Pierre. Primula Bond

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СКАЧАТЬ The way he was.

      Give the poor guy a break. He’s only human.

      Take a good look, mate, I say to him silently. Call the shots if it makes you feel better but you can’t touch me. You’re just flesh and blood and, let’s face it, you’re lying there with a bunch of bust bones.

      I will his eyes to meet mine. And when they do the dullness has cleared, as if he read my thoughts. That’s more like it. Those thick eyelashes flare round the black irises. It’s like facing down a wild animal. A wounded wild animal.

      I raise one finger and run it slowly up the damp crack between my breasts. A little test. Pierre Levi’s eyes narrow, giving nothing away. I pull demurely at my uniform.

      Now I see it. I see the wetness of Pierre Levi’s tongue as it runs over his lower lip.

      Nurse Jeannie got it wrong. They all got it wrong. Despite the useless body, the lifeless eyes, the cold hostility. Those terrible scars. Or maybe because of all that.

      He’s still alive. And he’s still drop-dead gorgeous.

      ‘Rosa? I need the soap and water over here, please. Time’s ticking on. We do have other clients to see to.’

      Nurse Jeannie’s voice is more abrupt than it needs to be, senior Matron or not. I suspect the sternness is for the client’s benefit, not mine. I nod calmly and go into the bathroom to collect the bathing stuff. I’ve washed countless clients since I started here but this is different.

      I stare at my reflection in the bright mirror. I know what I’ve just seen lying in that bed. A once thrusting, successful player, struck down by murderous intent, racked with pain and hiding from the world. But what does he see when he looks at me?

      A dark-skinned girlish face flushed from the heat. Barely tamed black hair springing away from my damp face in crazy ringlets. My brown eyes look huge, even without make-up. Like one of those marmosets up a tree, watching for the enemy. It’s as if I’m trying to see right through the glass, through the wall into the sick room.

      What else? Yes. The tops of my breasts bulging through the half-pulled zip like something out of a Carry On film. I tug at it again, but it doesn’t budge. I pull the stiff fabric together, and pick up the washing lotions.

      I’m going to have to remember every bullet point of my training.

       He’s a patient, not a person. A body, not a being.

      When I come out of the bathroom the moment has gone. Pierre Levi has collapsed against the pillow again, his eyes closed. He doesn’t want to see me, and he doesn’t want to see himself. Nurse Jeannie has moved the cage away from his legs and pulled the sheet and his pyjama trousers right down. I can’t see the legs. The more seriously broken left leg is encased in plaster. The right is wrapped in bandages. But the sheet has slipped away from his stomach, his groin, his bruised, swollen thighs. He is as naked as the day he was born.

      And almost – almost – as helpless.

      Nurse Jeannie stops talking and bends to her task with the soap and sponges. She directs me to hold the bowl while she runs the cloth over Pierre Levi’s eyes, behind his ears, nose and mouth, pushes his thick hair off his forehead so that it stands away in tufts. She squeezes the water out and takes a clean sponge to continue washing down his neck, over his chest. As she moves it slowly round each pec the nipples stiffen. She brushes the sponge across each tip, making it darken. His fingers curl into fists, but otherwise he doesn’t react.

      It looks as if we are torturing him.

      I stretch out and touch her hand, wet with soap and water.

      ‘Maybe we should stop this,’ I whisper, gulping on a ridiculous rush of tears. ‘He’s hating it.’

      Nurse Jeannie’s face softens, but she shakes her head. She lays her hand on Pierre Levi’s chest.

      ‘You’ll feel better when you’re clean,’ she says quietly. ‘These restless nights you have.’

      She squeezes the sponge, dribbles water playfully over his stomach, and starts to massage it in circular movements. My sister used to do that with her babies when they had colic.

      With those long lashes fanned out over his cheeks and the hair pushed away from his eyes, Pierre’s face is more open and boyish. I long for him to catch me watching him. Maybe I could coax out another snuffle of laughter.

      I look back at Nurse Jeannie. Now she is the one watching me. A glimpse of understanding crosses her round blue eyes as she rolls Mr Levi’s torso, turning him as far onto his side as his legs will allow so she can wash his back. Now he’s facing me. Still his eyes remain closed. Screwed tight shut again, as is his mouth. It really is as if he hates us.

      Nurse Jeannie strokes the sponge over the mound of each buttock, up the crack between, down his thighs, then lays him gently on his back. She raises the sheet to do his feet and toes, smoothes the sponge back up and then dries him with the towel.

      In any other situation there’d be more sexual response by now, however immobile the rest of him. Pierre Levi must have a will of steel to stop himself groaning under this feminine touch. His cock has plumped up slightly but it must be yearning to lift, straighten, stiffen, in anticipation of pleasure. Any other patient would offer a smutty joke or a muffled apology and get soothing amusement from the nurse. But not this one.

      I know I’m supposed to be detached. I’m a care assistant. Pierre Levi is vulnerable and badly injured.

      But to me he’s also an attractive, naked man lying on a bed.

      I lay my hand on the mattress and stare past Jeannie, out past the neatly clipped topiary shapes decorating the clinic’s parched garden, up at the hot, blue sky hanging above the city. I’m barely aware that my fingertips are touching Pierre Levi’s hip because a memory from last summer, July in another hot city, another shadowy room where another naked man was lying, is searing through me.

      The day my heart was broken.

      I thought it would be a nice surprise. I had returned to Rome two days early from a jazz festival in Edinburgh. My boyfriend Daniele hadn’t been able to join me in Scotland, so I thought he’d be pleased to see me home so soon. Silly me. It was still dawn when I got off the airport train. The church bells were ringing over the domed and tiled rooftops. I could hear faint choral singing from the nuns up in the Trinita chapel as I crossed the Piazza di Spagna towards our apartment …

      ‘She’s gone off somewhere, nurse. Some nostalgic journey. Bring her back.’

      ‘Rosa? Would you like to have a go?’

      I stare blankly at Nurse Jeannie and then down at Pierre Levi. While I was reminiscing his eyes have opened again. They are searching my face as if he can read exactly what is written there.

      ‘Yes, of course,’ I answer, shoving the bowl at her so roughly that the water slops over the edge. ‘Just the genitals left to do, was it?’

      She nods, frowning at my tone. Pierre doesn’t blink, but he bites down on his lower lip. I refuse to meet his gaze. I tweak a fresh cloth from the dispenser, squirt on a big blob of soapy wash and thump the cloth onto Pierre’s lower abdomen. It lands too hard. The СКАЧАТЬ