Passion Patrol Box Set 1

Combat-3-6

“So how did you get started as a boxer?” she asked gently.

He smiled and lay back with his hands behind his head, “Look - if I get started on all that we’ll be here all day - talking about myself to a soft beautiful girl with no clothes could really distract me,” he joked.

“Just a quick sketch,” she pleaded.

“I was born in France. My mother and father were students at the Sorbonne - just down the road. She was from a poor family who’d sacrificed a lot. She was studying international business. That’s just a polite way of saying studying money! He was some kind of revolutionary poet, looking for the death of wealth, scribbling poems in pavement cafés. Somehow - somehow and don’t ask me how - they fell for each other.”

“So - it was ooh là là! - how romantic,” she sighed.

“Exactly - romance but little else. She is pregnant, spurned by her family and married to this wild hippy guy who gets a job teaching literature in a little village with two cows, a boulangerie - and a school.”

“For the cows?”

“In France, two cows mean fifty farmers and two hundred kids. I think there were some goats up one end of the village.”

Anna laughed. His mood had changed and once again she burrowed blindly into her happiness.

“So - mom winds up rolling cheeses and cooking rabbit, but dreaming of London, New York or at least Paris and a city job,” he continued.

“And your father...?”

“He taught, began to establish himself as a top French poet, wrote philosophy - walked the fields with a notebook and a mongrel dog.”

“Do you see him?” she asked, drawn to such a character.

“Yeah sure, but - well, he is not - um - proud of what I am and everything...” he faltered and stopped.

She sensed that there was far more to say but she decided not to push.

“So, one day Mathieu La Salle comes home to find the cottage empty and a sweet little note on the table explaining that his wife and little Freddie were flying to the USA.”

“God - where did you go?”

“We touched down at LA and rented a room while she found work. Then we got a bus north to a trailer park in Castroville. It was all mom could afford.”

“Did you miss home - and your father?”

“Sure - I was a weird kid. We only spoke French in the house and at school. Mom spoke in English to me sometimes but I was struggling at first - I had a friend - a Mexican kid called Ramon. He only knew Spanish so I was like a genius. His folks were illegals and worked the artichoke fields. His big brothers were boxers and all dreamed of being Rocky and punching their way to wealth and fame. These guys looked after me and showed me how not to get bullied cos you’re different.”

“Poor baby - how old were you?” she asked tenderly, imagining him as a boy.

“I was about ten - Ramon was nearly eleven - he was really pleased that he was always gonna be older than me and that I could never catch him up...”

He stopped and his voice seemed to choke with emotion. She watched him sitting motionless and for a moment thought she saw tears in his eyes. She had learned that he was a complex man with walls inside him that only he would knock down.

He drew her to his chest and kissed the top of her hair.

“Your hair shines so beautifully,” he said quietly.

She ran her hand down across the olive skin of his stomach and brushed his soft hair. His arousal was powerful and almost instant. Whatever had been his sadness, at least she could blot it out. She swung herself on top of him and slid him into her. This was Paris and they were nothing if they were not lovers.

When he had gone to shower she lay warm in his scent. His mobile lay on the Louis XVI table. She had time to check it out, find out who he knew and who called and when. She got up and wrapped herself in his gown. She would keep this until she died. How could she think of betraying him when his life force had surged into her longing belly just a few minutes before? She wandered out to the lounge and sank into the deep sofa. He appeared, wearing a pair of white briefs through which he bulged. His flawless skin glowed with health and strength. His face was newly shaved and impossibly handsome. He turned to her and smiled with his deep chestnut eyes.

“You don’t look out of shape... the papers say you are not training,” she commented as she took in his sculpted form.

“The papers don’t always get it right - but believe me, once I go to California, it’s work!”

“But this will be your last fight?” she asked nervously.

“Oh yes mon amour,”

“And will you be allowed a woman while you are training?” she half teased.

“There are no real rules - but for a week before the fight I’m on a different planet. It’s about focus and aggression. You would not want to be there.”

“And you will win?”

He looked at her seriously and nodded, “I will win,”

She did not want to push too far but suddenly thought of a tactic.

“Should I sell everything and put it on you to win? I could make a fortune,” she asked disingenuously.

He looked at her stonily.

“Don’t even dream of doing that.”

“But, I believe you’re going to win.”

“I’ll be the best man - but no one has muscles on their chin - it’s boxing - some guy is trying to put your lights out. I am prepared and have the experience.”

“Oh Freddie - I’m so afraid,” she whispered.

“And that, ma belle, is why women do not come to training camp,” he said finally, “let’s look forward to a day in Paris.”

She kissed him on the lips and slipped away to get herself ready. She chose her black culottes, pump shoes, a red satin blouse and the taupe linen blazer. As she emerged fragrant and elegant, he was on the phone. He mimed that it was mom. Anna checked the time - it was 10.30am - That would be 4.30 a.m. in California.

“Mom - don’t worry - I’ll be with you Sunday - Sure I’ll swing by the vineyard tomorrow and check out the figures with Christophe... no I haven’t checked the dollar exchange rate yet.”

He smiled across at her, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

“Yah - I do have a girl - a very special girl - yah... she’s perfect. Bye mom... bye...”

He let out a sigh as he hung up.

“Sheesh - does she get up in the middle of the night to call you about business?” she questioned with a slight edge to her tone, filing away mom’s interest in his “girl”.

“Why not Anna? She’s fought her way up from nothing by looking after business,” he stated in such a way that she realized that mom was beyond reproach.

“Well, it is the middle of her night and she can’t get in the ring with you,” she replied, trying to convey that she was on his side.

“She doesn’t need to - I guess you’ve never had nothing and had to stand up for yourself.”

She swallowed an immediate response. It was not his fault if he did not know about her real life. She had gone into this with a deception in her heart. One day...one day he would know that she was not anyone’s little girl! How he would react was a question still not asked.

“Freddie - I wasn’t being personal or critical of her.”

“I know that - but she lives for wealth and business - you were always Daddy’s girl I guess. You didn’t have to beat twenty guys to get your job.”

Anna bit her tongue.

“Leyton Marine is a family business. Clients like to deal with family - so I out qualified everyone on this Earth,” she responded hotly.

Freddie nodded and smiled, “I’ll score that round to you baby,” he said, obviously keen to defuse the situation.

He took her in his arms and kissed her. She felt a surge of love flow through her. One day she might ask his mom if she was happy for her son to die or scramble his brains while she looked after business. Today was life enough and for today and she would live it.

Chapter 13They walked hand in hand down le Boulevard St. Michel. They fell naturally into step. Now and then a passerby would do a double take and swivel to look at him. A few chic Parisiennes lost their cool and giggled behind a hand held to the lips. She caught the words, “Oui - c’est lui - Freddie.”

He could have a hundred girls at his feet in as many minutes, but she felt no concern. The way he kissed her cheek now and then as they walked let her know that he was hers alone and she was his.

At Notre Dame they took the river bus and followed the Seine. Passing under le Pont Neuf he kissed so tenderly that she thought she would faint. Some tourists applauded and Freddie took their group photo with the Louvre as background.

“There are some paintings by Courbet in the Musée d’Orsay - maybe we can just call in and take a look,” he suggested.

“You wrote a book on Courbet didn’t you Freddie?”

“Ah - you have researched a little. Yes, it is called ‘L’Origine Du Monde’ after a painting by that name,” he smiled with his sexy brown eyes.

For a while he spoke in French about Art and the guidance of his father. It was like a master class in painting. Never was she surer that such a man would not involve himself with criminals.

At the Musée he entered through a side door, avoiding the hordes of tourists. An official leapt up. It became clear that Freddie had given a large collection on indefinite loan.

“Will you ever want them back?” she asked, calculating their worth to be several millions of pounds.

“Hopefully not, if everything works out for me - beauty is for everyone to share Anna - except for you. Now you are only for my eyes,” he said as he pulled her to him.

The gallery was beautiful - housed in an old railway station and crammed with some of the finest Art that the world had ever produced. In his presence she felt part of a sophisticated and intellectual society which was a million miles from the life of a cop - immersed in deviancy and squalor.

He looked at her, sensing a slight reflectiveness in her emotions.

“I catch a note of sadness in you sometimes Anna - something deeper than I would see in a girl who sold boats and just counted the beans,” he said kindly.

His words slipped under her defenses. She wanted to spread herself out and talk with him - about what she knew of life - of its loneliness, its violence, passion and despair that she had come to measure as she had lived as a London detective. The paintings of exhausted dancers by Degas went beyond decoration and she could tell him, longed to tell him of the back rooms and sad scenes she had known behind the glamour of the city. Now his kind voice and his mind reaching out for her, threatened to release a well of un-cried tears.

“I was thinking it was sad that these guys often died in poverty, yet left us all this great art,” she lied, hoping it would throw him off the trail.

“That is so - but I have seen sadness in you before - when we first met you were going back home to nothing and no one. At my restaurant you seemed sad when we were talking... ”

Her mind flashed back to how she had felt a big stone in her heart at having to live through her lie with him. It was clear that he was on her case and had tuned to her mind and body so that he could feel her beyond her words.

“You pick up such tiny signals Freddie,” she smiled sadly - half wishing that he would just press on now and open her. A few more words, a few more sweeps of the radar from his deep brown eyes and she was gone...

“What do you think boxing is mon amour? You know the guy is hurt because he dances away and tells you it didn’t hurt. Truth is seldom reflected in a mirror. More often it is glimpsed through a prism or a keyhole. We are all detectives - watching for clues of one another.”

Her heart pounded. Just what the hell did he know? She felt trapped in the beauty of the touch of their eyes. Finally she just said what was in her mind.