Dark Heart Rising Part 2

'Come on.' Soren took my arm and gave it a little shake. 'We both need to have some fun for a change. Forget about the broken hearts.' He smiled impishly at me. 'Agreed?'

I opened my mouth but found no good defence. Luca wasn't coming back to me. I'd lost him for ever. There was nothing either of us could do this time.

I took a deep breath. 'Agreed,' I told Soren, linking my arm through his.

'You see this one?'

Soren pointed to a canvas, an unfinished painting done in oils. I made out wavy hair, and a soft face in profile. Soren moved and stood beside me.

'This one I am having trouble completing,' he said, reaching out and pressing his fingertip into the canvas. Drawing his hand away, I saw a spot of rich blue. He sighed, and picked up a paint-spattered cloth from a nearby table and carefully wiped off the paint. 'I just lose enthusiasm.' He shook his head.

'It's good,' I said, for want of something to say. I had no idea whether it was good or not, it was jagged and messy. Kind of like that guy Jackson Pollock's art, but with people rather than paint splatters. I made a good show of looking with interest at the canvas.

'It's OK,' he said. 'Don't pretend you like it.' He sniffed. 'You are not supposed to like it.'

'Hmm.' I stepped back and my eyes travelled around the room. There were several other canvases the same: messy and ... angry.

'Maybe this is therapeutic,' I said awkwardly, 'this kind of art.'

'You think?' Soren's eyes narrowed. 'I am just an angry young man with no talent at all!'

His tone startled me. 'I didn't mean that,' I went on nervously. 'Of course you're talented.' I moved away from him and towards a painting that caught my eye. This one had a pure black background and an imposing woman in a tight red dress. She had long hair pulled back in a single ponytail, draped over her shoulder. I frowned as I moved closer. She was beautiful, a little dangerous-looking. But something about her mouth was familiar. In fact a flutter went through my heart as I studied her face.

'Who is this?' I asked, more sharply than I wanted to. 'This woman?'

Soren didn't answer.

'Soren?' I turned, but he was staring out of the window. A large art deco window which looked down on a quiet Parisian mews. Eventually he looked back at me.

'Just someone I used to know,' he said calmly. 'n.o.body important.'

'Oh ...' I glanced back at the painting. The woman's eyes seemed to be staring right back at me. I shuddered.

'I have always wanted this,' Soren said quietly. 'To study here, at the Sorbonne. And now that I am here, I realise I am not talented at all. I paint girls I used to know ...' He chewed his lip. 'All in an effort not to paint the one girl I love.'

Soren seemed to shrink then, become more vulnerable. It was corny but I felt his pain. I too was trying to think of anything, anyone else but the boy I loved. It wasn't working out too well for me either.

'Hey,' I said, giving him the brightest smile I could muster, 'I thought I was the Debbie Downer round here. Weren't you supposed to be cheering me up?'

Though his eyes were still sad, Soren's lips twitched.

'Misery likes company,' he said. 'Isn't that what they say?'

'Soren.' I sighed. 'Let's make a pact. Here and now.'

He raised a dark eyebrow. 'Go on.'

'No more broken hearts.' I gestured at his paintings. 'You've been in a bad place. No wonder your paintings are ... reflecting that. It will pa.s.s. Feelings pa.s.s.' I stared hard at him, hoping to convince myself of this as much as him. 'We can move on.'

Soren looked blank; except for the furrowed brow, his eyes were trained, unblinking on me. Then he started to relax and I saw the tension evaporate.

'I'm sorry,' he said at last. 'This is your last day, and I have acted like the' he stopped, searching for the rest of the sentence 'like an a.s.shole.' He smiled. 'Let me take you to my favourite bar ... It is near here, on the Left Bank. It is charming. Very traditional no tourists.'

I crossed my arms over my chest. 'And we won't talk about sad stuff?'

'Absolutely not. No sad stuff.' Soren looked me up and down. 'Are you sure you're warm enough in that little jacket?' he said. 'Here, borrow mine.' He unzipped his leather jacket and held it out to me.

'I think I could live in Paris.' I looked around at the cosy interior of the tiny restaurant, hidden down an alley near the left bank. The place was full of old men, huddled over beer and wine, and the walls, painted rich reds and pinks, were covered in old posters of Parisian icons, tube stations or Metro stations. Jazz played quietly in the background and a white-ap.r.o.nned waitress flitted skilfully between tables, taking orders and carrying tray-loads of food with just one hand. I sighed, properly contented, and wriggled out of my denim jacket.

'You like it?' Soren grinned. 'This is my favourite place. I came across it, quite by accident, when I first arrived. 'It is a little secret. It is the kind of place you can sit for hours on your own with just a gla.s.s of wine and some saucisson.'

At the mention of saucisson I realised I was starving again.

'I'll have the lamb cutlets,' I said. 'And a gla.s.s of mint tea.'

Soren grimaced. 'I forgot, you English. You can't go anywhere without your tea.' He patted his stomach. 'I will have a beer, I think. I am not hungry.' He smiled apologetically. 'But you eat. Please. It will make me happy.'

'Really?' I frowned.

'You need a good meal. You are thin.' He sat back regarding me as I took a piece of bread.

'I'm not thin,' I said, reaching for the b.u.t.ter. 'But I'm starving.'

Soren beckoned to the waitress and ordered, then turned to the mirror at his side and smoothed his hair back off his face.

He was vain. Not that I blamed him, with a face like that. I waited, amused, until he'd finished his inspection and turned his attention back to me.

'So, Jane. I'm thinking,' he said, clasping his hands together. 'On your last day here in Paris, we must celebrate.' He raised an eyebrow. 'A gla.s.s of champagne ... just one.'

I picked up the wine list. 'Eighteen Euros?' I wedged it back between the breadbasket and the salt mill. 'It's too much.'

'No, no, no.' Soren shook his head in a melodramatic, slow fashion. 'Don't worry about the money. It is my gift to you.'

'Really,' I protested. 'The tea is enough-'

'Ridiculous.' He slapped a palm on the table. 'Just one gla.s.s of champagne. Don't you think you deserve a treat, after-'

'Soren,' I warned, 'we said no sad stuff.'

'Exactly.' He smiled triumphantly as the waitress bought over my tea. As she put it down in front of me, Soren waved a hand dismissively at it. 'This. This is sad.'

I flared my nostrils, staring at the tiny pot. 'Well ... maybe you have a point. OK.' I set my shoulders. 'I'll have a gla.s.s of champagne. Thank you.'

'Thank you.' He caught the waitress's eye. 'Two gla.s.ses of the Dom Perignon,' he said delightedly.

I glanced at the big clock above the doorway to the restaurant. Half past four. I touched my forehead, feeling hot and a little woozy. In front of me, Soren's eyes were sleepy, too. A lock of his black hair fell on to his face and he looked in a dreamlike state. The place had emptied out; deserted tables with napkins and half-finished gla.s.ses of red wine left behind. The waitress moved about with her tray, picking up the debris. As she pa.s.sed our table she gave me a small secretive smile and disappeared back into the kitchen.

That left the two of us to be serenaded by the music Ella Fitzgerald ... something like that. For the first time in a long time I stopped thinking about before. About him. I closed my eyes, letting that deep lilting voice wash over me.

'I'm drunk,' I said with my eyes still shut. 'On a gla.s.s of champagne.' I tasted something a little bitter in my mouth and decided that alcohol was over-rated. Now I knew how my dad felt when he'd been out for the evening with his drinking buddies.

'See.' Soren's voice cut through my thoughts. 'It makes everything go away, doesn't it?'

My eyes snapped open. 'Why would anyone want that?'

Soren was smiling at me. 'Well, you did,' he said, in a sing-song voice. 'Little Miss No-sad-stuff.'

'I know ... I know I said that.' I sat forward and put my head in my hands. 'But I didn't exactly mean it.'

'You didn't?' Soren was alert now. He looked like a fox. Angular, keen.

'No. Because it's not real, is it ... ?' I felt my thoughts blurring. 'It's just a trick.'

Then Soren started saying something. I lifted my eyes and saw his mouth opening and closing, but I couldn't make out any of the words. I put my palms on the table and pushed my chair back the sound of the chair-legs sc.r.a.ping against the wooden floor was piercing. My head thumped. With an enormous effort, I rose from my seat.

'I'm just going to the ladies' room ...' I murmured. 'Don't go away ...'

As if in slow motion I turned, saw the waitress looking bemused, her hands on her hips, and then the floor moved and my feet struggled to follow it.

'Jane?' I heard someone say. 'Jane, are you OK?'

I nodded, and my head seemed to weigh a tonne. It felt horrible. My limbs started to feel disconnected. How could I possibly be so drunk on just one gla.s.s of champagne?

And then the lights dimmed. The last thing I saw before darkness fell was long legs in dark jeans standing in front of me. And nothing there when I put my hands out for help.

CHAPTER THREE.

The sun was scorching as I ran through the corn field. The heads rasping against my hands, stinging. But a rush of adrenaline kept away any stinging, any pain. I saw it in the distance. Pretty rose bowers framing the gate. I saw people inside. Familiar faces.

As I came closer, I saw long dark hair in a loose braid, and a grey tunic. She was playing ball up against the garden wall, but she heard me breathing and turned as I reached her.

'You?' Her eyes were wide with shock, but a smile caught her mouth.

'Dalya!' I knew I sounded weird. Hysterical, maybe. I was just so happy to see her.

She took a step towards me, her face brightening, her hands outstretched, but as I reached out to take them a shadow fell across her face.

'You shouldn't have come here,' she said sadly. 'There are people-'

'Shhh.' I put my finger to my lips.

Dalya picked up her ball, turning it over in her hands. 'Let's go to the Water Path,' she said. 'It's nice there. Peaceful. Remember?'

'Dalya,' I said quietly, 'it's all right. You don't have to protect me.'

'I'm so sorry,' she said. 'There is nothing I can do.'

I shook my head. 'It will be fine. Luca would never leave me. Not after everything. He wouldn't do that.'

'You don't understand. You mortals never really do.' Dalya sank on to the gra.s.s, plucking an ear of corn and stroking the rough spiky hub with her fingertip. 'Luca is promised to her. Once the decision has been made. He will abide by it. He will make the best of it.'

'Oh.' I dropped to my knees, feeling a wave of pain come over me. 'He is so honourable.'

'I wish it wasn't so,' she whispered.

'Dalya!' Henora's voice rang through the hubbub the other side of the garden wall. 'Where are you, child?'

Dalya tossed the corn on the ground and lifted her head. Her eyes, big and dark, searched mine.

'I must say goodbye now.' Her voice caught and I thought I saw the hint of tears in her eyes. She took my hand and gripped it in her own smooth pale one.

'Dalya!' This time the voice was male. Dalya and I locked eyes in panic, but it was too late.

Footsteps advanced to where we were sitting. I swallowed. Half of me triumphant, the other half frightened.

Now that I was here. I felt so insignificant.

'Dalya, go back inside. Henora is nagging about you to anyone who'll listen.'

Not looking at me, Dalya got to her feet and walked stiffly back through the garden gate.

Leaving us alone together.

'Why did you come back?' My heart contracted at the dull tone to his voice. He wasn't pleased to see me. He sounded ... annoyed.

I looked up at him, standing so familiar: willowy, strong, lean. His floppy brown hair cut short, his green eyes a little lifeless.

'I came back for you,' I said. My voice sounded weak and distant. 'I thought-'

'You thought I would change my mind. That I could pretend I don't have to do this.'

Have to do this. A little hope stirred inside me. He doesn't want to, he has to, I thought.

'I don't know. I suppose I didn't think ...' I stood now, remembering how tall he was. Wanting so badly to press myself against him, bury my head into his chest and feel his strong hands stroking my back.

For a moment I saw him waiver. I saw a tremble in his cheek and his eyes flickered. His wide soft mouth seemed to be struggling to stay set, stern.

'Luca?' I moved cautiously closer, my heart pounding.

'Dearest, don't disappear. You can't leave me alone with all these strangers.'

The garden gate creaked open and behind Luca glimpsed a full-skirted kind of c.o.c.ktail dress, a low bodice, smooth honey skin, and silky blonde hair in a pretty chignon.