The Godmother by Cayre Hannelore; Smee Stephanie;

Author:Cayre, Hannelore; Smee, Stephanie;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Schwartz Publishing Pty, Limited

4

THE CHAMELEON THAT SNOOZES, LOSES

It was the end of July. The sun was scorching the sky; Parisians were migrating to the beaches. And just as I was getting started in my new career, Philippe, my cop fiancé, took up his position as Commander of the drug squad for the Second District DPJ.

‘We’ll see each other more this way,’ he’d said cheerfully, when he’d announced the news two months earlier, on the day of his appointment.

I was genuinely happy for him – but back then, I was only a simple court translator-interpreter and I didn’t yet have 1.2 tonnes of hash in my basement.

Philippe.

So, he’s a man. Broad-backed, muscly, carrying a bit of extra weight, big, beautiful hands. A kind face with a thick head of hair, a rare thing at fifty-eight. The sort of guy everyone wants to please, who can be measured by his generosity, by the number of friends he has, or the number of godchildren – by everything, really… A guy whose social standing was plain for all to see at significant occasions such as birthdays or leaving drinks. A guy whose funeral would mean a graveyard crowded with mourners.

Physically, I couldn’t say whether he was my type. In any event, he looked nothing like the only man who had ever really meant anything to me, namely, my husband, whom people always assumed was my big brother, we looked so alike. In fact, prior to Philippe, I hadn’t ever really experienced physical otherness. I’m not saying I’d lived like a nun for twenty years, but my sex life had been limited to one-night stands, always with criminal lawyers, by definition a bunch of lying, unfaithful, narcissistic womanisers… And this was when I still belonged to the Milf category – mother I’d like to fuck. Once I hit forty, it was all over.

It was Philippe’s desire for me that really won out; a desire that was strong and genuine, that shone in his eyes when he looked at me, and that would have carried away any menopausal creature…

I loved having him around – who wouldn’t have? – because as well as being integrity personified, he was intelligent, cultured and witty. By combining my life with his, I told myself at the time, a bit of his solidity might perhaps rub off on me. But when he was with me, or worse, on top of me, I felt as if I was being swallowed up, both literally and figuratively, without knowing if I even liked it. Sure, he was a considerate lover of whom I could ask anything and who was able to make me come for hours at a time… but after enquiring whether I was completely satisfied, he would snuggle up against me, bury his face in my neck and slip blissfully into a peaceful and grateful sleep. And then, with his body like a dead horse cutting off my circulation and killing my back, and his deep, hot breath condensing on my skin… how can I say this… I had only one wish, and that was for him to leave.

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