of the most beautiful women in the world. She was consummately skilled at lovemaking but so were other women to whom he had made love. She seemed intelligent but not brilliant; her personality was pleasant but not complex. There was something else, something the director could not quite put his finger on. And then he remembered her soft ‘no’ and he felt that it was a clue. There was some force in her that was irresistible, that would obtain anything she wanted. There was something in her that was untouched. And like other men before him Armand Gautier felt that though Noelle had affected him more deeply than he cared to admit to himself, he had not touched her at all, and this was a challenge that his masculinity could not refuse.
Gautier spent the day in a confused state of mind. He looked forward to the evening with tremendous anticipation, not so much because he wanted to make love to Noelle but because he wanted to prove to himself that he had been building something out of nothing. He wanted Noelle to be a disappointment to him so that he could dismiss her from his life.
As they made love that night, Armand Gautier made himself consciously aware of the tricks and devices and artifices Noelle used so he would realize that it was all mechanical, without emotion. But he was mistaken. She gave herself to him fully and completely, caring only about bringing him pleasure such as he had never known before and revelling in his enjoyment. When morning came Gautier was more firmly bewitched by her than ever.
Noelle prepared breakfast for him again, this time delicate crêpes with bacon and jam, and hot coffee, and it was magnificent.
‘All right,’ Gautier told himself. ‘You have found a young girl who is beautiful to look at, who can make love and cook. Bravo! But is that enough for an intelligent man? When you are through making love and eating, you must talk. What can she talk to you about?’ The answer was that it didn’t really matter.
There had been no more mention of the play and Gautier was hoping that Noelle had either forgotten about it or had been unable to cope with memorizing the lines. When she left in the morning, she promised to have dinner with him that evening.
‘Can you get away from Philippe?’ Gautier asked.
‘I’ve left him,’ Noelle said simply. She gave Gautier her new address.
He stared at her for a moment. ‘I see.’
But he did not. Not in the least.
They spent the night together again. When they were not making love, they talked. Or rather Gautier talked. Noelle seemed so interested in him that he found himself talking about things he had not discussed in years, personal things that he had never revealed to anyone before. No mention was made of the play he had given her to read, and Gautier congratulated himself on having solved his problem so neatly.
The following night when they had had dinner and were ready to retire, Gautier started towards the bedroom.
‘Not yet,’ Noelle said.
He turned in surprise.
‘You said you would listen to me do the play.’
‘Well, of – of course,’ Gautier stammered, ‘whenever you’re ready.’
‘I am ready.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t want you to read it, cherie,’ he said. ‘I want to hear it when you have memorized it so that I can really judge you as an actress.’
‘I have memorized it,’ Noelle replied.
He stared at her in disbelief. It was impossible that she could have learned the entire part in only three days.
‘Are you ready to hear me?’ she asked.
Armand Gautier had no choice. ‘Of course,’ he said. He gestured towards the centre of the room. ‘That will be your stage. The audience will be here.’ He sat down on a large comfortable settee.
Noelle began to do the play. Gautier could feel the goose-flesh begin to crawl, his own personal stigmata, the thing that happened to him when he encountered real talent. Not that Noelle was expert. Far from it. Her inexperience shone through every move and gesture. But she had something much more than mere skill: She had a rare honesty, a natural talent that gave every line a fresh meaning and colour.
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