Author's note: You are all wonderful people. Thank you for your support.
Thank you to my muse, who has not only inspired, but has also edited everything for me.
If this is your first encounter with Melanie, you might like to read the earlier chapters first.
This is the final chapter of Melanie.
*****
They settled in a pavement café on Boul'Mich, a bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape between them.
- Tell me more about your family Melanie? he asked softly. How will you be able to get away? Your husband, your kids ...? And how do you really feel about us? I mean -- he hesitated -- up till now it's been, well, it's been ... one of these things that can happen between a man and a woman, when they're away from home, and there's a spark, a bit of chemistry. But now, if you're coming to Glasgow ... that puts it in, umm, a different category?
- I should slap you hard for saying that. I thought you loved me? But she was smiling. 'One of these things that can happen...?' Sandy, you know I've never done anything like this before, allowed myself to ... oh christ, TOUCH another man, let alone fall in love like this? But yes, I know what you mean. Until now, we thought we'd never see each other again. Now we know we will. So it's different. Yes.
Sandy had rolled a cigarette whilst she spoke. Watched her eyes as he lit it: Yes, it is. I thought we'd just part and it'd be terribly sore for a while, probably a long time. But that I'd never see you again. I can't imagine ever having any business that'll take me to Adelaide. But Melanie, you know I love you deeply, that there is some impossibly powerful force between us. Tell me more about your husband? Please, darling?
Her face shadowed. He could see her struggling, a turmoil in herself, and he knew better than to press her further. But he needed to know more about her life, hoped she would be able to talk to him about it. Eventually her face composed itself.
- George has MS darling, multiple sclerosis. A rotation of carers look after him: I did it for years, but it got far beyond my abilities, lifting him and so on, long before he got the care package he needed, and should have had a long time previously. We're friends, we still share a lot -- not least our littlies of course -- but we haven't been lovers for a very long time. He just can't, progress of the illness. It's a disease of the nervous system and sex is often one of the first things to go. In his case quite a lot has gone. I -- she looked in his eyes, tears in hers -- I'm not sure how much more I can tell you.
- And your bairns, he asked gently, how are they? She saw only compassion in his eyes, smiled into him as she paused to think, irises moving sideways and up as she focused her thoughts.
- They are normal lovely children. They love him to bits, and of course they don't really understand that it's unusual to have a parent with a progressive disability. It's their life, their normality. But physically I suppose, and maybe emotionally, I work hard to try and compensate for what they can't get from their dad. They are OK, just lovely decent small folk. They are my life.
He leaned to her and stroked the lines engraved on her brow: I can see that darling. It's written all over your face. Thank you for helping me understand a wee bit more.
They sipped wine and spoke more of their families: Sandy's all grown up and in charge of their own lives; Melanie's still young and vulnerable. Swapped tales of children's idiosyncrasies and parents' foibles. Laughed together till the tears ran down both their faces. It was nearly seven when he next glanced at his watch.
- Sweetheart, it's getting near dinner-time, are you hungry?
She smiled in his eyes: I was so carried away with our chat, and the wine helped too. But yes, I'm getting hungry. Where will we eat?
- There's somewhere in Place Mouffetard, maybe ten minutes walk. It used to be wonderful, but I don't know that it's even still there now. If it is, it might be a suitable place for our last dinner in Paris together.
They wandered through backstreets in the warm evening, nineteenth century tenements towering over them. They breathed the distinctive scents of the city. Then they paused outside a sex shop, a fairly upmarket one, a bit like a French Anne Summers, Sandy thought. Melanie took his hand, whispered: I've never in my life been in a place like this darling. Always wanted to look, but never had the courage, on my own.
They wandered between the displays of lingerie and sextoys: Anything you want love? Sandy asked. She drew him back to the display of bondage toys, fingered a soft black leather collar with interest.
- Sandy?
- Yes darling?
- How do you think this will look on me?
His mouth fell open, and he leaned to kiss her. His heart was pounding suddenly. He had had no idea ... but his cock was rigid at a vision of her naked and collared before him. He drew the soft leather artefact from the display and took it to the desk. As they stepped from the shop she drew the bag from him and removed the label. Stopped outside in the fading Paris evening. She fastened the collar on her neck, her eyes on his. Moved back from him and turned on the pavement.
- Does it suit me? she husked.
He moaned incoherently and drew her in his arms, scenting the fine leather as he licked her neck: It's perfect my love. I need to fuck you now, but waiting will only make it better when we do. His fingers slid under her skirt and she was wetter than he'd ever felt her.
*****
The wee restaurant was still there. It didn't offer a big menu, but once he established that the chef he knew was still in charge, Sandy was confident that everything would be good. He chose the traditional rabbit stew after they shared fragrant garlic escargots; Melanie went with lamb cutlets. He had insisted on a bottle of Moet, over-riding her protests at the extravagance: This is our last night in Paris, darling.
As they ate she spoke more of her family, the nature of her husband's illness, and Sandy was humbled by her trust in him. It was clear that she loved George: clear too the enormous stress his awful illness had placed on her over many years, intensifying as his condition worsened. Sandy's friend's wife had MS and he had watched in despair as two lives imploded, so he had some understanding of how Melanie's world must be.
Meals finished and dishes cleared from their table, he held her hand as she finally broke down sobbing. He stood and moved behind her, kneading her shoulders gently through the silk.
- Darling, do you want coffee? A liqueur? To finish our evening?
She turned and looked up at him, tearstained: I think I just want to go back now Sandy.
In the taxi she cooried into him, clutching him tightly. He sat holding her, watching the Paris evening pass through the windows of the vehicle, overwhelmed with love for this woman. A love which he knew, her visit to Glasgow notwithstanding, was quite unsustainable. He couldn't share her life, help her with her husband and children. But he ached to be able to do so. Ach, the world is so fucking hard sometimes. He stroked her hair with one hand, the other feathering her face.
Then they were in Montmartre, outside the pension. When they were out of the taxi she whispered: Sandy, could we walk for a while before we go in?
He took her hand and led her through quiet lanes behind the bustle of the Folies Bergere, knowing what she needed to see. Then they were in the Place in front of Sacré Coeur and her eyes lifted to the neo-classical splendour of the white basilica: What is this darling?
He explained the history: that the church had been conceived as part of the right-wing reaction to the Paris Commune of 1871. As a socialist he was equivocal about its genesis and history, but there was no doubting the immense architectural impact of the domed building, atop the highest point in the city. It was built on the graves of thousands of Communards who had been entombed in the old mines below, as right-wing forces crushed the Commune. It had been until its brutal repression, the first-ever government in the world to attempt to represent the working-class majority.
- Isn't it strange that something so beautiful could be built to celebrate the destruction of such a brave ideal? Her eyes were in his and he leaned to kiss her.
- Ach, love, so much of our built heritage, almost everywhere, celebrates the achievements of the rulers of societies, and rulers have almost always been a minority who gained their wealth and power at the expense of the poorer majority. Tis how the world is, and unfortunately I see little sign of it changing soon, anywhere. But you have to admit, it is a very powerful building?
Sacré Coeur shimmered white, high above the bustle of the city, rising over the glow of streetlights, up into the darkness. Kissed by the faint light from a crescent moon peeping through clouds, eerily illuminating its sepulchral paleness.
She shivered and turned to him: It's getting cooler and I'm tired. Let's go in now? She stood on her toes to kiss him and it was his turn to shiver. She reached into parts of him he hadn't known existed before. His hands went to her silk-covered arse and he felt her tremble in her need. He kissed the collar on her neck.
- Aye, let's go in.
The door to the tenement opened to her key and they nodded to the concierge before climbing the two flights of stairs to their landing. Slipped into the room. Between a couple of buildings the dome of Sacré Coeur was partly visible through the window. Melanie gazed at it before shutting the window and drawing the curtains, then turned to him.
- Sandy?
- Yes, love?
- I noticed the bath when we dropped our stuff off earlier. It's very big. Can we share it? Come and have a look!
The ensuite bathroom indeed had a big bath, a corner affair, triangular and spacious.
- I think there's room for two there, he breathed. Enfolded her in his arms, fingers going to the buttons at the back of her dress. She fumbled with his cufflinks and shirt buttons as the dress fell to the floor. She wore no bra and he knelt to suckle her proud breasts as she lifted his shirt off. Their breathing was coming faster now and his hands went to her silk panties, stroking in her groin through the sleek fabric.
She twisted to put the plug in the bath and turn the water on and his mouth went to the sweet arse now before him. Just began licking it through the silk when she straightened and turned back, and his mouth was tasting cunt through silk. He looked up at her.
- Melanie, I have never felt as close to another human being. Ever. His fingers moved to pull the scant silk garment down and she sighed as his tongue licked into her groin, flicking round the trimmed bush atop her mons, then moved down, into the crease between thigh and trunk. He tasted her sweat and looked up. Her face was drawn with want, mouth slack, eyes hooded. He knew she needed his love now. Stood and hastily removed the remainder of his clothes as she watched.
