The Second World War: PART 7 - Roger Farrier - Paris (1944) #2

ADELISE

7.

1944

PARIS

Roger Farrier crossed the landing, unlocked the door marked 16A and stepped inside, twisting the lock behind him in the same movement.

He went to slot the brass chain in place and, while drawing it to the right, a horrid feeling came over him.  He stiffened.  Some bile coagulated in his mouth.  ‘Adelise?’ he called out.  There was nothing.  Suddenly, there was a nervous giggle in the shadows.  Farrier whirled round.  He crossed the room deftly and found the bedside lamp.  He switched it on and was astonished. 

Long red hair spilled out over both pillows.

            ‘What’re you playing at?’ 

            Red fingertips lowered the sheet.  Her green eyes fluttered.  She tucked them beneath her chin, playfully.  The thin blue sheet provided terrible cover.  Farrier hated himself for making out the swelling breasts below.  He swallowed hard.   

            ‘I thought it’d be fun.’ Adelise said.

            ‘You’ve been drinking,’ he growled.

He removed his hat and coat; tossed them headlong to the red wine carpet.  They landed in a pile of her things.

            ‘So have you,’

            ‘Shut up,’ he said.

He cleared his throat and moved closer.  Roger took her head in his hands and looked deeply into the eyes.  He went to kiss her forehead.  She nuzzled up through his soft grip and received his lips on hers. 

            ‘No, we can’t.’

            ‘We can,’ she said.

Reaching out with her arms, she wrapped them around him and brought his face down on hers in a fierce, delicate kiss.  Her lips shuddered at his touch and, with ferocity, put her back into it, pushing the rest of her mouth into his.  She kissed his neck and tossed away the sheet.  He grabbed her right thigh.  Adelise ripped at his shirt buttons.  He took her hand in his and enveloped her in a kiss that refused to end, climbing onto the bed.  His fingers never once let go of hers. 

***

Farrier sat back in bed – eyes red – staring at his cigarettes near the bedside lamp.  Roger felt ashamed of himself, it was his own rotten fault.  He had one of those hangovers that worsens from excessive smoking. That morning, his thoughts weren’t on his head. 

He loved Sophie, that he did, but there was something stirring inside him for this woman.  He stroked her hair and kissed her cheek.  He went into the bathroom wondering if it was possible to love two women simultaneously.  When he reached the sink, he realised this was rubbish and knew who his heart actually belonged to.