Chapter 2

Jean Taylor had been on this same train two nights previously. She had lain in the same bunk that Kevin Taylor did a few nights later, but he had no way of knowing it. Her thoughts also ran over the events that had occurred in the hotel, her eyes seeing them in a different light.

How could he have been so cruel, she thought, what had turned Kevin so suddenly into the raging animal he had been?

She ran her hands over the raw tips of her swollen nipples that were so sore she could not bear to wear anything over them, even to sleep. Her shoulders trembled when she thought back to the horrible rape of her body and the way he had used it as a tool solely for his own gratification without even the slightest thought of her desires or pleasures. He had used her like an animal--his own wife the thought sickened her and tears brimmed her eyes.

She had actually looked forward to the first evening with him and had been preparing herself mentally for weeks before to make certain she entered the marital relationship with the correct attitude. She knew he had resented her not giving herself to him before marriage, and she also knew that most of her friends had not saved themselves for that first night either. But, she had vowed that theirs was going to be a classically perfect marriage, in the old fashioned sense. She had wanted, so much, for them to have a mutual respect and understanding for each other from the beginning and for him to never be able to doubt that he, and he alone, was the only man to possess her.

Perhaps she had made the mistake of quoting her father too often in this matter when Kevin had been overly persistent about having her before marriage. This was why she had cringed when he had thrown it at her back in the hotel room. It was true, perhaps, that he did place her on a pedestal, and also that he was perhaps over-solicitous toward her, but he had a right to be. He was of good conservative New England stock, and as a God-fearing man, had expected his family to be also.

She had been tempted many times, she had to admit, but had always summoned up her courage and resisted, even though the easy thing to do would have been to give in to Kevin's demands. She had come so close sometimes that if he had just had the persistence to continue, he could have broken her down. In fact, she was certain that she was as anxious for the consummation as he was and it would have been so beautiful if he could have just shown a little understanding and could have prepared her gently for the final assault on her virginity.

She had read so much about how important the first night was in marriage and how beautiful it could be if both partners were understanding of each other.

Well, she had been, she thought to herself, and all she received for it was a broken and bruised body bestially raped like she was a whore off the streets.

Jean clenched her eyes tightly shut at the memory of his last statement. She could still hear it ringing in her ears as the sound of the train lulled her tortured mind to sleep:

"I don't think you could ever make a man happy. I'll get a good grind"

She was awakened the next morning by the knocking of the porter on the compartment door.

"Breakfast call, breakfast call," he repeated in his broken English several times.

Jean opened her eyes hesitantly. It just had to be a good day. She needed some sun; the weather always seemed to dictate her mood of the day and she had enough problems to think about without having that dismal French overcast.

It was shining beautifully. She could see its warming rays streaming over her head and touching the compartment wall, flooding the tiny cubicle with a lovely radiance that made her forget her problems momentarily. She was famished and brushed her teeth and dressed rapidly. She wanted to make the first breakfast call so she would have time to do some thinking before arriving in Marseille. The train wasn't due for another two hours or so and it wouldn't hurt to try and organize herself mentally. She still had to worry about a hotel when she arrived there. She had not wanted to let anyone at the hotel in Paris make reservations for her as Kevin may have bought the information from them and she would not have the time she needed to come to grips with herself.

Jean settled herself back in the chair in the clean white dining car. She had ordered fried eggs and bacon, which had surprised her when she had seen them on the French menu.

"Ah, une dejeuner, Americain," the waiter had said smilingly.

"Oui, dejeuner, Americain," Jean had repeated, smiling back. She was glad she had at least remembered some of the words from her College French course. She supposed that any French waiter would know the word for breakfast, but it was nice to be able to say some things in the language of the country in which you were traveling.

"It was a beautiful day," she thought, as she watched the green rolling French countryside roll by. Quaint small sharp roofed farm houses could be seen in the distance adding to the beauty of the setting.

If only things had not happened the way they had in Paris, she might have been enjoying this with Kevin.

She was almost beginning to regret her hasty decision to leave before he returned when her thoughts were interrupted by a feminine French voice speaking excellent English.

"Excuse me, you are American, aren't you?" a stately, well- groomed woman asked, smiling pleasantly.

"Why, yes I am," Jean answered, surprised by the sudden intrusion upon her thoughts.

"May I join you? I haven't the chance to speak English so often anymore, it would be nice while we are having breakfast," she said nodding at the empty chair across from Jean.

"Yes, please do," Jean replied, a bit perplexed at having her solace interrupted so unexpectedly.

The annoyance only lasted a moment, however, as she turned out to be one of the most pleasant women she had talked with in a long time. Perhaps it was good to talk to someone else and get this thing off her mind for awhile, she rationalized to herself.

Madame DuBois had immediately monopolized the conversation, but in a pleasant manner. She was from the south of France and told Jean many little stories and anecdotes about the area they were passing through that brightened her spirits perceptibly. She seemed to be an amazing woman. She was married to a wealthy art dealer in Paris and was going to Marseille to look at some paintings for him that one of his underground contacts had discovered in an old shop. She was certain she could pick several Renior's for almost nothing. The shop owner thought they were copies and Madame DuBois was going down to discreetly check before they bought them.

Jean felt herself extremely fortunate to have met her. She solved her hotel problem. Madame DuBois said she usually stayed at one of the more chic places in Marseille, but did not want any of the other art dealers to know she was in town. It was a dirty business and if it was known she was there, one of them was certain to have her followed to see what she was up to. Therefore, she was staying in a small third class hotel in the lower part of town where she would not be seen or reported to be in town. She had assured Jean it was clean and had all the facilities of the more grandiose but just a little more French.

Jean was happy with this. She was afraid Kevin might call the police and they would send out an alert to the hotels. It would take no time at all to find her, as they were very efficient about this, but with a small hotel it would be almost impossible. This was luck and her spirits rose immediately.

Breakfast finished, Jean had rushed back to the compartment and put her things together. Marseille was coming up. They had talked so long together that both had forgotten about it being so near.

It was also nice to have an interpreter. Madame DuBois handled all the baggage and porters and got them into a taxi without the usual difficulties a tourist to such a place has. Jean was certain her high school French would not have done her much good here.

The ride to the hotel was pleasant. Monique, they were on a first name basis now, had made the driver go along the waterfront drive so Jean could get a good view of the city. The blue of the Mediterranean looked so inviting that she could have jumped into it that very moment. She almost wished now she had taken a beach- side hotel outside the city, but still it would be nice to have Monique around for company and perhaps she could help her with some advice. She seemed so much more worldly wise than herself.