Hunting Ground by J. Robert Janes Page B

emeralds—I’d have given anything to have known then what he did for a living, his reason for being here, for showing up at the oddest of times.
    He chuckled and said, half in wonder, half in surprise, ‘A fake. Who would have guessed? Well, even if it is one, I’d still like to see it on you.’
    What can I say about that gown I went to put on? I had three of them and chose the one I thought would suit best. It was sleeveless, with a V-neck, and of a dark brown, incredibly soft velvet. I parted my hair in the middle at the front and pinned it tightly back, wore those earrings, too, and sandals. Dieu merci , that gown still fit, for I’d not worn it in such a long, long time.
    Tommy had switched on the wireless to listen to the news but when he saw me in the doorway, he turned it off and said, ‘It suits. Do you know, I think I like it. Yeah, I really do. It’s fabulous.’
    He gave a low whistle, and only then did I realize he’d spoken in English.
    The tiara was somewhat heavy, a tight fit, and I wondered, as I self-consciously took it off, why it should weigh so much. The lead, I supposed. All those rhinestones.
    Tommy put that thing back on my head. He indicated that I should turn around slowly several times, then took me by the hand. ‘Would you care to dance?’ he asked. ‘You’re incredibly beautiful, but you don’t even know it, do you, and that’s something else I really like.’
    It was a silent waltz, and it took us from one end of the library to the other, light as a feather. A superb dancer. Flashing diamonds and emeralds in gilt-framed mirrors, laughter in his eyes.
    Again, he held me by the hand and looked steadily at me. Breathless, I smiled back at him, the excitement all too clear in my eyes and as I felt him come closer, he said, ‘I think I’d like to kiss you. May I?’
    Hesitantly, lightly, oh, so tenderly. ‘ Mm, a little more, monsieur.’ And it was wicked of me. I blame my French half entirely, you understand, for at that moment I wanted him more than anything. How was I to have known he’d lied to me about that tiara? How was I to have known why he had done a thing like that?
    There were greenish tints in his warm brown eyes, no laughter now. ‘What is it with you, mon ami ?’ I asked. ‘You come, you go, you come back again. Is it that I remind you of someone you lost?’
    He didn’t answer. He leaned closer, and closer still, and putting a finger under my chin, lifted it up to give me the sweetest kiss ever, and when I heard my breath escape, I said, ‘Come to bed with me. Let’s have this moment together.’
    ‘Are you sure?’
    Ah, mon Dieu, he was even asking! ‘Oui, mais bien sûr.’
    How was either of us to know what the future would hold? Even now, when I think of Tommy, I have to think back to that night, to the start of it all. We danced some more. He held me in front of the mirror that was above the fireplace, stood behind with his arms about my waist. ‘Fix it in memory, Lily. Remember what we look like together. Treasure the moment no matter what.’
    ‘Always?’
    He nodded, looked as if he had just made a commitment himself. ‘We hardly know each other,’ he said.
    ‘It doesn’t matter, not with us.’ I was so certain then.
    I remember that the gown had fallen to lie on the carpet, crushed velvet with crumpled lingerie carelessly dropped on top of it, the tiara among the folds, the earrings that had been removed one by one. Naked like a fine piece of sculpture, he had such a handsome body—tall, lithe, muscular, the cheeks of his buttocks tight, the cords across the waist taut, the shoulders fantastic, the back straight. Every feature I memorized, even that he had been circumcised, the testicles full and the one hanging a little higher than the other, and I can’t think of him like that for what they must have done to him. Schiller … The Obersturmführer Schiller, the lieutenant. My sister, Jean-Guy, and Marie …
    Forgive me. Let me dry my eyes