of the third man blotted out the light even further. Then, unbelievably, Madeleine felt the pressure on her waist lessen. Scarface stepped backwards as Alcoholic murmured 'Aye,aye. What we got 'ere then?' Madeleine saw moonlight flash on a blade as Scarface drew his weapon from his belt.

The newcomer approached, moving slowly and with a loping stride as if this were a meeting of friends outside a bar in the village. The warning about the knife Madeleine shouted emerged as a mere squeak.

The newcomer spoke in a light, friendly voice: 'Bonsoir a tous.' On reaching them he threw his arm around Madeleine in a possessive fashion, drawing her well away from Scarface. Then he kissed her lightly on the cheek.

'Here you are, ma cheri. Sorry I'm late, I thought I'd missed you.'

Then turning to the two men: 'Thanks for looking after her. I'll see her safely home now.'

He gave Madeleine a gentle push on her back. Before following her he spoke again to the two men who stood as is if turned to pillars of salt.

'Don't bother the lady again. I guess you didn't know she was spoken for. You do now, so git.'

There must have been something in his tone which Madeleine missed for she was surprised to see the two depart meekly as lambs from the dipping pen.

Madeleine and her rescuer left the alley before, in unspoken agreement, stopping by the fence at the edge of the courtyard.

Her trembling had stilled and now the strangeness of being with a man under the flooding moonlight provoked a sudden unanticipated shyness. Yet it was she who finally broke the silence.

'You were very brave there in the alley. He had a knife, you know.'

'Not brave at all. He’s a coward. And he knows my reputation.'

'Reputation?' Was he about to delete himself from her list of possibles?

'Yes. I know how to look after myself. Have to when I mix with a crowd like this. I'm a black belt in martial arts.'

'Well, I'm glad you were there. I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't come along.'

'Wasn't chance. I'd been watching you. Was following you myself truth to tell.'

'You... were... following me?' The words came hesitatingly. What now, more problems?

Pressing her hands against the fence she shoved herself upright and despite the fact that her legs were trembling again prepared to move away.

'Don't be alarmed. It's just that I'm fed up living with idiots like those. I needed somebody to talk to who has a few sensitive bones in their body. All I want is company, somebody to walk with in the evening, away from the bar, somebody...'

She let her gaze slide over him as the sentence drifted into silence. Of medium build his features seemed more Italian than French, a slender nose, arching eyebrows, lips less full. His straight dark hair, caught in a ribbon at the nape of his neck, gave him the look of a poet or a painter.

She liked what she saw.

'What's your name?' Her words emerged low and husky with the enormity of what she intended. Now's the time, she told herself.

'I'm Madeleine. Be here at eight tomorrow evening. I'll show you the lake.'

'My name’s Angelo.' He held out his hand in farewell. ' A demain soir. A huit heure.'

'A demain soir.' Madeleine left him, rejoicing. Now it was up to her. Their names fit well together, she thought.

The next night and every night following they met by the old oak tree. Sometimes they climbed the mountainous path behind the house to sit beside the lake on an outcrop of rock where he told her of bridges he had built, of far distant towns he had visited, of people he had met like Scarface who wanted a rough life or others like himself, he confided, who only wanted to earn money to put in a bank account for a rainy day. She never told him of her dreams or of her mother's disappearance.

After three or four nights she began to feel she knew all there was to know about his past. His glowing stories of travels all over France, his visits to big cities whose names she had only heard. At first it enthralled her, but then it began to leave her unmoved, even irritated. What did she need to know about long bridges, big cities? She laughed half-heartedly at jokes about his workmates. What interest had she in them? Her only interest was in him. How could she let him know?

Time was fleeting. Nothing, she felt, progressed. Her plan stagnated. She felt confused, ten days passed, still he made no approach. Surely it was up to him to make the first move.

'What must I do?' she asked Minette, as evening after evening she left Angelo with merely a squeeze of the hand to express au revoir. 'Why doesn’t he at least kiss me? Soon he'll leave - and nothing will have changed. Perhaps I should be bolder. I must tempt him. But how? I know he wouldn’t want a tart.'

Then one night it did happen. A night when the temperature never dropped below that of daytime, an evening when the reflection of the stars hanging like globes, illuminated the the surface of the lake into a magical mirage of twinkling ripples.

'I'm going for a swim. Coming?' Angelo had never suggested they swim before but tonight he was already stripped down to underpants before she replied.

Modesty made her hesitate despite the fact that she wanted more than anything to join him.

'I...don't... know.'

'Come on. It's like an oven out there. Think how cool the water’ll feel.'

'But what'll we dry ourselves with?'

'The air'll dry us. Don’t make excuses. Come on. Nobody'll see us, t's pitch black. Anyway, they've gone to the fair at Arganeaux,
even your father.'

'Yes, but...'

'I'll not look.' He laughed. 'Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.' He turned his back, stripped his underpants, left her and leapt into the water.

Her inner voice told her she must be bold, that now was her chance. Slowly she undid her blouse, dropped her skirt around her ankles. No bra, white panties gleaming in the darkness.

Seconds later the water caressed her, enveloped her as she slid her body and then her face and head into its welcome coolness.

Gasping for air she emerged. Angelo swam strongly fifteen metres away, fluorescent ripples followed in his wake. She hesitated, dare not narrow the distance between them. For a while they swam separately in silence. Nevertheless currents of desire soon began throbbing inside her as she realised this was what she had planned for so long. She thought of his body coursing through the water, of his arms thrusting rhythmically up and outwards with each stroke. She remembered his nakedness and her own.

Later she realised how carefully he had orchestrated everything. Similar thoughts must have been in his mind all along for almost at the same moment, as if drawn by invisible threads, they came together, standing knee deep in water their swim at an end.

His hands found her upper arms and held her lightly. Their eyes locked as something akin to an electrical charge passed between them. She felt the muscles of his chest flex against her nipples, the hardness of him against her belly.

'You want me?' His voice came softly into her ear as his hands moved away from her arms to hold her face gently close to his own. They were the rough hands of a bridge-builder but softer than the tongue of Minette.

‘Yes.' No hesitation now. No fear that this could be an experience she might not enjoy. Instead exultation surged through her. At last! Yes! Oh, yes!

They found themselves a soft couch of grass and soon true ardour overwhelmed her as his lips traversed her face, her ears, her throat, her shoulders, her arms, her palms. The thought came to her how practiced a lover he was as next his tongue slowly gentled each finger tip, nuzzled her arms, the curve of her waist and belly before eventually reaching her breasts and curling around her nipples. One caress followed the next until finally he lay on her; rose above her, arms outstretched supporting his weight. She was ready, and moaned only gently as he entered her.

Later still she thought of how his hair, loose from its restraining ribbon, fell over her face and caressed her before all sensations became one. She spun with the stars, soared with a night bird calling to its mate high above the lake.

The following nights became ever more passionate as if the now almost completed bridge measured their hours together.

Madeleine's father never returned from the fête. After being on an alcoholic bender for a week he sent her a letter with the gang foreman saying he was going off with some gipsies, he was never coming back. All he owned was now hers. He said he’d sent a copy of the letter to Monsieur Senac, the Notaire in Argeneaux.

The days passed by as in a dream for Madeleine until at last the bridge was finished. Angelo had still never discussed the future though she lay awake every morning after he left her bed considering what he was going to say when....

Now that day had arrived.

'Everything's ready for us to leave. I've to go and help.'

It was a little after dawn and Angelo stood with his back to her pulling on his clothes in her bedroom. He turned, one foot in his trousers' leg hopping about on the other.

'I’ve got to tell you something. It's...not easy.’ His eyes seemed to focus on nothing, certainly not Madeleine ‘You know I’d like to take you with me, especially now your father's gone, but it's impossible. I should’ve told you before. Can't say I'm proud of myself, but the fact is I'm already married. I've a wife in Reims, and two little boys.'

His expression changed and showed his surprise when her voice was calmer than he must have been expecting.

''Yes, you should have told me before. But my father's going is no problem. It'll be easier here without him. Somebody'll come from Arganeaux to help me.'

She hardly breathed the words as she slid out of bed. He was now fully dressed, hand already on the handle of the bedroom door.

'So it's goodbye. I’m glad you weren't expecting more from me.' He opened the door, finally met her eyes, and smiled. 'It was good whilst it lasted though, wasn’t it?'

'Yes'. Now it was her turn. ' But, don’t worry, all I wanted was...'.

A call from outside in the courtyard prevented her from going on. It provided his chance to escape.

'Come on Angelo. Time to go. Unless you're planning to stay.'

Soon she stood again near her bench and watched the convoy wind its way down the hill and across the newly built bridge. Angelo never looked back. She thought he'd probably left dozens of women this way as he travelled the country building his bridges.

She picked up Minette, held her close. 'Well, pet, I guess everybody has secrets. You know I never told him mine.'

Once again she returned to the haricot, remembering that this time she needed to keep back a few of the beans for sowing in spring.

'Alors, Minette, it worked. A baby and no father to bother it. Only you knew, ma petite, that’s what was intended all along. I never wanted the chap at all, only his seed. I told you that didn’t I.’

Soon the sound of beans plopping into water recommenced; as did Madeleine’s dreaming. ‘Next year’s harvest’ll be something really worth celebrating.’ she promised Minette.

THE END