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The Lover

by John Benson

Lise was on a train heading south from Paris to the Riviera. It was a burning, early summer day towards the end of June, and as the train finally left the haze of the suburbs and accelerated out into the country she exhaled a sigh of happy relief. She couldn't wait to join her parents at their apartment on the beach and have a swim. Her exams at the university had been hard that year and she deserved a break.

There was nobody else in the compartment, so she slipped off her new canvas shoes, pulled her legs up to her chest slowly, and leaned back in the seat watching the endless fields of wheat zoom by. She had carefully chosen summery clothes: black cotton tights which showed off her legs, and a short, red, cut-off top which she had bought specially for the holidays. A big blousy shirt toned down what was just a little daring, although she had only done up the bottom three buttons.

She looked down at her chest and frowned. If only her breasts were just a little bigger things would be so much easier. She had a fairly good chest - she was always catching boys' eyes locked onto them - and dark, well-defined nipples that attracted attention on the beach, but they just lacked the necessary volume to wear all those really daring dresses. Anyway, she liked them. She glanced around then slid her right hand up under her top around the warm mound of flesh and hefted it slowly, allowing her thumb to brush teasingly across the nipple. It hardened obligingly, showing clearly through the thin cotton, and she reluctantly drew her hand away and tensed her thighs, feeling a small echo of pleasure from far away.

With another quick glance at the door she allowed her hand and its carefully sculpted, unpainted nails to drag over the hard muscles of her exposed midriff. She was in good shape for the beach this year. She had been religiously following a diet from a magazine for a couple of months. This, and her weekly African dance classes, had kept her figure nice and firm. Her mother had also bought her some UV sessions at her aesthetician, so she already had a light golden tan before she even stepped on the sand. She smiled with feline satisfaction.

She turned to face the window, only to be blinded as the train passed through a curve and the late morning sun streamed in, filling the compartment with heat and dancing motes of dust. It was an old carriage, with antique luggage racks overhead and a sign in four languages urging passengers not to lean out of the window. Lise, who had been taking such trains every summer since she was a baby, had known the Italian and German phrases off by heart before she knew what they meant. The seats were old and cracked, and smelled of decades of rail travellers. She didn't mind this though, because for her this was the smell of holidays, and sun, and intrigue with the other boys and girls on the beach. She pulled down the blind half way, creating a shadow which sliced diagonally across her chest, leaving the warm sun to play on the lower half of her body, and rummaged through her bag for her walkman.

She felt good. She squirmed on the seat in lazy, tired delight. After a few songs, she simply turned the music off and lay out along the seats, pushing up the arm-rests as best she could, and closed her eyes, feeling the sun's rays playing over her body through the window, lulled by the uneven click-clack rhythm of the train on the tracks. She had been at an end-of-term party the night before and hadn't had much sleep. From time to time, people passed in the corridor outside.

The first stop was at Orléans, a couple of hours south of Paris. Awaking with the screech of the brakes and the final jolt of the train stopping, she got up quickly to spread her bags across the seats, put her feet up, and hid her face behind a magazine to try and discourage other people from coming into her compartment. Timing was crucial. A few old ladies shuffled by, dragging their ancient suitcases and small dogs behind them, and paused to look in, but to Lise's great relief they all went on. She smirked and congratulated herself, only to regret it instantly as she saw a good-looking young man do the same thing. Thinking the compartment was full, he wandered on before she had the presence of mind to reach over and clear a space. Outside the station-master was blowing his whistle for the train to leave. Cursing herself she got up to put her bags back on the rack only to stumble as the train lurched away from the platform.

Laughing at herself and shaking her head, she was just heaving her suitcase up again when she saw some movement in the corridor out of the corner of her eye and heard the door rumble open. Turning her head awkwardly, she froze with her arms outstretched as she met the watery blue stare of the same young guy that had passed on only seconds before.

"Is this place free?" he asked coldly, indicating the seats opposite Elise's.

"No...I mean yes," she stammered, "I mean there's only me," she managed to add finally with a weak smile.

She finished pushing her case up and quickly retreated to her seat, hiding her face in her magazine as the young man effortlessly swung a massive duffel bag up on to the rack, extracted a book from his pocket, and sat down opposite her. Annoyed with herself for losing her composure, she set her face carefully, and then lowered her magazine to scrutinise her new travelling companion as casually as possible.

He was scrumptious. Nicely filled blue jeans, secured with a thick leather belt, good quality boots, and a clean, red-striped cotton shirt. Just the way she liked it. She let her gaze wander up his muscular thighs and chest to his face. His blue eyes were set in a frame of dark features, with thick coal-black eyebrows. Although well-shaven, the blue sheen of his beard could be seen through his very pale skin. The whole ensemble gave her a sense of solidity, and she could imagine the powerful athletic muscles under his clothes. She glanced away quickly as he raised his head from his reading, alerted by her long perusal. Conscious that he would now look at her, Lise, wriggled a little on her seat, pretending to read her magazine, and happily aware of the colour that had come to her cheeks.

She was just congratulating herself mentally at her luck when the door rumbled open again to reveal an overweight country woman, two foul children, and a matching husband, struggling and sweating with their cracked vinyl suitcases. Not even bothering to ask whether there was any room they poured into the room, forcing Lise into a corner and boxing the indifferent young man in on the seat opposite.

The children were ugly and loud and the first thing the mother did was produce food out of a series of shopping bags - pieces of greasy cold chicken and sickening paté sandwiches that looked and smelled as if they had been left too long in the sun, small cartons of orange juice, and a cheap litre of red wine for her husband and herself. The compartment was filled with the sounds and odours of their lunch, making Lise shudder with horror. Worse, they smelled: particularly the parents. She almost felt sorry for the little girl, who she saw with morbid fascination was a miniature version of the mother, right down to the folds of fat around the neck. She even mimicked her mother's crass manners, eating the chicken held prissily between thumb and forefinger with the stubby little finger of each hand extended towards the ceiling, and scolding her younger brother between mouthfuls just as the mother did to the husband.

Lise put up with this for a few minutes, trying to catch the young man's eye and smile conspiratorially so as to share their common torture. However he kept on doggedly reading what looked like philosophy, frowning from time to time as he turned the pages and apparently oblivious to the circus going on around him. When this failed, now feeling claustrophobic and overheated in the crowded compartment, she got up and, with as much grace as she could manage with the jolting of the carriage, gathered her things in her bag and walked to the door. As she passed him, the young man raised his head inquiringly. Their eyes met, icy blue locked onto her own wide brown for a split second, and then he snapped his head back to his book with a frown. It was a start.

In the toilet she examined her face critically, pulling at her eyebrows. She tried a little lipstick, then rubbed it off because it was too obvious and contented herself with biting her lips to bring a little colour. She freshened up the rest and then brushed her hair. Tilting her head to one side she smiled coquettishly at her herself. Quite a few of her friends had told her she should try some modelling, and she was beginning to think about it seriously. Putting her make-up away, she went back to the compartment where the family was still stuffing their rustic faces in an orgy of vocal, greasy ecstasy.

She struck a pose looking out the window, sliding her eyes sideways from time to time to see if he had noticed. To her satisfaction she caught his gaze fixed on her several times. After a few more minutes of this the smell of the family got to her again and she decided to go to the buffet car for a cigarette. This time she made sure that she moved slowly, pulling herself upright with a sigh, and then rubbing her thighs together lazily before getting to her feet. Everybody looked.

Lise made her way along the train with a spring in her step. She was sure he was interested, and those eyes! On the way to the buffet she kept trying to imagine who he was. A student probably, but his clothes seemed too good for that; he was too self-assured. He seemed quite a bit older than her, maybe 27 or 28, not that it mattered. Anyway, she was sick of young boys. The summer before she had had an 18 year-old lover who had picked her up in one of the bars by the beach. He had been handsome, but so silly. Always drinking too much and showing off. She hadn't bothered to return his calls in Paris once the summer was over.

In the buffet she sat down with a coffee at one of the tables at the far end next to the wall and lit up a cigarette. There were only one or two other people sitting down apart from the bored woman behind the counter. Lise's mind floated back automatically to the man in the compartment. She imagined what his body would be like under his clothes. From the look of his beard he would have a nice pattern of thick hair on his muscular chest. She loved that. Just thinking about running her hands over a chest like that made her slit her eyes and smile. She uncrossed and crossed her legs again, took a deep drag, and thought about his arms. She loved arms with really rock-hard muscles. She cupped her chin in one hand and leaned forward as the mere thought of it made her mouth water.

She sat pensively smoking her cigarette, letting her mind wander, and watching the reflection of the countryside through which the train was passing on the mirrored wall next to her table. The long fields of the plains had given way to more hilly country which was used mainly for grazing, although there were still the occasional swaying squares of dark green corn or dusty yellow wheat. Huge plane and oak trees dotted the meadows, providing shade for herds of thirsty cows crowded beneath them. Ancient square farm houses, with the house and stables enclosing a courtyard, a pigeon tower with dozens of holes punched into the facade rising from one corner, swam into view for a few seconds. The sun shone fiercely off the centuries-old stone turning it almost white, and baking the bricks till they crumbled one step closer to dust. Lise knew how it would feel to walk through the hard dry courtyard, squinting from the glare, open one of the massive stable doors with its clumsy massive latch, and pass into the cool interior of the stable where the horses and milk cows were kept. The air would be suddenly cool, and full of the rich dark smells of manure and leather.

She stubbed out her cigarette and finished off her coffee. Reaching down to take her book out of her bag her heart jumped as she saw that the very man whom she had been undressing in her mind had installed himself at the other end of the buffet while she had been staring out the window. He had followed her into the car.

She sat up quickly and began to pretend to read. Different ploys and scenarios flashed into her mind. Would he come over and offer to buy her something? Probably not. Perhaps if she could catch his eye? She tried this for a few minutes, but he studiously kept his face in his book, eyes glued to the page while he reached blindly for his cup of coffee. Finally she got up and went over to the counter.

She ordered a cup of coffee, then pulled out a cigarette and began rummaging noisily in her bag for a lighter, although she could see it quite plainly, sitting amongst her make-up. Nothing happened. Her coffee came, and in the end she gave up and just put the cigarette back into the pack unsmoked. Taking the coffee she didn't really want she went back to her table, peeved. A careful look in the mirror showed that the young intellectual in the opposite corner was still engrossed in his damn book.

That did it. She finished off the coffee in two or three quick gulps and felt the colour rise in her face as the caffeine kicked in. She was about to stand up and go when another thought crossed her mind. She stood, took off the blouse she was wearing over her top, and stuffed it in her bag, exposing her high young breasts and the tanned corrugated muscle of her belly to full view. That should do it.

Despite the burning heat washing down on the countryside outside the train, inside the buffet the air-conditioning made the air almost chilly. This and the fact that she was exposing herself so suddenly gave Lise goose-bumps on her arms as she strode purposefully towards the other end of the carriage and the exit. With every step she could feel her tightly packed chest rise and fall, bouncing. She liked it. She arched her back a little, adopted an expression of aristocratic disdain, and felt a little thrill in her stomach as she passed right by his table.

At the exit she pressed on the handle of the automatic door, which opened with a sudden exhalation of compressed air, and glanced back with her darkest look, expecting to meet the eyes of the young man glued on her body. He was still calmly reading, oblivious to all her charms, and as she looked turned his page with a wry smile at some private joke, ignoring her completely. Scandalized, Lise walked off through the door in a huff.

Back in the carriage, she moodily listened to some music, turned up loud enough so she wouldn't have to hear the mindless prattle of Mr and Mrs Manure and their charming offspring. Eventually, when he didn't return to the carriage, she closed her eyes, turned off the tape, and despite her travelling companions dozed off.

She woke up to the jolting of the train again as it slowed. She raised her head from her chest, immediately aware of a stiffness in her neck because of the awkward position she had slept in. Directly opposite her, not more than an arm's length away, was her blue-eyed friend, gazing coolly at her. The carriage was empty apart from the two of them; the family must have got out at some other station while she was asleep.

The train was slowing as it passed through the suburbs of what looked like Lyon, shaking both of them as it crossed the points. He was still staring at her with his arms folded, his legs spread out in front of the seat, his jean-covered knees almost touching her own. She locked eyes with him, and shivered, feeling her scalp prickle. His eyes were so cold. There was no expression on his beautiful features. He could have been the cover of some glossy magazine. The stare went on for a long time. Then he broke the contact. His eyes crept down to her chest, her belly, and lingered on her thighs, and then flicked back to her face. She felt very alone and vulnerable.

Suddenly he smiled, the mask broken as human warmth swept into his face, his eyes crinkling with good humour and his white teeth flashing. Hesitantly at first, confused, she smiled back, still looking into his eyes which now seemed warm and impish. His smile broadened into a grin as the train put on its final brakes and stopped next to the platform. The burble of the crowd of passengers waiting on the platform washed into the compartment as if somebody had flicked a switch.

Still smiling, he rose in one smooth movement, swung down his bag onto his shoulder and left the compartment without looking back at her. It took only a matter of seconds and then she was alone. She sat stunned for a moment while her own smile melted off her face, bewildered by the strange turn of events. Then, as people began to struggle up the corridor once more with their luggage, she shrugged her shoulders and sighed, smiling. If only she had said something, they might have exchanged phone numbers.

Somebody tapping on the window next to her gave her a fright. Outside she saw with delight that it was him, still grinning and trying to say something through the thick glass. Laughing herself, excited, she leaned forward and tried to hear what he was saying, but the noise from the platform and the commotion of people in the corridor made it impossible. His eyes were shining so brightly, he was so handsome. She felt as if she were in a film.

At first she couldn't make out what he was saying. It was only two words but the window's thick glass prevented any sound passing through. She tried to find some way of opening the window, but it was stuck. She leaned forward conspiratorially, with her lips half open while he kept repeating the same two words over and over. A moment passed, and then she recoiled as she suddenly realised what he was saying, and the smile on her face drained away at the same time his did. He raised his finger and jabbed it at the glass, anger now in his blue eyes, making her flinch.

"Stupid slut," he was saying over and over, "You are a stupid little slut."

She snapped her head around and down, fixing her gaze on her hands in her lap, trembling and too scared to look up again. Her mind raced and whirled. Would he come back into the carriage? She prayed for somebody else to come into the compartment. After a few seconds the banging on the window stopped, but she knew he was still there.

It seemed like an eternity before she heard the whistle blow, the doors slam, and the train jerk into motion. While she waited she watched the big fat tears dropping onto her hands which she was wringing in her lap. She wondered where they were coming from. As the train pulled out, she ventured a glance out the window and saw the platform was empty.

Her limbs were weak, her stomach in knots. She scrabbled in her bag for one of the dietary biscuits her grandmother had given her, which she began to nibble nervously, still crying and scattering crumbs. Other people came into the compartment but she didn't care. They stared with amazement at this beautiful young woman hunched in the corner, crying in a pool of golden late afternoon sunshine. They talked loudly of inconsequential matters to prevent her sadness from infecting and spoiling their holiday spirit.

Outside the day was wearily cooling down in preparation for the long twilight, full of the songs of crickets and sighing trees. The train picked up speed, and carried them all away through the golden-green countryside towards the south and their long-awaited holidays.