La Communicate

Robert King’s heart pounded. His mind raced with a strange mixture of apprehension and joyous anticipation. But there was nothing he could do. He could not even control the random thoughts racing through his mind.He found himself wondered why French bedrooms, even in modern hotels, always looked as if Louis XV’s personal architect had designed them.

This bedroom at “Les Trois Couronnes” was no exception. Plain cream walls, white and silver shimmering stripes on the bed linen, emphasising the rich red carpet. Gold elaborately carved woodwork and red upholstery for the chairs,curtains to match the bed linen.

Of course to supplement the curtains there were the ever present wooden shutters across the window. Ah! That was it! The architectural woodwork! Raw wood, varnished, and not painted. Quite different from the fashion elsewhere where costs were kept down by using minimal woodwork painted white. He walked to the window and opened the shutters.

There, across the River Aude, was the towering bulk of La Cité illuminated in the darkness by a thousand glimmering lights. La Cité, the most perfectly preserved medieval castle in Europe.

Cast!e? No!  It was a city in its own right with a labyrinth of narrow streets, a central palace and even a cathedral.  As he lingered over the view, through the open window drifted the seductive strains of Beethoven emanating from the terrace of the restaurant above where Robert had recently dined with Fabienne. Was it his imagination, or had the pianist now moved on to the more stirring of the Sonatas?

He could still smell Fabienne’s perfume. Was that a deliberate characteristic of women’s perfumes that the smell lingered; that it was impossible to forget the woman who was wearing it?

He turned and looked at the door; multi panelled varnished wood, in keeping with the rest of the room. The door was furnished with a large round brass knob and paradoxically in a hotel with electronic security, a large brass keyhole, which Robert knew was locked from the other side with a large brass key.

Earlier in the day, Fabienne had caught the early Ryan-Air flight from Paris to Carcassonne. She bitterly resented having to use an Irish air line to travel internally within Metropolitan France.

She then had to wait for the arrival of Robert’s flight from Liverpool. While she waited she had several coffees in the tiny restaurant which overlooked the single runway.

From this vantage position she was able to watch Robert disembark. She smiled with satisfaction. He had changed little. Tall, well built, just like a rugby wing forward should be, but slim. He was so light on his feet; he prowled rather than walked, like a big cat ready to pounce. She was surprised to experience a shudder of pleasure as he moved towards her.  Robert had a shock of black hair, indented cheeks under high cheek bones, a determined chin and relatively tight mouth, but above all bright but kindly eyes.

They both chattered inconsequentially as they dealt with the formalities of car hire and travelled into city. The car park was underneath the hotel and access to the hotel was by a tiny dilapidated lift.  They emerged however into a well appointed reception area. The receptionist was genuinely confused as she looked at the passports. She addressed Robert.

“I am sorry Monsieur. There seems to be a mistake.” She hesitated and looked from one to the other querulously. “There are two rooms booked, are you brother and sister?”

Robert cleared his throat. “Non, Ma’moiselle, we are not brother and sister and there is no mistake, we have indeed booked two rooms, but I hope that each room has a double bed” He cleared his throat again, and realised with shock that he was blushing, “I do not sleep well in a single bed.”

The receptionist looked even more puzzled. She now looked for guidance to Fabienne “But Madame your names are the same! Madame and Monsieur King.”

Fabienne told her in French that the booking was correct; providing each room had “Le Grande Lit” She decided that it was better to tell the receptionist the truth. “We used to be married but now we are divorced. However we have decided to take a holiday together.”

A brilliant smile lit up the receptionist’s face “Ah Madame, je comprend, formidable.” She had obviously decided that Robert did not speak good French and she focussed her attention on Fabienne as she dived back into a drawer full of room folders underneath her bench.

As the receptionist sorted and re-sorted the folders, Fabienne had a momentary panic. What was she doing here with this man to whom she had been briefly married fifteen years ago, when she was very, very young?  She consoled herself that it was really a business trip. She was Robert’s research assistant and they would spend the holiday working on his book.

The receptionist lifted her head, indicating that she had made a decision. Robert understood enough French to follow the conversation. ”I have two rooms with views of “La Cite” as was initially booked. There are however alternative rooms on the third floor, with much better views of “La Cite ” She smiled coquettishly. “The rooms are adjacent and have an interconnecting door.’ Again another shy smile. ‘I will make sure Madame, that the key for the interconnecting door is on your side.’

Robert had to turn away to hide his smile. How typically French it was to make it possible for the woman to be in control.  He also knew that within minutes if not seconds the whole hotel would know their situation; he did not mind. He knew that they would get superb service; fresh linen every morning and preferential seating at lunch and dinner. They would probably bring Fabienne a bottle of champagne at seven in the morning to tempt her to share it with him. Anything, in fact, to get them in each other’s arms. It would become a project to enliven their workaday week.

It raised interesting possibilities. Though Robert had come to work on his book, now he was here, close to her, he felt a long forgotten stirring of the blood.

Without any discussion Fabienne and Robert decided independently to dress quite formally for dinner.  Robert had a long held belief that a black jacket was always the right choice. Fabienne wore a dress of brightest red which she believed gave the best complement to her relatively dark skin, slim face and ebony eyes.  There was a pencil thin halter support which ran to the outer extremities of a structured bodice. Below the bodice the dress clung to her body until a full skirt hung from her hips. She carried a tiny red hand bag and to finish the ensemble she wore a branch of red bougainvillea wound into the side of her hair.

Robert was pleased they had made the effort. They were held by the door until the head waiter had decided that everyone in the restaurant had noticed their arrival. They were given one of only two tables on the terrace overlooking the river. This then required them to walk down the entire length of the restaurant.

Robert deferred to Fabienne and the head waiter walked in front of her apparently to indicate the correct table but in practice the movement of his arms, waving a menu in front of him suggested that he was deliberately attracting attention to the gorgeous creature who was visiting his restaurant.

Fabienne swung her hips as she walked placing one foot immediately in front of the other as if she was on a catwalk. Her skirt swung from her hips and revealed that she was wearing red shoes with high, pencil thin heels.

As Robert walked behind her he was aware that everyone was watching her and he saw several heads nodding together as they discussed her identity or commented on her presentation. It was as they walked towards the table that Robert realised that he was still in love with this woman. Technically they were now friends, not man and wife and certainly not lovers.

He lost control of his thought processes. This was not at all what he had intended. It was his turn to panic. A wrong move might alienate Fabienne forever. The pianist had been playing a selection of songs from Rod Stewart’s “American Songbook” when they arrived but as they approached the table he seamlessly changed to the sensuous tones of Beethoven’s Sonatas.

As they sat down at the table Robert felt very unsure of himself.

Fabienne immediately saved the situation. She first of all paid Robert a complement.

“Oh! Roberre, theese is so good! I have been waiting for the chance to wear theese high heels for so long but it is not possible if one’s escort is not tall.” She fluttered her eyes slightly to let him know that she was complimenting him.  Robert smiled, Fabienne’s english was if anything better than he remembered it but there was still a tendancy to extend the pronunciation of it to eet, this to thees and occasionally to use French rather than English sentence structures. Of course he would always be Roberre not Robert.  He had always found it attractive. He was silent, desperately searching for the correct reaction to the complement she had paid him.

Fabienne became suddenly businesslike.’I was delighted that you thought enough of me to send me your book to read. I like it very much.’ It was a good choice. It took Robert back into familiar territory. He found it possible to relax.

Robert smiled; this time it was a genuine warm smile. ‘You have already been very helpful’ He paused but then carried on more hesitantly. ‘Now we are face to face I must ask you, do you really like it.’ Fabienne raised both her hands in the air, palms facing Robert, in a gesture of enthusiasm.

‘Wonderful story. Magnifique! It made me desire to come here and see it all for myself.’ She dropped her elbows to the table and cupped her chin in her hands, gazing intently into Robert’s eyes   ‘Here in Carcassonne, we must see both La Cite and the Bastide.  Then we must visite Foix.’ A look of excitement crossed her face.  ‘Of course! and Château Mazerou.’

Robert looked up from the wine list. ‘We will do all of that, but you do realise that Château Mazerou no longer exists? There is a small vineyard and perhaps traces of the ornamental gardens but the main Château?’ He hesitated, not wanting to disappoint her, ‘All that is left is a flat plateau half way up a steep hill. Clearly the plateau is man-made but there is no sign of the original structure.’

‘It matters not Roberre, so much happened there. I want to stand  with the feet bare and feel the vibrations. You have told me that your story is pure fiction but to me it has become very real.’ Robert felt much better.  Fabienne’s enthusiasm was obviously genuine and most infectious.

“I am so pleased,” he said. ”But tell me, what did you like best?”

There was then an interruption whilst the wine waiter took Robert’s order. He remembered that Fabienne liked Gevertstraminer as an aperitif and Châteauneuf du Pape with her main course. ‘You will be eating meat as your main course?’ he asked Fabienne before he placed the order. She nodded her assent.

They were now both faced with the menu, which was another distraction. Robert never obtained an answer to his previous question. Instead they cautiously started to ask each other about the last fifteen years, mixing this in with discussions of menu options.

In a moment of silence Fabienne started a new topic. ‘Au retour to the book for a moment, I now feel that I know the main characters of Jean and Ximene very well.’  She smiled encouragingly and gently lifted one eyelid. ‘Tell me, did you base some of Ximene on me?’

Robert knew there was only one answer he could give. Nevertheless he could give it enthusiastically. He could tell the truth. ‘Of course I did, we did have some wonderful times….’He stopped abruptly, trying to gauge her reaction. Was this too much too fast?

Fabienne smiled warmly. ‘Yes we did Roberre, we did’

The waiter then arrived and there followed a negotiation about what was still on the menu and what was not. This continued until the waiter effectively recommended what he believed they should eat. In the end both Robert and Fabienne complied. It was a good decision. The food served was superb. As they ate they compared notes on their recent lives and their current interests.

Fabienne was so encouraged by Robert’s receptiveness that she decided to break some new ground. ‘Your book is fascinating, but…’ She hesitated but smiled encouragement ‘you know there are some deficiencies. You are, pardonne moi, a very “grey” person. Everyone in the book is honourable; no one gives way to their passion.’

Robert frowned. ‘John and Ximene have some very passionate encounters.’

It was Fabienne’s turn to frown. ‘Perhaps I am not using the correct word.   I want to help you show some weaknesses, perhaps they could be overcome with anger or jealousy.’ Fabienne could see that Robert was struggling with the concept. Rather than repeat herself she moved on.  ‘I also want to help you introduce some evil. There ought to be someone who is really evil, someone who inflicts pain and punishment on les heroes.’

Robert nodded acquiescence, he did not want to argue and deep down he knew that there was a possibility she was right. ‘Well, whilst we are together those are ideas we should pursue’ he said and immediately felt that he had been far too dismissive. Fabienne did not appear to take any offence.

Mixed in with sighs of contentment as she completed her meal, Fabienne continued to deliver her assessment of Robert’s novel. ‘A  problem is that when Jean comes in contact with the woman, Ximene, she belongs to the Cathar faith. However, other than vague references to different ethical and sexual standards you do not spell out what these different standards are.’

‘Hmmm’ Robert replied ‘the problem is that the main source of information about the Cathars is the Vatican records from the inquisition. They tend to denigrate the people they have interrogated and through that the entire alternative religion. To my eye it is obviously wrong but where do I get better information?’

Fabienne smiled triumphantly. ‘Before I left Paris, I went to the Bibliotheque Nationale. I have copies of many documents which give a better view of the Cathar religion than is available from the Vatican records. In general history is written by the victors, but we might have the opportunity to override that. During this holiday we should read and interpret these documents…,’ she hesitated and place heavy emphasis on the next word, ‘together’. She then paused to enjoy the food for a few minutes. Without any warning she asked another question.

‘Why did you write this story?’

Caught by surprise, Robert hardly thought about his reply. ‘I love this part of the world and learned about the Cathars from a lovely librarian at Limoux.  Ximene’s story suddenly emerged in my mind.  It was as if all I had to do was document her story, even that I had a duty to do so.’  He bowed his head. ‘I think I am in love with Ximene!’

Fabienne looked at him gently, she stretched out her hand to touch his. ‘I knew that, even from the way you pronounce her name.’

There followed a period of silence and then conversation in which there was gentle reinforcement that they were enjoying the reunion. They ordered desserts; coffee’s and brandies, simply to extend the perfection of the moment. They were about to leave the table, both feeling comfortable with each other’s company.  Suddenly Fabienne reached across and grasped both of Robert’s hands.

‘I was not telling the exact truth. I have read all the documents from the Bibliotheque. I know how Ximene lived her life. You, pardonnez-moi, Roberre, do not. If you think you have love for Ximene, then I must become Ximene. I will teach you about my beliefs, which are very unusual. You will have to deal with passion and liberality which may shock you. A way of living and loving which has not been practiced for a thousand years. In this way you will experience personally what Jean experienced when all those years ago he met Ximene.’

Robert’s mind reeled as he left the restaurant. He realised he had just received a most erotic proposition from his wife.  No! Not his wife! This beautiful stranger. His mind was in a turmoil.

Now back in his room he looked at the door. It was a symbolic separation under Fabienne’s, or was it Ximene’s, control. It seemed like an eternity. There was then a gentle tap on the door.

‘Jean, it is Sheamene, may I open the door, it is time we started’
It was the first and only time in Robert’s life that he felt that opening a door was an act of intimacy.

Chisholm Institute. Story Structure. Exercise in Omniscient point of view

Draft 4-  1st workshop comments incorporated –  2851 words- Target 3000 words

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